Grac Goes On A Holiday

Bah humbug. Have I ever told you I dislike celebrations of any sort? I'm going to bury my head in the sand and hibernate til it all goes away. Won't be writing unless anything particularly blogworthy creeps up on me. Otherwise, its holiday family stress and a happy new year! Hoho.

By the way, did you know Jesus was born in September in the year 4 B.C. or 5 B.C.?

"Say, Jesus- when were you born?"
"Oh, 'bout four years before... well, Me."

Weekday Postcards : Monday Morning Rain Is Falling

Obviously, I missed the nationwide memo that said to sleep in this morning since it was such a great day to snuggle in, lulled by the gentle sound of rainfall. But no, I had to go to work and make phone calls to everyone else who didn’t. This new Risk Communication program I’m working on is great- anyone wanna buy a workshop?

Communications people are so hard to get. I dunno why they’re never around to answer the phone. I have this list of the PR officers in all the government departments and they’re never in the office or they don’t pick up their phones. Hello? Which part of Public Relations in their job title don't they get? I’m a public and I want relations with you. Pick up your phone!

To Wong Foo Mun Yee, With Love...

Warning / Disclaimer : Episode 7 of Lessons. Sap/Kleenex Alert. I am not responsible if you feel squicked after reading this post. You probably asked for it. Hah. Serves you right.

“Everything’s gonna be alright.”

There was a birthday party in my house. I am not very fond of having birthday parties and I’m none-too-crazy about birthdays either. Think about it- what are you *really* celebrating? The miracle of birth is just too squicky when it involves me, regardless of whether I’m the birther or birthee. Nevertheless, I am thankful that my mother passed me through her birth canal rather successfully. Congratulations all ‘round- happy birthday, me. Woo. But I digress, there is just something indefinable about birthdays that make me solemn and introspective. (And it not the issue of aging, either.)

Anyhow, as I was saying- there I was preparing for this big birthday bash of mine in my introspective mood and close to tears (I really didn’t know why). Chan Foong Yee arrived and told me that Red was on her way. It was like a palpable weight off my shoulders and I was instantly relieved, thinking “Red’s coming. Everything is going to be okay now.” I was soon swamped with the stress of entertaining, preparing food and getting into truly heart-breaking arguments with family members- all this whilst crying like crazy in front of everybody. I mean, there were tears and snot running about unchecked and I was practically wailing. I actually cried myself awake (and I’m truly glad this has happened to me only twice in my life). The dream was just so upsetting that I was still crying softly, bewilderedly wiping at the tears. The details escaped me, but the emotions did not. Right then, all I could recall was that dream!Red was on her way and that she would make everything alright.

“Boy, I wish I could call her”

If something bad happens to me or I get into trouble- mouth dry, heart thumping, stomach in throat; all I gotta do is think “Boy, I wish I could call Red and tell her” and I’d feel better immediately (well, eventually). I’d calm down slightly and laugh at how she’d probably call me an idiot and we would proclaim it ‘The Worst Day Of My Life’ or ‘The Stupidest Thing I’ve Ever Done’. Sometimes, its ‘The Stupidest Thing I’ve Ever Done On The Worst Day Of My Life’. That’s a big one and usually requires at least two hours of being cussed out and eventually being teased over it till I laugh. If something great happens to me or I see something that makes me happy, I’d itch to call her as well to share the joy. The happy event becomes euphoric just by thinking about calling and telling her. Not that she’d be in fits of delight or ecstasies. More often than not, she’d just grunt at my tale and go “so desu ka?”

It’s funny. Judging by my Raving of Red, you must think we speak daily, do you not? Heh. Sorry to disappoint, but we hardly speak or even see each other online with any sort of frequency, if at all. Our phone calls to each other are mostly long periods of silence, but we try not to do it so much anymore. We met in secondary school but were never in the same classes or sports house- we suspect the teachers must have had a hand in this. The only reason why I signed up for softball was so that we could at least be in the same club before our final year. And that one afternoon a week of tossing the dumb ball back and forth for hours was our idea of doing something fun together. Actually, I think the only picture we have together is that grainy tiny-assed Kelab Softball photo in the school magazine. I don’t recall taking any other pictures together, do you? And you call yourself a photographer. Hello? Willing best friend model here!

College meant Subang Taipan for Red and smackdab downtown K-Hell for me- opposite sides of the universe. We’ve only ever watched two or three movies together (Mousehunt and Stuart Little, can you believe it?) I’ve been to her house six times and had dinner there once. She’s been to mine a million more than six times and stayed over twice. We watched Disney’s Hunchback on my cr*p VCR once, remember? We can go to Starbucks and sit for hours without talking. Dumb movies and coffee seem to be the only two reasons we go out, doesn’t it? Oh yeah. Of late, we’ve been going out for drinking sessions that once ended up with us so drunk we sat on the kaki lima of Bangsar somberly confessing our eternal loyalty for each other and our deepest, darkest fears. LOL! By the way, that was a Truly Great Night. I’m glad I shared it with you, bud.

“Oh, my best friend can do that too.”

My best friend has superpowers. She can make everything alright merely by existing. She makes me feel immediately better just by *thinking* about how good it’d be if I could call her and tell her my problems. She can make me feel like the smartest person in the universe just by asking me questions and listening to me. I know a lot of people think she does not exist, or that I have many, many best friends because its always, “Oh, my best friend is an amazing photographer. She draws too.” Or “I got a friend that plays at least four instruments really well too.” “My friend’s a bartender. In Japan.” “Yeah, my best friend can speak five languages, at least.” “Sound engineering? Hey, my best friend’s a sound engineer, y’know.” “Wow, I got a friend who’s an X-Files fan too!”. No one realizes that I am usually talking about the same person, or if they do I bet they think I’m making up this incredible person that can do everything under the sun. Probably because of this : “What she’s studying? Oh, uh- some computer thing. I’m not sure. Multimedia or something like that. Dunno.” Shrug. LOL!

“Happy Birthday, bud” “You mean, belated.” “Uh, yeah.”

13/11/2005, 9 pm (One day after Red’s Birthday, which I missed was not online for)
Red : Hey
Grac : ?
Red : how come you don't change your blog colour on my bday?!
Grac : lol- then everyone'd expect me to do it for their birthdays... if it helps, i wore red yesterday
Red : no it doesn't help
Grac : hm- i'll write ya an epic poem and post a pic of me in my red underwear for you then
Red : agreed

Ah, jealousy rears its rather unattractive head which vaguely looks like yours. LOL! Kidding, dude. How could you possibly be jealous when you know you’ll always be the only one? *snorts* (Heh. Sap Alert!) I could never write you a poem. How could I ever fit you into the confines of one? Poems mean meters and rhythm and all sorts of rules that would never fit everything I want to say about you. Thus, I write you this love letter. The first and only love letter I’d ever write to a human being not related to me by blood. And if you know me like you do, you’d know that I’d never write love letters to anyone else till I’m very certain the Husband ain’t gonna leave me and its too late to anyway. I’m not the sort who’d get a tattoo of their boyfriend’s names on their arses.

Happy belated birthday, dude. It’ll be a great year for you, I’m certain. How dare it be otherwise?

All my love*,
Grace

PS – *Not like that, you pervs.

PPS - Cheer up, They can’t be there forever… if they are, give me their address and I’ll TP their house up over here. It’s rainy season now and I’ll use good quality 4-ply toilet paper.

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Quote from our IM sessions.

Red : Dude…
Red : I can't believe that I have nothing paranoid to tell you
Grac : finally.
Grac : our lives are perfect.

Scene from real life (August 2005)

[Scene : Red and Grac meet up for the first time after a whole year of Red being in Japan. Red pulls up in her car to Grac's house. Grac opens car door with goofy grin.]
Grac : Hey.
Red : Hey. Where're we going?
Grac : Dunno. Up to you.
Red : Mamak?
Grac : Cool.
Red : Where?
Grac : Just drive.

(And I swear, I'm not making these up. I have no need to.)
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Weekend Postcards : Miracle Sunday

“Chocolate Milk and Whales In Ice”

Every week I’m on CHAMPS duty is a Miracle Sunday for me. This Sunday was no exception. Thank God for my CHAMPS team- I couldn’t have asked for a better team (okay, so I could. But the fact that they were assigned to me makes it more the more miraculous). Granted, Andrew was missing and I forgot to remind Su Ann to come- but I had super-dependable Wan Ling and on-the-fly stoic Ken Han. The kids were as well behaved as they could physically be. Principal Carol had to threaten detention and I had to ply them with Cheap Plastic Gifts. My teachers were oblivious about the short-staffing and so incredibly calm about our under-preparation. They rock.

Teacher Wan Ling gave a powerpoint presentation on the Bible Story for the day in her ‘stone’ (and I quote Ken Han here) voice. The remarkable thing was the kids remembered every detail of the long narration when I needed to refer to the lesson plan to ask them review questions after. Have I told you lately that Teacher Wan Ling rocks harder than a Gwen Stefani concert? (I think she’s having exams or something, even.)

I have never seen Teacher Ken Han give a more inspired Object Lesson. Chocolate milk and clear plastic cups- tied into a lesson about giving more praise to God that even *I* can understand. While I was in the PA box panicking about the next segment (which was- well, nothing); I could hear Ken Han’s voice tense up slightly. Looking up, I saw Senior Pastor Joshua (*dum dum dahh*) grinning like a loon from the back of the hall. Y’know, that goofy grin he has when he’s overly pleased about something. The only thing scarier than having Pastor Josh dropping in on you is to have Deputy Senior Pastor Carey watching you teach. Teacher Ken Han was flawless. You go, bro!

I didn’t mean to, but somewhere in between asking review questions and giving them Cheap Plastic Gifts I started talking about whales, holes in the ice and the open ocean. It was the second Object Lesson I’d read but didn’t understand. I wasn’t thinking about what to say next, it was more like - ‘dude, what the heck am I talking about?’ The words just flowed and I made the most amazing allegory about praise and worship every Sunday like a breath of air for the soul until we reach the open ocean and exist in a state of open worship. Never in my life have I had words so profound and powerful come out of my mouth. It was so good I almost cried. There is no way in all of creation that those words came out of me. Probably the closest thing to an out-of-body experience that I’d ever have.

