Chronicles of Destiny II (みつ日記)

Confessions Of A Suicidaholic

2012-02-13T02:56:00.000+08:00

"Let me go if you really love me".

This is such sound advice, and it sounds simple enough. I was thinking while I sit out on the sharp aluminum road barrier at Yishun Dam on Sunday late night. I am watching cars go by, Motorcyles zoom pass. For such a long time, I had been loathe to come to terms with recent events that happened, as if they were still a part of me and my life, but now reality check just feels cumbersome to me. It's so ironic, the attachment we place on things, as if they could ever be as valuable to us as events, experiences, or relationships. I used to feel, like many friends around me, that words will one day become carried memories, but over the years my opinion has been substantially changed. I have reached the conclusion that it is we who carry memories, and it is we who get to choose what is precious and what can be shed to keep our burden easy, our footfalls soft, as we continue to journey through life.

The sudden disruption of a relationship that lasted six years and was the greatest and most difficult voluntary sacrifice I've experienced to date. She have suddenly grown so far apart that I no longer understood her or even hate me so much for this instance. Who can blame her? Just thinking about it now fills me with nostalgia. Let's face the fact, very rarely does anybody want to know the truth, or at least the full extent of the truth. The problem with that is that I am as far away from fine as I could possibly be. I play down the intensity of my emotions for the sake of other people because there’s nothing that can be done except watch me self-destruct. And if nobody knows how close to the edge I truly am, then nobody will know how messed up I am, and nobody will run away in an effort to not be the one stuck dealing with me.

More importantly: I won’t have to admit that I am in serious danger of destroying myself.

There used to be a time when I could listen to my friend tell me that I was being irrational. Now I just fight him and tell him he’s wrong. There used to be a time that I could come up with a reason for wanting to live. Now I just don’t care… nor do I see why that should be anyone else’s concern. You don’t have to live my life; I do. I don’t understand why people would rather me be alive and miserable. Then again, nobody knows the mental torture that I go through every single day. Nobody knows that my days consist of unending periods of rage and sadness and disgust and fear and most importantly, GUILT. There is no break. There is no emotional numbness anymore. I hate myself. But I have been told, and I now firmly believe, that I deserve to be hurt because of the hurt I’ve caused others, especially Piggie. I have no right to want to feel better about myself. I have no right to want to feel better, period. In fact, I’m sure there are people out there who are glad to see me so tortured. I’m still alive because I feel that death would be too merciful at this point.

I have many, many moments of wanting to cut myself or otherwise causing myself physical pain. And I don’t mean a handful of cuts where nobody can see. No, I’m talking about slicing apart every inch of skin I can reach and carving words of self-hatred where I can see them and be reminded of them on a regular basis. There are times that I am mentally raging out of control and all I want to do is throw things and break things and kick holes in the wall. Hidden deep inside me is a level of violence known only to my mother – only because she witnessed the aftermath of these outbursts that occurred when I was too young to keep it inside. There are gashes in the windowsill of my old room (My sis now occupies it) from when I took out my anger on something other than my own body. There is a painted over chip in the wall where it met a mobile phone at a high rate of speed. I learned over the years to deny the rage, but it still plays out in my head and my body still goes through the physiological phases of anger.

I am often paralyzed by fear and paranoia. Fear of what, I’m not always sure. I’ve spent hours not moving from the chair or out of bed because I’m afraid that if I do, I will make a beeline for my suicide plan. And it’s not that I’m afraid that I’ll try to kill myself. It’s that I’ll try to kill myself and not do things the way I want to. It took me two hours yesterday to convince myself that it was okay to leave the house and talk to a friend. I’m paralyzed by gut-wrenching sadness. The kind of sadness that has me crying hysterically for no reason whatsoever. The kind of sadness that irritates people because there’s no logic behind it… which then makes me feel worse because I’m being irrational and bringing other people down with me because of it.

I want to be dead. I am utterly miserable and know that I am completely alone. I am a horrible husband and a worthless friend, and I’m really not good for much of anything. I am psychotic and my mood will spin on a coin. I am tired of myself and I am tired of the emotional pain, but I certainly am not in a place to demand that the pain stop. Because I don’t deserve and end to the pain. I am hated and unworthy and should just be tossed out to die in the wilderness.

I am losing my breath...
waiting for it to dawn on me.

Rebirth

2012-02-12T14:39:00.001+08:00

In fiction, or rather blog entries, I think I'm not too bad at endings, but in real life I'm not so good at them. I tend to use up my emotions prematurely, or else push on long past when I should have stopped. I've been contemplating whether or not to continue this blog. I almost forgot about it until Piggie reminded me of it's existence once again. I took the hiatus for an undetermined amount of time. Probably I should have ended this blog altogether when i finished my series of seriously-written blog entries. I though about it, and had half intended to do so. But then i enjoyed writting them, and thought I found a way to write the blog that i liked, and that was good, and that i felt comfortable with. Still it hasn't quite worked out that way, and it seems that i have slipped back into old habits with frivolous entries and irregular updates.

On reflections, i see no reason why my life needs to be on the internet. It's funny. I've done this blog for almost 5 years now, but never much questioned why I do it. It provided an ersatz surrogate for the diary i stopped keeping a short while before i started this, and it made me feel I was at least writing something. Things are different now. My life came to a stop few days again which felt like years. It has come naturally to a juncture. Am I burnt? Yes. Have I become jaded? Well, yes... but I wasn't exactly sure I was going to enter midlifery feeling like I was going to single-handedly change my entire life. As I always do in the aftermath, I see a million things I could have done differently now, maybe made it better or different... but it is what it is. I feel like I will write a lot on this blog about Piggie and my pain in chasing back the love when she had given up. I want share my story, not to brag or gloat, but to hopefully give someone out there a painful lesson to go thru. I lived a long time without it, and now this is a very hard and lonely place to be. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

A Heap of Broken Images, Where The Sun Beats

2009-11-28T13:01:00.001+08:00

It feels like there's nothing left now but exhaustion. You know what? I’m really sick of this shit. I mean, really really sick of this shit. I’m sick of opening the webby or logging on to the Internet and reading about the horrendous "abuses" she is subjected to on a daily basis from me. I’m sick of hearing about her, seeming to be running some kind of macabre competition among themselves to see who can get the nastiest husband and notch up the highest number of mental abuses ever. And I’m sick and fucking tired of seeing all these, all that undisguised contempt, all that rampant woman hatred. I know i'm not a good husband, but am i really THAT bad?

You know what? It feels lonely suddenly when the person closest to you feels furthest away and doesn't talk to you before about her innermost thoughts. Never. Yeap, it feels lonely. It's funny sometimes. I think i'm the only one husband in the entire world that needs to hear complains and unhappiness thru the web.

I have solutions and methods for times like this. I make sure I eat properly, and I sleep sensibly. I get outside for some fresh air, and I speak to people about ordinary things, i mean not what's actually on my mind. That would be too horribly embarassing once I return to normal. I try to get on with things, and in a few days, or a week or two, I cheer up again and it's as if it had never happened.

I read an article today online during lunch. Looking back over it now, I can't quite remember what it was I saw in it. There was something, anyway. Something that I can't see there now. Something about burying things, about hiding things and how they sneak out again when your back is turned. Nothing new, nothing original. But it's a lesson I haven't learned (despite all the classes I've had in it) and thus every reminder is needed.

And I'm writing in circles. Bollocks. What I want to say is that I know how to cope. But I don't know how to fix the things I have to cope with. Sometimes they fix themselves, or sometimes time fixes them. But that leaves behind the nasty ones. And THERE IS NO INSTRUCTION MANUAL. That's okay, because you've gotta learn these things yourself, but Christ - I wish there was someone here I could talk it all out with. Perhaps i'm lonely. I don't know anybody here who's been through the kind of things I've been through and come out the other side; I don't know anybody here who thinks the way I do. I could try and tell my story to someone, but it's... maybe it would be overburdening to them. Not because my story is so special or unique or anything much at all compared to others, but because it's so... idiosyncratic?

It could be argued that I'm just being overcareful. That there are people here who would easily accept my story and my bullshit and know something about how I need to fix things. And I think in the past I have underestimated people's capacity for understanding. But it's a risk, it's always a risk, telling stories, especially if they're true. I'm defensive even with people I trust and know well, with only one exception. And here there is a surfeit of middle-class people and speed racers of above-average intelligence who talk about nothing. Along with a lot of people I like. Yet I'm scared to get down to the gritty talk with them. Scared of rejection I think.

Oh, to sit down over a beer and talk about life: about things we have done, things we are doing, things we will do. And to speak about the first without regrets, the second with some uncertainty and humour, and the third with nothing but ill-advised optimism. That's what I'm missing, I think. It's a bit difficult to add to a checklist alongside "eat some food" and "get some sleep".

Tell me. I knoe what to do.

Getting Sick Of My Job

2009-09-26T10:26:00.002+08:00

For some reason, I've been thinking today of a scene that was part of some classic World War II movies: there is an officer in a natty gray uniform and peaked cap, a virtual dead-ringer for that Yamashita guy. He looks at another officer slumped resignedly in a chair and says "Do you have a pistol? If so, I suggest you draw proper conclusions!" Blackout. Sound of gunshot....

No la, I'm not thinking of even considering so drastic a step. But I am feeling more of a kinship for the failed officer in the chair. Reality is not only knocking, but it's doing its best to break down the freekin' door.

My reach has always exceeded my grasp. Like one of those Time zone or Bugis machines that has a little claw you can manipulate to pick up a toy monkey or a snow globe with a penguin in it. My few attempts with those always ended with the claw grasping air. And so it is now.

When I feel as if I'm making progress in life, something always comes along to slap me in the face with a wet fish. For example, two weeks ago I got an assignment from a former customer, one with whom I enjoyed working, but that has fallen on rough times. I traveled to Muar for them, cranked out a not-bad story for them, even received a check in fairly short order. My connection there was pleased. When I not-too-subtly hinted that I was ready to do more, he informed me that, while I was at the top of the freelancer's list with them, they were still committed to doing everything possible in-house to save money. It might, he warned me, be some time before anything else came along.

I have been working for this engineering company that I regard as being something less than ethical, simply because they offer me work. On the chance that they might pay -- eventually -- I've been working for them. Well the other guy handing sold them a bunch of parts on the basis of me following them up. All well and good, except I finally received complains after complains. They are, amateurish, badly lit and in lousy conditions, I can only guess that the production didn't really look at them before giving the okay.

So, since I won't get paid unless they actually like those stuff, it falls on me to talk to each end users and say, in effect, "are you sure?" I'm sure as hell not going to write word one before knowing the stuff will run. A sticky situation, to put it mildly.

All this leaves me wondering: am I ever going to get any momentum going, or is this the way it will always play out? As of now, I'm tending to believe the latter. And if I'm going to be eternally involved in a scramble for scraps and bits and pieces from here on, I'll have to do some serious soul-searching. After all, I've already given up -- or simply lost -- a lot that was pretty damn important to me over the years. I have readjusted my sights downward time and time again. There will come a point when that's no longer even possible, much less comfortable or desirable.

And yes, there is Something Else (isn't there always?), not related to work. I won't write about it -- it'd be nice to save at least a shred of dignity -- but I will say it is a matter of unrealistic hopes and simple inattention to what is versus what I wish could be. There's no fool like an old fool, you know.

There was a time, longer ago than I care to remember, when my major concern was whether I should actually buy myself a new Ferrari. (P.S. In a rare fit of practicality, I didn't. That was an unusually wise move for me in those days....)

Now, I'm sitting slumped in a chair, and I can hear the tap-tap of Yamashita's boots coming down the walkway....

The Secrets To A Happy Relationship

2009-06-21T12:03:00.002+08:00

When I was in school, Ngee Ann Polytechnic, my next-door neighbour cum good friend cum gossip supplier had a boyfriend with whom she celebrated each and every monthly anniversary. They had that peculiar tradition because they first started dating about a month before going to seperate schools and they figured they wouldn't get a chance to have an anniversary celebration if they waited until the traditional one year mark. I think they were on their 57th anniversary when she explained this to me.

Piggie and I is gonna celebrate two anniversaries each year - our ROM and our soon to come wedding. But then we've never really taken the normal relationship route. After her visit back from Melbourne in 2006, the bulk of our getting to know each other and falling in love happened in text messages, MSN, and pubbing sessions.

We saw each other for at most twice a week. Once in the middle, once during weekends. Well, I kinda shocked Piggie by proposing one night and she said yes, of course. Then we got down to the practicalities. But that would mean getting married within 6 months or we would lose the meaning of the word "Marriage".

As I alluded to past posts, Piggie and I got off to a rocky start. I wasn't the biggest fan of her bad temper, constant ranting and I knew that I wasn't Piggie's priority either. Her parents objected in fact initially. Having their most promising child marry a person who commands a meagre pay salary would be difficult enough. Had she marry a greatly disliked and distrusted boyfriend could very well have caused irreparable damage to their family.

But then, we took the ultimate decision to get married in secret, indirectly. not in secret, exactly, well....okay, in secret. We applied for a BTO flat in Punggol for a start, in secret. I usually picture the the confrontation that typically occurs when the news is announced to family and friends. We wanted to avoid that whole mess and so made the decision not only to marry "in secret", but also to keep the marriage itself a secret from our families. (At this point, even the engagement was a secret.) Then, when we were settled and had the money to pay for a wedding and - most importantly - had universal familial approval, then we would have the whole white-dress-ceremony-big-party wedding.

So, on 10 June 2009, Piggie and I waited in the crowded hallway of the Registry of Marriage in downtown Canning Rise. (Piggie had not even been in the place more than 2 times) A clerk told us the solemniser usually liked to wait until a few couples were ready and then do all the weddings consecutively, a break in her day from the usual sentencing, bail hearings, and low-level criminal trials i suppose. So we waited with the people waiting for their court dates (and believe me, it was a bit of a rough crowd and I was probably the only guy there who didn't have my name spelled out in gold on a necklace). Poor Piggie was late because her dad went the wrong way (Sheesh!).

Around 3.35pm, the announcer rounded up the blushing brides and nervous grooms. Piggie and I were second to go, since we should have been the nearest to the time. The judge asked for our witnesses, her dad and mine. It never occured to me to bring someone (probably because only 2 of Piggie's friends and our families knew what were doing).

The judge, a stern-faced woman, went through the marriage ceremony with enthusiasm you would have expected from someone who had to do this at least five or six times a an afternoon. The ceremony was super-fast and just didn't feel real. Until she read "You may kiss the bride". That really go to me. "Oh my god. We're really doing this. we're getting married." I started to shake a little then, in that happy emotional guy sort of way. (To this day, I can't hear that damn speech/blessing without bursting into laughter.)

And then, just like that, we were married. When we go out any other weekends at the end of that day, we were a married couple. Everyone knew us as married. When we'd go to first our families, we were not married. Eventually, I told all my friends. Piggie told one sister and, over the years, the truth trickled out to our friends in Singapore.

It's nothing short of a miracle that we got through three years without ever really slipping up. We had some tricky times. I had to remind myself during the wedding solemnisation not to utter the words "my wife" as the woman next to me has been known as Piggie since the day we were together.

So on 10 June 2009, after exactly three years of real although semi-clandestine relationship, we were officially married a stern and NOT so pleasant looking solemniser. We were able to have the wedding that would have been impossible three years earlier. I'm a practical person and the shortest route between two points is a straight line, even if sometimes that straight line goes over some very strange terrain. We got the best of all worlds - we got to be together, got to sort out her parents issues in a straight-forward manner, and got to have the quiet party when everyone was ready to celebrate.

Happy Anniversary Mrs Yeo. I would marry you all over again.

I Hate To Admit, But She May Be Right~

2009-04-26T22:12:00.002+08:00

I don't know how much longer I can keep up with constant blogging.

I thought it would be a good exercise. The discipline of it appealed to me, and I figured that when I had a fit of inspiration, I could line up draft posts like work in the office and just post them whenever needed.

But it's turning out to be harder than I thought.

For one, I have actual work piled up like work in the office. That's new and different. I'm inundated with projects right now, and they all seem to have the same deadline: yesterday. I have a gazillion ideas for blog posts running through my head, but I can't get anything together in time to put up a coherent post. And the whole "draft" thing doesn't work for me... I've always put these up in a stream-of-consciousness style, and that just works best for me. If I overthink my writing, it just turns out horrible.

The result has been a string of boring maintenance posts, silly YouTube crap, and a stunning decline in readership and comments. I'm sure it wasn't supposed to work this way. So I'm going to keep trying for now. But if I can't get creative with this thing soon, I'm going to throw in the towel. I'm not really sure if anyone cares one way or the other, but just in case, I figured I owed you all an explanation.

Or perhaps I am too old for this s**t?

Whoa.. It's Been A While

2009-01-24T10:27:00.004+08:00

I didn't realize that it's been almost two months since I've posted anything, and the last thing to be posted was actually quite a short post. I'm a loser. Anyway, the past two months have been busy ones - here's a brief update:

Spend Christmas with Piggie Yeo and friends. Fun Fun Fun!~
Watch Ip Man fight the Japanese (Ya I know.. DUHZ!)
I logged on to Facebook for the 1st time since October. It was crazy man~
Cozzie Cheryl says she might be pregnant! muahaha.. i'm not suppose to say it out.. Anyway buddy, CONGRATS!
Eco crisis.. what's new?
New Carbon Fibre Bonnet for my ride~

Actully what prompted me to pluck up my keyboard to write again is because of something I don't know if I should even write. I was browsing thru Facebook (It is indeed evil) and come to terms that even Annie's relationship is on the rocks. I really don't know. I dowan to mention names, but so far, I am practically surrounding by marriages that are falling apart, even before they even had a chance to get off the ground, ALL OF THEM! Will any of my friends having a complete family please let me know? For the past few years, how many marriages I've heard is falling apart, how many kids are going fatherless or motherless.. etc. Will you guys be a teeney weeney bit responsible. Isn't your other half the one who went thru the ceremony with, observe or perform with dignity or gravity, the one you promised to spend the rest of your life with? It's truly unbelievable to me, but at the same time, I have to remember that life isn't going to get better or easier, especially during all these difficult times. I know that sounds super spiritual, and trust me, I'm not one to talk about end times (that's a whole other issue...), but more and more, I am reminded that the things of nature will be attacked the hardest before.

My heart are indeed sadden by these broken marriages, homes, families, hearts...I almost can't put it into words. I have, however, taken all of this as a sign for me to be praying over my very marriage, and those around us that are holding strong. I can't imagine my life without Celia, and God knows I'm not going to lose her without a super hard fight, no matter what may come. When we orchestrates something like marriage, I believe it's harder for the enemy to fight it. I perfectly know what I'm was doing when I took the steps forward towards marriage, and I'm not going to stop believing that now, even in the face of the marriage looking as bad as (or worse than) the world.

Oh.. By the way readers (If there is any left), Happy Lunar New Year, HUAT AH!

Halfway Thru~

2008-11-20T21:09:00.002+08:00

RRRIIIGGGHHTTT~~~ The problem with tese few weeks was that I had writer’s block. (Yes, again!) I am trying to cum, i mean come up with a new piece, and normally the way I construct performance pieces is as such:

1. write pages and pages of gibberish
2. amongst the gibberish, discover what it is I am trying to say, and then make the bits cohere.
3. slice out the shit and remaster.

You know what the main problem is? I have pages and pages of ideas and shit, but my brain has frozen and I cannot for the life of me decide what it is I am trying to say or how to make sense of all the disparate drivel I have dribbled thus far. what is even more disappointing is that to help my situation, I turned to wine. I find that being under the influence of anything helps my writing flow better – alcohol, cigarettes, porno films, speed, whatever. Not that I indulge in any of these on a regular basis, except for cigarettes, but tonight was the first time I actually thought, really, I can’t do it alone tonight. There’s gonna have to be a substance involved. I’m halfway through my Viceroy Light which i just bought on my way home from work just now.

I used to be one of the ones who didn’t need substances to write, or to do anything for that matter. Hawk-eyed readers will recognise a pattern in the things I write about, and will have noticed an ongoing dissatisfaction in my dabbling in frequent maggotism. It’s not like I’m a cigarette addict. It’s not like i'm addicted to anything. but the thing is, I am turning more and more often to things that make me not straight because I find that they unlock parts of me that are otherwise stilted, they make me write in ways I wouldn’t consider if I was just plain straight, and I want to access these bits of me so badly that I succumb to the whole ‘taking things to write’ scenario much too easily. It all comes back to the narcissistic thing in me. I am fascinated by the bits of myself that aren’t immediately apparent. I like my own controlled stupidity when I am moderately high on cancer sticks. I rarely get uncontrollably high and usually when I do the only things I regret have to do with semi-promiscuous flirtation with the wrong people. I'm not the kind of cigarette addicts who staggers around shoving his hands into unknown bins to look for half-smoke butts, I simply begin to flirt with destiny, and this is my shortcoming. other than that I am quite a well-behaved smoker.

The point is.................... i'm still fresh out of inspiration... heck..

Why Can't She?

2008-11-04T19:52:00.003+08:00

Cruising through this moments of tough times in recent weeks, I'm suddenly left with a feeling of loneliness, emptiness and sadness. There is a lot of thoughts on my mind in recent weeks. We are all a broken people. We have messed up and got hurt. All these are just a part and parcel of life. No seriously i'm not depressed, just full of thoughts.....

A fear of marrying a dictator, into a patriarchal relationship - where fear that she will not have a say in anything. A fear of no longer having any freedom. A fear of being burdened with too many responsibilities. You don't hear of many positive stories or beautiful stories about modern day marriages or family life. (Everyone assumes that good marriages only existed at the time of the Prophet peace be upon him.) What about the small things that happen in your relationship that make your heart melt? Funny things that happen that make the extended family laugh and affirm that indeed your family are absolutely crazy!

That the beauty of any argument or bickering is that it leads you to know your spouse better and you learn together and grow together as a result. Well, she prefers to grow on her own. I really didn't know what to expect of the life ahead of me. I was honestly, more worried about the fact that I was really mentally tired, from the fear of losing my career, from the fear of losing my mum, from the fear of losing track of my relationship.

Isn't it funny that love creates and turns a lot things right or upside down, because love do hurts a lot, being stuck in love and out of love, being thrown off love, going thru a relationship has an argument of their own. I told myself, all that I’ve seen, I’ve been thru, it just don't make me feel like falling in love seriously, because it truly hurts. I feel that everything is just so funny, when you decided give it up that priority on her and move on, yet you moved on, there that person will just appear from no where and takes up all your priorities all over again. You just tell God, I’ve given up, I don’t want to prioritize her anymore. But God just keep doing it over and over. Life is just amazing. Well, as for Love, I don't want to think about it, just letting nature take the lead, i’m tired and much too fearful about this unknown thing called Love. If we are really meant to be, it will be. But one thing I’m certain, I Love you.

Where do I move on from here? I really don't know.....

I Believe I Was Insulted, By Some Pussies~

2008-10-29T13:39:00.005+08:00

I was on leave this morning. (Had to accompany Mom to the Hospital)

Guess what, I woke up to the delightful image of my garbage strewn across my whole front yard, courtesy of the ever present local stray cats! Well actually it was more horrible to Dad then to me, because let's face it; cleaning up after a pussy party is one of those half-cat duties "Husbands" perform.

Why did the cats choose our garbage this week, for the first time ever? Was it Desmond's delectable meatloaf? My savory Hongkong noodles from two nights ago? Mrs Yeo's heavenly cookie crumbs? Which of these delicious homemade delicacies drove the creatures mad with desire, forcing them to attack my trash can with such gusto?

It wasn't any of those things mentioned. It was store bought Italian Pizza in a styrofoam container from NTUC, one of the "just in case" emergency foods my sista bought weeks ago.