Lydia came down from her Mini-CHAMPS just in time for me to assign game team leaders for ‘Team Flydia’ and ‘Team Fen Han’. Team Fen Han had the obvious lead with thirteen Bible-Carriers to Team Flydia’s nine. ‘Course, the fact that Teacher Fen Han’s team was twice the size of Teacher Flydia’s group had something to do with it. We all made paper airplanes and the objective was to see whose plane flew furthest. The glaring flaw in that game was- firstly, the lack of space we had to throw th’ planes. Secondly, that they’d run to the front screaming like kamikaze pilots to throw said planes at us point blank. I crouched down screaming, “Not the face! Not the face!” Thank God I was wearing two layers of clothing. I think I have tiny pock-marked bruises on my back.
Ah, who cares about order? I threw my hands up in defeat and let ‘em run wild. After all, they’d been so incredibly good today. I’d survived another Sunday lock-down with a hall full of First Service CHAMPS Kids- I went where lesser mortals feared to tread. My liver is safe for another week from those little savages. Life is good. This feeling is what keeps me coming back week after week, year after year. Nothing like it.

“Noisiest row dismisses last! Straighten your chairs in 10…9…8…” I didn’t even have to keep the Standard 4 Boys for our weekly ‘Special Care Group’ detention. *sigh* Life is so good.

Snapshots and Thoughts To Keep Forever

~ My first thought on entering the Hall : ‘The kids outnumber us twenty-to-one, but as long as they don’t know that, we should be fine.’

~ Weldon going ‘aieeeee!’ in the highest-pitch scream I’d heard from a boy and throwing paper planes at me point blank. He’d throw ‘em, pick ‘em up from the floor and throw them again with alarming swiftness. It feels like being repeatedly poked in the back with tiny fingers.

~ “Why? Why you don’t come teach us anymore?” From Heather in Mini-CHAMPS and a few other kids from Second-Service CHAMPS. My heart just melted and I gave my standard answer- “Because you all so naughty I scared of you already.”

~ Timothy the Tiny Ten-Year-Old Terror waving his arm at me frantically all throughout Question Time although he didn’t know the answers. I gave him Cheap Plastic Gifts anyway. It gives me the fuzzies to realize that he’d been sooo incredibly good- he hardly ran about at all.

~ Note : Teacher Fen Han owes the kids a 3-minute dance. Maybe he can do the Cha-Cha Song with Teacher ‘Hey, Mr Naidu’ Flydia.

~ I want a T-shirt that says- “I Am a First-Service CHAMPS Teacher. (If you see me running, try to keep up!)” or “Second-Service CHAMPS Teachers Are Wusses.” (of course, the latter would get me beaten up by people on a regular basis)

~ A tiny PDsode : *gasp* Joey is sooooo cute! Such a big girl now! I MISS THE MINI-CHAMPS!!

~ Seven-year-old Eunice passing about a small jar of raspberry-flavored lip balm. Nuff sed.

~ While we were counting Bible-Carriers, I had a matter-of-fact conversation with the Standard One Girls about brushing your lips when you brush your teeth because lipstick looks bad on chapped dry lips. So, Jaimes- if your little sister starts brushing her lips, you now know its my fault.

~ Thank you Teacher Flydia for helping. We’ll get a “I Teach BOTH First & Second Service CHAMPS. So There.” for you.

~ My CHAMPS class – Its almost as good as seeing the lame walk and the blind receive sight.

~ Final thoughts : Dude, not me. Just Him.

Political Posers 2 : The Return Of The Jaded

It had been a half hour since Mike donned on his full-face motorcycle helmet. The clear plastic visor had long since fogged up and I watched uneasily as he mimed being underwater. He was Neil Armstrong for the first 10 minutes before lapsing into a French accent whilst quietly exploring ‘ze reech depths of ze ocean’.
“Mike, you okay?”
“Oui.”
That’s it. “You’re taking that off now.” I reach for the helmet which was strapped on tightly to his empty head.
He waves his arms haphazardly to slap my hands away, “Stop it!”
“At least lift th’ visor, you dumb*ss. Its misted.”
Sticking out his tongue, he attempts to trace a smiley on the fogged visor, but ends up leaving a diagonal swath of drool on the surface instead.
“Words cannot begin to describe how disgusting that is,” Mae grimaced. “You’re keeping that on til you go home and shower.”
“Hey Mae?” Mike’s voice sounded distant and muffled. “You ever wanted to be Prime Minister?”
“You know I did. When we were little.”
I know at least five girls in school who really wanted to be the First Female Chinese prime minister of Malaysia. And they all truly believed they would be too. I used to wonder how they’d all get to be prime minister within their lifetimes. And they would argue over who got to be First.
“How ‘bout you?”
I shrugged, “Yeah. Who didn’t? Up til I was eight actually. Ah, good times- ignorance of gender-racial distinctions.”
“Boy, you jaded early. You rolled your eyes a lot as a child, didn’t you?” Mae remarked.
“That explains why I kept having dizzy spells.”
“I’m dizzy,” Mike whimpers faintly.
I flip open the visor and shove a wad of serviettes in through the opening. “How about you, Jacque? Ever wanted to be first female prime minister of Malaysia like us?”
“Yeah. ‘Cept for the female bit or the Malaysian prime minister thing.” He paused and furrowed his brow. “Actually, I wanted to be King of England. Til’, y’know- I realized Elizabeth’s too old and I look nothing like Charles.” (Author’s explanation : Mike likes Twain’s Prince and the Pauper. You should too.)
“Maybe you could be Queen of England instead,” I snickered. “I hear William’s broken off with his girlfriend.”
“Really?” Mae asked a little too eagerly for someone who sent us all an actual memo saying that she was too old for ‘all this Prince William nonsense’. She caught the look both of us were giving her and blushed, “Sorry, habit.” Used to be, if you badmouthed her Prince Charming or damage her veritable William paraphernalia in any way, she’d kill you slowly and refuse to speak to your corpse for a week. Times change.
“Times change,” I remarked. “What happened to all those ambitions?”
“Jaded and died of disillusionment and cynicism,” Mae replied matter-of-factly.
“I’m quite certain there’s a dig at me somewhere in there”
“Not everything is about you, Grac.”
“Yeah, see? When did that change?”
Mae rolled her eyes at me, “Y'think if we waited long enough, you’d die of disillusionment and cynicism too?”
“More likely you’ll die of anal-retentiveness first,” I shot back.
“Oh, dudes! Ew.”
We both pause our bickering to roll our eyes at helmet boy. “Y’know, maybe he’ll go first.” I mused. “I mean, look at the dodos.”
“I’m not stupid.” Mike counters hotly. It would’ve been a more convincing statement if he didn’t have a helmet on indoors. “I know what you were talking about. ‘Bout how I can’t be king an’ you can’t be PM like how Arnold can’t be president.”
“Astute and succinct. You’re not that dumb after all,” Mae complimented. “Good boy.”
He gives us both a toothy grin and a thumbs-up before flipping the visor down whilst humming the Darth Vader theme and breathing harshly.
“The farce is strong in that one, Mae.” I grin. “Except that Darth Weirdo isn’t quite correct. Arnie can’t be President because of nationality issues. We’re Malaysian- there’s no law that says we can’t be Prime Minister.”
“And?”
“So why aren’t there any? What’s stopping us? What killed the dream?” I jumped to my feet in the heat of the moment and gestured dramatically. “What happened to all those little girls who wanted to be PM? Surely at least one would’ve made it through the disillusionments.” I ignore the clueless group of yuppies sitting at the next table who were staring. They are fools to point and laugh. This is a moment in history. “By George, I think I’ll be PM someday just to prove them wrong. What can stop me?”
“You aren’t even registered to vote” Mae interjected calmly.
That’s true. "Oh, yeah." I’d never bothered, claiming the futility of voting for something that’ll win anyway regardless of whatever I do. “So not th' drama,” I shrugged and sat back down.
My little fit of political epiphany did not escape the notice of the café owner who’d been giving us the evil eye for sharing a small latte between the three of us. Mae drags us all out the door amidst the staring and muted laughter.
“Another shop we can't show our faces at again, huh?" I mumbled sheepishly.
“Boy, I’m glad I got my helmet on.”

(Author's note : Back by unpopular demand. Presenting- my make-believe friends Mike and Mae.)

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You know what Political Poser segments mean… SNEAK PREVIEWS!

ROAD TRIP

Super : “Hour Six”

(The camera fades in on James STILL full-tilt gung-ho singing the beer bottles song lustily)

Super : “Ninety-nine bottles later…”

James : One bottle of beer on the wall, one bottle of beer. You take one down pass it around, no more bottles of beer on the wall. No more bottles of beer on the wall, no more bottles of beer. You take-

(He stops, blinks and spaces out.)

James : Huh.

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8-BALL : The Future Movie

(Cue cari pasal music ala WWF Smackdown entrance theme. Mel strides into the smoky pool parlour in slow-mo with Seng and Anya flanking her. Take static longshot focused on them with Shark goon in foreground. Frame speeds up choppily as they approach him from behind. Goon is bent over lining up a shot and Mel yanks the cue out of his hand and smashes his face into the pool table in one fluid movement. She hauls him upright by his shirtfront till they are eye to eye. Goon looks dazed.)

Mel : Where. Is. She?
Goon : Hunh?

(Mel starts getting’ real mad now and shakes him hard.)

Mel : Where is she?! Where? Tellmetellmetellme!
Goon : Okay! Okay, I show you!

(She drops him like a hot potato and he slumps onto the floor)

Mel : (turns to Seng) See, you can always get an answer if you shake something hard enough.

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A POEM FOR THE BIRTHDAY GIRL...

Since I fudge your birthday every year
It's November or August, I cannot be sure
"Well, who gives a piss?
When the actual day is?"
It's just merely a marker
Of when you popped out of your mom's vagin- er...
(Body, I meant to say body)
Getting the month wrong isn't that bad
It might even start being a fad
We'll celebrate twice!
Now isn't that nice?
Two special days, without any teasing
About your height or even your dressing
You can wear bright pink lace frilly booties
We promise not to make fun of your small boobi- er...
(Body, I meant to say body)
So... a night on the town
Turn your frown upside down
We'll dance and have fun
Show other ah lians how its done
(It's your birthday today
FYI, just in case
You didn't get the entire poem)
It's Angel Choo day
What else can I say?
So, well... um, Happy Birthday?

PS- We'll celebrate your 'second' unbirthday when you read this poem and decide if you ever want to speak to me again, okay? Heh.

Love ya, dude.

Lessons I Learnt From My Best Friend (Episode Six)

Lesson Six : Carpe Diem! Or “Poke it! Poke it, poke it now!!”

(Disclaimer : The following ‘Lessons’ segment is not in anyway naughty despite its suggestive title.)

“How do you know you won’t like it until you’ve tried it?”

(Author’s note : Again, its not naughty. Read on.)

I’ve never been very adventuresome. A a matter of fact, the sole reason why I am sometimes known to have ‘spur of the moment’ moments is just ‘cause I procrastinate till the very last minute. Keith and Bri tells me I’m boring because I won’t do that Jello thing with them.

(Really! Not of the naughty!)

I have a Flintstones collapsible wading pool that’ll fit about three people. ‘Course, our knees would come up to our ears, elbows would be poking into eyes and our toes would be jammed up Keith’s posterior orifice.

“It’s *so* stupid,” I sneered. “Do you *know* how much Jello we would need?”

“You’re saying it wrong, Doc.” Keith interrupts, clearing his throat and pitching a tone near to mine, “Its so *stupid*. Do you know how much *Jello* we would need?’” Complete with a goofy grin and a slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes.

I roll my eyes, “That’s what I just said.”

“In the wrong tone.”

“Shut it, you dumb*ss.”

“You’re so boring,” Bri sniffed. “Have some sense of adventure!”

I do too. I eat dodgy Hokkien noodles at a place called Cockroach Alley and once I ran a red light. Of course, it was night and the streets were empty. And the red light was for a school crossing and more of a ‘Berhenti’ sign rather than an actual traffic light.

“I am not boring.”

“Are too!” The both of them said together.

“Am not!”

“Prove it!”

Bear in mind, we were in our late teens and the physical evidence of growth was not an indication of maturity. Or brains.

I sigh. “How are we even going to make so much Jello?”

They sport matching grins of triumph as Keith pulls out his notebook. Pails of hot shower water, a big pot of boiling water and all the Jello in South East Asia made up the list of ingredients. We would cook the Jello in pails, leave it to cool then stick ‘em overnight in Keith’s room which resembles an icebox in Alaska. Next day, we pour it all into my Flintstones wading pool and voila! Instant (rather, overnight) Jello pool.

“That’s stupid,” I reiterated. “It’ll never work. Besides, getting into a vat of viscous matter? Ew.”

““How do you know you won’t like it until you’ve tried it?”

“You’re *so* boring!”

By the way, did you know cherry Jello mixed with lime Jello turns into grey slush and not into Christmassy chunks?

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In a story I read once, a character was explaining her life's motto- "See a bear in the forest, walk up and poke it with a stick" (With regards to Ms. Bowers). It's a go-getter, You-Only-Live-Once kinda attitude which I've never really been accused of having.

I used to believe in trying anything once. Well, twice if I was too busy puking my guts out the first time. (Never go to theme parks after lunch and slightly hungover.) Yet I don't find myself doing so now. I make excuses, projections of the supposed outcome, claim a lack of ability, etc. I'd put off so much assignments and chores that I have now done so with Life! Have I put my life on hold for the sake of existing in a safe risk-free zone? Whatever happened to the 'try-it-you'll-like-it' and the large-scale 'all-or-nothing' person I used to be?

Perhaps my ideas have been shot down too many times that I now stop myself before I get stopped by others (and severely disappointed). Or big ideas were deemed 'too complex' to be used that they get shelved, or worse- executed by the Uninspired who compromise the vision and thus making it substandard. Stuff that I helped produce go through so many changes that it really isn't mine anymore and I'm literally ashamed to even be credited for it. Getting yanked off something you've worked on for a whole year. My heart actually aches when that happens. I've never wanted to hit a person more than I did then, I'm ashamed to say. I had a million words on the tip of my tongue, every fourth one crude. Did some serious internal auditing that day, I have to admit.

(Author's note: Don't get scared. Did I trick you into thinking that this entry would be funny all the way? LOL! Heh.)

I got told that it's wrong to get so involved with something. Then you'd commit too much into it, thus being too attached and getting self-centred. B*LLSH*T. That's all I can say. What about Jesus then? Should we not commit to Him and get 'too attached' and thus being Christ-centred? What happened to giving your all and giving your best?

'No more'. I've said this once a long time ago though it meant something else then. Then, it meant 'no more giving ideas', 'no more participation', 'no more getting p*ssed on by the Uninspired'. From hereonin, I'm takin' a new meaning on the phrase- 'no more sitting around waiting', 'no more need to censor myself', 'no more compromise', 'no more fear'. I'm takin' my business to places that visionaries can only dream of going.

Here's a coupla lessons I learnt:

~ have a sense of Adventure and go all out. You'll never get Jello in your pants until you wade into a vat full of it.

~ rejecting someone's idea is akin to tearing up their heart, spitting on it, lighting it on fire and crushing the ashes beneath your feet (at least that's how it feels when it happens to me). Small, big, stupid or not- every idea is worth something. Even th' terminally dumb one of having 40 gallons of flavored gelatin dumped pail by pail into the drain.

~ don't dump Jello into the drain during the draught.

~ week-old lime/cherry Jello smells like dirty socks after gettin' mixed up in drain gunk.

Didn't mean to get so introspective. Had Jello today and I remembered the Big Jello Adventure, is all...

Go ye therefore- seize days, poke bears, have a Jello shooter and remember never to wear your favorite pair of underwear when getting into a wading pool full of grey Jello. Also, run like h*ll when the bear wakes up.

Postcard Series : Midweek Musings

My first week at a new job and I've already worn more skirts than I have in the past two years. I dress so girly now that I freak myself out. Break out the hose, slinky cardigan and sleek office wear. Add some bling from ears to fingers, slap on the makeup, put up my hair, spritz on some expensive perfume and I'm good to go in my hot-to-trot strappy heels. Perhaps I should be more freaked by the fact that I actually have all this stuff. And that I know how to use 'em. I can dress fancy for two weeks straight and not even need to repeat my outfits- that's how freaky this is.

And no, I can't tell you where and what I work as. It's a top secret, hush-hush, need to know basis and I'd hafta kill you if I told you. So, Lyd, you won't get any pictures. Ever.

PS- No, its not a night job la. Th secrecy is just to avoid paparazzo like you. :)

As Political As I'll Get

Idle chatter about politics can turn into a full-blown ugly debate. And people wonder why I’m not the most patriotic of citizens. I don’t participate in National Day celebrations and the only way I can even remember the year of our Independence is by singing “Tanggal tiga puluh satu, bulan lapan, lima puluh tujuh…” (really singing with arm-pumping gusto). I don’t exactly know how many states we have nor their full names. I can’t (not for lack of trying) chronologically name all our Prime Ministers’ either (did we have five?). But, I tear up when I hear the recording the Merdeka declaration and bristle when I hear people diss the Prime Minister. I love my country, just not the people in it.

I was just telling them about how I once saw this leather-jacketed guy carrying a white cat (by the way, so the classic villain) getting off his bike- an ordinary kapchai-looking bike with a helmet compartment at the back. Now, the focus of the story was the bike which had shiny stenciled-stickers of slogans and statements that were extremely offensive about the state of government and Dr M. Vile statements in educated English, which probably makes it worse if you think about it. Any moron with a can of spray paint can decorate the whole of Petaling Street with “Dr M sucks large eggs!” and it still wouldn’t be as offensive. I was half-tempted to tip his motorcycle over, except that this dude was walking with the aid of a cane. Maybe someone else got to him first.

“I swear, if anyone insults Dr. M in front of me I’ll knock their blocks off!” Mike snarled, punctuating his sentence with a right uppercut. I don’t actually doubt he’d carry out his threat, should the occasion arise. He’s all principles and testosterone- the kind of guy who’d cling tenaciously to his values and fight for it without a moment’s hesitation. Also, he’d likely be the sort of guy his fellow prison-mates would call ‘Seng-Kor’ were he inclined to join a street gang.

Mae looks a little discomfited at all the staring we’re getting from the other patrons. I’d actually expect Mae to be the one all rabid about Dr. M since she actually owns every single piece of literature related to him including newspaper and magazine articles. She didn’t speak to me for a whole week when I accidentally recorded over the story CNN did about our previous PM. Putting in her two-cents worth, “Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of, um- being a tolerant, harmonious society and muhibbah- as per his vision?” she asks.

“Y’know, I never really knew what Vision 2020 was really all about. I only recently got the witty optometry wordplay.” I mused.

Mae frowned disapprovingly, “You’re such a traitor. Why don’t you just defect south?” I made a face- the Sterile South? I’d rather be tried for treason first.

“Look, I just wanna know if I can bash their heads in, okay? To puckery with th’ Vision,” demands Seng-Kor. Better start saving up money for a good lawyer now.

“No-lah, you idiot.” I slap him upside the head. “It’ll be like smacking people who diss Ghandi.”

“Yes,” Mae acceded “Cause that’d be, uh- against his… um,”

“Teachings?” I ventured.

She grimaced, “I wanted to say that but it sounded so Rajneesha cultish with the whole crimson robe-wearing, little bell-clanging and selling of daisies in airports.” She’s never been the same since her first Hare Krishna encounter overseas. It must have been quite the spiritual experience to have affected her so deeply.