Stupid Pussies~

LIttle Pockets of The World

2008-10-12T12:11:00.003+08:00

Sometimes you find yourself standing in the world standing on a map standing in a puddle and you know, you just know, that you're exactly where you are meant to be. Some sublime deity will reach one mighty arm down through the clouds and just hand you a ticket, and you know what you've been standing in that puddle for, standing on that spot on the map, standing somewhere in this enormous fucking world.

I've been feeling like that a lot lately.

I have been crazy, so crazy with the busy and the work and the cut lunches and the endless washing up. I have carved downtime from weekly drawma serial streaming - left great dents in the Taiwanese Idol section and the movies session, and in between there has barely been a glimpse at my blog. But there has been a Ubin Trip (seven members, a very yummy trip), a first birthday party (Baby Caden's - including a penis flash and an accidental boobs sighting), vague dramas and reshifting of attitudes (Cheryl moved in to Duxton finally, bringing with her some temporary complications), sporadic romance (oh, there are stories), meditation classes (and Buddhist teachings: although I am not religious, there is so much to learn from this beautiful philosophy), good deeds like donating an umbrella to a stranger on a rainy day and clearing the park of broken glass and beer cartons during a night skate at East Coast.

I love my home. The shared backyard is a humming den of motley tenants like croachs and lizards, all of us happy and lovely. Yesterday Cheryl The Visitor remarked, "What an amazing little pocket of the world" after Zoe (Cheryl's baby cousin, age seven, dressed like the proverbial Alice) marched up with her Tamagotchi and proceeded to chirp and banter in that gorgeous little way of hers, after Alvin left cracking jokes taking his dog for a walk, after some black-clad Kiss fans from 'the hard rock cafe' (the house a few doors down where Donna, Auntie Chow, Jason and co drink endless goon and listen to eighties glam rock) sauntered down the back and out the gate, after I emerged with a headache from serious lack of sleep and announced I would be getting my sleep back for the whole of Sunday. Yes, it is an amazing little pocket of the world. Last night, our glasses filled with coke and table with fries, we held our beverages over our heads and clinked as we triumphanty wailed the "I'm a Bastard" theme song. Winson's mediterranean style of talking, Melvin's hilarious analysis of the competition rudeness, Sunny's "I'll kill him" story, GQ and the Malaysian stalker, WK with the listening ear, Watie's appointment as Belle of Macdonalds, Mrs Yeo's angry with me for staying late and probably will not talk to me for the next 3 days - this will be one of my favourite memories of this amazing little pocket of the world. Haha.

It's a sunday and it's back to work again tomorrow. Long Live... whatever...

Just A Little Older

2008-10-05T12:01:00.000+08:00

I just turned 31 last Monday.

The one good thing about being a little older is being a little wiser. I've seen ten over years more than most twenty year olds and we all make mistakes and some of us make the same ones dozens of times over but by thirty at least you're aware of the brick marks on your head and you can expect the same old consequences, yeah that's wisdom.

The funny thing about twenty year olds is that they are thirty year olds waiting to happen but until then they have a decade of mistakes to make. My theory is that after thirty the proportion of mistakes is reduced by half for each successive decade so that by the time you're due to die you've got life all figured out.

There are still times I wish I was twenty again. HA!

A Place Called Home... In 3 Years Time.. Duhz

2008-09-22T22:00:00.006+08:00

The year is coming to a close already (Hello! October coming soon!). The cycle of life is once again slowing down. And I realize that it’s been a long while since I’ve last written something significant. I’ve held back for many reasons; lack of time, lack of energy, lack of enthusiasm to share what’s exactly going on in our little edge of the world. And as the months pass and I feel this need to communicate with those who do care and read this, I wonder where even to begin because with so much time passing, so incredibly much has transpired and changed. Where do you start? It all seems so frivolously important.

Let me again step up and take responsibility for my own path of “our choices” while stressing the words “to choose.” Finally Mrs Yeo and I chose to buy a new house for the future. We chose the house with the trail of numbers that followed. Yes, we were influenced and encouraged by optimistic people, but in the end… we were the ones who signed our names on the dotted line. Actually I didn’t want to write about this while it was happening, mainly because I was so involved with contacting HDB, lenders, mortgage companies… reading about laws passed, reading about what I could possibly do to save our situation that I didn’t have the time to think about writing about it. I was in it, drowning. I didn’t write because of the level of stress, and frankly… I’m tired of writing about the shit that seems to be engulfing our lives. But there was also this new thing that surfaced; an unfamiliar old friend called “reality.” I felt that reality finally crawled in… something I haven’t felt in a loooong while. I felt it, because I felt as though I had somehow going on inside me.

So here we were, a 'young' thirty something and a even younger twenty something who moved into this great community who owned all together over 265,000 dollars worth of real estate. (Let me rephrase… All that in debts.) We found an incredible place to start a family, ready to move in in 3 years time. We had this beautiful new house where we were starting this supposed amazing new life… We could only go up from here, right? Well…

At some point down the road Mrs Yeo weren’t sure if we would be able to hold onto everything. Or rather weren’t certain how long we could. And believe me, we were holding on pretty good and pretty tight. Haha. We held faith, and believed in the inevitable fate of change; not knowing which way the wind would blow. During the past 2 years and a half I have constantly been sitting on the edge with the possibilities of loosing direction. This beautiful home of ours that we’ve created. And the stress of that in the next 4 years constantly rest heavy on my heart.

Frankly, it was a crazy, amazing, unbelievable experience. Astounding. Shocking at times. Exhausting to say the least. But during the process I once again, become so much stronger, more solid and stretched beyond any extreme RT session at Kahtib Camp imaginable. I learned a lot. Not only about what’s happening in our world, but I learned about myself. I learned that I’m a fighter. But at times… even a fighter needs to put down his weapons and move on. Strangely enough, things started actually moving, forward. Which felt dizzying after going backwards so fast and strong for so long. And somewhere along this forward path, we both found peace. I actually found a peace that I’ve never quite felt before.

I am ready and excited to see the future, to see which side this coin actually lands. And i'm sure Mrs Yeo is ready and excited too. I said earlier that I don't know the future. But in reality… I can’t yet see whether I have lost or if in actuality… I’ve won.

GQ ah GQ..

2008-09-18T20:23:00.003+08:00

You know someting GQ, at the onset of a budding romance, you expect your feelings of love and happiness to continue to flourish as you learn more about each other, and eventually, the hope for a wonderful future together will develop. In your case, the opposite occurs. What seems like a rosy relationship on the surface can be festering with decay beneath. This may be a harsh assessment, but it is in fact the reality. It could be something as simple as incompatibility, or past issues that interfere in our ability to have a healthy relationship, whereas in your case, possessiveness. Regardless of the cause, it is truly a shame when what started as something bright and promising ends with shattered hearts and broken minds.

As you sit nursing your wounds after the downfall of your "better off without it" relationship, you will undoubtedly hear the catch-phrase from many friends, COLLEAGUES and acquaintances that 'time heals all wounds'. While this may be true, one thing we are painfully aware of right at that moment is that the wound is most definitely not yet healed, and such torment can affect your daily life, or his. His may be more... hahaha.

Then again, getting over a failed relationship is sometimes a state of mind, as much as it is waiting patiently for your feelings of hurt to diminish. There are two important factors to consider after any parting. One, if you managed to find happiness in your relationship, whether for a week or for years, then take comfort and satisfaction in that fact, because there are many in this world who will sadly never experience that happiness. Two, if you were not happy, then again take comfort that the relationship is indeed over, for why should you participate any further in a relationship in which you do not derive any happiness from?

Don't look at me with questions, this just came thru my mind 10 mins ago..

Irish Soil Available For Sentimental Burials

2008-09-10T22:00:00.000+08:00

So said the spam in my inbox this morning. I felt lucky to know that in the event of my death, my relatives (and my Chinese forefathers) would be able to acquire some Irish soil over the internet, through the mail, for sentimental purposes.

I suppose they would have to pick it up at the post office, since presumably there would be too much of it for a simple envelope. I wonder how they package it - wrapped in brown paper? No, too flimsy. You don't want a trail of Irish soil leaking through a hole, snaking round the back room of the post office. In a cardboard box, plumped with packaging foam? No, soil of any description is hardly fragile.

I guess for ultimate packaging safety and accuracy in bulk the best idea would be to just deliver it in a casket. That way there should be ample Irish soil to sentimentally scatter upon my coffin. Presumably there would also have to be some garden-variety Singaporean soil to complete the job, unless the Irish soil arrives in a small truck.

And I'm wondering where the source is. Do they wait in Ireland for interested emails, then spring to action with the mini dozer out in the paddock? Have they already transported large portions of dirt to Singapore, where our convict heritage makes us likely candidates for Irish ancestry? (What de ye want ta doo when ye grow oop, Paddy?" "Oye want te shift dart, loike me pa.") Or did the Irish soil start out as Singaporean soil but become sanctified by some holy ceremony not unlike the blessing of holy water? Do they grow potatoes in it, smother it in Guinness then have an Irish priest make the sign of the dead jebus fiddle-dee-dee over the mud?

Now I am actually regretting deleting the thing before I could read it...

Origins of... "OK"

2008-08-31T20:06:00.001+08:00

From the Macquarie Online Dictionary:

ok. [representing the letters O.K.; early 19th-century US slang standing for orl korrect, humorous misspelling of all correct]

That I did not know.

Eat, Sleep, Watch TV

2008-08-22T01:10:00.000+08:00

Wow. Is this thing still here? I almost forgotten about it. It’s gone from something I wrote in several times a week to a forgotten relic written by someone who was not me. I was talking to Cheryl "The Auntie" recently and we were discussing how online journals/blogs appear to have been just a fad that has died a quick, painless death. Sure, they’re still around, but who the fuck is reading these things now? I know I’m not.

And that wouldn’t really be a bad thing except I’m not reading much of anything unless you count comics, and I don’t. I’m not really writing much anymore either. When I was updating this thing regularly I was reading probably three books a week and wrote the page equivalent of several fat ass novels. And one really bad actual novel. Blogs may be stupid, senseless, and a complete waste of time and effort, but this one never really hurt my productivity any. So what have I been doing then you might ask? Well, I’ve been in jail.

No, not really.

The sad, sorry ass truth is I’ve been watching a lot of online streaming. I used to pride myself in being someone who never watched online shows. Then a terrible and wonderful thing happened. I discovered that a lot of streaming is really good. And it’s way easier than reading a book. So I decided, fuck books. I will watch TV until my brain turns to jelly.

And you should do it too.

The first thing you should watch is http://www.tom365.com/. I have Ken to thank for getting me to stream this crazy fucking webby and this show call Loko. It's about a small time hash dealer and the characters who frequent his apartment to buy his wares. Now it’s my new favourite sitcom. Loko just finished its fourth season and it just gets better and weirder as it goes. So just fricking stream watch it. It’s not even available in Singapore.

If you watch it and don’t like it, I probably don’t like you so don’t even bother telling me you hated it. I don’t fucking care.

Everyone Is Rushing In Singapore

2008-08-03T10:24:00.002+08:00

It is spectacularly gloomy in Singapore today. The sky sports an entire spectrum of shades from white to grey. Yes, each nuance is accounted for - from virgin white to a less-virginal white to a slightly dirty white to a slightly clean grey to an industrial grey to a filthy grey. The wind comes in gusts and compromises the fringes of people moving to my right, outside my window. As if in support of my wind-direction-observation skills, the yellow-green leaves of the tree are leaning liturgically to the left, as if reaching for Jebus as he walks down towards 7-11.

Today if there is time I will pen another entry. COme to think of it, It has been years since an actual hand written letter turned up in my mail box. Rustic. Splendid.

In Love With..... Toby!

2008-07-20T12:17:00.000+08:00

You know, this must be a little bit what it's like to have and love a child. A tiny being, utterly dependent on you for its wellbeing and survival, a little creature who looks to you when it wants to feel safe or is unsure or is seeking permission.

I used to look at him and he looks back up at me from all the way down there - his head reaches mid-shin - and I am flooded. Warm and fuzzy is a bland cliche but unfortunately apt. It is a rush of sweet, throbbing honour, almost painful in its severity. There have been times when he has simply cast his eyes to my face and held them there, waiting for a signal from me, that I have choked and almost cried.

He sleeps in my bed. I wouldn't have it any other way. He is not the kind of mutt to creep to the foot of the bed to sleep. In rainy weathers, he goes under the covers and in warm weathers stays on top, but always pressing part of his soft fur into some part of me. He does this ridiculously cute sidle into my side, plonks himself down in such a way that his nose is in my neck and I am cradling him like a teddy. He is part teddy. Part muppet, part monster, part miniature grizzly bear, part cat, part squirrel, part rat, part pigeon dove, part bugger, part menace, part little man. All these parts are excellent.

Mad girl Cheryl used to be so in love with him. Alvin is in love with him. My friends are in love with him. The girl who likes cats and not really dogs tolerates him fondly. Dogs who don't like other dogs, who bite and snap or avoid other dogs, they play with him like best friends. I get this comment often.

You know last time, I am always assaulted by the ugly realisation that he will not live here forever and it blackens my heart. Now that he's really gone, those are maudlin moments and I clean them up and throw them out like a raw steak between the sheets like the daily poo like the piddle on the couch like the vomit on the doona. It is funny how poo, wee and vomit take on different forms when they are expelled from a being you adore. My colleague recently remarked on the pride she feels now that her one year old eats solids and produces excellent poos.

I will pick up his poo. I will snip the fuzz around his bumhole so that the poo does not stick. If it does stick I will wash it with a hot cloth over the sink until the stink and the goo have gone. If some of the poo is still stuck in his bumhole like a thumb in an uncle's knuckle when he's 'got your nose' I will endeavour to coax it out. I have had to do this and I will have to do it again and though it's true that a cheese platter and some champagne is preferable it is part of the deal.

Toby be strong ya... Although piggie never did saw you before, she will miss you too~

Well, Sometimes You Can Only Watch And Drool~

2008-07-03T23:24:00.000+08:00

I was recently involved in a lucrative multi-million dollar advertisement for........

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ARMANI! EAT YOUR HEARTS OUT PEOPLE!

Adventures In My Neighbourhood

2008-06-29T11:15:00.000+08:00

You know, I really love living here in Ang Mo Kio.

Really, I do. Small-town main-street Singapore at its best. Still, there are times I just don't want to think about what people are doing just outside my window.

Take, for instance, today. It was a beautiful day; it actually got up to 27 degrees in the morning. Cloudy, windy, wonderful. The leaves are budding, and the grass are changing from their dying brown to their soon-to-be green covering. Love is in the air. The city hasn't gotten around to planting flowers in the public, though, so folks are using them as garbage cans.

So that's nothing new in Singapore. It's been going on all century. But as I passed by this particular garbage can this morning, I noticed something that, frankly, has me befuddled.

And I'm not confused by the item; I'm just wondering how it wound up here.

See, when I refer to "Main Street Singapore", I'm not kidding. This picture is from Main Street. There are a couple office buildings, a always crowded coffeeshop, a dentist clinic and a couple of HDB flats all within one block of this particular rubbish bin. My house is in the vinicity just to the left of this picture. It's not an isolated area. Not the kind of place where you can, oh, let's say, engage in risky sexual behaviour without a high possibility of being discovered.

So how did THIS end up in the puliv garbage can in broad daylight?

I mean, really...

Who was THAT desperate that they couldn't wait to get home before opening this package? Besides, take a good look at the blister packaging. There's space for FOUR items. Apparently, the "Anal Adventure Collection" really is designed for the Anally Adventerous.

WHO is walking or driving around with these things, er, "inserted" in various... Nah. Never mind. Like I said, I don't even wanna think about it.

Happy Anniversary Piggie! Belated Nevertheless..

2008-06-23T21:40:00.002+08:00

In honor of it being our relationship anniversary this month, Piggie took the unprecedented step of "inviting" me to do a quick entry, so that the world at large might get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes in the lives of we minor characters in the "Pigs of the Pigs" universe.

I think I might have only gotten the honor of this opportunity since this is our 2nd anniversary and Piggie might have forgotten whether that is the wicker, pewter, eelskin or chrome anniversary, so she decided to offer up this unexpected gift in the form of a "bird-shito" wallet instead. Anyway, I'm excited to be on the receiving end of a beautiful wallet regardless, as it helps break the routine of me always using cheapo ones and yearly wallet sprees. Plus, Piggie knows my needs always, and that is about as good a gift of god as a guy can get since it has all the goodness of a relationship without any of Piggie's temper (She changed alot for me!)

It is hard to believe that 2 years have come and gone already. It has flown by. At times it is hard to remember back 2 years ago when I first met Piggie. I saw true love face to face and it scared the daylights out of me. So I decided to take a sabbatical from dating. It didn't last long and we were soon together. Not long after, here we are celebrating our 2nd anniversary together and we became the Pig family!

As I look back, I see positive things about you and me. You are always there for me because you believed in us. Till today, as I look forward, I see the very same old you still very much behind us. There were things I wished I had not done. There were things I failed to do and continue not to do. Nevertheless, you are there with me when I took my talk to walk. I love you Piggie and I didn't forget. I only wished my bad attitudes don't get to you. I truly love you and it takes a lot of love to take some of the nonsense that I caused along these 2 years.

Nothing lavish planned out for our anniversary. Nevertheless, thank you for making those sacrifices. We know what those are and I am very sure we will be there together in years to come.

Two Year Anniversary: What a strange trip it’s been

2008-06-22T01:22:00.000+08:00

It’s official. Chronicles of Destiny II is now two years old. Who would have thought it was possible? Thanks to this blog, I’ve been able to waste time and obsess over page views like it was going out of style. It’s been fun though. I never imagined it would last this long or that CODII would be pulling in between 15 and 20 page views a month. (That's alot to me! Haha) Hell, I didn’t even know what an RSS feed was until way after I started blogging with this first post, back on June, 2005.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you’ll remember that I started blogging nonsense on a daily basis. That just got too damn frustrating, so I ended up writing even more nonsense! So far, I’m glad I dropped all the nonsense paid off.

Here are just a few of the notable milestones from the past two years:

200,770 unique visitors
447 posts
345,127 page views
2,566 comments
2 unique Chinese posts - [定情 (上集)] [定情 (下集)]
1 extremely popular posts on Guess Which One is You - [Guess Which One is You]
1 posts showcasing the idiots who made eating chickens look cruel - [Kentucky Fried Cruelty]
etc.. etc.. etc..

Of course, they go on and on. But a two year anniversary post wouldn’t be complete without a thorough look back on how CODII has grown up. Through the magic of internet caches, you will now get the pleasure of reliving the past two years with Chronicles of Destiny II. Here’s to another two years, and another, and another....

Most Heartwarming Thing I've Seen

2008-06-08T12:40:00.001+08:00

http://www.telestereo.com/Archivos/video.html

Several years ago a woman found a sick, malnourished lion cub in the jungle. She took the cub home and fed him and brought him up until he was too big to keep anymore. Then she made arrangements with a zoo in Colombia to take the lion. Here's a video of what happened when she went to visit him in the zoo for the first time.The reaction of the lion when he sees her is incredible!

I'm Feeling Like A Filipino

2008-06-02T22:07:00.000+08:00

Well, I actually have an excuse for another long hiatus between posts, and this time it’s not lame! I was on "vacation", or more accurately an extended weekend. Where did I go you ask? Why, to Baguio, Philippines of course! The non-gambling version of Manila for us Singaporeans. I swear the place is like an anomaly in the space-time continuum. You would never think a place like that could exist up north-east on the map.

First, you get off the Manila International Airport and head towards some town called Sevierville. Apparently, it’s pronounced ’severe-ville’, as in “You have a SEVERE case of the clap”. To me, it looks more like ’see-vur-ville’, as in “SEE VURn, I told you Mary was pregnant.” But who am I to argue with the natives? Right after passing through Sevierville, you come upon an endearing little town called San Miguel. If you’ve never had the pleasure of going to San Miguel, then you’ve never had the pleasure of riding a quadruple-decker go-cart track called ‘The Jeepy’ either! My first thought about entering the city limits on what is lovingly referred to as THE STRIP, was “Yippee! Sinners and gamblers are alive and well in the Philippines!” But I was wrong. The flashing neon lights, sleazy wedding chapels, rows of tacky stores and cheap entertainment venues weren’t as sinful as I had first taken them to be.

One of the first electronic signs that we noticed driving into the city was for a Jesus-themed theatre hall. The damn thing nearly blinded me! It switched back and forth from showing the devil with his ‘come hither’ look to Jesus saying something like “Buy tickets and I’ll save you sinner!” Except the Jesus part was about 10,000,000 lumens too bright to be just 10cm from the road. Once I regained my vision, I was able to back my transport off of the Dollywood sign the local driver had run over and continue on our merry way.

After all that, you get to drive through about 20km of wooded highway bordered by a mountain stream. Then when you arrive in downtown Calamba, you start to see how weird this area of the country really is. There are more wedding chapels here than in San Miguel and all of the hotels and shops are built right next to each other overhanging the streams and creeks that run through the middle of downtown.

The four nights my colleague and I spent in the area provided some great material for stories too. The first of which I’ll tell you about in this post. We stayed the first two nights in this pretty nice hotel downtown. my HR had searched quite a few to find one that I thought I would like. The real selling point appears in this description of the room:

"These suites offer panoramic views of the Philippines and Calamba, mirrored ceilings, private balconies, and seasonal fireplaces."

Did you catch which amenity sold me on that particular hotel? Well, if you didn’t, then obviously you’re not as big of a pervert as I am. It was the mirrored ceilings! As soon as I saw those, I just knew I had to stay there. And let me tell you, they’re as cool as they sound. If I get some PG-rated pictures back from the camera, I’ll be sure to post them. There’s nothing quite like looking up at the ceiling and thinking “Hey, that’s me! Look what I’m doing!” I’ve still got quite a few stories to tell from this happening week, but i'm too tired to write it all out. Call 1800-ILOVE ALAN to hear about it!

Fire Safe Cigarettes.. CRAP!

2008-05-25T23:26:00.002+08:00

Ever heard of Fir Safe Cigarettes?

I personally feel that fire safe cigarettes are the stupidest idea ever. I don’t know if you’ve heard about these things yet, but here’s the deal: Because a few idiots in the US didn’t know how to put out their cigarettes before they passed out and as a result burned down their houses and killed their families, we all get to smoke cigarettes that taste like shit and make your throat and head hurt.

But they are "fire safe" meaning they go out on their own if you aren't smoking them anymore.

Not only did we not have a choice about switching to fire safe cigarettes, they didn’t even bother telling anyone. I was smoking these things a couple of weeks back in the Philippines and wondering why I didn’t enjoy smoking anymore. I was putting out cigarettes that I didn’t finish and I fucking love to smoke. I just thought they were stale or something. I also noticed I was getting headaches but didn’t attribute it to the cigarettes, because, why would I? I have been smoking for years and never gotten headaches. Seriously, headaches from cigarettes? So imagine my lack of surprise when I’m reading the Straits Times story about the spiffy new ingredient they’re including in all the cigarettes in some part of the world that is supposed to make them go out after several seconds of no inhaling.

Mostly people were complaining about the taste, but a few people mentioned headaches. It turns out that these yummy new cigs that everyone is raving about became a state law on April 1st in the US! By next year they’ll be state law in about seventy percent of all US states. If you’re wondering if your cigarettes are “fire safe” and haven’t noticed the fact that a brand you used to enjoy started tasting like ass, just check above the bar code for fire safe cigarettes. If that fire safe cigarette is there you are smoking a glue that has been proven to cause tumors in rats. But, hey, it keeps drunk people from killing children with house fires. Or at least that’s what the chemical is supposed to do, make them fire safe. Even though they are, in fact, burning leaves. Actually, from all accounts they don’t work so well. They don’t go out in 10 seconds like they’re supposed to. They seem to burn just as long as the old ones.