“Okay,” Mike looked confused now. “So, no beating up of the Ghandi-dissers ‘cause that would mess up his peace mojo, right?”

“Oh, but the delicious irony! T’would be something to behold,” I expressed dramatically.

“Yeah, c’n you imagine?” Mike wraps his fingers around an imaginary neck in front of him and starts to throttle the air violently. “You little pr*ck! You take that back- Ghandi’s not a tree-hugging loony!” We laughed raucously as people started to stare at Mike who was really roughing up his imaginary foe. “…and take that, an’ that! So there, that’ll teach ya!” he ends his tirade with a spectacular left hook-right jab combo as Mae giggles non-stop at his antics.

And people say that youths nowadays have no sense of loyalty to the country.

END

Author’s notes : ‘Cept for leather-wearing, white cat-carrying, offensive lame dude and the part where I actually have to sing th’ song to get the year of Independence; it’s all fictional. Cool people like Mike and Mae only exist in my head.


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An exclusive sneak preview of my in-progress project ‘Road Trip’.

SCENE : [The rest stop. Andrew (driver) and James (backseat driver) are fooling around with the camera. They drop it as Mel and Lydia get onboard the car. Camera is now sideways on right backseat (wedged between backpacks) and pointed towards front passenger seat. We don’t see much, but can see general movement of butts and hear voices.]

Mel : (gets into front passenger seat) Okay, let’s go.
James : I wanna sit in the front.
Mel : (sighs) Fine.

[They get out of car (we hear car doors open and close) and exchange seats. Mel sits on the cam and screen goes dark.]

Lyd : Where’s the cam? (muffled)
James : You’re sitting on it, Mel.
Mel : Oh. (she lifts the camera to film Andrew pulling out of the rest stop) Ew, its all wet. What did you guys do with it?
James : Andrew got sweaty hands.
Andrew : Eh!

[Everyone falls silent as Lydia takes a tissue and starts to wipe it down.]

James : I wanna go to the toilet.

[Collective tsk and sighing]

END SCENE
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Plus, because you’ve all been so very good- a quote from '8-Ball : The Future Movie'.

Mel : Will the blind date go well? Is he hot? [shakes 8-ball] (NO). Okay, okay-
ask the right questions. Uh, let’s see… will I find him attractive? (YES)
Alright! [pumps fist in air]
[beat]
Mel : Crap. My standards have totally gone down the toilet.
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Dream - Prince Of Stories

I almost always remember my dreams. It depends if I was industrious enough (or had enough time) to write 'em down or not. It also depends on whether I woke up to the gentle buzz-sawing of my alarm clock or my mother shouted to wake me. If I have enough time and compunction, I'll just start writing it down. If not, I lie motionless and retrace my dream until I got all the details in my head before I get up. Too bad my dream journal got taken with my laptop on the Day I'd Rather Not Have Happened. Reading back your old dreams feel alot like reading a stranger's journal. There are dreams you'd have forgotten about altogether or certain segues you don't remember having.

My dreams are usually in one chronological stretch. Then there are those that do not make any sense- usually a precursor to the next dream. Those'd be th' segues. If I'm really fortunate, I dream of someplace familiar and I'm let loose to basically do whatever I want. The best kind of dreams are the ones where your friends are in.

If you have to spark a riot as a cover to escape from your would-be assasins, there's no one better than to rely on than having Mel head up the other team. Two teams are a little bit more chaotic than one. The only downside is that I wouldn't have anyone I really knew or trusted to watch my back, were we split. All was good and we managed to cause enough ruckus for the schoolbus carrying Pastor Carey and Lois to make it safely 'cross the border and back into JB.

Ange features prominently in all my "Oh Cr*p, I'm late for service and I'm playing keyboard for worship!" Heh. Have I had any bad experiences with you and punctuality? Usually I'd be racing up the staircase and I can hear the strains of the first song already. Or we'd be in worship practice and I was downstairs trying to get up to where you were without having to pass the huge*ss carnivorous dinosaur in the lobby. (Note-to-self: find out where the real fire alarms are in church.) Anyhow, the latest dream I had with her was the one where we were in some sort of military thing doing a face-off tactical drill ala "Capture The Flag" against this other visiting team who had a team leader named Amanda who played bass. They cheated, we lost and I laughed at how bloody brilliant they were into replacing our flag with a decoy so we were running about thinking all was well when they've actually gotten our flag. *snorts* Remind me to tell you about that one. It was pretty detailed.

I had to haul Lyd's skinny ass down several floors via a steep staircase to escape this homeless guy who was about to attack us. Or the one time I was wandering about my primary school looking for her to ask her something about filming the assembly.

Eurgh, speaking of school- I can't remember how many countless times I've had the dream of me repeating Form 5 and *still* unprepared for SPM despite being older and supposedly wiser/smarter. I love school, don't get me wrong. But it stops being funny when I'm 23 and still cringing everytime Mrs Ing asks me why I don't have my homework. I'm an adult, d*mmit! I don't have to do your stupid homework if I don't want to!

Things I can / can't do in a dream:
~ Can't murder something/someone in cold blood even if I absolutely have to. I'm such a wuss when it comes to that. I cringed when I realised I was supposed to strangle a hamster and just started running. Shooting someone who would've killed you is a different matter altogether. Hey, he was going to kill me, okay? Besides, my guns always turn into toy ones and start shooting odd objects like calculators and string confetti instead.
~ Can't die in a dream. Jumped off tall buildings (floated back onto the ground), stood still in the middle of heavy traffic and let a car plow into me (it felt like being gently pushed into a pile of plush pillows), letting some boogeyman catch up to me only to fall to the really soft ground asleep. It's weird.
~ I actually know how to use a gun. Maybe its all that CSI I've been watching. I taught Lois how to take a gun apart, assemble it and load it up. I named all the parts and warned her about the hair trigger and recoil. Apparently, you're supposed to fire in short controlled bursts as not to lose your target because of the recoil kicking your aim off. Hmm. Maybe its all the Hitman I've been playing.
~ Can't use stick shift to save my life. Can't drive without having the car plow into something or getting scratched. Hey, it's not my fault if the car has really sluggish brakes, right?
~ I have both cried and laughed myself awake. There'd be tears on my pillow or I'd be smiling. I'd crack myself up in dreams sometimes and wake up realizing it really wasn't that funny after all. I guess I have lower expectations of myself when dreaming.

Most of the dreams I have end up as premises for stories or ideas. I had a dream in primary school that turned into a universe that I created complete with diagrams, character biographies and a long complex story that I still work on til today from time to time. Most of it was lost on the Day I'd Rather Not Have Happened. Here are a couple of snippets I dug up recently:

-------
No one has spoken for the last hour or so, prefering instead to wallow in self-pity. The darkness of the room was threatening to overwhelm us and physically swallow us whole. We were all huddled around the humming space heater which dimly illuminated our faces in muted orange. If someone doesn't say something soon, I'll start bursting into song. Hey, if you squint, Prescott looks like th' Cheetos cheetah dude with the sunshades. Why does she wear those at night anyway?
"So." We all jumped. Libby's voice scratchy from disuse broke our reverie. "We're... saving the universe." The two second pause after that felt longer than the previous hour of silence. "A mad scientist, mechanic, musician, jock, hairstylist, lawyer and a space heater?" I can't believe she just ranked us in terms of usefulness.
"We could mesmerise the enemy with my gift of song," Iris mumbled, her eyes closed. Exactly what I was thinking of earlier. Except that I wasn't being all sarcastic and cynical like her.
Ever the optimist, Paul lights up brightly "Aw, c'mon Lib. It isn't so bad, look at the bright side..."

"I can run very fast." Brett says hopefully. "An' lift moderately heavy stuff." Yessir you can indeed, I supress a grin; making out his muscular outline through the darkness.
"There, you see? All is not lost."
"Yeah! And I've got mad skills with the kung-fu and I'm a wicked cool demolitions expert to boot. We'll blow them bad guys away!" Everyone stared at Cheyanne like she had something hanging out of her nose. It's nice when that look isn't directed at me sometimes. She shrugged, "Just displaying my lawyering superpowers- quite convincing, don't you think?" I think I can hear Iris' eyes rolling.
Not wanting to be outdone, I contribute my two-cents worth "I'm moderately heavy."
Liberty sighed and rubbed her face "We're doomed."
Why does everyone keep looking at me like that?
----
----
(Scene: In the rebel makeshift lab where Callie Resident Genius Scientist has been hidden, working on super secret project to save the day. Cue dramatic music as camera flys through the cavernous space. Blue sparks, flashing light, fog rises from the ground and our heroes enter waving the smoke away, trying to walk without tripping over anything.)

(Pan to Liberty who cranes her head up to look at the contraption Callie built. Camera follows her gaze.)

Liberty : What the heck is that thing?

(Dramatic pause as we cut to Cal who gestures with a flourish. Music swells)

Callie : It's a- Time Machine.

(Music stops. Cut to everyone else. Cue collective WTF looks- shock! awe! raised eyebrows! resigned faces! rolling eyes! etc! )

Iris : (deadpans) I knew it.

Liberty : No, Cal- really...

Callie : We're all gonna hop onto the Time Machine and take us back to the past, right the wrongs and stop Kamisaka from killing people.

Iris : I knew it all along. Four words- Sci-fi soap opera. Maybe three words.

Brett : (stage whispers to Cheyanne) She's cracked.

Cheyanne : On crack.

Paul : Time travel... my God, it's like- Science Fiction!

Callie : (looks smug) Yep. Like a particularly bad episode of Star Trek, we will go back in time to save the day. It'll be like the war never happened.

Liberty : Quit jerking around, Prescott.

(Liberty and Callie walk up to the machine leaving the others standing behind. Camera tightens on them.)

Iris : (still mumbling to herself) Maybe more like a particularly bad season of Dallas... and we wake up realizing its all a dream.

Devlynn : There wasn't no time machine in Dallas.