And I guess that would be fine if you like having an especially toxic chemical added to your already toxic chemicals, but not only are they not fire safe, they have a propensity to burn the fuck out of you while you’re smoking them. Little bits of the fiery glue sometimes fall off the cigarettes and land on your finger. I know this, because that was the other thing I noticed was different about my regular cigarettes. I’ve had my fingers burned from smoking more times smoking fire safe cigarettes that I have in the entire fifteen years I’ve smoked. From what I’ve read, fire safe cigarettes also have a tendency to lose their entire cherries which then fall onto your couch or carpet or lap.

Simply put, the things don’t work. They do not make fire safer, because that’s kind of the person’s job with the fire in the first fucking place. Not only don’t they work as intended, they’re also making a lot of people sick. Do a Google search for “Fire safe cigarettes” and read for yourself. There are plenty of first hand horror stories to make you quickly realize just what a bad idea this really was. Even if only a fraction of the stories are truly caused by fire safe cigarettes it’s entirely too many. And at least with the smoking bans most people knew they were coming. Most people that are smoking “fire safe” cigarettes don’t even realize a dangerous chemical has been added to their product. I seriously hope it will not reach the shores of Singapore.

And I know it’s rather ironic to talk about cigarettes making people sick since that is typically the end result of years of smoking. But the key word in that last sentence is years. There are some really sick people who’ve only been smoking fire safe cigarettes from a few weeks to a few months. If you wanted to make a whole nation of people quit smoking what would be the easiest way to do it? How about killing them? Just think of all the money they’ll save on long term health care either making people quit who can’t smoke their poisoned smokes or killing the people who can’t quit. To whoever that thought this was a really good idea, I say this:

You put poison in my poison. I will smoke your poison and laugh.

Then die.

What A Voice In a 15-year-old!!

2008-05-15T21:34:00.002+08:00

I Hate Gas!!

2008-05-11T14:31:00.000+08:00

From the title, you probably think I’m going to go on about my gastro-intestinal fortitude, but that’s not the case. I hate gasoline. The reason I hate gasoline? Nothing new I suppose. Just that the shit is getting more expensive than paparazzi photos of Gilian Cheungs' over crowded bottom.

I know all of the hubbub in the news is finally starting to make people wonder if the oil companies are pulling the wool over their eyes, but it’s not the media who have finally got me ticked off enough to write about it. The real reason I’ve gone and gotten pissed off enough to get a little constipated is that I can’t fill my whole tank up at one time.

How can that be, you ask? Well, for starters, I do have a relatively small gas tank on my Honda. It’s 40 litres. You see, last time, apparently $50 is just about enough to fill up the tank. That’s right. In the last month and a half I have gone over $70 to fill up my wheels 3 freakin’ times!!! Do you know how frustrating it is to have to put up at least 30% more of my daily expenses on gasoline alone?!

It makes me see red damn it. Not only have they already raped me for $70 worth of gas, they’re rubbing my nose in dog shit and making me get out my credit card AGAIN in less than a week if I want to top up my tank.

Yes, I could just stop at $50 and count my losses, but I refuse to! I do this because I’ve been tracking my gas mileage since I got my car, and I have to have a full tank each time to track it. I’m trying to figure out if some additives I’m using make a difference in the long run. Hell I even buy the medium grade gas because it’s more cost effective in the long run, meaning the better mileage pays for itself.

I wanna kill the neo-cons who are lining their pockets at our expense!

Oh, by the way, can you tell I’m a bitter, bitter man today?

What a name in POPPYCOCK!

2008-05-04T21:10:00.000+08:00

Who wants to try some of my delicious poppycock?

Yes, this is a real picture I took in Manila local drug store. Long live Poppycock!

Relationship In Limbo

2008-04-26T20:50:00.001+08:00

We’ve all had one at some point in our lives. That amazing “relationship” you convince yourself that you’re having, while in reality the relationship in question more closely resembles the now popular saying, ‘She’s just not that into you.’ It’s the "I love her more than she loves me" relationship. And of course, you knows that it’s happening. No one else. So why is it that no matter how book smart/street smart we might be, relationship-wise we are so often deaf, dumb and blind to the reality of the situation? Why is it that while we are experts when it comes to other people’s relationships, we fail to make the grade when it comes to our own?

I mean, the real truth of the matter is that it's so much easier to lie to ourselves than to face the reality of the situation. After all, who wants to admit to themselves that someone they care about doesn’t feel the same way back? And by the same token, for the friend who stands by watching silently, who wants to be the one to tell someone that they’re in an "I love her more than she loves me" relationship?

Perhaps time is the only real answer. After all, in the end, the truth always seems to have a way of making itself known.

Either that, or a couple of loud-mouthed friends who aren’t afraid of hurting your feelings.

My First Shoe Shine Experience

2008-04-21T21:44:00.000+08:00

Have you ever had your shoes shined? Well, I hadn’t until recently. And it was a bit of an experience. I hadn’t really planned on it, but these aren’t things we typically plan on are they?

It all started because I was supposed to meet a group from work in a Corporate Box at Manila, Philippines. For those of you in Singapore where Casinos doesn’t matter, Manila has one of the nicest gambling dens in the world. The deal with going to downtown Manila is that everyone gets dressed up. And since I was going to be in an honest-to-goodness Corporate Box this time, I really had to look snazzy. So I put on my Sunday best, complete with Kenneth Cole shoes and a tie I paid entirely too much for.

The Corporate Box was impressive. I knew I didn’t belong there, but that didn’t keep me from ordering bloody marys like they were going out of style. You put this little sticker on your coat lapel that lets all the staff know you’re supposed to be walking into elevators with the rest of the rich people.

But the Corporate Box is just part of my story…

The whole reason I got a shoe shine to begin with was because I was feeling all important and stuff (you know, like Macauley Culkin when he realizes he has the run of the house in Home Alone). Nothing makes you feel as upper crust as bumping shoulders with the upper crust while they’re doing their upper crust things and hanging out in upper crust places. I was actually on my way out of the Corporate Box when I saw a shoe shine stand. You don't see a shoe shine stand anywhere in Singapore. Interesting. I thought to myself, “How many times will you actually be wearing shoes nice enough to get shined when you walk by a shoe shine stand?”

Realistic answer: probably 3 times in my entire life.

So I went up to the stand like I knew what I was doing. Thankfully, the only lingo you need to know to get your shoes shined at a shoe shine stand is, “I like my shoes shined please.” After that, the most you have to worry about is falling off the damn thing as you climb up and then again as you try your best to gracefully climb down. The most interesting part of the experience was how the shiner (for lack of a better word) talked to me. He asked me all sorts of questions. The first one being, “So, are your parents doctors around here?” Huh? What? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that particular question in my life, and its even stranger that it was the first or second question someone I’ve just met asked me.

I told him what they did, which didn’t include being doctors, and he seemed to understand that. Then he asked me if I had graduated or was I still studying to be a lawyer. My brain went, “Huh? What?” again. I wasn’t quite sure why these types of questions were coming up. And then it dawned on me: What type of people wear shoes that are nice enough to get shined every time they walk past a shoe shine stand? That’s right. The upper crust. He thought I was really part of that crowd from up in the corporate boxes, ergo I should be answering these questions in the affirmative.

After this realization, I felt like I had to connect with this guy. I wanted to say, “No, you don’t understand. I’m just like you. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I work full time and have a disproportionate amount of debt! You can’t lump me in with them! Moreover, I'm not Filipino!” But all I could think of was to start talking about the English Premier Leage Soccer. Ah-Ha! That was it! I made the connection! We started bitching about the football and basketball programs and all was well.

He finished up, I carefully made my way off the stand, and then I tipped him well. I could finally quit pretending and get my ass back to the hotel into some shorts and slippers.

That's What I Call A Storm!

2008-04-05T06:37:00.003+08:00

There’s a bastard storm raging outside right now as I write. The power just flickered off for a couple of seconds. If it goes out for the rest of the day I’m going to be so fucked. The boredom and desperation will set in within seconds. I hate nature. Fuck you, bastard storm. I need my computer and internet connection more than the grass needs nourishment. Screw the flowers. I am allergic to pollen. Go rain on some desert full of thirsty, hungry people. I need power and electric lights, not a fucking drink. But nature does not give a fuck about my entertainment. Nature is still angry that we built houses to separate ourselves from it because it was rather unpleasant and no one liked it very much. So every now and then it sends a bolt of lightning into some electrical equipment to remind whole neighborhoods of people that it’s still out there, being unpleasant and making your lives generally inconvenient for a few hours until someone comes and gets the power back on. And that’s just when nature is cranky. When it’s really fucking pissed off it kills a bunch of people that thought they were safe and sound in their comfortable little boxes. And the thing that really sucks is there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

Think life is great? Here, have an earthquake. No? How about a tornado? No, no, hurricane. Typhoon. Tidal wave. Volcano. Now… scurry like the ants you are.

The truth is, nature is a senseless, mass-murdering asshole and it really should be stopped.

I think when I proposed killing all the stray dogs to save human lives I was thinking too small. Dogs are just a tiny part of the natural world’s deadly assault on humanity. They were just the furry distraction keeping me away from the big picture. Even natural disasters which kill thousands of people, they’re just a big boom to keep us distracted. And while we’re watching the fireworks show, nature sneaks in with things like old age, an affliction which kills literally millions of people every year. We need to quit wasting time and billions of dollars trying to fight some War on Drugs. The death toll of that so-called dangerous threat is infinitesimal compared to the death toll of thunder storms. And how about cancer? What’s scarier, a terrorist or colon cancer? We are supposed to be the most intelligent species on the planet, yet instead of pumping billions of dollars into curing cancer or AIDs or old age, we rather spend all our money trying to keep people off Estasy and Grass. If we’re going to spend, let’s spend big. Let’s fucking commit. I like to think as reasoning adults we can all get behind blowing shitloads of money to beat old age and the weather.

I am but a simple futurist.

Life Is So Meaningless Suddenly

2008-04-01T00:04:00.003+08:00

This Monday morning at the regular coffeeshop having breakfast that is always crowded and there are always people standing waiting for seats (not I, I get up early at the start of the morning, I always get a seat, for this I am blessed) an old man walked in and he needed a seat. Someone gave him a seat and he thanked them in a loud strange voice and this afternoon coming back to the same coffeeshop for lunch the coffeeshop that is always crowded (still I always get a seat, I get on early enough) another old man got on and needed a seat. Someone gave him a seat and he thanked them in a voice slightly more strange than the morning old man and I thought ah, it's so circular, this life.

I am so busy squashing things into very few hours that even my thoughts are breathless. Despite the sudden frenzy of my life this new year I am enjoying the hard task of finding room in the world for all the little things I used to have time for. I have risen to the challenge of slotting things in between minutes, slicing time so fine it would melt into translucent slivers on a bed of lettuce if I served it warm. I am tucking things in at night and heaving them skywards every morning and if I pause to sigh or wonder I will topple into my own super-constricted box and slot neatly into a dark spot on a shelf full of other boxes.

I have two more weeks of full time work till travelling to the Philippines starts again. Then I will be back into the old haphazard routine of whimsy and variability. I'll forget the date on occasion, and the hours 9am and 5pm will come to mean a whole lot less. I am ready, so ready for the overseas assignment life again, but until then I am enjoying the novelty of full time employment, sort of.

I exist on a hell of a lot less sleep. I run around the park before the light has properly penetrated the dark. I take leftovers and lychees in a lunch box and cram it into the fridge with a hundred other lunch boxes. Weekends disappear like leg hair into a razor. It is silly. I can pay bills. I can buy cigarettes.

F4 (Now And 20 Years Later)

2008-03-22T21:52:00.001+08:00

From this:-

To this!

Contemplating..

2008-03-18T19:35:00.002+08:00

Sometimes you find yourself standing in the world standing on a map standing in a puddle and you know, you just know, that you're exactly where you are meant to be. Some sublime deity will reach one mighty arm down through the clouds and just hand you a ticket, and you know what you've been standing in that puddle for, standing on that spot on the map, standing somewhere in this enormous fucking world.

I've been feeling like that a lot lately.

I have been crazy, so crazy with the busy and the work and the cut lunches and the endless washing up. I have carved downtime from weekly You-tubings - left great dents in the taiwanese variety section and the gossip section, ogled the many boobs of Edison Chen's women, and in between there has barely been a glimpse at my blog. But there has been a dinner party (2 colleagues, 2 japanese, very yummy Bento), vague dramas and reshifting of attitudes (Yvonne moved back to Brisbane, bringing with her some temporary complications), sporadic romance (oh, there are stories), good deeds (donating an umbrella to a stranger on a rainy day, clearing the park of coke cans and beer cartons during an evening walk with Piggie Lim) and a dog groom (2 sweaty hours later, Toby came out flealess and cute).

And now the probation period at work is finally over and the real stuff has begun. Last week, my first week of Philippines account, I walked from workshop to workshop with a sense of being in the right place, exactly where I was meant to be, clutching tools from invisible deities, feeling the warm weight of fat metal materials at the bottom of my trolley. I will almost miss the dreaded early mornings, because with each successful 8.30am arrival at work I couldn't stop the feeling of quiet pride. There were 9am mornings where I ran around the garden in the semi dark, leaving the house while the 'hookers' out the front were still on duty, feeling absolutely mad for even contemplating such a thing but doing it anyway. Yes, I will miss the challenge, but I've no doubt that next year, equipped with a solid background on Semi-conductor industry, I'll not have ample opportunity to dread early mornings again.

The Days... The Days.. The What?

2008-03-09T12:28:00.002+08:00

I felt like I have lived a thousand years since my last post. I might have to slice this up because so much has happened and all the tension is piling up on me. So much thinking material to process, which is a shame as my brain is only a tiny 64 ram CPU that runs on a 28k modem which barely connects most days.

Last night I nearly wrecked my car. I was driving home for dinner and this dog (I think it's a dog) darted out of the darkness of the road side and into my headlights like a suicide bomber who had forgotten his bomb. I was doing probably sixty miles per hour and it was really touch and go for a few seconds, because, like most people would, I swerved to miss the damn thing and came close to completely losing control of my car. My death flashed before my eyes. It’s not that I cared about killing some dumb animal that was obviously trying to kill me. I just didn’t want to have to drive a wrecked car and be inconvenienced by the whole ordeal of crashing into a moronic beast with four legs and a death wish.

And after it was over I thought to myself, why haven’t we done something about stray dogs? I started wondering how many people weren’t as lucky as I was. I thought about how many folks ended up slamming into a tree or an oncoming car because they didn’t want to hit the pretty animal with a brain the size of a China peanut. And even more importantly, since I drove a car, how many drivers have died because fucking Lessie wanted to cross the road? Our friendly governments pass seat belt laws, child restraint laws, smoking bans, and all these other laws that are supposed to protect us. They act like they’re so concerned about our safety yet they let huge stray beasts roam our roads free and unhindered.

Which one is more dangerous, a drunk driver or a dog that comes out of nowhere on a crowded highway at night? The truth is that animals have killed more people in the last fifty years than terrorist attacks, i think.

And it’s never just one dog. Like the terrorists they are they travel in packs, or cells. They have one goal and that it so kill as many innocent motorists as possible. They sacrifice themselves in droves. It is estimated that about 100-200 people die in Singapore every year in motor vehicle collisions involving dogs. They do billions of dollars in damage. Rest assured that some of those people that die every year are children. Yes, deer are killing your children and yet they roam free while potheads who harm no one get locked up for the common safety.

The hypocrisy is staggering.

There is only one solution to this problem and I think you know what it is.

We must exterminate every stray animals in Singapore. I know that some people will probably see this as inhumane, but animals are not human and they do not care about humanity. So why should we give a shit about them? And I know that some folks will say something like, “But dogs are wonderful and beautiful creatures that God made and I like to look at them. It is wrong of mankind to think they have a right to do something so awful and base as the annihilation of a species.”

But did God give a shit about the dinosaurs? Did God give a flying fuck about the dodo bird? Fuck no. And why should we? Would your life really be improved by a Brontosaurus running out in front of your car on a cold, dark night? No, it would not. We don’t miss things like Saber-toothed tigers and wooly mammoths and we will not miss stary dogs.

And I’m not completely heartless. We can always keep a few dogs alive in homes and zoos. I’m not talking total genocide here. They could live long healthy lives in captivity.

We can have a dog-free tomorrow.

Because the only good dog is a dead dog.

Dumb Fart~

2008-03-02T10:03:00.001+08:00

As shown from the video, Edison is back in Hong Kong, despite the death threats from shady, underground characters. As of this writing, no one cut off his hand, yet. He announced he is quitting showbiz (What's new), only had to fulfill his remaining contracts, which indicate he only had to make more movies and commercials for the next, I don’t know, 70 years?

I guess he sighs a lot these days, stares at emptiness, and laughs at something only he sees. He’s also begun the habit of chasing flying insects and eating them on the spot.

Dumb Fart. Period.

Sex Sells

2008-02-23T04:58:00.000+08:00

So, like, Cheryl tagged me on Friendster (Old Skool i know!) to complete this sex meme. I haven't any choice in the matter! Haha, cheers to the mitigation of responsibility! Onwards!

You're welcome to post it on your blogs.

1. Chocolate or Whipped Cream:
I despise whipped cream and adore chocolate. I have seen special ‘body chocolate’ in sex shops and although it costs more than a bottle of deluxe infused olive oil from an organic market, its main ingredient is invariably sugar, which leads me to think that those who are into this body marinade thing are using cheap crap in pretty bottles and are not really enjoying it at all. I am of the belief that food is a distraction to sex and vice versa.

2. Leather or PVC:
Isn’t the idea to not be wearing anything? If there were fetish type clothes involved I would think two things: firstly, this is funny, I can’t take this woman seriously, where is the camera. Secondly, I can’t tell the difference between leather and PVC.

3. Outdoor Sex or Indoor Sex:
Outdoor! Outdoor! Or any place not home!
Places I can recommend:-
- a grassy park in late afternoon (Hmm.. breezy, but be careful of ants!)
- a moonlit beach, low tide, early a.m., somewhere East Coast. (Contributed by Cheryl)
- a public swimming pool complete with lifeguards (Contribute by Winnie)
- a campsite next to a camp fire (Hot!)
- the platform of a MRT train station (Bring knee pads!)
- a crowded hill at night, non-moonlit, at Mt Faber (Being spied on by thrill seekers!)
- on an overnight bus in Thailand with reclining seats (not outdoors, but semi-public)
- in a public toilet (ditto - most notably a ferry toilet or Melbourne Sofitel, contributed by Alvin)

Ok, so all were contributed by friends, but I must say, I remember all these incidents clearly and with fondness. There is always an electric thrill that comes to hearing people talk about shagging in a place where you are not supposed to. In my experience, simply being forced to be discreet is an automatic recipe for eroticism.

4. In the Jacuzzi or In Bed?
I though they call it sauna in Singapore? Is there a diff? Anyway, Jacuzzis for me! For shame, you who diss the Jacuzzi for floatation or friction reasons. Jacuzzis have walls, and walls are friend of men and men only.

5. Thigh highs or Bodystocking:
What? I am a man for god's sake. If I encountered another man in the above attire he would not be looking for a woman.

On a woman I would not fancy either, I do not see the point.

6. Fast sex or Slow sex:
It all depends on the where, the when, the how, the who, the why. I am divided on this one from the other party's labret scar to her clitoris. My legs and forehead are therefore in No Man’s Land but tend to go along with whatever the rest of me is doing.

7. Rough or Gentle:
Ok, I can be specific here. It still depends, but if I’m shagging you for the first time and we don’t know that much about each other, I’m not looking for a tender exploration of one another’s chakras. Rough to me means unadulterated lust, and zero expectation. If I’m being gentle I care and I’m trying to tell you something and if you’re not listening then next time is gonna be rough.

8. Bite or Suck:
Gross! There is no OR here. There are things to bite and there are things to suck and sometimes each is both and sometimes both are each.

9. Dirty Talking or Dirty Talking To:
No. It is not personally significant and not riddled with cliché’s. I am not quite a fan, and definitely not an enthusiastic participant.

10. Edible panties or No Panties:
I do not know of any women who sport edible panties but if they do, I am definitely not about to devour them off their pussies. I can’t conceive of what edible undies might be made of but for some reason I am thinking of ‘Roll-Ups’ which are like rubber fruit in a sliced cheese format and this is one of the most un-erotic things I can think of, rather like trying to have sex on redskins and marmalade while wearing a wetsuit and flippers. I am not averse to underpants but I do object to having a side serving with my eggs. Nakedness out of context is one of my greatest turn-offs.

11. Spanking paddle or Bare-handed:
Cheryl once told me (wwwwway before Alvin's time of course!) a man spanked her bare naked bottom. she turned to him, incredulous (without being explicit she had hitherto been facing away) and inquired, mid acrobatics, ‘did you just spank me?’ He replied that he had, and that her arse had been too ‘round and firm’ to resist. She laughed and was henceforth enduring the act rather than enjoying it. It became a joke for me. According to Cheryl, It was a bubblegum root. It was exciting at first but quickly lost its flavour.

12. Multiple Sessions or One Good Fuck:
Depends. Who are you and what do you want and how horny you are?

13. Moaning or Screaming:
I think normal girls always progress from a moan to a yell but I wouldn’t call it a scream. To me a yell is a non-urgent expression of some emotion at high volume. A scream indicates emergency.

14. Older (Wo)men or Young (Wo)men:
There is something to be said for each. Older women are more experienced and therefore more aware of the general expectations of the male, but there is definitely something to be said for the unfettered naïve lust of youth. An older woman uncovered a hidden part of my brain. A younger woman released my inner bastard. The trick is to find the child in the woman, or the elder in the girl.

15. Threeway or No Way:
What is No Way? Does this imply a night of solitude, or three people lying chastely in bed wondering what to do? Given the choice between a threesome and a night of solitude or a night in bed with two others feeling awkward I would in both cases find a nice private corner and go to sleep, unless the threesome was particularly attractive, which in one case in my past it was, and then I would go ahead with it, for such nights are memorable and entertaining regardless of how much you don’t remember, or of how much you vomit the next day at the front door of the coffeeshop you’re about to eat breakfast at.

You knoe what? I actually find this meme entertaining (watch 'em squirm!). Guys and Girls, Put them in your blog and try it.. remember to inform me.

TORTURE!

2008-02-15T00:43:00.001+08:00

A young man is wandering, lost, in a forest when he comes upon a small house. He knocks on the door and is greeted by an old Chinese man with a long grey beard. “I’m lost,‘ said the man, “Can you put me up for the night?”

‘Certainly’, the Chinese man said, “but one condition. If you so much as lay a finger on my daughter I will inflict upon you the three worst Chinese tortures known to man.’

‘OK,’ said the man, thinking that the daughter must be pretty old as well, and entered the house.

Over dinner the daughter came down the stairs. She was young, beautiful and had a fantastic body. She was obviously attracted to the young man as well, as she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him during the meal. Remembering the old man’s warning he ignored her and went up to bed alone.

During the night he could bear it no longer and snuck into her room for a night of passion. Near dawn, he quietly crept back to his room so the old man wouldn’t hear, exhausted but happy.

He woke to feel a pressure on his chest. Opening his eyes he saw a large rock on his chest with a note on it that read:

‘Chinese Torture 1: Large rock on chest.’

‘Well, that’s easy,’ he thought. ‘If that’s the best the old man can do then I don’t have much to worry about.’ He picked the boulder up, walked over to the window and threw it out. As he did so, he noticed another note on it that read:

‘Chinese Torture 2: Rock tied to left testicle.’

In a panic he glanced down and saw the rope that was already getting close to taut. Figuring that a few broken bones is better than castration he jumped out of the window after the boulder. As he plummeted toward the ground he saw a large sign on the ground that read:

‘Chinese Torture 3: Right testicle tied to bed post.’

Driving Over The Limit

2008-02-08T23:34:00.000+08:00

Late last night, eager for bed, I drove over the speed limit. My reasoning was, I'm tired, it's late, why the hell am I watching the speedo on dark deserted Lentor Avenue? There are no speed cameras here. Cop cars do not sit on lonely meighbourhood roads clocking the hourly car that cruises by.

So I put my foot down. I went ten k's over the limit.

That's me, little miss 80 in a 70 zone. I am so dangerous.

Seriously, I pride myself on my driving. I am an excellent driver and if I do ever speed it is completely accidental and I ease off the velocity with a meek little 'oops.' I let people in, I always wave 'thank you', I am the apotheosis of road gentility and grace. These are very virgo ways of being but I am this way and it is so.

The only accident I have ever been in was someone else's fault. She bumped my bottom, and we cordially exchanged details. Granted, I do not own a big car thus have less opportunity for accidents than bigger car owners. My greatest driving achievement was that giant fuckoff Maoi that I drove from Singapore to KL, alone, having never driven anything larger than a 125CC motorbike. Actually that is not true, I once driven a small truck for moving purposes. That was fucking scary but nothing compared to a 1600CC 1998 Corrolla along North South Highway in peak hour. That was fucking ridiculous.

I have probably jinxed myself now. I am prattling on, waiting for my laundry to finish so that I can hang it out and cop some noodles already. I'm bloody hungry.

Oh ya by the way peeps, Happy belated Chinese Lunar New Year! Don't drive fast! If you do, make sure there's no one watching you! Keke! Cheers!

2 Many 2 Count - ERP Drift (Courtesy of Mr Brown)

2008-02-06T13:08:00.000+08:00

http://www.mrbrownshow.com/2008/02/04/the-mrbrown-show-2-many-2-count-erp-drift/

I wonder if you know,
How they live in Ang Mo Kio
Go to city many gantry
Can’t afford your speed too low
Fast and furious! (Kena!) (beep! beep! beep!)
Slow is dangerous (Aiyah!) (beep! beep! beep!)

I wonder if you know,
How they live in Toa Payoh
Please lah tolong, only Lorong
Not Expressway also tio!
Fast and furious! (Kena!) (beep! beep! beep!)
Spread like virius! (Aiyah!) (beep! beep! beep!)

Many many taxes danglin
ERP now is randomin
Keep your speed ‘bove 45
Or everybody Cashcard won’t survive!
Suka suka ERP on
Happy happy gantry can born
16 new ways to gope your lui
See already want to pui!

Gahmen say take MRT
Cos car is only luxury
Build the road for Fellari
Normal car will up lorry
Ji Pa Ban (uh!), Ichiban (uh)
No million dollars you Lan Lan
CTE is the place to be
Singapore road for VIP

I wonder if you know,
How they live in Ang Mo Kio
Reach work early, at 5.30
Spend three hours drink teh-o
Can’t be seraious! (wah lau!) (beep! beep! beep!)
Live like vampires (ouch!) (beep! beep! beep!)

I wonder if you know,
Where the gantry never grow
Where the lorry Never worry
Travel freely where you go
Pulau Bukom! (Don’t have!) (beep! beep! beep!)
Pulau Tekong (Huat ah!) (beep! beep! beep!)

Wait, I haven't Been Posting In A While You Say?

2008-01-28T22:24:00.000+08:00

I keep checking back on the blog to see if I’ve made any new posts, and for some reason I’ve been remiss in my duties for weeks now. I’m not sure what posts I thought I might write while I wasn’t writing any, but it sure was disappointing to come back to old posts week after week.

I was gone so long, I even missed Meiyan's question about SQ offering free food on board. Haha! How tragic is that? Hell I was even late to chime in on Alvin's question about how often the “normal” person jacks it. You may be asking yourself, “What’s going on in dear ol' Alan's head that he doesn’t post in weeks and misses visiting his favorite blogs altogether?” You can basically chalk it up to my busy tight schedule at work, except that I wasn’t really "at work". So I guess I’m getting some genetic by-product of guilt that manifests itself through my inability to come up with funny and original content week after week.

Hogwash? You bet. But that doesn’t mean I’m not really overcome with guilt every time I think about writing a post but never get around to it. The biggest problem is that writing posts has become synonymous with “work”, at least in my head. And that’s no good because the whole reason I started writing Chronicles of Destiny II was for a creative outlet I could use as I saw fit. Now I get to looking at how often I post and how many comments each post gets, let alone how funny or interesting I thought it was.

All that is ass-backwards for writing a blog. So here’s my promise to the few regular readers I may have left:

I will get back to my blogging roots.
I will quit trying to write dissertations on topics I deem funny when a paragraph would have gotten my point across.
I will quit worrying about how many people visit the blog daily.
I will quit thinking that someday I may be fortunate enough to direct an installment of the porn series “Anal Debutantes”.
I will post more than twice a month.
I will continue to keep my penis cleanus the meanus. (At least I think that’s how Alvin put it)

Also, if anyone has figured out a fool-proof way to blog from work, I would like to hear about it. I would really like to avoid any letters of demerit going into my permanent file for writing about penises and jackings on the job.

Happy Bird-Day Alvin!

2008-01-22T23:56:00.000+08:00

I'm back peeps, still very much alive, to the disappointment of you guys! Ha!

Oh Ya, Alvin turned 29 today. It is important, and Cheryl always post a reminder to me, that he is very wise and has excellent taste in bedding. I learned an important bedding lesson last year when I purchased my very first set of sheets. (All other sheets have been handed down from Mother. Thinking about this now, it seems insane that at age 30 I have never before purchased sheets.) The sheets I purchased seemed alarmingly cheap. A little over $20 for a queen size fitted sheet, top sheet, and 2 pillow cases. But I was, and still am, in desperate need of new sheets, so I bought them, and was a bit excited.

Celia bought me new sheets last week. Well they were attractive enough - light brown (Or some of you guys might call it SHIT brown). They fit. So far so good. But when I got into bed last weekend, I wondered if I suddenly gone blind then accidentally fallen into another dimension in which I am crawling into a hessian bag. There are so few threads in my thread count that the thread-counters stopped at three, bored.

Sis: "There's one."
Me: "Where?"
Sis: "There. See?"
Me: "Oh yes, I see it. Mark it down."
Sis: "Ok. One..."
Me: "Two. That's definitely another one."
Sis: "Two threads."
Me: (pause)..."Three."

etc.

Not only is my thread count negligible, but the material itself is half polyester. When I read the tag I heard a few alarm bells (since I would never wear, for example, half polyester socks. I only wear cotton socks) but, being desperate for bedding and desperately poor, I ignored it.

So now I sleep upon scratchy sheets while Alvin in his 29 year old wisdom luxuriates in 1000 thread count Egyptian something or other, whatever that means, but it sounds good. He says they are 'pistachio', which adds to my impression that Alvin's sheets are creamy and edible. Lucky Cheryl!

Oh Alvin, I am even more easily distracted than you and have not done a very good job at happy birthdaying you. Holy sheet. Here's hoping that your socks are as sublime as your bed. Only you can turn a happy birthday wish into a treatise on bedding.

Back Again

2008-01-14T23:53:00.000+08:00

From thousands of feet in the air the ocean moves in slow motion. White tufts of waves take hours to move a few centimetres. .Philippine Airlines gives you a hot meal and a drink as part of your air fare - Other airlines that flies to Philippines does not give you anything for free, but at least you can have cheese and crackers and wine if you wish to buy them. The most exciting part of every flight is usually this cheese and crackers and wine combo, but not this time, however I was thankful for my fig and pecan cookie, it was tasty. On the way out I grabbed an uneaten one from a stranger's empty seat. The man behind me gave me a funny look. I must have looked desperate. The stolen cookie is still uneaten.

Ah Yes, I am back to the wonderful city of Manila. This will be of great interest to those of you who stalk me via this blog, tracing my every movement - all two of you. You know who you are.

I returned to an all so familiar city. Some old hotel colleagues, as i was told, was off somewhere doing fabulous things, one was my age and he does things exactly the way I do things and we hang out and drink and dinner and I could not have chosen a better person to share a two person cubicle with. Never again will I get all experimental and choose a 29 year old filipino, gay or not. He was utterly clueless, weird, and straight up young. He needed a mother and if at the age of thirty I have not yet felt ready to have a none-year-old I am certainly not ready to father a mini-man. Good riddance to the smell of cheap gay cologne and to stupidness.

Something wonderful is happening for the next 6 months or so, something sublime and pure, and I will not reduce it to words on a blog. Instead I will tie it to a long string and wave it about in the wind so that it dances free and light but never leaves my grasp. I will sleep with it under my pillow and breathe its good dreams. I will stitch it to a secret fold in my pocket and furtively fondle it in public. It is mine. Maybe, just maybe, i might decide to write it all out once I'm back..

This is the year of writing things down. This is the year of planning ahead, of not getting lost, of breathing in surprises. The world is splitting like the most fragrant of fruits, it is raining sweet pulp and I am catching it with open throat. I feel the opposite of scared and helpless and small. I feel the opposite of dull.

Actually my other motivation is to really enjoy my time here in Manila. Too many times I have thought about doing some sight seeing but have been put off by the idea of hiring a transport. This is easily done but it is not inspiring to clear one's mind and energise one's body amongst precarious thinking. The next step, when money allows, is a beautiful surprise for my baby Celia. Before I sound any more like a self help book I will be silent.

Excuse Me

2008-01-03T23:19:00.000+08:00

Ah, point form. You have never failed the inebriated, the attention-deficient, or the lazy.

I have had a barcadi light this morning and feel drunker than at New Year's Eve after 3 glasses of beer. Why is this so?
I despise Facebook with such a passion that I'm thinking of exiting its sinister hold completely.
It has become uncommonly chilly this evening. This country's 8pm has rendered necessary the wearing of a long sleeve Tee.
I have lost the ability to eat a meal. I feel hungry but the leftover salad and dinner on the plate is unappealing and has turned cold. Instead I crave canapes. I wish to graze, not feast.
Cheryl learned at least two lessons tonight thru our tele-conversation: that she is not the spaz, and that age does not matter.
Despite a relationship rule about no presents, I somehow ended up with a business belt, shaver, taka voucher, plus other nick nacks.
When I concentrate my lower jaw sticks out.
Cheryl, can you kindly refrained from brushing your teeth over the phone?
Two nights ago on Extreme Makeover over Channel 5, they used the word 'replete' instead of 'complete' and I was horrified, since they mean totally different things. I wondered if they had an editor, and if so they should be replaced.
Piggie's birthday's chocolate cake was moist and perfect as were other chocolatey items of chewy goodness and screw you chocolate intolerance.
I love my mum, and of course, Piggie.

Cultural Shock

2007-12-28T13:22:00.000+08:00

Some of my new colleagues are idiots.

One of the colleagues of mine showed up for lunch yesterday was a guy that tried to grab my cigarette out of my mouth before I could light it. I know he was just trying to save me from destroying myself with lung cancer because he can’t imagine a world without my brilliant missives, but when I’m sitting at the coffeeshop drinking coke with some friends and some weird technician boy tries to grab my cigarette out of mouth, my gut reaction is to put the cigarette out in his eyeball and beat him into a coma.

As fate or luck would have it, I just had a coke spilled (and by spilled I mean I knocked it over) in my lap just seconds before this crazed colleague of mine made his grab for the cigarette. You really don’t want to stand up and put a cigarette out in someone’s eyeball when you have a crotch full of coke. The last thing you want to do with a wet crotch in a packed coffeeshop is go, “Hey, look at me beating this guy to death and, oh, I just pissed all over myself. Yeah, I’m that idiotic.”

So this moron got to live. I gave him a look that made him realize coming anywhere close to me when you don’t know me very well is a very bad idea. I am not a hippy. When I don’t have a drink spilled all over me I will beat you up and take all your cash and credit cards and the car mommy and daddy bought you.

Go the fuck away before I kill you and your whole family.

Yeah, he got all that from my one look and I never saw him again the rest of the day.

I hope he’s reading this and knows that he was just seconds away from death. COme to think of it, I should have at least punched him in the face.

Alone Time

2007-12-20T10:29:00.000+08:00

I’ve slowly come to the realization over the years that I’m the type of person that needs quite a bit of ‘alone time’ to stay sane. I guess technically this means I’m an ‘introvert’, but I’m certainly not a loner. I’ve read about it in articles and on the web, and the real differences between introverts and extroverts is that the latter feel energized by being around people all the time and are in their element while in a crowd, while the former doesn’t necessarily dislike people, they do feel drained and exhausted after being around groups of people. I am definitely the former. I’m sure most people associate introverts with loners and people with no social skills, but I assuredly don’t fit that stereotype. Luckily, my girlfriend is learning this about me and starting to understand a bit. She’s definitely an extrovert and can talk to anyone. It’s probably taken some getting used to it for her, but at least she’s understanding that I don’t necessarily like to hang out with people 4 or 5 nights a week.

I would go ahead and venture that I do feel more energized by thoughts and ideas, as opposed to what is going on around me with people and things. Yet, it’s such a fuzzy line with every topic in psychology, as no ‘text-book answer’ is going to encompass someone’s entire personality. For example, here are a few more traits of introvert personality types:

are interested in their own thoughts and feelings
need to have own territory
often appear reserved, quiet and thoughtful
usually do not have many friends
have difficulties in making new contacts
like concentration and quiet
do not like unexpected visits and therefore do not make them
work well alone

For #1, yes, I am interested in my own thoughts and feelings. Am I selfish, probably, but those things are really all I’m selfish about.

For #2, definitely. I don’t need much, but I absolutely must have my own space.

For #3, yes. I never really talk to people unless I know what type of person they are first, which means I’m basically quiet until I get to know someone. But it’s rarely the case around the people I’m closest to. They get to hear all my stupid jokes and impressions and rants about how to remove crap from a soiled underwear.

For #4, not true. I have a decent amount of friends, although probably not as many as someone who is truly outgoing. But that’s just fine with me. I’m pretty picky about who I can stand to spend much time around, so those that have stayed my friends over the years have earned it.

For #5, if this is referring to cold-calling potential sales contacts, then yes, I do have trouble. But as far as talking to new people, I’m just fine. I may not introduce myself to everyone in a room, but I can have a conversation with just about anyone.

For #6, yes. Unless I’m drunk. Then its time to party and shake dat ass.

For #7, never really thought about this, but it applies. I don’t really like people that just drop by completely unannounced, but I don’t really have the same issue with doing the same to my single friends.

For #8, yes, yes, and YES. I probably do my best work alone. But its usually because I hate to be slowed down by people I need to rely on in a certain task. Yet, I’m also a great team player, and don’t have a problem taking charge.

It seems most people don’t understand how you don’t want to be around other people every minute of every day. “You watched a movie all by yourself?!?” Yeah, and it was great. I actually got to enjoy the movie instead of hearing about someone else’s version of a movie commentary. What it really comes down to is that I have a very low tolerance for any bullshit. I don’t like conversations with a bunch of fluff, and I don’t like spending time answering boring questions. That’s why I like spending time with close friends and family, and that’s about it, because those types of conversations and questions are few and far between. Crowds can be fine every once in a while, and alcohol definitely helps, but for the most part I gotta have my alone time or I’ll fucking kill somebody.

One Down, Many Many More To Go...

2007-12-10T23:17:00.000+08:00

Time flies without us knowing. One day you are in Polytechnic - youthful, vibrant, innocent and unadulterated - the next thing you know, you are not as pure as you thought you were. The world has bruised you, flipped you over, turned your world upside down and changed you into a completely different person.

At 30, what have I accomplished? Is there more to me than what meets the eye? Am I ready to traverse deeper into the dark abyss called life? Am I emotionally mature?

Honestly, I do not know. But when news of my friends marriage reaches me, I can't help but ponder on things. Why so soon? Why them? Married life has taken its toll on my former classmates, close friends and even neighbours. Last check showed four about to have and having kids already, two more planning, and almost all of the others in a serious and committed relationship.

Last Wednesday, someone very dear to me - one of my close "buddy" in fact - is going to get married. She, quite impulsively, has succumbed to whirlwind of romance and resorts to get married.

Hopefully this is the right move, and she isn’t just jumping the gun for sentimental or emotional reasons. I mean, it may have been what she always wanted, which is great and all, but Tracy should also remember that this is the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with. Treat her right, Robin!

Oh ya, by the way, congratulations Robin and Tracy! :)

Every Now and Then

2007-12-09T12:34:00.000+08:00

I am sitting at my new desk (not exactly new - it was my neighbour's rubbish so I got it as a freebie, which is exactly how much I could afford) looking out my window at the end of Sunday (read: BORING). Bibi, my sister's friends' pet puppy, on his perch at the top of my laundry basket, is doing likewise. I am honoured to be protected by a pup of such steely authority. (as if!)

The sky is still brilliant blue, though my house and most of my front street is cast in shadow. I will say this about Singapore weather - when they dish out the good stuff, it is perfectly timed. Of late, the few good days we have been granted have fallen on weekends, just like today, on a Sunday.

I'm not surprised that the streets were packed on a boring weekend. Inspired by my reticence to stay indoors and do housework, I took it down to the coffeeshop, where the lower row of shops was a proliferation of Manchester-esque EPL games, rojaks, Western food and lashings of booze. I sat with my editing pen and soaked up the atmos.

For fascinators and soccer attire, one would be better off heading to the city where no doubt hundreds of so-clad ladies and gentlemen are now moneyless, and couldn't care less. I imagine pubs clogged with drunk shazzas and belching blokes, the occasional mascara-and-tear streaked face (it is law that en-masse drinking invariably brings about break-ups in proportion to the number of drunk couples, I would estimate it at about 5 percent). I am not sorry to have missed it.

Ah, I spoke too soon. It seems there is a drunken chinese couple row happening right outside my window at this very moment. It's as if they are putting on a private show for me. They are about one meter away from my gate, so involved that they've failed to notice me here at my desk. Am hoping for fireworks.

I will not be surprised if tomorrow is freezing and raining. But I am glad that this warm (though a little windy) day landed today.

The argument sort of just petered out. How disappointing.

Channelling Saint Benevolence

2007-12-05T14:15:00.000+08:00

I wish to be more altruistic. I wish to shine like the holy beacon of benevolence, radiate beatific goodwill, glide beneath a perpetual halo. Perhaps having jettisoned the Taoist god or something at age ten when I refused to take acknowledge the name of a saint in confirmation, I am now seeking a higher purpose, the gap that religion left behind. Organised religion is not for me, of that I am sure. But I have been craving something lately, something larger than I am, if only to shake me out of this infinite self-indulgence.

I am reading a book. I am very nearly at the end. It is my next book club book and it is the kind that just might change my life. It is the new offering from the stellar gift to modern literature that is Sir Dave Eggers, and it's called What is the What.

I will write about it when I am done.

Reading this book has been good for me. I am sick of my petty complaints. Part of me wants to face real suffering, the wretched devastation of true helplessness, just to properly appreciate what I have.

This is where literature becomes a living, breathing creature. I can start by thanking circumstance that I am able to read.

I'm Bored!

2007-11-30T21:40:00.000+08:00

Terribly sorry. Have become ever so boring. Have become blocked at the throat and now am just a neck, no head. Not much in the way of inspiring thoughts for a neck. Wonder if brain could live in other parts of body if transplanted, like stomach. Need a fair amount of rewiring. No cheap mechanic could pull that off. Of course, would then be blind and mute and deaf unless superb surgeon could also fashion eyes and mouth and ears from bits of abdomen but then would be social outcast and brain would be hindrance rather than benefit.

Terribly sorry. I am stilted. Have all the artistic merit of fifteen bales of unmarked cardboard (sentiment stolen and paraphrased, do not credit me with it). Hope nobody comes running with a 10 cents and a cup hoping for juice, my creative juice is not flowing and they would depart thirsty and disappointed. Would be good plan for making extra coins - dispensing creative juices. If I knew such a dispenser would most certainly run to them now with empty jug and hot fist full of sweaty shrapnel.

Awfully sorry.I am numb. Hope no mallet-brandishing doctor comes to knock upon my knees, she or he would find no reflexes, just sodden rubbery limbs dangling foolishly like dead fish. Hope Sensodyne don't recruit me for ad campaign as ice cream headache at this point would be welcome respite from numbness. Like liquid gets into this chalk.

Apologies, sincere apologies. I am nothing. Thought was something - in fact wait, look! No, gone again, nothing. No blackness no terrified horse drowing in the bog no Atreyu, just a terrible... nothing. Went off with basket, skipped through long grass in year end celebration shirt all set to collect something, but four winds blew basket to unwoven smithereens and devil tripped world up from under feet, now naked and basketless and not even here, in fact who is speaking?

Not me. Sorry.

Why We Fart?

2007-11-24T12:29:00.000+08:00

What makes us fart? Turns out it’s all the good stuff you want to eat. According to LiveScience, the biggest gas-inducing food ingredients are sugars. Too bad sugar is in everything. Is there no escaping the gas?

“The answer may stink, but eating or drinking anything gives us gas. In fact, it’s normal to fart up to half of a gallon (1.9 litres), or about 15 to 20 toots worth of gas, each day.”

Now fart is measured in litres and "toots"! 15 to 20 "toots" worth of gas each day? How much gas, exactly, makes up your average “toot”? Are we talking “five-second cushion burner”, “long slow quiet release”, or more along the lines of “short frog croak”? Seems to me, all those toots are comprised of quite different volumes of gas.

Well if you are like me, and I sincerely hope you’re not, then you might be the kind of person who squeezes out 15-20 “five-second cushion burners” per day. Which means I need to Febreeze my office seat cushion about once a week.

According to the article, our "ass gas" is produced by intestinal bacteria that do the following:

“In the process of converting our meals into useful nutrients, these food-munching microbes produce a smelly by-product of hydrogen sulfide gas—the same stench that emanates from rotten eggs.”

Riiigggghhhtt... But that doesn’t explain why my durian puff farts actually smell like durian puff.

And i guess the only food that doesn’t give you gas: Rice. Which is great for the Asian countries like Vietnam, Thailand and of course China, as long as they would stop producing children’s toys with lead in it and killing our animals with poison pet food.

Cats Are Evil

2007-11-18T12:24:00.001+08:00

It's no secret I think cats are demons. They are downright evil. Yes, not as in Dr. Evil in Austin Power kind of EVIL, it's more like Freddy Krueger kind of EVIL. The canine vs. feline debate is as devisive as Elvis vs. The Beatles or carnivores vs. vegetarians. Cats are aloof, presumptuous, and indignant. Cats have multiple owners. They are wild creatures of the night, of alleyways and garbage bins. Their fur is allergenic. They prance upon you with their claws flexed. They terrorise the wildlife.

Sebastian called me up last night. If yu guys have been following my post over the last few months, Toby (Remember hm? haha) had been in his care for the past few months. i was told, for the past few days at the back of the farm where Toby is currently residing, there have been feathers and a bloodied wing, the remnants of one of the cats' kills. Toby tentatively sniffs it every day. I am thankful he does not take it in his mouth and frolic with it in the way he does with other edible finds.

Seb told me, just last Tuesday morning he was snuffling around near the poor un-bird, but a little distance away, and I thought he found his poo spot for the day. But when Seb neared he saw grey fluff which on closer inspection became the remains of a rat, far more confronting than the wing of the bird since it was privileged enough to still have some of its head, which had been torn away from its neck but for a fine strand of sinew. I am not sure why the cats spared the head. The tail was gone and the underside had been ripped usunder - it was mostly just the shell of a rat, really. How did I visualised so clearly you might ask. I had pictures!