Iris : Well, there's a time machine on this show.

Liberty : (off camera) It's not a bloody time-machine and this is not a show. Now get over here, all of you.

Iris : You know what's going to happen next? We gonna get thrown into the future instead where Noriko is the dark neo-empress of the galaxy and make us all her hentai slaves.

(end scene)

(Cut to Noriko Kamisaka sneezing.)
-----

Believe it or not, the story is supposed to be very dark and post-apocalyptic. People dying, losing hope and all that. LOL! Dunno why my drabblets always turn out weird. Noriko Kamisaka rocks! She's the coolest villian since Darth Vader... I wish there'd be more movies with bad guys like her. Heh. Doesn't take a Callie Prescott to know which side I root for most of the time. The good guys always get battered around. Poor Liberty.

Speaking of Liberty, here's a snippet from Vagabond Viking.
---
The seneschal sputtered upon seeing Hrafn's fingers run through his mistress' hair, "My lady! The vagabond is too familiar..."
She raised a hand to silence his shocked tirade, "Monteroy, liberty is scarce in this day and age. If my guest can find any with me then I welcome him to take as much as he pleases."
Hrafn raised his brow, mouthing "Liberties?" The Baroness merely smiled sweetly in a benign manner as though she did not just invite the Norseman to molest her.
"And furthermore," she continued, "You would do well to remember that my guests are to be treated with the same respect you treat me."
---
And no, its not a love story. Hrafn (Raven) the nomad viking who washed ashore ends up raiding the baroness' castle with his ragtag band of rebels to free the down-trodden province from her dominion. I had fun writing it. Just don't ask me to do it again.

By the way, go read Ange's stories... they're pretty good. Plugplug.

Have a good night and sweet dreams.

A Short Story Not Necessarily For Children : "The D*mn Dog"

I have a dog named Pepper. It is a brown toy poodle. It is very special. Pepper knows nifty tricks like how to hold in your pee until you're let out of the bathroom so you can pee in places that are difficult to clean. She is honing that skill now by peeing a little bit on the paper in the bathroom to con people into letting her out so that she can go pee in places that are difficult to clean. You see, the trick is to know the proper ratio of pee to use as the diversion and storing up the remaining amount of pee for a 'puddle effect' in those hard-to-reach, hard-to-clean places. She secretly calls it "Mission: Make Grace Clean The Floor On Her Hands And Knees Repeatedly Everytime She Lets Me Out To Play. Muahaha."

Just before the act...

...and right after, she'll run like a lunatic for the safety of the bathroom in self-punishment whilst smirking in the pride of a successful mission (note slightly evil unrepentant smirk).

Also, my dog Pepper enjoys a steady diet of newspaper, toilet paper and anything that moves- like bugs and hairs on the floor blown around by wind. She has more toys than I do and gets bored of them at an alarming rate. I love dog. Especially in a soup or a quiche. Maybe quiche- need to buy eggs and flour then.

The End

I've never asked for a dog in my life. Not that I didn't want one, only that I knew my mother hated large-ish animals. So it was hamsters, fish and the occasional turtle. What's an occasional turtle, you might ask? Well, it looks just like any other turtle, but its only there occasionally. But I digress... back to what this post is really about- th' dumb dog. (It just peed all over the floor and I had to wipe the hall. Again. Can you tell?) Anyway- guess what my mother asks for last mother's day? Now, I daren't call my dad in case he asks for a horse or something.

Aw, I don't mind the dog-ler... just frustrated that I actually might have to give the excuse of needing to go home early and 'feed the dog' someday. At least I've never given the 'water my mother's plants' excuse as of yet. Heh. Terasa or not, Ange? Pepper's really not a dog- she's a cat-pig-baby sort of creature. I'd call her a cat, 'cept that cats are way cleaner. She actually sulks and refuses to look at you if you offend her. She rubs herself all over your legs. She pounces. I mean- if I wanted a danged cat, I'd have gotten a cat. I like cats, but not a dog who prances about like a feline hopped up on catnip.

Now I gotta go let her out to play 'cause I've cooped her up in the bathroom all day.

A 'Lessons' Spin-Off...

Tips and Tools For Shrinking Your Best Friend.
By Dr. Grac “Doc” Chang; MD, PhD, MBBS, PESS, DKNY, FYI, ETC.

Tool One : The Obligatory Question

Everyone has one. When I talk to someone, I always ask them their Obligatory Question. Sometimes it’s the same question for a few people; but everyone is special, so they have their own unique question. Obligatory Questions range from “Had dinner yet?” for acquaintances/colleagues to “How’s life?” and “Are you wearing underwear?” for closer friends.

~ Deidi’s is “Are you drunk/high?” Be it while we’re on the phone, online or meeting face-to-face, I have to ask her this because she behaves like a tipsy bimbo at the best of times. Plus, she’s actually a pretty heavy drinker. And I’m talking margaritas in the afternoon. Tsk. Oh heck, who’m I kidding. I had margaritas for lunch during a mission trip when we were supposed to be tracting, for crying out loud.

~ During her stint as a girlfriend back in ‘Nam with ‘Charlie’, “Pregnant yet?” seemed to be the world’s best contraceptive. Well, not really… but at least it was a good reminder to make frequent trips down to th’ pharmacy. For pregnancy test kits as well as condoms.

~ “Still a virgin?” no longer applies to my first two clients-slash-best-friends, so th’ dubious honor of this Obligatory Question goes to the Eternal Virgin Mel ‘Tight Flower’ Sim (crosses both fingers in the ‘Tight Flower’ Signal) It’s a little weird how ‘still a virgin?’ passed down so quickly from one client to another like hand-me-down cloth diapers. I’d worry if I were you, Tight Flower.

~ It used to be “What are you actually studying, ha?” for Ange. A question that I still cannot answer up till now even though she’s been working for a year or so. Nowadays its more of- “What do you work as, ha?” Some computer thing, I’m told- but I’m not too sure what. I doubt she knows either.

~ There’s the all-famous “Are you PMSing?” for Bri and occasionally, Keith- who has the worst b*tchfits for someone without ovaries.

For me, the Obligatory Question I seem to be asked by one and all is: “Guess what?” Which brings me to our second tool- how to counteract the dreaded ‘Guessing Game’.

Tool Two : The Worst-Case Scenario (WCS)

It can take the form of either a monologue or dialogue.

“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Sputter. “Wha-? No! I just got a promotion, you ass! What were you thinking?!”

You see how it works? The trick is to tailor your worst case scenarios according to th’ client/friend. If your WCS is vile enough, they’ll give up at the guessing game fairly quickly.

~ Red
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Sighs exaggeratedly, “No.”
“Space aliens abducted you and probed your orifices.”
“Dude.”
“Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa are being held captive by orifice-probing space aliens.”
“Dude.”
“Scully broke up with Mulder and declared her undying love for Krychek.”
“Dude!” Pause. “Metaphorically? Yeah.” She sighs.
Long night. I should really start charging for consultation.
(Send your postal order and cheque to P.O. Box 12155 for a 2-disc set of “Tool #247- The Metaphor Game”)

~ Deidi
“Guess what?” she giggles.
And I am reminded once again to ask, “Are you drunk?” before progressing further in WCS.
“Nooo-ooo...” she sing-songs.
“Are you pregnant?”
“No.” More giggles.
“You did the naughty with a total stranger?”
Giggling. (Beware the future that is Malaysia’s legal system when Deidre starts representing people in court. Hair-twirling and girly giggling abound!)
“You snogged a total stranger?”
“I know him, okay?” A little exasperation in her tone amidst the giggling now.
“And were you drunk then?”
“Maybe.” Let’s just assume that she’s giggling all the way throughout this conversation, okay?
“You aren’t supposed to drink. It’s bad for the baby.”
“Grace!”

~ Keith
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.” (Tip: It works for all genders.)
“Whuthfck?”
“You knocked someone up and she’s pregnant.”
“No!”
“I’m tellin’ ya- she’s pregnant, and her father’s gonna come stick a shotgun in your mouth and force you to marry her. But what you don’t know is that she’s pregnant with some orfice-probing space alien’s kid and it’s gonna come bursting out her tummy and eat you both alive.”
Silence. “I was going to tell ya that I found your Babylon 5 DVD, but you can forget it now.”
(Tip: Try not to go too far out and piss them off in the process.)

~ Mel
“Guess what?”
“You went out with him.”
“N- hey! How did you know?”
My finely honed psychic powers. “You told me yesterday.”
“Oh… yeah.”

Disclaimer: I am not obsessed with baby making and/or naughty space alien loving despite evidence to the contrary. I’m not, I tell you…

Next week on ‘Tips and Tools™’: How To Hone Those Nifty Mind-Reading Skills. Also available on CD or cassette for $9.99. Just send your cheques or postal orders to P.O. Box 12155 now and receive a free limited edition “Tips and Tools™ Spatula Holder”!

Big D-U-H

Huh. Here's another thing I didn't know about meself.

Your #1 Match: INFP

The Idealist You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world.Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships.It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close.But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop. You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist.

Your #2 Match: ENFP

The Inspirer You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends.You are also unconventional, irreverant, and unimpressed by authority and rules.Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives.You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're qutie the storyteller! You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist.

Your #3 Match: INTP

The Thinker You are analytical and logical - and on a quest to learn everything you can.Smart and complex, you always love a new intellectual challenge.Your biggest pet peeve is people who slow you down with trivial chit chat.A quiet maverick, you tend to ignore rules and authority whenever you feel like it. You would make an excellent mathematician, programmer, or professor.

What's Your Personality Type?

Gacked from Krystle's site. Thanks.

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

In conjunction with the upcoming HP 6...

(I know I copped out on posting properly with my last one, but I seriously have nothing noteworthy to blog about.)