But the worst part, the part Toby had been sniffing, were the entrails. Oh yes. I have never seen the innards of a rat before. This is mostly owing to never having wanted to. But thank you cats for Tuesday morning's education. Seb and I have been blessed with the vision of a dark grey spiral - death-coloured tubes of rat matter, still assembled in the manner in which they once functioned inside their living host. Beside them, a fat pink prawn, the purpose of which I can only guess might have been reproductive since it varied so much in colour from its digestive counterpart. Next to that, a white blob. Seb did not stop long enough to surmise its retrenched position.

We were thankful again, and a little perplexed, as to why Toby bestowed upon this fresh meat a mere cursory sniff. It seems that organs fresh out of the creature would elicit his elegant 'meal corrobboree' in which he excitedly bounds around the food thing for a few laps, bouncing into the air then falling to the ground to roll upon it, after which he tosses the thing to the sky a few times, all the while his pom-pom of triumph wagging wildly. Or if it is a Thing Of Dire Importance he will skip the corrobboree and become immediately territorial of the thing, and woe betide anyone who tries to extract it from his determined jaw. None of this occurred. He trotted off to his secret poo area and no more talk was had.

Why? He loves raw meat. Seb frequently provide him with uncooked necks of chickens: a foul (no pun) grey-pink, slimy affair if you ask me, but he num-nums it with the gusto of a bulimic on a binge (sorry, that was uncalled for). So why not rat stomach and womb? Would he eat the stomach and/or womb of a freshly murdered chicken?

These questions and more I hope to never gratify with an answer.

KFC: Kentucky Fried Cruelty

2007-11-16T00:18:00.000+08:00

I just made my Zinger "tasteless"!

Get Over It

2007-11-14T20:42:00.000+08:00

Whenever tragedy strikes in my life, I’ve always told myself, “Get over it.”

One doesn’t get through life without some very bad times. But I’ve always coped. I’ve told myself, “Get over it.” That’s because there’s only one way I can live - happily. My mission in life is the pursuit of happiness. I do that largely with attitude. Doesn’t ever do much good to feel sorry for one's self. So I find ways to make the best of situations in the worst of times. When people need consoling, I inevitably advise them, “Get over it.” Like some of the old folks I met when my late grandmother was still struggling to hold on to her life at TTSH. What I heard was almost all of them are down with some incurable illnesses. They aren’t quite ready to get over it. They would rather hold pity parties. I prefer happy parties, not a bunch of folks sitting around lamenting woe is me. It’s like after the death of dear ones or a true love. I’m more likely to reminisce about the happy times we had together. That sure beats mourning. I’m ready to celebrate his/her ascension to the spirit world. Yes, I believe in an afterlife. I have no proof that we survive our Earthly demise. But I instinctively want to believe it. So, yes, I do believe. It’s that simple. Just like my belief in religions. I can’t prove god’s existence. But hey, that doesn’t stop me from believing. Because I have to. I can’t accept the world and life any other way. I believe in a god of love…and happiness.

In Loving Memory....

2007-11-10T02:11:00.000+08:00

My maternal grandmother was 83 years old when she passed away peacefully at 10:30 last night. As my mom puts it, "She fell asleep forever." She fell asleep in her bed at TTSH, the place where she had lived for the past 3 months, surrounded by her loved ones.

She had been very ill for some time and while it sounds very cliché, it's probably truest to say that she died of a broken heart. Her health started to decline after my grandfather passed away in 2001. After that, even though family that lived nearby came to visit him often, the apartment where they had lived for many years was just not the same anymore. The days were not the same anymore.

And so she passed away, quietly. The day before, she got to meet her youngest great-granddaughter, Claire, for the first time. She's just a couple of months old. And I guess she decided that now was as good a time as any.

The wake still goes on till Monday. Many thanks goes out to friends and colleagues who came. Words cannot alone express how terrible I felt. My grandma have been, indeed, a wonderful friend and a fabulous grandma. In loving memories she forever will be.....

Ghost Caught On Tape

2007-11-04T01:38:00.000+08:00

Obviously this ghost has hit the news headline. It seems like a female with long hair lurking around scaring the wits out of everybody.

I always wonder why there are altars place in strategic location of carparks in Singapore. Carparks are known to be a good haunting place for ghost as it is usually quiet, isolated and spacious. Perhaps these altars serve as a reminder to us that we are not alone....

The Blogging Quandary

2007-10-31T20:59:00.000+08:00

Cheryl was telling me the other day about how blogging is a fucked up hobby, and it got me to think. How much do I really want to say? Well, that’s kind of a moot point because I’ve already said more than enough on a couple of occasions. Here’s what Cheryl said that got me a pondering:

If you’re going to be completely honest on your website, odds are you don’t want your boss/parents/friends to read it. Too bad you mentioned your blog to your closest friends and your boyfriend/girlfriend. Because maybe they happened to mention it to a mutual friend after they read something particularly funny/revealing. Soon your coworkers are reading it (Lena I know you are!) and your Mum stops by from time to time.

Turns out I’m guilty of all of the above. While I was smart enough to refrain from using my real god-given moniker, I was a little less conservative with who I mentioned the blog to. See, I started this here cesspool of commentary and humour so I could vent and write about whatever I wanted to without worrying about who was reading it. That was all fine and dandy when I was writing about everything from daily lives and frustrations. But when you get into the naughty stuff like boobs, the forbidden fruit, and pushup bras, you’ve got to wonder how much is too much? And who will be reading my shit?

How much do you really want your friends and family to know about you? You can’t help but think about how your girlfriend might get upset because you write so much about ex-girllfriends, latest flings and porn. It’s hard not to wonder how many people you know actually read the blog, and who among those people would be offended if they read something they figured out was about them.

What I’m trying to say is that once you open up that Pandora’s Box of people in your personal life reading your blog, you can’t ever shut it. And once its open, your stuck censoring yourself. Well either that or you let everyone know what a depraved perverted asshole you really are. Which wouldn’t be unbearable, but you have to weigh in on your professional life also. Once your friends and family know about your raunchy excuse for a weblog, its only a matter of time before your coworkers find out about it. If that happens, how do you explain to your boss that it wasn’t you who took a picture of the nasty ass booger he may or may not have flicked on the wall and then posted a close up of it on your profanity-laden internet website? Deny, deny, deny is what I say. That is of course, until your boss gets the IT department to run a report on your internet usage for the past six months and 76% of your page-views involve the domain “alansucks.blogspot.com”. Then you just say there’s this new blogging computer virus going around where porn webmasters from Europe can take over your work laptop and write a whole blog from it. Day after day. Ridiculous post after ridiculous post.

To those of you thinking about telling Mr Tan in the next cubicle or your sister Mary about your blog so you can increase your page-views by 9 or so a week, the bottom line is this: Don’t blog where you poo. Or more appropriately don’t defecate where you blog. Comprende? Good. Now I’m gonna go see if I can’t get this Eastern European blogging virus off my work laptop.

Content then happiness?

2007-10-28T21:56:00.000+08:00

I was trying to configure my blog layout this morning, and I am thinking of removing much of the links section on the side(save for the "This week's Titillating Blather" section and the "Previous Perversions" section). Anyway, that would most likely not happen so soon, as I haven't been reading other's people blog for some time already, but yes, I am sure that once I have the time to sit down in front of my computer, that would happen...

I stumbled onto this sentence, believe it a not, on a toilet cubicle door, a few days back, and I thought it was quite interesting. Just wanted to share it with you guys:

We can never be truly happy, but we can be content with what we have now.

How very true, the one things that everyone pursues in life is happiness. Although we do not directly pursue happiness for the sake of happiness as that is not possible, but we do pursue things in life because it provides us with happiness. Its sort of like, if you want to live happily with lots of money, then you'll be pursuing money since it will provide you with the happiness you need. It's the same if you like video games, you'll then pursue video games to give you happiness.

But I do not agree that we can never be truly happy, as stated in the quote. I feel that it is possible for us to be perfectly happy, and the reason for that is that we are contented with what we have now, and not the other way around, which is we can never be totally happy, but we can be contented with what we have.

Look at it this way, if you are contented with your life already, then what would make you unhappy then? You are already at the apex of your happiness and that's what make you perfectly and truly happy since you do not aim for anything greater then that already. Being contented with what you have is a recipe to be happy, and it isn't a sort of comforting thought that since you are not really happy, but at least you are contented.

Being happy is one of the greatest things in the world. As mentioned, happiness is the immaterial object that people all over the world are trying to obtain through whatever means possible. Many historical events can be said to have its root in happiness. It is because of the need of happiness in their life that poor people work so hard to get out of the poverty cycle, it is because of the need to lead happy life that many people take up arms to fight for a greater future.

The pursuit of happiness is a universal one, but I just wanted to put a point across and that is it is because you are contented with your life and that's why you are happy. Of course, there are many ways to look at happiness and I believe there is such a thing as perfect happiness that is not induced by drugs... even if its for a short period of time...

Are you contented with your life?

If They Had The Simpsons, They Wouldn't Watch Power Rangers

2007-10-22T12:28:00.000+08:00

Have you ever sat down and watched a full episode of Power Rangers? Did you puke, or go into an epileptic seizure? I watched the second half of an episode yesterday over Kids Central Channel because I was having my vacation and it was the only show on all the free to air stations that came in. Don’t judge me.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but when I first found out about Power Rangers, there were only five of those jackasses. If that’s the case, how come I saw twenty of those scrotum-cheese goobers running around on the screen? How can there be that many now? Do kids with crappy Lycra costumes and lolly-pop helmets multiply that fast?

An what the hell is up with the plot? Or lack of one? From the part of the show I saw, I figured out there was a Power Ranger base where injured Power Rangers go have sex and recuperate. That’s also the same place they manufacture their robots that transform from sultry sex-pots into giant foam weapons spray-painted to look like Voltron.

The next part of the episode I was able to decipher was that all the Power Ranger enemies are required to be made of special effects foam. That and they either have space-age blue buck teeth or a spinning Christmas light head like the robot from Lost in Space that said “Danger, Danger Will Robinson!”

It also looks like the special effects team wanted to leave their mark in each shot because what looked like a battle taking place in a crater on some far off world was also a dumping ground for 1992 Nissans and 1988 Toyota Corollas. I shit you not, every big special effects explosion had at least one early model vehicle parked in the background, and they had nothing to do with the crappy plot.

I’ll be damned if I ever let my kids in the future watch this nonsense. I’m not sure what shows I’ll let them watch while they raise themselves in front of the television, but I do know this one won’t be one of them.

I'll Tell You Why Is It Good To Smoke

2007-10-18T22:11:00.000+08:00

First of all, I smoke, and that makes me a smoker (obviously!). But seriously, I hate the smell, I hate the smell it leaves on people’s breath, and I hate how it makes your hair and clothes stink if you go out. But, and this is a big but, there are several reasons why one should smoke and I’m going to lay out the top ten for you:

1) Smoking looks cool. For some reason bad ass people look even badder when they have a cigarette in their hand. James Dean smoked, in films at least, Guns N' Roses smoked, even Andy Lau smokes on screen from time to time. You have to give credit where credit is due, and that credit goes to cool people who smoke. I knew at a young I age that I would never be that cool, and thus smoking somehow will help my image. Thank you self esteem!

2) Smoking gives you an excuse to do something with your hands. Everyone knows playing with stuff in your fingers is exciting. So why not do it while smoking? Playing Jacks? Nope, that’s way too 40’s and 50’s for this modern guy.

3) Smoking opens up a whole new social scene. Ever been out with your friends to a pub or club that didn’t allow smoking? Did you notice how all the cool people would always make regular trips to step outside and puff on a cigarillo? What do you think these cool kids talk about? Why, everything cool that you never get to partake in, of course!

4) Smoking gives you an excuse to take a 10 minute break every half hour. I can’t tell you how proud I am to be one of the smokers that get to go outside and talk about cool stuff for 20 minutes out of every hour. This is probably the most compelling reason why you should smoke. Stick it to the man! Tell him you have to smoke or you’re going to go ape shit in the work place, he’ll understand.

5) Smoking gives you an inside track on speaking inventory jargon with the cashier behind the counter. It’s amazing to me the copius varieties of cigarettes one can buy at the neighborhood petrol station or convenience store. I ever hear one person tell the cashier that they need “two hard packs of Camel Turkish Menthol Virginal Slim 100’s and one hard pack of Marlboro Cowboy Killer Medium Extreme Lights” Now endure this!

6) Smoking gives you something to do after you eat if you live in urban Singapore. Let’s face it. Meal time just isn’t meal time in a restaurant if you don’t have a Marlboro Light in one hand and a piece of fried chicken in the other. What’s that greenish-grey film on the ceiling tiles you say? Oh don’t mind that, we call that ambiance!

7) Smoking let’s you bum something from complete strangers on a regular basis. Nothing gives you more right to walk up to a stranger and ask for something free than being a smoker without a pack. It’s completely acceptable to walk up to anyone you see who ‘looks like they might’ smoke and say, “Hey man/hoochie, can I bum a smoke?”

8) Smoking let’s you hide stuff from people. Hiding the fact that we smoke from people we care about is all we have in life. Constantly dodging questions, spraying Febreeze on your clothes, or trying to remember whether or not you left that spare pack of menthols in the glove compartment can consume your day with all the fulfillment you need.

9) Smoking encourages better personal hygiene. It’s common knowledge that jacked-up and yellow-stained teeth are better left to the professionals. Real god-fearing, Singaporean smokers should take 4 showers a day and brush and floss about twice as often. Austin Powers may be swingin’, but his grill is all fucked up.

10) Smoking gives you the right to complain when government says you can’t do it. If you don’t smoke, you basically forfeit the right to complain when the government passes an ordinance banning smoking in public establishments such as restaurants and bars. Whoever the sissies were that said, “Smoking in a restaurant is like peeing in a public pool” are a bunch of pansies that need to be flogged. Everyone knows that it’s a myth that second hand smoke affects other people. Grow a pair and smoke some ‘backer commies!

Roommate Wanted For Cheap Yio Chu Kang Home

2007-10-14T19:24:00.000+08:00

In case you guys haven't heard, I'll officially be jobless from today till November 1st. So if anyone of you guys are DYING to date me, now's the time!

So to speak, i'll be without income for the next two weeks or so. This is what has been going thru my mind. I'm thinking of... RENTING OUT MY ROOM, till November 1st.

Yes, you you you and you. I want you to come live with me. You'll be in the smaller of two rooms at the 2nd floor old style house in the most awesome spot ever. You'll be close to the food center, clinic, MRT station, provision shops, prostitutes (Opposite neighbour), cafes, fucking everything really. I just farted but I will never do that while you're in the room. I hope you have a similar outlook.

You'll be living with an experienced brother of mine who has done this sharehouse thing many times over and is mostly grown up in the required ways. I'm a writer, albeit unpublished; an Engineer who's currently out of job; a lover of fine food and cheap wine; tidy though not necessarily clean. Twice a year I will despair at how filthy things have become and will take to the place with a scrubbing implement and some eye-bleeding chemicals. I will also do this when procrastinating, this is how you will know that I have an overdue assignment (note: I scrubbed the bath last night. Then bleached it. Then got in it with popcorn and wine. Oh well...

You must be similar to me in all the right ways, and utterly different in all the right ways. You must balance my sense of order and routine with a healthy dose of stupid whackness, and in return I will probably do more dishes and buy more toilet paper. You will not have a cat and will love my dog. You can have a lizard or bird if you wish. You must not be weird in unmanageable ways and must be a good person at heart. We must navigate one another's idiosyncracies in healthy ways. You must join me and Celia for entire weekends of booze when it becomes necessary. You must not, i repeat, must not, touch my things.

You must either be male, or a lesbian female, or a female I have no interest in sleeping with. The last category is a difficult one since if I deem you worthy of moving in I might want to shag you at some point and that is no good, Celia will skin me alive. If you are the creative type this is a big plus, musicians especially welcome, I will allow noise. You must not smoke on a more-than-occasional basis, that is just a rule. You mustn't smoke inside, not even in the room, except for parties and moments of exceptional circumstance. Preferably you will not smoke at all though I can make allowances. You are single, or your partner lives far away, or your partner is imaginary or invisible or not constantly in my bathroom or having loud sex with you. You will always have money for bills, even if I don't.

You don't mind that I wear no underwear all the time. You can love badminton but preferably outside the house. Ditto for motorsports and soccer. You might find a forgotten pair of my underwear on the bathroom floor at some point but you will navigate around them and never mention it. Ditto if there is a poo that does not flush. You will take it upon yourself to remove stinky things from the fridge, and twice a year you will join me in frantic cleaning.

Well, if you fit the above criteria and is mentally prepared, we can start the housemate interview on Monday, having already paid bond and rent in advance.

Yours sincerely, Alan..

Things I Find Disconcerting

2007-10-07T12:44:00.000+08:00

For today, I thought I would explore and discover what really irks me, or anyone in general. You guys out there might agree with me. *Shrugs* Feel free to add your own comment. My line is open.... NOW!

The sound of high heels walking on hard ground, especially when following behind me.

Excess margarine, imbued with ugly toast crumbs, swiped back on the edge of the serving plate (I stopped eating margarine years ago, perhaps this is why).

Random pedestrians walking at the same pace beside me, expecially in a big open space with nobody else in sight.

Crowded trains and buses, especially when parts of other smelly dudes are touching me.

A bathroom floor left saturated after someone's shower (stand on a fucking towel you idiots!!).

Unexpected flashes of genitals. (By men of course. GIRLS? I wouldn't mind if you flash your.. erm)

Ardent carnivores who think I might suddenly eat lamb chop if they preach its benefits to me for long enough, this is you Cheryl obviously!

Text messages and emails whose tone is impossible to identify.

The insistent breeze of a badly positioned air conditioner.

People whose ordinary speaking voice is a shout - often they are hard of hearing.

Visting the dentist.

Waiting for something to be resolved which I cannot resolve myself.

The onset of thick rain clouds over a sunny day, like now.

Requesting attention from a busy waiter.

Cleaning porridge pots. (If you guys haven't got the chance to try, go try!)

Being dismissed.

Ripped pockets.

Default facial expressions which seem stunned or horrified.

Running out of socks. (Yesterday!)

Eating something that looks savoury but finding it is sweet, and vice versa.

And the worst thing of all that totally irks me......

The FRICKING ALARM GG OFF IN THE MORNING! THAT IS THE WORST THING OF ALL!

What about you?

Unexpectance... Every Year..

2007-09-29T08:45:00.000+08:00

I woke up this morning, stretched, twisted my arms around a wee bit, checked to make sure that everything was pretty much in working order. (It seems so to be.) I don’t take that for granted; whereas for a long time, I treated my body rather the way I treat cars (fill it with fuel when it needs it, take it in for repairs when it doesn’t want to go, figure that as long as it’s rolling forward it’s in fine condition), I’ve grown more acutely aware of the value of preventative maintenance. Not, however, without some rips and tears and creaks and sparks. But that’s to be expected: Today I’m thirty years old.

I feel I should have lots of things to say about this, reflections on my twenties and hope for my thirties, but I overdid this topic in conversation over the last month or so, creating an impression of a crisis that really didn't exist. Also I feel tired, and a little drained. I suppose, about how I can see in it how my thirties could be alright; how a quiet and peaceful birthday eve with love ones yesterday somehow represents a growing maturity, without abandoning a sense of fun. But the link grows strained as I write it. I don't know.

I had a good twenties. I think they went for long enough, in reality. Contrary to common wisdom, they didn't seem any shorter than the period from 10-20, and whatever people say, decades don't pass quickly. They went for a long time, and seen in totality, contained more than enough incident and adventure for the writer part of me to feel he experienced it reasonably properly. Of course I'm very vulnerable to nostalgia, and have great difficulty in accepting that the past can never be regained; I think it's one of the things that made me want to write, to be able to recapture feelings and moments from the past. But there weren't too many things I wanted from my twenties that I didn't get to experience.

As for my thirties - I do have a few ideas. But I want to keep them secret, at the moment. I don't know why, but it feels right for me to do so, as if to speak them would be to threaten them, somehow. I think mostly I just wanted to say, I am thirty, starting from today onwards...

Funky House Sessions

2007-09-23T17:39:00.000+08:00

My "excellent" long lost friend Cheryl Yeo came for a visit this morning. She opened the front gate and paused to admire the plastic pink flamingos she planted in my front garden before walking up the path announcing "I am here and I am beautiful!"

Later in the day we wandered up into the nearby coffeeshop with her rejecting all of my favourite places to eat, she declared herself the I Ching of lunch and stopped regularly to proclaim that we should turn west, even if that meant straight into a brick wall. The I Ching of lunch eventually lead us into a newly opened air-conditioned "canteen" for $7.50 lunch specials where we sat companionably, I was talking earnestly on small matters, she was randomly interrupting with an unrelated witty aside.

Evidently it was too much to ask for one small thing to go my way, not even a quiet lunch! I should have known better than to think the world was being nice to me by sending me an old friend for lunch companion. It was lulling me into a false sense of hope in order to have a bigger laugh when the poo from the world's bumhole lands on my stupid grin. I am licking the brown stink of worldpoo from my no-longer-upturned lips.

No matter. I would have been useless at home today anyhow, what with the grizzly that was chewing my uterus.

An old friend comes visiting and that's a good thing happened. It's like long lost friends doing some catching up with you. I appreciate them. I got back my first "assignment" and did splendidly, earning a high distinction, and that's the best you can get thanks very much. Cheryl gave me the same "assignment" last year before I withdrew (though editing completely different texts of course) and I did ok, but I was already worried at that point because I was fumbling. This time around I know exactly what I'm doing. I am convinced that starting over was truly the best decision. Watch this space for more updates!

What a boring post. Will come back when there are more exciting things to say.

Why Its Good To Be Selfish

2007-09-17T23:02:00.000+08:00

I started thinking about this topic during a conversation with one of colleagues who have a slight thought of leaving the company. People were talking about the differences in their lives once they discovered that what makes them happy is just as important as what makes other people happy.

It really is true. If you are not happy, then it’s likely that no one around you is happy. Sounds self-centered to some people, but its not. When you become truly selfish, you will have the extra reserves needed to really care about, and be generous with others.

Think about it. When you truly take care of yourself, only then can you have the reserves necessary to be generous with others. How many of us have this backwards? We take care of everyone (and everything) else, and leave ourselves for last. How can we even think about being generous with what we don’t have to give? For many of us, this phenomenon is a significant contributor to our stress levels. And we are accomplishing great things in spite of our stress levels, so what’s wrong with that?

The obvious answer is burnout. We see it all around us. Friends, colleagues and family members who are stuck in careers they don’t want, in relationships that are going nowhere, living lives they didn’t choose, their gifts and talents going underutilized, or being buried under the pile of “shoulds”.

Perhaps the real benefit of becoming selfish is giving your gifts and talents room to develop. Gifts and talents need nourishment. They don't blossom fully without it. If you have got a special talent or gift, and most of us do, become selfish for the sake of that if you cannot bring yourself to be selfish for your own sake.

We each have been given an incredible opportunity. I believe we all owe it to the world to live the best life we possibly can. There is no point to doing otherwise. Are you doing that? I know I’m not, but I am getting better at it. Maybe if each of us gets a bit more selfish, we will not only be living the lives we want and deserve, but being more generous with each other and changing our world as we go.

Now the question is, “Where do I even begin to be more selfish?” Try scheduling some time each week, when it really is "all about you", and keep the appointment! Time to watch some HK drama serials you have been dying to watch for a long time, take a bath, get outdoors, write in your blog (To those guilty of not updating!), whatever you need to do more of to take care of yourself. You will be surprised how quickly you (and your friends and family) see a change.