Half-Blood Prince, (which we're not supposed to be reading. btw *snorts*) is coming out on July 16th. Frankly, I kinda lost interest in the canon ever since the end of GOF. I didn't even read OOTP til last year and that was in txt format. No, I didn't cry when Sirius died, I wasn't exactly outraged at Umbridge... Actually, I felt bad for Snape and thought that the Marauders were real jerks. They're the kinda boys I would've called assh*les and hexed them in th' back at every opportunity. I might be a closet Slytherin sympathizer. Even the Quizilla test sorted me there. :)


You are a Slytherin!

If you take this image, please link back to my quiz
on the preceding page. Thank you!


What House are you at Hogwarts? Harry Potter!
brought to you by Quizilla

In any case, I'm totally disappointed with canon- which justifies my move into fanon. (For those unfamiliar with my fangirl geekslang, canon means the officially published story while fanon is the story concocted by fans, thus fan-on.) I read fanfic once in a while for my Harry Potter fix. Fanon is so much more interesting. Where else but in fanfic will you get Harry Potter teaming up with the Charmed sisters to fight against th' evil that is Voldermort? Or actually hear Buffy call the dark lord- Voltron, Voldy, Moldywart or The-One-Whose-Ass-I-Will-Kick? Crossovers are th' bomb!

I dunno... I might give up on Rowling's books altogether and dwell in fandom forever. Where Draco and Harry date *ick*, where Willow turns out to be a long-lost Weasley and Lucius Malfoy is actually a good guy pretending to be a badass.


You are a Harry & Draco Shipper!


!!!~What Harry Potter Fan Fic Ship Are You?~!!!
brought to you by Quizilla

A quote for the day:-
Ginny shrugged. “That’s hardly anything new. Those two can scarcely put together a thought long enough to dress themselves in the morning. Or does Draco help with that too? Standing there, ordering them around.” She pulled herself up, puffing out her chest and scowling in a fair approximation of the Malfoy heir. “No, you moron, one leg per hole. One! Leg!”

Hermione snorted with laughter, covering her mouth with her hands. She shut her eyes, cackling as she pictured Goyle and Crabbe stumbling over themselves in the morning trying to figure out how to put on their pants. Well, it wasn’t that far out, she supposed. Malfoy did have to help them with everything else.

~ Contractual Obligations:Remix, Jinni

And a link to one of my favorite stories: The Chronicles Of Lucius. I dunno if you'll get the humor, but I laughed so much my stomach hurt.

As per Lydia's request, and the fact that the code to live by is 'ask and you shall recieve...' I will 'upday' with this since there is nothing noteworthy to blog about:

You Are 22 Years Old

22 Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

I'm 22? Now, there's something I didn't know about myself.

Shameless Self-Advertisment

Sevenfold, dude... sevenfold.

Isn't it weird how tragedies become more blogworthy than good stuff? Like how I never mentioned getting a mini iPod for my birthday? Or that I even had a birthday party in the first place? Well, its just as well since I am now an ex-owner of a pink mini iPod I secretly called Hamster.

Spent an unfruitful day with my mom today- going to many places but not getting much done. The last stop of the day before college in the evening was One Utama where I placed my ratty red haversack in the boot to keep it out of sight. Dinner, then bought the mini iPod casing (no three-pack rubber casing anymore, guys). Went back to the car, opened the boot and stared at the empty place where a bag containing my laptop, Hamster, Hamster's charger, handphone, the Red Binder that contained my life, my assignment, half a tube of fruit LifeSavers, a buncha new gel ink pens, my house keys and the hunter green corduroy jacket i bought in Phils.

They stole my dreams! All of it! Literally, actually. My dream journal dating back to last year was in the Red Binder. Frankly, I was more concerned about losing the binder than I was my laptop until I remembered my scripts and stories in that thing. The script in itself is probably more valuable than my iPod, old P2 laptop and handphone combined. If I see it on the internet or on TV3 in someone else's name, I'll track the guy down and shoot him in th' foot. Ah well, it can always be rewritten. All is not lost, I suppose.

I had to change the entire set of house padlocks because my house address was in my resume, which was in my laptop. My mother cannot be in logistics to save her life. You know how it is, when you have four similar locks and 16 keys that might or might not fit when you expect it to. We swapped the two 'hot' padlocks for new ones and my mom started getting confused fits. Heh. The missing keys weren't my fault, so she couldn't get too riled up and whale on me. In half and hour, we forgot which padlocks were 'hot' and which were not. Another few fits later and we logically solved it by comparing the rate of tarnish, CSI-style! Although, Griss would've been appalled by our headless-chickens-in-the-yard approach to th' science of tarnish.

Nothing is truly stolen, because I expect sevenfold in return. I'll keep my leather mini iPod casing til I get Hamster The Second back. In fact, sevenfold would probably mean me giving away the casing eventually because it wouldn't fit the iPod I'll be getting. A wifi-enabled laptop that doesn't take 20 minutes to boot up. Seven new scripts that'll pay cash for my first car (with a good alarm system). Oh yeah.

In everything, give thanks...

How I Spent My Mission Trip Vacation

(Everyone else copped out of writing by posting a massive amount of pictures, which I can't even load up.)

Well, I got no pictures of my own to show, but I got lots of random stuff captured up in my head. Here goes:

~ being constantly hungry because of the cold air, and subsequently eating the most disgusting amount of fried fatty foods because there simply was nothing else.

~ we really should have a seperate mission trip to impart the Mamak-Lepak culture.

~ shushing everyone all the time til' I was blue in the face. I think I made more noise shushing people than they did talking and slamming doors. Can vomit blood, I tell you.

~whose bright idea was it to have both boys and girls share a floor above American-missionary-from-Heck-with-sleeping-baby-daughter? (ooh, s'like a Malibu Barbie with accessories)

~ Auntie Julie, the local dealer- cornering us with a bag full of garlic pills and vitamin C. Woe to anyone who looked vaguely pale or sounded sniffly.

~ oh, ew- Auntie Julie and Uncle Jose with their sneaking into rooms at night and tying her up with his nimble fingers conversation. TMI. Get it out of my head! Getitoutgetitout!

~ watching Jamie and Esther Tan bimb-bond over eye-curlers and cosmetics seconds before passing the metal detectors and boarding was such a surreal experience.

~ watching Jamiroquai MTVs on Lois' bed early in the morning whilst everyone was still asleep.

~ watching Lois get away with murder and all sorts of things with that cute voice of hers.

~ watching Lois sell/give away an astounding number of CDs in that cute voice of hers. "You want T-shirt? You buy 10 CDs I give you a free shirt." We were out in the cold and smog selling CDs to the people outside. That girl just lights up at the prospect of making money.

~ baiting and teasing Melissa Wong all the time. *ALL* the time, I tell you. There was no rest for either of us. Poor girl.

~ dodging her ThingThing while she waves it around. Disgusting rag.

~ invading Angie's bunk and eating chocolate in it when she couldn't have any.

~ did an award-winning chocolate commercial in front of Angie and Geri. (Sundance, here I come.) "First, there's the crunchy peanuts, right? Its held together by chewy caramel, and then they cover it with, like, creamy milk chocolate. And oh, look- it's crumbling in my mouth. MmmMm. Oh, oops- missed a bit here."

~ I don't even like chocolate that much.

~ thanks for the Bunny Bearista, Nee.

~ I can be such the Bimb. It's like, I can talk with, like, the accent? And, like, end everything with, like, a question mark? Like, oh my gawd? You hafta get me to do it for you someday. Its utterly appalling.

~ giggling like a lunatic with Pastor Carey in the back of a jeepney over something-I-can't-remember-what and then realizing that the exhaust fumes has truly affected all our brains.

~ posing Assilem's 64-joint Spiderman into vulgar and rude positions to cheer her up after a tiring day. It works, what can I tell you?

~ there's nothing like Hot Cup Maggi Noodles after a long, sucky day. There's nothing like eating hot Tomyam noodles in front of people who can't have any because they're singing the next day.

~ watching Andrew Cheong and Eu Jin eat an average of 5 Dunkin Donuts each and subsequently enjoying the giggly, hyper sugar high while we walked SM.

~ walking 'round SM with Andrew 'Gamo' Cheong and eating our way through.

~ sneaking off from the convention centre illicitly with Ken Han to buy Starbucks for Uncle Jose to cheer him up during that sucky second night.

~ cheap Starbucks make for a happy Grac. 'Cause she's cheap.

~ margaritas for lunch and realizing that church guys can't outdrink church girls even if they tried.

~ there are no cows in Baguio. Pigs, chickens, pigs, the occasional prawn... but no cows.

~ not able to sleep, I stood barefoot in the corridor at 3 in the morning and finished writing 'Wonder'. In my boxer shorts and striped sleep shirt.

~ speaking of boxer shorts, it's fun saying: "Yes, I have a hole/slit/flap in the front of my boxer shorts because it facilitates peeing had I a (male body part)." when people ask.

~ I have the best Sunday School group EVER! Give or take a few hiccups, they're so much more than I expected or asked for. Where else but Group 6 would you find a bunch of girls shrugging at the exhaust fumes, heat or cold? Where the words "Breathe only, lar" or "Stuffy meh?" in a matter-of-fact tone of voice became the motto? Where none of them made faces or even bothered to cover their mouths or noses at the fumes? They are such troopers!

~ Andrew Lee, the only guy in my group (not counting ASSilem) is just amazing. I systematically abused him by making him carry stuff all throughout the trip- including my shopping. All I do is to stuff my things into his bag and it dutifully ends up neatly on my bunk. Heh. He just does everything he's told without question.
"Andrew, tell a testimony about your sordid past." I hiss at him when we started to run out of things to teach.
His eyes widen slightly, "Hah?"
"Like how you were bad before you knew Jesus."
"But I was a really good boy!" he protests weakly.
"I know. Just make it up!"
And there but for the grace of God, he went.
It was a pretty good testimony too.

~ the sheer entertainment value of hearing 30 kids go: "Lois! Loooiis!! Baa!" when asked, "Where's Lois? Everyone, call out for the missing Lois Sheep!"