Go ahead… make yourself happy!

Obligatory

2007-09-11T23:33:00.000+08:00

It's been hell busy last few weeks here in Alan-Land. For those of you that miss my ramblings (I know you're out there, I can hear you breathing), here's what I didn't blog about that you might have missed:

MSNs are a marvelous diversion when you have fascinating and interesting people to talk to. It has been heartening that friends like, Corrine, Cheryl Bitch, Tingz, Bubz, Andrew, Alvin, Tess took time off their "busy schedule" to IM with a guy like me who have a "busy schedule" of himself to bother with.

Lottery winnings: $20 in the Mega Millions TOTO draw last Thursday! Now I can buy that Big Mac meal I've had my eyes on.

With a new found job, a girlfriend who melts at the mere sight of the sun, and only a 15-year-old Toyota Corolla for a family of five, I had to rectify the situation and invest in a “lovermobile.” Yes, my ride is a month and 15 days old to date. A number of guys have, in fact, accused me of buying a “chick car.” I’ll underscore here: My new ride comes with good gas mileage, ample room for a compact car, excellent handling in the rain, high crash-safety ratings, a reputation for reliability, a huge boot, an ipod hookup, and an idiot proof Head Unit for the missy. Importantly, it’s not so refined that we’ll get bent out of shape if we happen to empty a chocolate milkshake all over the backseat.

I'm still preparing for my move to my as-yet-uncompleted new office. The company currently rented two offices in the building, and the lease for the current one ran out this month. So rather than go month to month, Jeff left that space and now I'm living out of boxes in the lower office. It's a mess. There will not be photos.

I'm starting to marvel at the comments and tagboard section of this blog. I've said it before, you won't find a lot of spelling and grammar errors there. Let's be honest, folks. The comments section and tagboard (if there's any) of a blog is the FIRST place I would look if I were looking for sloppy grammar, because if there's one place it doesn't matter, it's those two places. The fact that you guys take the time to be so precise is encouraging. Ha!

That's all I've got for now. So what's new in your world?

Week.. end

2007-09-09T03:06:00.000+08:00

Here I am with my nice glass of home brewed Ribena, the last drip of a bottle of 2 litre, and a local celebrity chef Mrs Fang bashing a purple cauliflower on TV. I have been waiting more impatiently than usual for this moment all day. I am resting in preparation for a frantic weekend of packing and cleaning. My Saturday night stretches before me, quiet and warm.

Oh Mrs Fang, that cauliflower looks incredible.

I have cast aside my neverending to-do list tonight and tomorrow night. I had just came back from the movies (Ratatouille) with Celia which we enjoyed throughly. All day, through an endless repetition of open-folder-insert-file-close-folder-replace-on-shelf, the thought of crawling in between my flannel sheets beneath the lumpy doona is what kept me going. It was one of those days I could have passed through in a fugue. Today could have been erased from the world and nobody would be any wiser. I zombied about as if I were hungover, but without the nausea or dehydration or powerful cravings for fatty food. I watched the outside traffic go about its business through glazed eyes and I listened radio through muted ears and willed it to just carry on, carry on and carry the fuck on.

Oh dear Mrs Fang, that is a graphic wet piece of meat. Can you go back to the cauliflower?

I thought of something very positive about dinner with Celia tomorrow: I might organise to have the steak we always wanted glup down finally. This is a delicious concept since Outback Resturant is such a Sunday night dinner location. Dinner at our usual place is a logistical bother since we would either have to walk up a quite a number of stairs to just have a decent meal or just have dinner downstairs where food is guaranteed to be pinched by a bird or random bypasser. Even if we decided to walk up that long flight of stairs it's not exactly safe to say it's open on a Sunday. So Outback it is!

Oh Mrs Fang, that broccoli canneloni looks fucking divine.

Passion Dries Up Like Rain, Like Rain

2007-09-05T23:16:00.000+08:00

I told you guys. I told you guys it was a fake rainy season. There is something to be said for remaining stoically sceptical when Singapore appears to have moved from one season into another. My cynicism led me to wash my car although the skies wanted me to believe I would not need to, that it would be a needless burden or pails and wax and stuffs heavy and awkward in my boot, but when I came out of work and waited 30 minutes at the carpark I was grateful, oh so grateful, for not having been fooled.

The rule is that after any heavy downpour the sunshine will arrive with astonishing conviction, it will flood Singapore's windows and pores and souls, we will rejoice and begin dancing in the streets and getting naked, then it will laugh and take off its mask and reveal not a ball of bright warmth, but an imposter wearing a smirk.

Yes, the rainy days puts a mask on and plays this joke every year, from what I can gather.

Last night it was pouring. I will not recycle a worn and crass analogy, but suffice to say, there were nipples that might have become chilled to the point of detaching themselves. There was cause for blankets and warm PJs. My legs were alarmed at the absence of long pants.

And now it is beautiful again.

How am I supposed to navigate through a to-do list of sensible things when the festivity of sunshine beckons from outside? I had my door thrown open this morning before i went off to work, and have situated myself in the rectangular patch of light the sun is throwing towards me. And there is so much to write about! How can I be expected to clean the house and do taxes when I have eaten Macdonalds and some sinful stuffs! I have witnessed terrible and excellent television programmes all in one night and yet there are phone calls to be made and groceries to buy!

I will have to strike some sort of balance. A sensible thing followed by a bout of writing. This could work...

Afoot Ahoy

2007-09-03T22:47:00.000+08:00

Things are afoot, ahoy! Perhaps it is the moon, or the stars, or this ridiculous sudden rainy season, but the juices are squelching and the cosmos is bearing sweet fruit.

The ever-excellent Piggie Lim and I are attempting to create something real from what initally started as an almost-joke. 15 months into the relationship and wedding bells are coming soon near you. We are nutting it out in secret and will unleash upon the unsuspecting world when the time is right.

Meanwhile last weekend was spent with her and her family during which I, for the 1st time in my life, ate a $150 per 400g Kobe-beef known as Wagyu! Damn I felt rich! It was a marshmallow experience. I was full of adoration for the world.

Back to the rainy season topic. If I know Singapore, and I kinda do, this is the yearly Fake Rainy Season that will mislead us into prematurely stuffing our spare white shoes and underwears into space bags to store under the bed until next year. In a few days time I predict the raincoats and brollies will be resurrected and waking up in the morning will not be a bright, pleasant experience.

I certainly hope not. I hope this truly signifies the end of porridge season and the beginning of balmy evening strolls along the pier. Tonight there were fat, pug-sized stray cats clutching to the sleek bark of the pine tree outside my house. My mum took to frantically barking at them. I was standing too close to the tree when one such stray peed in fright and droplets of cat piss splashed my arm. Another was not so meek: while mym was bouncing about at the foot of the trunk, the cats growled and hissed in an ugly way, the likes of which I've never before heard uttered by a cat. It was really quite a guttural sound. Like a sick old man hacking an epic golly, but the golly was made of scratchy tumbleweed, and the tumbleweed had spikes coming off it, and the spikes had little hooks, and the hooks were puncturing the sick old man's larynx until air and blood poured into his lungs and at the end of it all he burped.

That's all for today folks. My eyes are getting a tad heavy... Zzzzzzzz.......

My comfort Zone

2007-08-30T23:32:00.000+08:00

I received a msn from Corrine asking. "You left Delta already? I thought that was your comfort zone?"

Step out of your comfort zone, they say. But what’s comfot zone?

We all have experienced the joy of being appreciated, the disappointment of what we consider as a failure, sorrow of losing a chance and myriad other feelings. The feelings and experience of all the events in our lives are deposited in our sub-conscious mind. We may not be able to recall any particular event that occurred in our comfort zone, but they are all there. All that comes to the notice of our conscious mind thru our senses are faithfully passed on to the sub-conscious mind where they are permanently stored.

Sub-consciously I form opinions about myself, I “decide” who I am and how much I “deserve”. In a way I take it for granted that I cannot go beyond what I think I am. This creates inhibition, hesitation, a limiting boundary and the box. Our sub-conscious zone is really a comfort zone for us where we tend to go again and again. I take comfort in re-living my past, in re-living my experience even if the memories of the past are not always pleasant. Everything that happens around me in my present life tends to reinforce my sub-conscious belief because this is how I interpret the present events.

Human potential is really not limited to our self-imposed restrictions. I really think I have the power to go beyond the limitation defined by the box. Yet the box constitutes the comfort zone I'm reluctant to leave. My sub-conscious mind conspires with the surroundings to maintain me at the present level of being, and of course, I, contribute to this effort.

I really should think quitting Delta is to make conscious effort to go past the limitations and reach out to the unlimited potential present in me.

Call it day dreaming if you like, but i think i did it with clear sense of purpose. If done with single-minded intention, I think i have the potential of modifying the sub-conscious mind. Then the impossible happens. Sub-conscious mind again conspires with the surroundings to see that the new self-image is achieved. Doors suddenly seem to open and new means present themselves. Solutions to the problems appear out of nowhere. Actually they were all within me and now they get a chance to surface out because I'm are seeking them out.

By reminding myself that I deserve to attain the goal, I gain confidence and work with positive frame of mind. This is a proven formula for success.

Wish me lots of luck for my new job, I need them alot.. :)

My First Job Away From Home

2007-08-27T23:02:00.000+08:00

Last month on the same Monday night, I had set my alarm clock for 9:45 AM so I could get up and call Celia about doing lunch. I hit snooze until noon when I finally just turned off my alarm clock and kept sleeping. Being unemployed is pretty rough. I woke up at 1:30 pm to my phone ringing. I passed up the first few rings and then looked and saw that it was an unknown Bukit Batok area code number. I picked it up and said "Hang on." while I leaned over and coughed, and cleared my throat enough to sound like I hadn't been sleeping well into the afternoon.

"Hello?"

"Hi Alan, this is Jeff from (wherever, can't remember the company name that I interviewed with few weeks ago at that time) and I'm calling to offer you the job."

Me: "Oh that's great, I'm glad I got it. When do you want me to start?"

Jeff: "ASAP."

Me: "You mean like next week?"

Jeff: "Well if you want to come in this afternoon we can start filling out paperwork."

Me: "I have some loose ends I have to tie up before I start work." (Loose ends = happy hour, and not wanting to get dressed for the day before sundown)

Jeff: "Ok that's fine, we can start next week."

Me: "I don't think we ever talked about this, but what hours do you work?"

Jeff: "About 9-6pm, bla bla bla."

Me: "Ok, see you next week at 9."

I was excited that I had finally, FINALLY, after months of searching, been offered a new job. I had been applying since May, and was reaching the ends of my patience and credit. I walked onto the porch and smoked a celebratory cigarette, and texted Celia. Then I sat there for a moment and actually thought about it. "I have a new job that actually pays better!" No more worrying about money. Then I thought about it some more. "I have a ..... job." I hadn't even spent a day by the beach, travelling overseas, or done anything cool to enjoy my last days at work yet. And now? It is gonna be over. I felt like someone had used a bucket of cold water to jerk me out of a pleasant dream. No more day dreaming in the office. No more staying in office whole day to fuck around on the internet. Consequently, no more sleeping in until saturday afternoon, and fewer self massage sessions. No more lounging around like a trophy wife.

During my Polytechnic days, there was only one class I ever took at 9 am, without dropping within a week. I would never had shown up if it weren't taught by my advisor. Now? It's going to be a lifestyle. I'm going to get up at the ass crack of dawn to drive through traffic and do a job I hate already. I've had three people tell me the same thing. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it." I plan on using the same line on my wife in twenty years to spice up our love life with anal sex. Is it true? Probably. But that doesn't mean you're going to like it the first few times.

I'm going to work for an engineering firm that designs and installs semi-conductor modules all over Asia Pacific. Fun fact: They almost went out of business, but were saved by hard work and luck 2 years ago. I don't think they realize that by hiring an idiot like me, with my hard work and luck they'll be put out of business by a twenty some year old. Coincidence? I think not. I barely know how semi-conductor modules work, and I'll be installing them in different countries around Asia Pacific. I find it hysterical that they're going to send the most impatient, narrow minded, culturally devoid, uni-lingual quasi idiot to "help them out." Interpreter? No thanks. I trust the future of your company to my phenomenal charades skills. Time to set my mobile and two alarm clocks so I don't blow this on day 1.

So guess what, a month into the job, i think i'm gonna blow it again.. hahaha!

Kickin' Shit

2007-08-26T04:05:00.000+08:00

A month ago when I was half-heartedly looking for work, I used buy the morning Straits Times regularly to read the job listings. Walking down to get the paper and open the jobs section, full of hope that I would find some imaginary Perfect Job That is Not Too Demeaning and Leaves me Enough Time for blogging, closing it again an hour later, dispirited, agitated, became a routine. Usually I would circle a few related engineering jobs, but then distract myself with something before I got a chance to ring them. After a while I decided that because of my unparalleled knowledge of the jobs section, the only appropriate and right job for me would be as its editor.

The first thing I would do upon appointment would be to change the name from the hopeful Classified to the more colloquial, friendlier, and all round more realistic, Kickin' Shit. After that I would ban all euphemisms, and the descriptors 'bubbly', 'energetic' and 'fun' from any classified. Jobs would have to be described clearly in their full monotonous detail, and a sombre, Marxist prose style would prevail, reflecting the true nature of selling one's labour, time, and creative energy just to pay the fricking bills.

In the years since the weekend Straits Times, has, by degrees, gone down in quality. Life!, which as I remember used to actually have a good article here and there has swelled into a grotesque copy of coloured photos for the comfortable classes. It seemed to begin with the design - the banners and titles got bigger and puffier, the articles got shorter and puffier. I remembered that I used to read it sometimes. Now I only do if it's the only thing on the kitchen table while I'm eating breakfast.

So today my colleague Evan was leafing through the real estate section, on my behalf (I'm looking for a new place) and we started thinking up alternative titles for all the other sections of the weekend newspaper. Real estate section became Barely Affordable; the car section Drive became Cage-Liner; Life!, nice and simple, Shit Weekend; Sports section was Photos of People Grunting; and main section, Zero!

I don't really have anything against the main news section of the Straits Times and its Monday to Friday editions, and do at least try to read it online. Because we are in Singapore which must be one of the most monocultural print media environments in the world, I think I am still excited that Singapore actually has more than one whole daily papers with differing takes on things to boot. And that’s why seeing the weekend Straits Times becoming more vapid - a medium more for full page photos of inviolate automobiles than interesting journalism - is sad.

The Calm After The Storm

2007-08-19T10:43:00.000+08:00

Ok. Miss You-Know-Who have had her spack attack last night. She cried until her chest got tight and her face puffed up, drank the kettle dry, crawled into bed, and meditated, something she haven't done for a long time. (Too long. It is good for me.) Now it's time to dust herself off and get on with things.

If by now you still don't know who is it, it's the one and only Miss Cheryl. (who else but drama queen) There are good things about this, and if she choose to think of them rather than the shit stuff, she will be ok. In a way I am glad this has happened because I have been waiting for it, it has been hanging around like a bad smell, and I have felt constantly on guard to prevent it. It is not good to feel that there is something ominous just around the corner. At least now I can see the monster, he is ugly but he is no mystery anymore.

She will have back the people that really care for her in her life, and that's good, and if she hate it it's not forever. It will be ok. It will be ok it will be ok it will be ok.

I feel like writing forever. I am at home (finally after the whole week at work till late) and the urge to write has distracted me all morning. When I get this way I write inside my head, and today the soft language and the word pattens in my mind have caused little mistakes that I have to keep fixing. I stare at a field called 'date,' struggling to make sense of the title, knowing that somewhere on the report is a date I need to enter, but in its place I stick a Spare Part Code and the thing won't let me carry on until I fix the error. This rudely interrupts my lovely head-writing and I curse it.

But things could be worse.

Yesterday I am more grateful than ever for the nature of my job. I was the only one there yesterday, and since I was the lowest rung on this corporate ladder I am mostly ignored, and this is a blessing. I don't feel like talking to anyone, not even to the lovely other temps, and I am glad they are not here because my chatter would be forced. I needed to slip into this anonymous silence. I need to gather myself.

So I guess she will be ok. She know that not so long ago she wouldn't have been. I know that she would have dissolved, She would not have went out today, She would not have moved from her bed. She wouldn't have seen the positives at all and she would certainly not have thought herself able to cope with another setback. But she's ok, it is not the end of the world, and when things have settled again I won't need to worry every time Tubby barks at something.

Did I Marry The Correct Person??

2007-08-14T19:45:00.000+08:00

Sorry guys for the lack of updates. Every once in a while, extremely dry and technical blogs like this gets loosened up a bit at the lifelong expense of my career. Anyway, I'm back!

Recently, a friend of mine asked me a very strange question. "Alan o' pal, did I marry the right person?"

I happened to chance upon an article once and decided to share the story with him, and also you guys..

EVERY relationship has a cycle. In the beginning, you fell in love with your spouse. You anticipated their call, wanted their touch, and liked their idiosyncrasies. Falling in love with your spouse wasn't hard. In fact, it was a completely natural and spontaneous experience. You didn't have to DO anything. That's why it's called "falling" in love... Because it's happening TO YOU.

People in love sometimes say, "I was swept of my feet." Think about the imagery of that expression. It implies that you were just standing there; doing nothing, and then something came along and happened TO YOU. Falling in love is easy. It's a passive and spontaneous experience. But after a few years of marriage, the euphoria of love fades. It's the natural cycle of EVERY relationship. Slowly but surely, phone calls become a bother (if they come at all), touch is not always welcome (when it happens), and your spouse's idiosyncrasies, instead of being cute, drive you nuts. The symptoms of this stage vary with every relationship, but if you think about your marriage, you will notice a dramatic difference between the initial stage when you were in love and a much duller or even angry subsequent stage.

At this point, you and /or your spouse might start asking, "Did I marry the right person?" And as you and your spouse reflect on the euphoria of the love you once had, you may begin to desire that experience with someone else. This is when marriages breakdown. People blame their spouse for their unhappiness and look outside their marriage for fulfillment. There's where extramarital affairs comes into the picture. Fulfillment comes in all shapes and sizes. Infidelity is the most obvious. But sometimes people turn to work, a hobby, a friendship, excessive TV, or abusive substances. But the answer to this dilemma does NOT lie outside your marriage. It lies within it. I'm not saying that you couldn't fall in love with someone else. You could. And TEMPORARILY you would feel better. But you would be in the same situation a few years later. Because...
(Listen to this carefully Mr Lim)

THE KEY TO SUCCEEDING IN MARRIAGE IS NOT FINDING THE RIGHT PERSON; IT'S LEARNING TO LOVE THE PERSON YOU FOUND. Sustaining love is not a passive or spontaneous experience. It'll NEVER just happen to you. You can't "find" LASTING love. You have to "make" it day in and day out. That's why we have the expression "the labour of love." Because it takes time, effort, and energy. And most importantly, it takes wisdom . You have to know what to do to make your marriage work. Make no mistake about it. Love is NOT a mystery. There are specific things you can do (with or without your spouse) to succeed with your marriage. Just as there are physical laws of the universe (such as gravity), there are also laws for relationships. Just as the right diet and exercise program makes you physically stronger, certain habits in your relationship will make your marriage stronger. It's a direct cause and effect. If you know and apply the laws, the results are predictable...you can "make" love. Love in marriage is indeed a "decision"... Not just a feeling .

Where 'They' Come From

2007-07-23T14:42:00.000+08:00

I've probably mentioned this before, but one of the statistics that I can see from my website is what links people have clicked on to arrive at my webpage. These are forwarding links on the World Wide Web; besides them I can't tell if you came from a link in a profile, if you directly typed in the address, or if the link was in an email. Unfortunately. One of my favorite things to do is sit around and see how you people were referred to my site. Google, Yahoo, Friendster and MSN catalog all of my webpages regularly without me ever asking, and then when people type in weird things, my articles come up. I've been keeping track of the odd and hilarious ones for several months now, and will start (and continue) to keep a section of my site devoted to the freaks, retards, and perverts roaming the internet. These are the "Came From" statistics, and believe me, they're worth sharing.

I'm struggling with which to post first - some of these are superb. After randomly choosing, the winner is:

and his search for 'My Wife's Tits' in Google.

Dear whoever it is,

Ahhh, those tits. I'm always misplacing them too. If you don't find them on Google, your wife's blouse might be a good place to start looking. Nine times out of ten they'll be in there. You know, whenever I lost something as a kid, my mum always used to tell me to start looking in the last place I remembered seeing it. If that holds true as the reason for your search online... sorry, but, you're wife's a whore. I would skip Google and head straight for Friendster. Since you apparently haven't seen these tits recently, I'm guessing your love life has turned South so the next place I would check is your neighbor's mouth. Like when you asked him what was new and he giggled a little too much when he said he had recently taken up juggling.

They'll turn up eventually, and it's always in the last place you would expect. So probably like... in your best friend's porno. I would take another look around the internet about a week after her next business trip, or during School Holidays. And if I ever run into her, then you'll definitely be able to find her sagging all over Google. If they turn up around my house, I'll shoot you an email. Or, I could always come to your house and help you look. You know, lend a hand?

Love, Alan

Ideal Toilet Adventure

2007-07-18T13:48:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, after eating a lunchful of black pepper pork from Serangoon Central, my system decided it was time to clean itself out. I try to take dumps in public restrooms as infrequently as possible, but just in case, I know where the cleanest and least-frequented facility is near my office. At the end of my sprint, I made sure there was toilet paper, slammed the door, and basically finished before my cheeks hit the seat. Nothing unusual.

As I sat there waiting for round 2, some guy came in to the stall next to me, dropped his pants, and began going into labour. The next and longest five minutes of my life consisted of being forced to listen to the log of shit creak out of this guy's ass. I felt like clapping and cheering when it finally hit the water. Instead, the incident prompted me to make some changes in the toilet as we know it... from the male point of view. I'm not talking about doing to toilets what Exhibit and his crew of illiterate felons to do cars on "Pimp My Ride," I'm talking about going back to the basics.

What is the purpose of a toilet, besides a neat place to have sex in?

The purpose of a toilet is to collect your number 1's and 2's in the most comfortable and private manner possible.

The two operational words in that sentence are private and comfortable. Let's break the standard toilet down into two areas: shitters and urinals, with a special section for toilet paper and dispenser techniques.

Shitters

Look at the toilet bowl carefully once in a while, it intimidates me. It looks like a bear trap for my ass. As far as how comfortable a shitter is, I'm just fine with normal hard plastic or porcelain. The colder the better, because there's nothing like cold porcelain to make you sure you mean business. Privacy is a serious concern with shitters, because as opposed to nearly-silent urinals, the shape of a toilet bowl acts like a megaphone for your shouting anus. There are two fixes for this problem. The easier is to pump really, really loud elevator music into the bathroom. Everyone gets distracted, no one focuses. The second is to simply have the seat attached to the handle, so as long as you sit on the toilet it is constantly flushing. We'll call this the continual courtesy flush system. This is a viable fix only for toilets without tanks, attached to a pressurized water system, common to large and multistorey buildings.

Visual privacy is equally important to auditory privacy. I don't want to see feet, I don't want to see shadows under the door, I want to stare at the poorly grammared graffiti in peace. The walls of stalls should extend from floor to ceiling, like they do in most nice shopping arcades. I can't stand the flimsy softboard stall construction used way too frequently. I have on more than one occasion (and under severe pain and duress) pushed or pulled one of these walls enough to cause the entire stall to distort, locking me in a softboard cage until I bend it back. Want to stop graffiti? Make the stalls out of the same plastic used in chopping boards. You obviously can't cut it, and you can't mark it with pencil, pen, or maker. God I'm a genius.

Urinals

First of all, what the hell is a urinal cake? And why did they have to use the name "cake," like it comes in flavors of chocolate or vanilla? Does it really serve a purpose? You can't tell me that there's a purpose in it disinfecting my perfectly clean (but mostly smelly) urine before it goes down the tube to join my other fecal matter and excrement. If the purpose is disinfection or odor reduction, why don't we have them in shitters? Someone didn't think that one through.

Since pissing in the urinal is virtually silent, the real concern here is having to piss while standing six inches from another dude. I don't like the idea of giving another man a free peek at my junk, and I don't really even want to know who I'm pissing next to. Urinal screens should be required by law, with a tax break for the full floor to ceiling kind.

So what if the bathroom you're in doesn't have urinal screens? Here's your new game plan: There is actually a science to pissing in urinals, dominated by statistics and the fear of placing your fully exposed penis within reach of a man who is neither your doctor or girlfriend/wife. Please refer to the diagram below.

Let's say you're the first one in the toilet. Which urinal do you choose? On first glance, you may say Urinal C, since it's right in the middle with plenty of space on the left and right sides. WRONG. Assuming someone else comes in, they have only two choices out of four, A and E, which will leave a buffer toilet between you. Choosing Urinal C gives you a 50/50 chance of having another man within striking distance of your package. Choosing urinals B or D yield the same percentage, with the advantage of a 1:4 possibility of a two toilet buffer. Choosing either far side urinal, A or E, gives a preferably low 1:4 chance or someone else invading your territory, with the odds of a multiple toilet buffer increased to 50/50. Wall adjacent toilets are your friends.

Toilet Paper

The toilet paper/dispenser system, arguably the most important part of any toilet, is by far the most mismanaged. For the actual quality of the paper: there are some things in life which shouldn't be skimped on, and toilet paper and cigarettes are two of them. Every time I crap a toilet in office, I feel like I'm wiping my ass with transparent 200 grit sandpaper. It's so thin that I need to unroll like half a kilometer of it to wipe my ass once, so I would say I go through about 200km per restroom visit. Unrolling that much toilet paper brings me to my other point about the dispenser system, simpler really is better. The systems they have in the toilets now are horrible, dominated by two kinds. I will call them the Ferris Wheel and the Magic Box.

The Ferris Wheel is supposed to be cost effective because you can load like 6km of toilet paper into it at a time. I like to call it the Ferris Wheel because the wheel is so big and hard to turn that I feel like I'm trying to steer a pirate ship through rocky shoals just to get a square out to wipe my ass. And once you start the wheel turning, it doesn't like to stop. So now you have three times more than you needed, which ends up touching the floor, and you have to start over again. A real pain in the ass. But not nearly as much of a pain in the ass as the.....

Magic Box. This thing really pisses me off. I call it the Magic Box because you need to be a magician to get anything out of it. 9 times of out of 10 when I go to crap, I turn around and see this guy. The roll on the bottom is always gone. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to drop that second roll down. WHY THE FUCK IS IT LOCKED UP THERE? I feel like I need to go up to the janitor and ask, "Hey man, can I borrow your key? I only got halfway done with wiping my ass and the second roll is safely locked away from me." Not only that, but the Magic Box is stingy. The bearings on the roll are always shitty, so I can only pull out one square of TP before it breaks off and sends me tearing back at it like a bloodthirsty wolverine.

Going to the bathroom really could be a good time instead of the grab-bag experience it is now, and no one would have to fork over that much more money. And I continue to waste my time with Engineering.

The Wiring of the Male and Female Brains

2007-07-16T09:33:00.000+08:00

Wiring of the Female Brain

Wiring of a Male Brain

I know, I know, degrading. But come on guys, it's kinda true, sad but true.

"Confidence Has Always Been A Difficult Thing For Me"

2007-07-13T08:59:00.000+08:00

Those famous words, meant alot to me.

As I reflect on Paul Potts, the newly discovered winner of "Britain's Got Talent" and his beautiful voice, I naturally reflect on my own values and life accomplishments. What gifts has God given me? If I work hard, can the sun warmly shine on my face? I was touched and replayed videos several times to take in emotions of not only singer, but also judges, and audience. But my wonder had a gnawing knowing that did fit neatly into the 'underdog to top performer' story I heard in his storyline.

World wide delight and emotions from seeing Paul fully approved; perhaps after being de-valued for years, came as much for his humble slightly tousled persona in the show, and as much for his ardent operatic singing. But, a charade that falsely elicits my true emotions seems a scam, especially if greedy.

Amateur talent needs training and experience. That is worthy. But my emotions are dialed into a guy who said his dream is to do what he feels he was born to do, and his feelings had always lacked confidence! Experience and prize money is confidence building. He had plenty since his birth and early identity. I saw a fellow who wore a humble jacket at the semi-finals, sans a tuxedo he knows well in opera, yet spiffed at the finals. But it is the voice! No. It is also the person's words, too.

Paul Potts’ tale could become one of opera’s great Cinderella or Cinderfella stories. Only time will tell. Unlike other opera singers who are struggling for an audience, he comes complete with a ready made one, hanging on to his every note. People who have never heard a note of opera before are tuning in to listen to him. Sometimes dreams do come true. Sometimes dreams come true for people who truly deserve to have them come true. Someone said in a movie once that people either love Opera or hate it. Until I heard Paul Potts sing on Youtube I had never experienced the power of Opera music. I now have experienced it and I now proudly join others who love Opera music.

They Found Me!

2007-07-11T09:30:00.000+08:00

I knew it was only a matter of time until my colleagues found this webpage, and that time was this morning. Last night I was digging through the site's hit logs looking at how people find this site, and one came from a forum post on another website. I registered and logged in to look at it, and low and behold, the post was, "(Link to Chronicles of Destiny II) This thing is so badass. He's actually my colleague's Engineering Getaway, which makes it that much funnier..." Despite removing the link from my Friendster and Myspace, somehow the word still got out.

This morning at the beginning of work, before I could do any damage control, I was greeted by a colleague who walked up with his laptop open and said, "Hey, this website is awesome." Sure enough, gracing his screen were the royal black of COD II. I froze up. "Oh my God, put that away." So here's a dilemma. This site contains some... "questionable" material that I could possibly (definitely) get fired for posting, which brings us to a stalemate. I could ruin your intellect, you could ruin my job.

I think I'm a pretty reasonable guy in all matters, even more so in the office. I don't care if you come in late, turn your engineering drawings in late whatsoever. I still give you credit when it looks like you drew it mid-seizure. When I find you playing first person shooter games in the office, I don't slam your laptop onto your fingers like I should. I wait until I run into you at 7-11 when I'm drunk, and then confront you. I don't really need the money, I'm just helping to bankroll my soon-to-arrive car. Consider these things before you roll the dice on my replacement.

So here are the ground rules: Don't tell any of the other colleagues about this (who don't already know) until the end of my stay in this company, at which point you can go buck wild. For the love of God, DON'T LOOK AT IT IN OFFICE! But, since you're here, you may as well enjoy the material. Log in, rate the articles, leave me comments below if you want, and continue to squander the time you've set aside for your inevitably shoddy design projects.

Oh, and the mid year self appraisal you filled out today? You'll be reading about those soon enough. Remember, Point Number 5 is up to you!

Frankly My Dear...

2007-07-08T23:18:00.000+08:00

I have discovered that night time writing is only good for free-flow brainstorming, or blogging. Anything ‘serious’ needs to be attempted first thing in the morning (or afternoon, depending how late the night before has been), because by night time, as well as the inevitable wind-down decay of the brain, I am too restless to be alone in my room for too long. Evenings are my time for family bonding, or at least for being around other family members who are chit chatting. I don’t know why that is.

This poses a problem in terms of moving house. Part of me wants to live alone just so that I'm no longer at the whims of other people. For example, Desmond is tired of his room next to the toilet, and wants to move out. That's fine if mum allows over and the whole transition is smooth, but sometimes the bridge doesn't quite cover the gap. In times past other things have bothered me, like other people's mess and people not paying their bills etc, but this time around I became consciously messier, a little more lazy, so that I don't end up doing everything in the house, which I have ended up doing in previous years, and I managed to wrangle out of having to put my name on any of the bills. If bills are in my name I get precious about them. I'm constantly stressing about watching over everyone, hassling them to make sure they pay. I always pay my bills. If they aren't on time they are paid pretty soon and I never forget about them. For that reason I feel justified in letting everyone else be listed on the bills. Digress. My point is that formerly these trivial things that every family has to deal with were reasons for wanting to live alone.

But now I would put up with any of them for the family I have now. I love them all, and our house is quite magical in spite of the occasional annoyance. Formulas like this one are hard to come by though. Mum, Dad and I have been like friends, and Desmond is a good natured stoner, sort of hopeless but easily mothered. On any given day one of us will screech at him (good naturedly) to do something. He's very obedient, with the result that he somehow gets away with never lifting a finger or buying anything for the house.

I think I'm too old / chilled out to care.

So if I lived alone I would be in control of everything but I know I'll be lonely. And if I lived with one other person I think I would need to know them pretty well first. Or not at all, but in that case they would have to be a friend of a friend who I knew I could trust, not a complete stranger. I've never lived with just one other person before and I think I would need some kind of buffer like a pet or at least a bunch of people who were over all the time, you know, to soak up some of the excess vibes or whatever. The only person I could imagine sharing one-on-one with is Piggie. And Toby. That would be fine. More than fine - ideal. But I have a feeling that moving from Ang Mo Kio will mean moving from conveniency because aside from the ridiculous distance, my situation here is too nice to leave for any other reason.

I love Ang Mo Kio.

I love this house.

I love this crew.

But I can't stay here forever. Snakes shed skins.

COD II nearly 10,000

2007-07-02T11:40:00.000+08:00

Did anyone missed me?

I guess not! Haha!

Alright alright, just to share some good news....

Chronicles of Destiny II is turning 10,000, in another 1,000 over hits! Now that's a milstone.

Ah yes, I remembered when i first started this blog two years back, i totally adore my readers. Not that I don't nowadays, i ADORE them. There was this Philippino guy pened Solomon Chaser. Solomon was my inspiration to start a blog in the first place. So that year before I left for the Philippines on my first business trip, I left a meek comment on his blog suggesting that while I'm in the Philippines perhaps maybe we should like hook up and be real people and pop right off the screen all 3D for actual drinks beyond the boundaries of blog. I decided I had to meet him. This eventuality did indeed eventuate.

Before I duck over to his blog to check if he's written anything about me (all compulsive memoirists are narcissists, bet you any money he did the same) I think, for posterity, I should say a few things.

I was running late - transport into Makati City from the airport costs more than a stiff drink and takes longer than a feature film, but in spite of the seatridden snotty plane ride I endured, I was determined that at that time would not find me in front of a feature film with a stiff drink. Rather, I would sacrifice both for a much-needed trip to Outback Resturant. Thankfully Solomon was running late too.

When finally I climbed those eternally-shady stairs at Makati City station, I first paid a visit to the ATM, and on my way there I passed a man who so resembled the photos on Solomon's blog that I nearly called his name, but since it was the middle of the road and he was wearing sunnies and I was only sixty-six percent sure it was her, I thought it best to wait.

But when I got to Outback Resturant this man was nowhere in sight. Lucky I didn't run at him screaming the name of a stranger then, I thought, heading to the bathroom for my customary pre-drinks wee. But then there he was in front of the toilet sink, the very same suspect, and indeed it was Solomon, undergoing some 'major underwear adjustments,' which were the first words he uttered, and were the magic words that assured me I would like his personality as much as I liked the blog.

"It's like a blind date," I laughed, "where you don't quite know who you're looking for."

"My hair..." he began, laughing and combing it with a paw. "Oh nevermind, you don't want to hear about my hair."

"Tell me!" I demanded.

"Well, I have to put all this product in it just to stop it going afro. My roommates are always trying to straighten it with a..." and at this point he mimed a clapping beak-contraption, the kind one straightens one's hair with. Solomon does indeed have a curly mop of hair, the type that can probably sculpt itself into adventurous projects overnight and explode by morning, the kind with a mind of its own. I couldn't help giggling at the girlishness of the encounter so far, or rather, gaylishness: I needed to wee, she was adjusting his underwear and telling me about his hair, all in the first five minutes.

Solomon is the kind of guy I could sit and blab to for months. By the third drink we were describing our respective jobs, their merits and disadvantages, and our overseas expeditions. A notebook and pen were produced, arrows were drawn and demonstrations re-enacted, and we concluded that he was happy with his and I was not, and perhaps next time I ought to change jobs, and that 'next time' is now. Awww.. those were the days.

This world is a small one, and shrinking.

The blogosphere is no exception.

Get Over It!

2007-06-21T09:08:00.000+08:00

Damn, I hate that phrase. Doesn't matter whether it's spoken by someone with good intentions or a self-important witch-doctor, the message is clear. Give up your desires, your needs. They count for nothing. It's the other person's right to hurt you and walk away.

Of course it has the greatest negative impact when said, or implied, by the one who has hurt you. The one who stuck the shiv between your ribs tells you not to bleed. Right. Never mind that said person relied on the same qualities they later rejected, drew support, consolation and pleasure from the feelings of love and commitment they now scorn. Never mind that said person would have been hurt terribly, would have reacted badly had those feelings turned out to be false when they needed them most.

All that is irrelevant, right? I didn't get to the place where people feel compelled to lay that evil phrase on me all by myself, you know. Yes, I'm bitter. Even angry. Knowing that those qualities I take the most pride in possessing have been consigned to the dumpster, knowing that when the chips are down the best in me is perceived as worthless, tends to make me that way.

I don't like living on a one-way street.

Midlife Career Change

2007-06-18T09:07:00.000+08:00

As a member of the baby boom generation, I have seen many people my age change careers at least once during middle age (Yes! 30 is middle age for me. I wouldn't wanna live THAT long). We are all living longer, move more often and of course are all living in a much faster paced world than the one our parents lived in. This leads to a lot of us choosing to do more than one thing in our work lives. These career changes are usually fed by a passion, by disillusionment or some unforeseeable event that changes our lives. Alvin left a successful business career as a comptroller to serve humanity as a compassionate therapist, going back to school in mid-life and committing years to this effort. A good friend of his Chee Cheng (CC for short) was a successful media executive and decided to reinvent the world of wine retailing. Another friend who has successfully built and run a media company decided that he could be happier, and more financially successful working solo from home, taking time to smell the roses. In all of these cases they followed their passion, listened to their heart and applied developed talents or learned new skills or complete new areas of knowledge and expertise.

The key driver in a mid-life career change is to find greater happiness and more passion in ones’ work life. Mid-life brings with it a sense of mortality, that life in fact may be half over and that raises the question of how to spend the remaining time we have on this earth. Happiness is individually defined. Some feel the need to serve others. Some want to be more creatively expressive, and others want to make more money. All these motivations are personal and should be at the core of any mid-life career change. However, once this internal process has been completed it is important to really take a macro look at the world to make sure that this personal decision fits into the larger dynamics at play in the marketplace.

Disintermediation, globalization, the growth of high speed connectivity, and the changing energy environment are all factors that should be thought about before making the final career change decision. For example, if, in the mid-1990s someone had made the decision to enter the music business, that career would probably be short lived due to the disintermediation of the Internet and legal and illegal downloads. Any new job or occupation that is reliant on transportation whether it be shipping or just a long commute now must be considered within the context of oil prices and the changing landscape of energy.

Oh well, as I have done here, there are a lot of things that must be considered outside oneself when making this important decision. “Look Up. Look around. Look within. Or look out!"

Catching Up With Myself

2007-06-15T11:02:00.000+08:00

Each time I neglect to blog all the uber-pertinent goings on of my ultra-exciting life, I feel a little depleted. When my desktop freezes and there’s no solution other than to hold down the power button and induce a sudden shut-down, there is a sickening sound of protest right before the screen goes black, a kind of pained little yelp. That’s how I feel when I haven’t been writing for a while. Not blogging is akin to not writing at all - no diary entries, no note scrawling, barely making ‘to do’ lists. Those days are empty and they slip by in a foggy sigh of guilt and suffocation. Sometimes there is too much going on, sometimes not enough. It’s always hard after such a stretch just to sit down and get on with it again.

Once upon a time I would have tried to recapture those lost moments with a long-form summary of what I’ve missed, but it becomes baggage after a while. These days I tend to start fresh. It was liberating just before I got tied up at work to throw out perfectly good food from the fridge. My Meiji chocolates, my can tunas, my precious sundried tomatoes, all jettisoned. So to all those moments I didn’t write about, I salute you, you happened, you have your place in time, but I’m starting again.

One of the reasons I’ve avoided writing is that here at my office it is cold, dark and uninspiring. Rainy season has just about hit. Even now my hands are knobby and pale with the cold, though it’s sunny and warm outside. The office is crammed with remnants of my colleagues’s stuffs, bits and pieces we have left behind - crates of books and old things. Even my cubicle colleague stores lots of his stuff in here. Fair call, since the cubicles are tiny, and he has his beloved old FEDEX box on his side, which barely leaves a margin for thoroughfare. The desk is surrounded by his clutter, and it dissuades me from coming in here for any reason at all let alone for creative venting.

Small things over the past few days became inordinately large, as things do when one is pushed to one’s limit. Bits of the world had been breaking apart, crumbling all around me and I couldn’t help taking it personally. Since the days of being here, the pantry door flew off its hinges and nearly crushed my skull; the toilet seemed to rise from the floor and then water cascaded from its ruins; my favourite computer Creative speakers suddenly developed large holes; and a girl ran into me during rush hour to work while I was alighting the bus. I felt like a disaster zone. Now I feel a bit more like my old self who would regard such fleeting incidents not as small catastrophes combining forces to break me, but as unrelated mishaps to be forgotten in an instant.

This isn’t melodrama: more like hypersensitivity. I’ve taken hit after hit since this time last year and it’s been a quicksand struggle just to keep my head above it all. Before it all happened I never thought I could break. I thought I was infinitely resilient. A fortress of capability, rationality, sensibility. I wonder if you can regain that naive faith, or if being derailed once makes a dent for life. I miss that unshakeable fortitude.

But here’s to discarding what you no longer need, and to that deep fresh breath you didn’t know you were resisting.

The Only Thing Worse Than Having a Job, is Finding One.

2007-06-12T13:32:00.000+08:00

I may reverse that statement once I find a new job. We'll see. Recently, when I have found myself both un-incarcerated and sober, I have been applying for jobs in several industries, just to get out of this current one. I learned the hard way few years ago that if you quitted and stayed at home expecting to find a job, you can instead expect to find yourself both bored, and poor. Like, eating fruit off trees poor. And sucking off your landlord poor. So this time I've been applying for jobs in advance, before i quit my current job. Last week I responded to a job posting in Jurong, and got a call and email from a woman in HR at the company. She seemed enthusiastic about me being a match for this position. So did I. It's a shame that she didn't know I was the worst interviewee ever born with opposable thumbs.

The first of my kamikaze interviews was when I was fresh out of Polytechnic at Warren Country Club. If I had been able to wipe my drool, I probably would have gotten the job, but the wheels fell off when the manager asked, "What is your worst personality trait?" I was completely stumped. Actually not stumped at all. I knew exactly what they were, I just couldn't say them. Occasionally I borrowed things without returning (stole) them. I was chronically late. I was lazy. I masturbated too much. See? Can't say any of those. So I simply said, "I'm sorry, I can't think of one." And walked out of the club. I didn't get the job.

So that's the basic background of my illustrious job interviewing skills. The lady who called me from Jurong told me to call her back when I had time for a twenty minute phone interview. My first and biggest mistake was asking her "where she fit into all of this." You never ask a woman about herself under time constraints. She finally finished saying 'recruiter' and describing 'secretary'. But she had another trick up her sleeve.

"Can I ask you some behaviorally based questions?"

I absolutely loathe behaviorally based questions. If you're not familiar with them, they all start off like this: "Tell me about a time when you ..." and then are followed by "Worked effectively under pressure" or "Persuaded team members to do things your way." They ask you these questions to deduce attributes of your personality, without just asking you directly. If they want to know my personality pitfalls, I would be more than happy to tell them. I am exceedingly vain and arrogant. I have zero patience for idiots and douchebags that don't sign my checks. My room and car interior look like post-hurricane trailer parks, and my workstation would also. There is a very solid chance that I will come into work late most mornings. I also might try to bang my colleagues if she's pretty.

BUT. If motivated enough, I can outperform 99% of the other candidates in your four inch stack of resumes, and I can prove it. I can talk to clients. I have references that won't need to lie to you. Seriously though, who needs that stuff? Instead I'll tell you about the time I had to work 10 hours of overtime to meet a deadline, and how I convinced the anchor of our design group that we needed to use a X8 configuration instead of a X2 system on our company's autonomous handler. Give me a break.

It was a good thing mine was over the phone or else she would have seen the massive rash I was breaking out in. Why can't the questions be more like, "Tell me about a time you beat the expert setting of minesweeper in less than sixty seconds. Solitaire? Have you ever actually been bored enough to figure out what Freecell is?"

Yep, guess who found out today they didn't get the job.

International Sensation: The Algorithm March

2007-06-08T09:59:00.000+08:00

2 japanese guys performing the Algorithm March from the hit Japanese children's program Pythagorean Switch. There are a great many dance that cause me to smile and exclaim out loud something along the lines of “Yea, great moves!” There are fewer that make me jerk up my head in recognition, and with a broad smile have me say something silly like “Frickin awesome dance” with extream emphasis.

However, for me, most rare of all, are the very few dance moves that physiologically altogether somehow bypass knee-jerk physical gestulations, keenly short circuit any plausible articulation and tunnel unconsciously straight into to my primitive/primordial gut level. This is where any outbursts, any familiar movement, any repeated expressions, any phrase, any meaningful description in a vain attempt to describe the tangle of thoughts that are thrust above all others have been netted submissively before the musical assault has even fully bloomed. Such is the way I feel when “The Algorithm March” overwhelms around me.

How many great dances have you seen in your lifetime that were a phenomenon either at a city-wide level, or region-wide? A handful? A dozen? More? Out of those, how many have you wished and wondered, “They should have been HUGE!” I'm telling you, forget the Mambo Moves, forget the Chicken Dance, forget the Macarena. The Algorithm March is the way to go now. Haha!

Algorithm March in Stockholm, Sweden

Algorithm March in Cebu, Philippines

967 prisoners at a prison in Cebu, Philippines perform the Algorithm March?! Need I say more?

I Don't Usually Do These...

2007-06-07T09:11:00.000+08:00

...but a friend of mine threw down the gauntlet. So sue me.

Three Things Questionaire...

Three Things That Scare Me:

1. Height

2. Losing a family member

3. Cheryl Yeo

Three People Who Make Me Laugh:
1. Russell Peters

2. Celia Lim

3. Martin Lawrence

Three Things I Love:
1. My family and loved one

2. My friends, and that include you reading this lame entry

3. The smell of freshly-cut grass

Three Things I Hate:
1. The high-pitched scream of a very young child

2. The feeling you get when you accidentally chew a piece of ginger

3. Intolerant people. I'm intolerant of intolerance, which makes me a walking contradiction.

Three Things I Don’t Understand:
1. Non-Asian-based languages. At least with a Asian-based language, you can sort of read the headline and figure it out.

2. How a Thermoflask knows whether to keep the contents cold or hot

3. Women. I love them, but I don't understand them. I also don't understand Men, but Women are definitely the larger mystery.