~ Mandy and the most irritating loud quacking noises. If it weren't part of the script and I weren't so impressed at how she was really getting into being a duck, I'd smack her. Thank you Mandy, for playing dead on the dirt courtyard without complaining. She really has to be one of the best troopers ever. She takes care of Tanya when I can't, tells everyone to suck it up and stop complaining. That girl embodies stoicism.

~ I don't look for my sheep. They know my voice and come to me. That's my excuse for being a poor shepherd.

~ "I *like* SM." and "Got strawberry flavor also, right?" Tanya- who would've thought? I'll treasure Mun Yee's reaction to the 'strawberry' comment forever.

~ waking up every morning at 6:50 am sharp. Freaky.

~ waking up swearing profanely every morning thinking its already 10 plus, judging by the sun in the sky.

~ apparently, Ken Han took a bullet for me in Vietnam when we were stationed there with Charlie. The sheer amount of bullets he took for everyone else should've rightly killed him. Wish it did.

~ I know this has been repeated all through cyberspace, but I just have to- "Deeply loved, greatly breast, highly flavored on the Lord!"

~ Lydia, my fellow Nazi encampment-survivor-sister. How we've suffered from the days where we had to drink boot soup and glass bread in Auschwitcz. The long marches through sleet and snow in the ill-fitting aforementioned boiled boots...

~ speaking of survivors, watching Geri do the "I'm a Survivor" dance was simply priceless. And after such a harrowing experience of being stuck with a broken down jeepney. Geri- the Victim Of Carbon Monoxide Poisoning! The mountain air made her so hyper, I hardly knew what to make of her.

~ and of course, Ange- the Girl Who Will Never Hit Her Head On The Roof Of A Jeepney Standing Up Straight And/Or Jumping! Ankle Biter Choo!

~ we must also list these down lest we forget- " Precious Yam- the Amazing Bottomless Pit!" and "Melissa Sim- the Only Beauty *haacck coughcough* ".

~ speaking of the the Amazing Bottomless Pit, did you know she wolfed down no less than 4 MacDogs? Oh, sorry- MacDos. It's more marketable without the 'G', isn't it? Mystery meat galore!

~ if you wonder why you have no title, its 'cause you didn't come visit me in my dorm room often enough.

~ sitting in the corridor on the final night playing Bingo and building card houses, trying to keep awake.

~ cringing in the plane on the way home when I finally realised how truly, loudly jakun we are en massse.

Good trip ya'll. Let's do this again soon.

Weekend Postcards

Friday Evening : "We're lost, man!"
Sungai Wang with ASSilem while she whined constantly about two things. The amount of ah-lians there and how Soul Plane sucked. Okay, its Sungai Wang. Duh. (Sorry, Ange). And she complained about Soul Plane as many times as there are DVD shops in Sungai Wang. It was half-amusing seeing how she'd walk into a new area of the complex, look around bewilderedly by twisting her entire body (much like how a puppy would chase its tail) and exclaim "We're so lost, man." Heh. Dude, I grew up in the Golden Triangle. We'd never get lost even if we tried.
We went back to my place at 9:20 p.m. on Friday night and saw that my mom wasn't even home yet. Prime of our lives on a weekend night and we were home even before my mother. Such losers, we are.

Saturday : The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful.
It was a nice day. Properly warm and breezy without overheating. A quiet, sleepy day good for reading Mark Twain in a park and listening to Jamie Cullum. But I wouldn't know about all that- I was in church.
It was such a packed and hectic day. Had so many things to do all at once. Attend the skit practice, music practice, make sure they don't kill the new song, teach Kingdom Grace, talk to newcomers, talk to Uncle Pat, discuss CHAMPS stuff with three different people... eurgh!
I just shut down and decided to spend the time I didn't have laughing at/with Lyd, Daniel and Ken Han. I truly have no sense of time or priorities.
Passed the day in such a dizzy blur. But it was over at long last and I came back to an empty house (Mom in Penang, Taiko in Mont Kiara), the house phone was broken so no one could even check up on me. I was home alone, watching Firefly episodes and busy putting off CHAMPS preparation. IMed with Mel, Lyd, Lois, Deids, Andy, Krys, Geri, Maddog til 5 in the morning.
Went home at 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday night and my mother was living it up in a 5-star hotel by the beach. Prime of my life on a weekend night, with no one checking up on me and I was home. Such a loser, I am.

Sunday Morning : Shiny Dinosaur Stickers To You
Sara is so cute. Joey is adorable. Samuel is endearingly super blur. But to have them all coloring at the same table at the same time is just overwhelmingly delightful. I couldn't resist temptation and snuck upstairs to visit the Mini-CHAMPS (as I term the three-to-sixes). Rachel is such a big girl now, she didn't need anyone holding her hand anymore. I sat with the tiny babies and proclaimed each piece "SO nice!" because of a particular color or technique they used (Sara uses lots of pink and Joey scrawled on her paper with a blunt pencil). After patting Ally on the head and telling her how impressed I was that she could write her own name and complimented her Shiny Dinosaur Sticker, I did the Shiny Sticker thing with her. You take the sticker and move it about so the light reflects off it, making it twinkle. The third time I did the "Ooh, shiny/twinkle" thing, I stopped halfway because I realised Lyd was doing it with me, our hands freezing in the 'twinkle' pose as we eye each other bemusedly. Its a dumb thing to do, really- cause they're not really paying attention to you at all. I asked Sara if I could leave and kissed her goodbye when I got her nod of approval. Made suitably impressed sounds about her paper flower as I left, "VERY nice. Its red color like your shirt." and complimented a group of dismissing kids on their Shiny Animal Stickers.
As I make my way downstairs, my mental gears shift drastically and painfully as I yell at a bunch of 11-year old hooligans for running down the stairs. "Walk fast. Don't run!" and "Aren't you s'posed to be in class?"
First time on the job as main teacher for th' 7-10 kids. Oh, the pressure. Because I'd been busy the past few weeks, I hadn't managed to sit and observe other classes to get a feel of it. So I strode into pre-service Prayer Time with faux confidence, flashing my charming grin and ruffling hair as I pass an astounding turnout of kids. Almost 20 of them in a class where they'd voluntarily worship, pray and share testimonies. I'd never have had done anything of that sort when I was their age. Heck, I still wouldn't do anything of that sort now.
Two eager, chubby little Indian boys were fussing over the microphone in the front, explaining to me how the wires were tangled up and there wasn't any sound coming out from the speakers. I indulge them a little while by leaving the 'technical problem' in their 'capable hands' while I got to know the rest of the class.
"So, what happens now?" I ask them. "What do you usually do now?"
They all explain the worship-prayer-testimony thing. I was impressed, and told them as much. My Youth cell-group doesn't even do that.
"Teacher! I can lead worship! I always lead worship." The 10-year old little Indian boy exclaims in a loud voice, picking up the songbook and dragging his chair to the front of the room already. We sing 5 songs, all once each. I think its adorable how he peeks up at me toward the end of each song to see if he can get away with one more.
Teacher Carol comes up to me after the last song and tells me that the main service has started and that we usually release them 5 minutes before. Oops. I have no sense of time whatsoever. I'm really still in the FST zone (First-Service Time). Shift lag (like jet lag, 'cept without th' plane).
Okay, so I wrap up quickly, telling 'em that we were outta time and I dismissed them with a quick prayer. As I was doing this a really skinny boy started collected the songbooks and stacked them nicely, returning it to- well, whereever it came from.
It was so surreal, this dedication and devotion. 'This class'll be a piece of cake' I thought.
So, when they all crowded around me as I tried herding them next door for class I smiled kindly and took a minute we didn't have to listen to 'em.
"Teacher, where's my coupon?"
"Teacher, I get three coupons because I worship lead just now!"
"I pack the songbooks- I'm supposed to get two coupons."
"Teacher, can I have my coupon now, my mother is going home already."
Little mercenaries.

P.S.- 'Coordinator' is a fancy name for 'person-who-packs-up-everything-after-everyone-goes-home'.

Sunday Evening : Mocha Glaze, Banana Choc and Raspberry Doughnuts.
Eating three Dunkin' Donuts when you haven't had anything else all day is a really bad idea.
Mom is still living it up in Penang. No word yet from her. Maybe she found some dashing tourist and they're partying. Maybe she's stuck in her hotel room watching nature documentaries on Channel 4. She's still living it up more than I am.
Taiko and girlfriend has taken over the living room and blasting some TVB show about concubines and 'palace intrigue'. 30 CDs- 30 episodes each 40 minutes long.
Prime of my life on a Sunday evening and I'm home with a sugar high and little else. *sigh* That's me.

Lessons 4 & 5 Double Feature

Late Night Double Feature Special!
(Two brand new entries courtesy of MIA guilt)

Lesson Four: Mind Reading 101 or “That cheating b*tch!”