Three Things On My Desk:
1. Empty can of Baron's Strong Brew

2. Old checkbook register

3. Print cartridge

Three Things I’m Doing Right Now:

1. Wondering how I got sucked into doing this Questionaire

2. Waiting for a customer phone call

3. Determining how much longer I can put off a huge deadline job before it becomes impossible to finish in time

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:

1. Skydive

2. Drive a sports car

3. Give a headjob to Jessica Alba (just kidding...wanted to see if y'all were paying attention)

Three Things I Can Do And People Didn't Know:
1. Rub my belly and pat my head

2. Type fast (my accuracy could use some work, though)

3. Charm the skin off a snake (someone once told me this, and although I disagree, it's just fun to see it in print)

Three Things I Can’t Do:
1. Skydive

2. Drive a sports car

3. Give a headjob to Jessica Alba (oh come on... you knew I was going to say that!)

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. Your intuition.

2. The advice of the people who know you best, even when you think they're wrong. Maybe especially when you think they're wrong, because if they took the risk to tell you, it means they really care.

3. The sound of a good piano playing

Three Things You Should Never Listen To:

1. Cheryl Singing

2. Mean people

3. Britney Spears

Three Favorite Foods:

1. Good Wine (shut up...it's a food)

2. Dark Chocolate

3. Anything Deep Fried

Three Things I Regret:

1. Being selfish enough to cause the people around me such pain

2. Not visiting my maternal Grandfather as he was close to death. I should have taken the time and the trip.

3. Living a half-life because I'm afraid to be completely honest with myself and my feelings

Three People I Tag:

Ugh! I hate to put anyone through this, but if anyone WANTS to, please leave a message in the comments section letting me know where to find your response. I would be more than interested in reading anything my brilliant readers would have to say (especially the ones who find me so inspirational!).

Long Shows Make Me Sick

2007-06-04T10:03:00.000+08:00

Went to see Pirates 3 a few nights ago.

There are some movies that beg to be seen on the big screen, and the "Pirates" saga definitely qualifies. Johnny Depp was, of course, amazing... although if he did that drag-queen prance IRL, I doubt many women would swoon over him. I dunno, maybe it's the eyeliner.

But I digress.

I really only had one issue with the movie: TIME. Yes, gentle readers, by the time we plopped our asses in the seat, watched all the commercials and trailers, and sat through the movie, it took a total of three hours. THIS is the reason I don't buy the $6.50 Nachos and Coke meal. I'm afraid I'll have to pee in the middle of the movie. So here's my solution (and I'm serious about this): Bring Back Intermission.

Yes, I'm old enough to remember when movies had intermissions. Actually, only one theatre did that, but I remember it. Here's how Intermission can save the movies:

First, the theatres will increase their popcorn, drink and candy sales exponentially. People will buy them going in, knowing that they'll have a chance to evacuate midway through the film. THEN, they'll buy even more on their trip back from bathroom. Sales will double. Trust me on this one. Let's just hope they wash their hands.

Second, the increased sales will eliminate the need to run all those freaking ads at the beginning of the movie. I realize that those ads are what keep tickets from costing an outrageous $9.50 each, but certainly the inproved sales on popcorn and stuff will more than make up for it.

Third, filmmakers would be able to set up their movies with more pre-intermission drama, and give people something to talk about during the intermission instead of during the fricking film. Maybe people would chat less while the movie's running if they knew they could ask all their stupid questions (Where's Keith Richards? How did they get the parrot to talk on cue?) during the film itself.

Now I realize that it's easier to manage an Intermission in a single-screen theatre. We may need to bring back the ticket-stub police if my plan is widely implemented. But seriously, wouldn't this be a good thing? Wouldn't you like to be able to pee halfway through a three-hour epic without running the risk of missing some critical piece of dialog, a great boob shot, or Johnny Depp's naked ass? It's a win-win all the way around.

Bring it back, baby. Bring it back.

* I couldn't care less about Johnny Depp's naked ass, but since this blog has a lot of female readers, I thought I would toss it in there to sweeten the pot, so to speak.

In Which I Get A Haircut

2007-06-01T09:31:00.000+08:00

I got a haircut yesterday from Mary, the old Chinese Indonesian hairdresser. I got it cut short. At first it seemed OK, but after a while I had to face it: Mary gave me a real short-top. That haircut from the eighties. I suppose it will grow out soon, but at the moment I look like a wimpy-ass asian rapper. Like, if a director of a Vanilla Ice film clip was looking for somebody who looked lamer than Vanilla Ice, for Vanilla Ice to defeat in a rap battle, they would cast me. Ah, it’s not Mary’s fault, she’s a good hairdresser, but she has nothing to work with. I always get this feeling of disapointment from her when she’s done and looks at the results. She tries to crimp some life into my hair, looks at the results in the mirror, sighs.

I like Aunt Mary, though, she’s a sensitive soul, and looked like any other Chinese-Christian Indonesian refugee hairdresser, which must be a hard role for life to assign you. I was one of her first customers. She used to struggle along in a back-street. I can ask her questions I could ask no other hairdresser, like, what happens to all the hair clippings? Apparently they just go into ordinary rubbish. I thought maybe they used them to stuff toy animals, or make glue, or something, it seems like a material that should have some industrial use.

I found it strange to stare at myself in a well-lit mirror for fifteen or twenty minutes, I never do it at any other time. The planes of my face seemed increasingly peculiar to me the longer I looked at them. But I bring so much baggage to my reflection that it is hard for me to know what I’m really looking at. And of course in a mirror you can never see yourself looking away…

I worry sometimes what my face is becoming as I get older, if I am starting to look haunted, if things are starting to show in my countenance that make people wary of me. At a office meeting last weekend I tried talking to people I didn't know, or only half-knew. I was part-asleep, I was trying to be charming but spoke too fast and unclearly, like an unfunny Robin Williams, nobody could understand me. I sensed an unwillingness to engage, a turning away, and I wondered if it was me. It reminded me of the worst couple of years of polytechnic, this blank inpenetrable wall coming back at me from people. I'm not so bad, I wanted to tell people, away from all this nonsense I’m better. Alone I’m slower, I listen well. I’m not as desperate as I may seem, I have friends, it's just that I miss the allure of a fascinating stranger.

What can you do? I talked to friends instead. It was easier, and no doubt they were a lot more interesting than anything those strangers might have had to offer. And I got a haircut. Look where that got me. Ice Ice Baby.

Female Types I Don't Want To Have Sex With

2007-05-30T15:28:00.000+08:00

I kind of stole this from somewhere in the internet, except I changed the gender. (The original title of the post was "Male Types I Don't Want To Have Sex With". Please, feel free to come up with you own list once you are done here.

Most women think men have a single "type" of women they prefer. And for the most part, they're correct. That type is known as "breathing". Preferably with large, heaving breasts*.

However, given enough time, most men will gravitate toward a certain kind of woman. As the aforementioned, everyone has a different idea as to what constitues "sexy". We also have a pretty good idea of what is not sexy. So here, faithful readers, is my list of Female Archetypes I Don't Want to Have Sex With. Not that I was planning anything anyway, but if I were, I would avoid these folks:

The Heroin-chic Waif Model:
I can't believe anyone finds this attractive. If I can count your ribs, or if your shoulder blades cast a shadow on your back, you're too damn thin. Honestly, you look like something I would put in a bowl after eating a Honey Coated Buffalo Wing at Pizza Hut.

The Plastic Surgery Addict:

Not that I have anything against wanting to improve one's self, but there are too many walleye-boobs out there pointing in different directions. And if you really think you need fat from your ass injected into your lips, well, you have self-esteem problems no surgery will fix. Next...

The Body Builder:

If I take your photo, and the resulting image looks like someone Photoshopped your head over a Conan The Barbarian-era Arnold Schwarzenneger picture, we're just not meant to be together. I appreciate the work it took for you to create that sculpted look, but I don't want to be with a woman who looks like she has a bigger penis than I do.

'nuff said.

P/S: You will note this is not necessarily my preference (not that there's anything WRONG with large, heaving breasts, but rather an informed opinion based on years of observation.

Rattling Week Ahead

2007-05-28T09:13:00.000+08:00

Today was an accursed day. I woke this morning, stretched, and thumped impatiently at my alarm clock, which was set to the "alarm" setting rather than the "radio" setting. Instead of being lulled awake to the swooning violins of the classical FM station, a hammer-buzz was hollering at me, "Your weekends are over! Back to work, my friend!"

Vaguely, perhaps, I recalled the death, the night before, of the television I have had for 10 years. My grandma recently bought a new television, and gave me her old one. I brought it back from TPY, and set it up in my room. Later that night I moved the old trusty into my bedroom, and plugged it in, to discover it had turned into a paperweight. Nothing. A dead click and not even a pilot light. The timing was mysterious. It had died at the exact moment I got a new one.

Little did I know, as I woke and mused on these things, that today was to be a day of technodeath. When I was on my way to the office my ipod refused to work. Its battery had been depleted during the past 2 days. I plugged it in, got a momentary battery charging screen, then - nothing. It had spontaneously metamorphized from a personal jukebox to a lifeless metal box which has stubbornly refused to do anything since. A friend's ipod died a while back, and their's, at least, made a whirring, sick noise that steadily got worse. Give me something to work with, something to fiddle with, don't just be bafflingly dead...

Oh well, how I wish my weekends could have gone on another week or so! I would have liked to paint a wall in my room, or maybe make a few facetious brushstrokes on my never-to-be-completed mural. I would have liked to have walked on the beach (it was too far), to paint a picture, play the piano, gotten drunk. I think I might have really started writing, then. Alas, it is back to the land of annoying bosses and the Reverse Midas Techno-touch I seem to have developed. Still, this blog entry has been written with more passion and actual enjoyment than I've summoned up for writing in a while, so that's probably a good sign.

It is a sort of conscious derangement, this state I seek. It's not entirely pretty, but it would be an interesting change.

Addendum: When I got back from lunch just now, I picked up my ipod, and without hope tried again to reset it. It fluttered into life with a battery depleted logo. I tenderly carried it to the charger, praying that the electricity might somehow defibrilate it, It worked! My ipod is back!Today is gonna be a good day...

Spam Imitates Life.

2007-05-25T09:28:00.000+08:00

One of my email accounts throws suspected spam messages in a separate folder but requires I delete them manually.

Recently, I've been looking at senders' names and message lines and it's freakin' me out a little.Robert, Samuel, Leonard, David and Steve are all exhorting me to enlarge my, ummmm, male appendage by using pills they'll sell me.

Rose, Nancy, Louise, Katherine and Sarah want me to either gamble at their online casinos or refinance my (non-existent) house with them.

Conclusions:

1. There are too many men out there paying far too much attention to my johnson.

2. Women are only interested in my money.

I wish it was the other way around....

28 Minutes Later

2007-05-22T10:08:00.000+08:00

I have been keenly aware of Celia's attitude the last couple of months, and am actually suprised by just how angry and short-tempered she has become. I didn't think it was too bad, because i have been aware all the time I'm with her that she have a dangerous temper and have purposely trained myself to have an incredibly long fuse. (It is my theory that most people who are considered "easy-going" and "laid back" are born of this situation) But then I thought, what if she wasn't her, and there were people listening and watching what she was saying to herself and watching by herself inside her mind? This turned out to be very challenging, embarrassing, and alarming because she sometimes say and feel and do things in her mind that are rated beyond NC-17, and that is only beginning with imagining running down, forcing off the road, and dragging the person out of the driver's seat and beating slowly to death those who have cut her off in traffic, something she think two or three times a day.

What is really depressing (and strangely reassuring) is the sure knowledge that it seems that it is always me who hears and sees this stuff, someone who not only knows the inner desires and fantasies of the heart, but not only knows the root, knows the motivation for these things, knows why she do and think the way she do. This wouldn't be a bad thing if it was a being who was like a hired therapist and was there to listen and be nonjudgmental and suggust courses of actions for my consideration to ammend my ways.

Oh bother, some days I should just get back in bed and wait for tomorrow. Well, for a start, she has that short tempered to begin with. Combine that with obsessive compulsive behaviour (I hope someone gets it this time, as I've done it in past entries) and you have an idea of how today started out under normal conditions for me.

There was only a slight sense of rage when I started thinking ‘why me’? I guess it caused more of a sporadic depression from my personal experiences. Haha! Have a nice day peeps!

He’s Gonna Kill Me For This

2007-05-20T19:39:00.000+08:00

…so I just won’t use her name.

She called this afternoon to tell me about her Saturday and announce that she got laid. She tells me these things. She has been in quite a good mood lately actually, jolly and carefree, just the way I like her, haha! Except she hates what I write about her in my blog.

“I mean, it’s not like I spend ALL my time coming over to your place and begging you to let me sleep in your bed or give me sleeping pills. You wouldn’t like it if I said that stuff about you,” the phone said, and I adjusted it against my ear where I had been pressing a little too hard, rolled over onto my back on the bed.

“If you’re gonna do spazzy things, I’m going to write about them. If you don’t want me to write about them, don’t be a spaz. I’m just reporting the truth. Besides, no one cares. Anyone who reads COD II and knows who you are wouldn’t be surprised to read about your spazness. Anyone who reads it and doesn’t know who you are and is horrified doesn’t know you anyway.”

She complained for ten or twenty more minutes and we squabbled in that whiny round and round in circles way that perfectly summarises our friendship, then went on to a more in-depth dissertation of her latest night on the piss, some marvellous British-accented man, a couple of BBQs, the man she went flolicking with, blah.

“Are you telling me all this so I put it in my blog?” I asked.

“Yeah, go on, write about the GOOD stuff I do. Write something different for a change.”

“Shut up. You don't have any good stuff for me to write about Haha!”

“Fine! I go take some beauty sleep!” We hung up.

At approximately 7pm I sent her a text: “Hey. Hungry?”

That got her. She reached shortly afterward bearing sauvignon blanc and a grin.

“Desmond, you’re looking divine,” she said, beaming at my brother's new powder-blue ruffled T-shirt, and Desmond grinned back and shot her a faux-humble “Ya right!”

She continued… planting the wine down on the table and shot me an insult before wogging into the closest chair and yodelling something or other. She’s good value, this monster – the minute she walks into a room Desmond and I collapse into hysteria, then she opens her mouth and we laugh harder…

So Desmond makes a beeline for bed, having drunk two bottles of wine. He’s already at the point where he won’t remember any of this tomorrow. And we continue to drink, bicker, insult each other. It’s good to have those kinds of friends, the kind you regularly tell to get fucked knowing that they won’t take it the wrong way. Then again, sometimes they are very hard work.

Licking Off

2007-05-16T10:20:00.000+08:00

A couple of nights ago I dreamt I gave Jessica Alba a head job after watching the preview of The Fantastic Four 2 on TV. We were each sitting in an armchair. She drew mine closer and insisted I gave her head. I was reticent because the room was full of other people in armchairs watching us. She put a blanket over my head which barely disguised the frenzied bobbing. I think I must have actually been throwing my head around in my sleep, because it was so vivid that I actually felt the jerk of her pussy as she came, and she issued a series of desperate hisses of lick! lick! lick! lick! lick! and I tasted her in my mouth. Seriously, I was smacking my lips. I must have been partly awake because I distinctly recall the sudden flavour, which must have just been my own gammy nightmouth.

I felt used and a total loser.

Like a Dog Chasing Its Tail

2007-05-11T09:30:00.000+08:00

This following conversation was over-heard unintentionally last night between good ol' Cheryl dear and a guy whose voice was everything but familiar.

“I can’t believe you just brought my mood down. I was in such a good mood.”

“I was just asking if you were ok with everything.”

“I mean, I refuse to take responsibility for this. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say you did anything wrong! I’m just clarifying that there are boundaries here. We’re friends, nothing more, I’m just making sure you understand that because sometimes you act like you think it’s something different.”

“Why are you accusing me of all this? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’M NOT ACCUSING YOU OF ANYTHING! I’m trying to be honest with you, even though I’ve said all this before, because I care about our friendship and I want to know if this is all ok with you.”

“Why are you so scared? You’re so paranoid. You’re all fucked up. What’s wrong with being more than friends? I don’t want you to be my girlfriend or anything.”

“I don’t WANT to be more than friends. That’s why we’re having this conversation. I wanted to remind you of the parameters. There are some lines you just can’t cross. If you’re happy with the way things are, then great, so am I. But if this is confusing or stressful for you then something needs to change, and I’m leaving it all up to you to do what you need to do.”

“No, don’t put this on me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not SAYING you did anything wrong! Nobody did! There is no blame here, this is not an argument or an accusation!”

“So, what, you’re not attracted to me?”

“Yes, I am, but I’m not letting this go any further. You and I are friends and there is nothing beyond that.”

“You’re contradicting yourself! You’re not making any sense. What’s wrong with being more than friends?”

“I DON’T WANT TO BE MORE THAN FRIENDS. THAT’S WHY WE’RE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION.”

“But you just said you were attracted to me. You kissed me, remember?”

“Yes, that was ages ago, before I was fricking married!! Then I stopped, and I told you why, and I’ve told you more than once, and you don’t seem to understand me.”

“But you’re attracted to me?”

“As a friend. I’m drawn to you, I think you’re great to hang out with, I love your sense of humour, we click really well, but anything else would make things very complicated. Can’t you see that? Look at the way we’re talking now, we’re going round in circles and I keep having to answer the same questions, like you’re trying to wear me down into giving you some response, telling you something you want to hear, and I’m not going to do that, so can we please not say the same things over and over?”

“Well I just don’t believe that. What are you so scared of, I mean, you’re so paranoid.”

(I suppose at this point in the conversation, Cheryl must be glaring at whoever it is, gritting her teeth.)

“I am telling you, right now, like I said before, we are friends. I’m not scared or paranoid. We are friends and that is that, and if you’re happy with the way things are, cool, if not, do something.”

“No, don’t put this on me, I’m not the one who’s all fucked up, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“NOBODY DID ANYTHING WRONG!”

“You just said that I did.”

“What did I say you did wrong?”

“Well, overstepped some boundaries, or whatever.”

“Don’t you see? That’s why I’m trying to talk to you. I want to make sure you know what’s going on. Sometimes it seems like you’re waiting for something else to happen.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Ok, are you hearing me? I’m telling you that it won’t.”

“Well I just don’t believe that. I think you’re attracted to me. You kissed me, remember?”

(Again, at this point of the conversation, I suppose Cheryl would be shaking against the wall in frustration, jaw clenched hard as if trying to chew pebbles.)

“I can’t say this again. This conversation is over.”

“What do you mean? Why are you so afraid to talk about it? Sometimes talking helps.”

“We’ve been talking for how long now? You keep asking me the same questions and I keep giving you the same answers, how many times would you like to repeat it?”

“But I just don’t understand. I thought we were friends.”

“WE ARE FRIENDS! YOU’RE KILLING ME, YOU HAVE TO LEAVE, I CAN’T HANDLE THIS!”

And on and on and on. Eventually I shut down completely and fell asleep. I make no apologies for blogging this Cheryl, you guys are the ones with the trumpet voices. Hahahaha!

P/S: Stay tuned for the next episode, if there's any!

In A Flash

2007-05-08T13:28:00.000+08:00

Today I went full circle in an instant from looking really, really cool, strutting down my neighbourhood street to the tune of my ipod, wearing my summery slouchy working pants coupled with a newly washed Dr Martens shoes and slurping on my yummy choc-chip milk, to looking like a complete dickhead when it took me 5 WHOLE MINUTES to realise that I LEFT MY LAPPY BAG and ITS ENTIRE CONTENTS sitting ON THE BENCH at the bus stop. Oh! Holy! Shitbags! I promptly legged it back hoping manically against hope that it would still be there, and found the a lovely lady standing by the bench, bag in hand, waiting for the stupid office boy to come running back. She graciously handed me my bag with a smile and a laugh while I thanked her profusely and walked away, tail between legs.

Daftness aside, today was rather good. Funny moment waiting to cross at the lights near the bus stop. A man collecting for some charity came to me and said, “Sir?” and held out his tin.

“No, sorry,” I replied. He looked a bit insane. He turned to ask another pedestrian, who also refused. He then turned immediately back to me.

“Sir?”

“No, sorry,” I said again, in the same way that I had last time. It was then that I noticed the back of his T-shirt. It said Schizophrenic Association.

Hold Me, Touch Me, All Night Long (NOT!)

2007-05-06T04:34:00.000+08:00

I really wish people would quit touching me. That sounds kind of crazy and neurotic. Allow me to rephrase that because there is at least one person that I can think of right off hand that I would love to be touched by on a regular basis.

What I mean is, I really wish MOST people would quit touching me.

It’s not that I have weird issues about being touched because some weird uncle diddled me when I was a child. It's just that I don't like very many people and if I don't like people then it stands to reason that I also don't want them touching me. It’s just that it's usually the wrong people that want to paw all over me like I’ve given them permission to invade my personal space. My personal space extends five feet from my body in all directions. Enter at your own risk. No, I don’t want a hug. I want to kick your face.

Like a few days ago I’m at the local coffeeshop smoking a cigarette out back because we can no longer smoke in coffeeshops in fascist countries like this one and there’s this girl that I know from a few years back at Zouk. She’s not completely hideous or anything. She might even be cute if she lost about 20kg more. I’m being as friendly as I am able which means I’m not totally ignoring her. Because I’ve been drinking Coke I can talk rather than stare angrily off into space. We are discussing her husband Wei and my ex-girlfriend Corrine, because we were all friends once. The next thing I know she’s rubbing all over my back and stomach and hanging on me like we’re old fucking lovers or something.

“Wei’s in the army doctor at Iraq now,” she says with a look of drunken desperation you only see on fat girls' faces in bars.

“He left two weeks ago.” I can’t imagine why he would ever want to leave such a loving, faithful wife behind to go kill people abroad. For you stupid people, this is called sarcasm.

“Yeah, I need to go back and get a bite or something,” I say hoping to escape her clutches before it’s too late, before she drags me behind a dumpster to rape me.

She’s still rubbing all over me and I’m thinking this girl might be big enough to take me in a wrestling match and it takes some deft Batman-style maneuvering to slip out of her tight grip. For the rest of the night I hide in the men’s bathroom sobbing asking everyone who comes in, “Has she left yet?”

“Who?”

“That fat drunk girl with the hands.”

“Dude, she’s standing right outside the bathroom door waiting for you.”

That’s when I scream.

But of course I’m making most of this shit up. The truth is, I just avoided her by talking to prettier girls the rest of the night to shatter what was left of her self-esteem and make myself completely unapproachable with my wall of drunken beauties.

Yes, I just made that up too, but it sounded pretty fucking awesome, didn’t it? My point is, women usually don’t like it when guys paw all over them (unless, of course, it’s a guy they’re attracted to, then it’s fine), but they think it’s perfectly acceptable to get touchy feely with guys they barely know. It’s a nice little sexist double standard probably bolstered by the fact that most men will fuck any woman willing to fuck them. They want to be touched by you for crying out loud!

I don't.

In fact, it kind of creeps me out for people I barely know to want any kind of physical contact with me beyond a handshake or a hug. I don’t mind handshakes and I usually tolerate hugs from the people I know and like, but unless you’re someone I want to sleep with that is the end of our bodies colliding on this physical plane of existence.

So, stop fucking touching me, hippies.

How Smart Is Your Right Foot?

2007-05-03T09:25:00.000+08:00

Below is an email that's going around. Maybe it's been circulating for years, but I received it for the first time today. It makes a claim that seems dubious at first. But, upon experimentation, appears to be true. At least, it's true for me. There must be a scientific explanation for this phenomenon. The question is: does it hold true for everyone? And is it possible to counteract this reflex through force of will?

This is so funny that it will boggle your mind. And you will keep trying it at least 50 more times to see if you can outsmart your foot. But you can't!!!

1. While sitting at your desk, lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles with it.
2. Now, while doing this, draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand. Your foot will change direction!!!

I told you so... And there is nothing you can do about it.