I’m busy, but yet the universe conspires against me by having Red call me at yet another odd hour asking me if I’m free. No, dude- I’m not, but I love you too much to say so. She asks only if it’s a long call and she needs someone to talk her out of a problem.
“How’d you know?”
“I’m your best friend, I know everything. Say it…” I prompt.
“Grace knows everything,” she recites in a monotone.
“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”
“It’s her boyfriend, isn’t it?”
“How’d you-? Never mind.”
“Did you do something wrong?”
“I might’ve yelled a bit.”
“There you go. Have you apologized?”
“Hey! I didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”
“That doesn’t matter. She’s not going to stop being a pain until you make amends. If you yelled at me, I would’ve taken a gun to your stupid head.”
“Fine.” See? Red is so well-trained.
Hmm, this won’t really solve the issue. “This won’t really solve the issue.” I tell her.
The Issue: Boyfriend-slash-almost-fiancee is a jealous pr*ck who thinks with his you-know-what and can’t keep his girlfriend happy. Red gets pissed off that her housemate-slash-best-friend is in such a rotten, unhappy relationship. Aforementioned boyfriend makes life difficult for girlfriend by painting Red (pun unintended) in a bad light.
“I want to kill him.” I forgot who said this, but it doesn’t matter because we both agree wholeheartedly.
“Have you tried playing nice with him?” Red swears. Okay, that’s a big NO on the playing nice. Ever.
We discuss various pranks that I’ve always wanted to try but never had a enemy to try them on. It’s all talk, but it seems to make us both feel marginally better. Red sounds less tense and I hear the sweet sound of laughter. My job is done.
“You feel better now?”
“I guess.”
“She’s your best friend. You can’t stay mad at her forever. Besides you’re angry at the situation. Not at her. She doesn’t deserve all this crap you’re piling on her.”
“I know.”
“I gotta go.”
Red grumbles good naturedly about how I never call or write and its all a one-sided relationship with us. Too bad. I’m not the best correspondent in the world. My theory is just cause I don’t write don’t mean I love ‘em any less. And I don’t do phones very well. Everyone knows this.
“Okay, take care. Go do something stupid.”
“Bye, bud. I will.”
My left ear is burning from keeping the phone cradled against it for too long. I sleep well, knowing Red is safe and happy that night.
-----------------------------------
My best friend has another best friend. Why does it feel sometimes like she’s cheating on me? On the other hand, I’m so incredibly glad she has someone else to be there for her since I cannot be. Staying in a foreign, non-English speaking land can be scary and depressing and I’m just relieved that Red is taken care of well by her other best friend.

Y’know, we try to be all supportive and “Oh, and how is she?” but it all ends up making me sound like a jealous girlfriend. Or how I feel a sense of guilty glee when Red calls me up to tell about how she and housemate-slash-best-friend are going through some trouble. I totally understand th’ frustration and the near-constant problems- when you live in close quarters like that in a foreign country, you’re bound to chaff and start resenting each other. So I advise as only I can- “Look out for number one, bud. You’re the most important thing ever.” or “Go get yourself a boyfriend, for goodness’ sakes!” plus the all-important “So, still a virgin?”; “You smoke now?” and “Jumped off a bridge yet?” Just checking, y’know.

At the end of the day, I feel slightly sorry for Red’s housemate-slash-best-friend. She doesn’t have someone else to lean on and complain to. No one to tell her to hang on and don’t die. (I’d offer, but there’d be conflict of interest and all.) Red is all she has and I make sure that th’ lil dumbass sticks by her like glue. My best friend is blur and requires a slap upside the head sometimes to play nice and be good.

I miss her. Can’t wait til’ she comes back for a visit.

======================================
Lesson Five: I Got More Than One Best Friend? or “Whoa! Look up at that sky!” or “F*ck you lar!”

I could feel the salt in the air, making me stickier than I already was. I love the sea, but I’m really a city girl at heart. Its totally dark out here and I can’t see where the ocean stopped and the sky began. The night sky is covered with bright stars in constellations I can’t ever see in the city, what with all th’ danged light pollution. Even though half the sky was cloaked in heavy grey clouds, whatever little bit of it that we could see was liberally scattered with stars. It’s like grey fleece on diamond-encrusted black velvet. Can’t help it, night skies haul out th’ poet in me.
“There’s Orion’s Belt,” I point out.
She tilts her head back and gives an impressed ‘oo’ at the sky, “Cool.”
“And that there below it,” I gesture intellectually, “That’s Orion’s Boxer Shorts.”
It takes very little to make Ange laugh. Old jokes, new jokes, lame ones, insulting ones… it’s all fair game. We talk some more about inconsequential things, topics we’ll forget in th’ morning, yet with good feelings that’ll stick around for life.
“Oo, look at that sky!” Light winds whipping around us had pushed away the clouds, revealing more of the sky.
I ‘oo’ in appreciation as well. Both our heads are tilted back at a dangerous angle that would threaten to choke us with our own spittle if we were prone to salivating heavily.
The log we were sitting on has to be th’ most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of introducing to my backside- and my mom used to whack the living heck out of it. “My ass hurts.” I have th’ most brilliant contributions to the conversation sometimes.
We look around and spot two white deckchairs just behind us. I refrain from swearing, “We so stupid.” I proclaim. Very little to make her laugh, really.
We giggle as we drag the chairs to where we were sitting and throw ourselves on it with abandon. Okay, so we dusted it off for sand and gingerly lowered ourselves onto the rickety retractable plastic recliners. As soon as we’re comfortably staring out at the sea and sky, Ange declares once again about how great the sky looks. We discuss the pros and cons of mountain houses versus beach houses. I opt for mountain, since I’m a much more jeans/jacket kinda girl. Besides, if I need a beach house I’ll just bum out at everybody else’s since you all prefer the sea to the hills.
“Whoa, lookit that sky!” She says for th’ Nth time.
“If you’re going to say that all the time, I’m not staying at your beach house next time.”
She chuckles and we lapse back into inconsequential chatter.
Four minutes later, “Wow! Look up at the sky!”
“Yes, Angeline. The sky. It’s up there. Oo.”
She laughs and I roll my eyes. It’s going to be a long night.
It was a beautiful sky, really.

Isn’t it funny how you’re always the same person with everyone, yet you evoke different reactions in different people?
Typical conversation between me and Ange.
Me: You look nice today. Hair?
Ange: Yeah, I'm thinking of getting it cut/permed/shaved (whatever suits her fancy at the moment)


Me and Partner-In-Crime ASSilem.
Me : You look nice today. Hair?
PIC : F*ck you lar!

My personal favorite- this must’ve happened a dozen times, at least.
“Hey! Take a pic with your 5 megapixel Grand Vision camera.”
“SIX megapixels!”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
Pause.
“So?”
She looks up sheepishly “Wait, it’s charging.”
“Never mind. Mich, take a pic with your good Canon camera.”
“F*ck you lar!”

I love how I can say just one word or make a weird face and she gets so riled up about it to the point of swearing loudly at me and embarrassing herself in public while I look like the picture of a delicately affronted angel.
--------------------------------------------
Dude- I have more than one best friend. When did that happen? Oh, right- ‘bout th’ time my best friend got herself another best friend. I don’t recall the exact moment I had even the slightest inclination to add names onto my ‘best friend list’ which was, for a long while, populated by one person alone. But it must’ve been right about the time I realized that there was hardly anything Mel could say that would offend me. Or perhaps when Ange and I talked about our mothers’ respective menopausal symptoms.

I don’t call many people ‘friends’ easily. I believe it’s more than a word to politely categorize acquaintances who actually know your name. Does this particular guy in Friendster with 2000 friends actually know them all? I find it an insult to people like me who carefully choose friends to spend time with. Every single one of you- I make an effort to remember that you’re allergic to soy yet okay with tau foo fa, or that you wanna be a director, or that you’re really trying hard to finish War And Peace. I know what makes you laugh and what to say to cheer you up. We would always have an inside joke or quip that no one else understands. There’s only a preciously small amount of silent moments in a day and I try to spend it on you. Thanks for being my friend.

It’s all worth it.

Lessons 3

Lesson Three: Respecting Differences or “Manga Is NOT Crap!!”

“Hey! I found this way cool comic. It’s called ‘Strangers In Paradise’.” I enthuse, sticking an issue of it into Red’s face.
She frowns and picks it up, “’S black an’ white.”
“Yeah, isn’t it cool?”
“Whatzit about?”
“Uh…” You really can’t tell people what SIP is about. You’ve gotta read it to love it.
“If ye can’t tell me about it in 25 words or less, then it’s not worth a look.”
“Oh, as if you can tell me about your Manga crap in ‘25 words or less’…” I mimic.
“Manga is NOT crap!”
“Hmmph, your Rae Ayanami with her stupid blue hair and bright brown eyes.” I love tweaking her with this- she never fails to yell back.
“It’s RED!”
“Sure looks bright brown to me…” I mutter.
“It’s red, okay? It says that she has red eyes.” She flips through a well-worn issue of Evangelion to show me some kanji I don’t understand.
I grab the book and flip to the first page which has a colour picture of Ayanami. “Does this look red to you?”
“Yes.”
“Well it looks bright brown to me. Them Manga artists must be colour blind or something.”
“They’re not, you are!”
“Musta run outta red and ended up putting brown for her eyes and told th’ whole world she has red eyes.” I continue.
“Arfgh!” Red swears at me under her breath. She says that I’m th’ only person in the world she curses vulgarly at. I’m honored.
“I’m sorry? Did you say something?”
Red huffs and grabs my SIP comic, thumbing through it quickly “No fight scenes.” She counts off tonelessly “No car chases, no bulky men in spandex, no cute guys with long floppy hair, no shapely babes… you call this a comic book?”
I rub my temple with my middle finger towards her and raise an eyebrow, “It’s art. It’s tastefully done drama in pictures. Just because some of us enjoy a little culture now and then”
“The only culture you get is by eating yogurt.” I slap my head. That was sooo lame.
“Don’t diss my comics, ‘kay?”
“So you don’t diss mine!”
“Fine!” We yell in each other’s faces.
Silence. “I still think Ayanami’s eyes are brown.” I just can’t resist it.
“It’s RED!” And get a slap upside my head for my efforts.

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I learnt early in life that just because I don’t fancy something means that it’s stupid and not worth my time. My mom hates the Simpsons, and I do mean hate. I try to remind her all th’ time that she’s in th’ minority- still, her thoughts on the show is akin to a vile racist slur. How to convince her that people might give her dirty looks for her thoughts?

Sub-lesson two: Even though th’ word ‘crap’ and ‘shit’ can probably describe almost anything (ie: diving crap, “all that college shit”, etc.) its not wise to use it on things people like. As simple and harmless as it sounds to you, people prolly get a lot of grief for th’ thing they love, like “x-files crap”. Yeah. Besides, oversensitive people- *ahem* Red *ahhhemm khaakk snort* might be offended and we wouldn’t want that, would we?

Just a ramble about something I miss th’ most, folks… someone to argue with. Ahhhhh- those were th’ days.

(Note: The above conversation actually happens almost all th’ time. If you ever go to Red’s page, remember to mention Ayanami’s ‘bright brown’ eyes in her profile pic.)