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.
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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.

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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.
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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.)

Lessons I Learnt From My Best Friend 2

Lesson Two: The Great Debate- Star Trek or Star Wars? Or “NO! Mine Is Better, You Jerk!!”
(Another segment courtesy of Antfood)

We don’t get into fights over this, but things can get rather heated at times. Maybe it’s a good thing we only debate about this over th’ phone because I’d phaser her dead otherwise. LOL- imagine this:-
“Star Wars is better.” Waves hand in Jedi mind control motion.
“No, Star Trek is better.”
”Star Wars IS better.” Waves hand again.
”No way, Star Trek!”
”Star Wars!” Begins to lose cool Jedi façade.
”Sheeeyah, ‘Luuke, da farce is wif youuu’” I mimic. “Star Trek is wayyyy better”
”Yeah right! Utopia? I’m s’posed to believe our future’s all perfect an’ clean?”
”Why not?! At least it’s more believable than ‘a galaxy far, far away’!”
”My aliens are cooler”
Silence. She’s right, of course. Star Wars have way cooler aliens. For some reason TPTB at Paramount decided that every ST alien seem humanoid. The only thing that sets all aliens apart is the bumpy noses an’ foreheads, and the occasional blue skin.
I don’t give up easily. “At least mine’s scientifically realistic”
”Yeah? How?” Red doesn’t really watch Star Trek. “Earl Grey- hot.” I hate that line. Tea drinkers on space shows are such wusses. Thank God for Kathryn Janeway.
”Hey! Replicators are a possibility! A lotta medical/ scientific breakthroughs now have similar features to that in Star Trek!”
”Ooh- wave a magic wand and all is healed.”
”Oh, and a dip in th’ Bacta tank does the same thing?”
”Ay! Don’t knock Bactine!!”
”Bacta is not Bactine!” I yell “Where th’ heck did you get that idea?”
We’re at a standoff. This is getting ridiculous.
”Star Wars was directed by Lucas. What was yours? Gene Raspberry?”
”Roddenberry.”
”Rodentberry”
”Stop it.”
”Loganberry”
”I’m serious”
”Blueberry.”
*bzzzraaappp* I phaser her into a pile of fine ash before she can pull out her light sabre.

:-D Okay, so our conversations aren’t always like that, but th’ gist is there. I love ST and she loves SW. I watch and read up on Star Wars for her sake and she pretends to like Star Trek for mine. Yeah- she pretends to watch ST: Voyager since Kathryn Janeway’s a lot more masculine than Captain Picard. LOL.

Giving in to someone is never easy, especially when you know you’re right. ;-) I can choose to have an interest in th’ things she loves best just so that we can have one more thing to argue incessantly about. I’m more liable to keep stubbornly plodding along, but Red’s a little more gracious than I am. The words “FINE! You’re right.” will be th’ end of any argument we have. I’m still learning…

Here's one for us, bestest bud- 'FIREFLY'. Oh yeah. C'n you spell C-O-M-P-R-O-M-I-S-E?

(Disclaimer: No light-sabre carrying, pretend-Jedi knight was harmed in the writing of this blog. :-D No, Red doesn’t tweak me like that… I do. That’s my job- I irritate her whenever I have th’ chance. I think she likes it.)

Lessons I Learned From My Best Friend 1

Lesson One: Companiable Silence or “Shut Up. I’m Trying To Watch The Show”
(A rerun. Brought to you courtesy of Antfood)

We’re watching yet another thrilling X-Files Season Two rerun about Mulder and Scully getting abducted/ kidnapped/ contacted by aliens/ caught in a bright paranormal light or generally yelling each others names into the night. Yes- I’m talking about th’ overused, flogged-to-death “MULDER!/ SCULLY!” scene. Oh, let’s not forget Scully’s favorite phrase: “Oh-My-God.” But I digress. The screen shows a spooky night scene (are there any other kinds?) accompanied by Mark Snow’s equally spooky music composition. Suddenly, a bright white light flashes and Scully is missing.
(Let’s say it all together now) “Scully!!” Mulder yells frantically, falling to his knees. A split second later, an irritating advertisement jingle blares to my annoyance.

{aggravating music plays}

DeepBassNarratorGuy: Now, introducing the all new ABC kitchen utensil! It’s a peeler, knife, measuring cup, ladle and frying pan all in one implement!

{Ladies crowd half-heartedly around the miracle tool}

HouseLadies: Wow! {with fixed smiles on their faces which looks more like a death grimace }

DBNG: YES! Wow, indeed. ABC- The Kitchen YOU-tensil Made Specially For You!!

{soundBITE ends, thankfully}

I laugh and flip on the news- I can still hear yet another inane soundbite through th’ phone on Red’s TV. Red will never switch channels until her precious X-Files is over. It’s a sickness I tell you. Walking over to th’ kitchen with my cordless phone tucked under my chin, I root around for snacks. Red has a phone in her living room, I think. No doubt, she’ll be rooted to the spot for another 40 minutes- phone cradled on her shoulder, eyes intently glued to th’ tube.
I made it just in time for a short replay of the last scene- Mulder in all his angsty glory shouting into the night. I snorted inappropriately.
“What are you laughing at?” Red asks.
Yeah, whoops. “Nothing.”
“Whaaat?!?” she growls irritatedly.
I grin, “If I had a dollar for every time Mulder yells Scully’s name like that, I’d be rich.”
Silence. I can hear Red sigh imperceptibly. It’s true, but she doesn’t like to admit it.
Another quiet moment passes, then a soft “Shut up. I’m tryin’ to watch th’ show,” she mutters.
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That’s how it us for us. We watch TV and do things together through th’ phone. If I’m bored whilst skinning chicken or cooking, I’d call her with absolutely nothing to say. At least there’s someone else getting bored with me. Our phone conversations are always punctuated with long periods of silence. It’s in those times I revel in the closeness of our purported ‘bond’ and wonder who the hell is paying for the call.

It’s no fun watching a movie alone, so having a quiet friend along is a real boon. Unfortunately, though we have long intervals of silence, Red is far from being a quiet person. We’re th’ inconsiderate buggers in your movie theatre who talks to the screen and occasionally shouts choice epithets at lousy actors. Maybe it’s a good thing that th’ only two movies we’ve watched together is ‘Stuart Little’ and ‘Mousehunt’ (do you see a trend?)

I believe a friend may be present but not necessarily heard. When I’m working, Red sits in th’ store for hours- just reading a book (and leeching off my free employee beverages). If I’ve got stuff to do on the computer, friends present will do something else. I can hand over my house keys to Marque (a friend) and she’ll just let herself in for a nap when I have something to do.

Companiable silence, gentle readers, its someting rare. Cherish it if you have it.

Gotta Be Me...

Had my picture taken today, horrible as usual. This kinda makes me wonder... why aren't we satisfied with ourselves?

Ever played 'Anywhere But Here'? Or 'Anything But This'? Someone once asked me what I wanted to be, y'know... if I weren't myself. The obvious answer is "Rambutan tree"- any fool can see that. But she glared menacingly, so I entertained her with images of cerulean green eyes, long raven hair, six-feet of 36-24-30 in heels and living in a three-storey Beverly Hills mansion with a dashing young gentleman and his purebred Golden Retriever. Now that I think about it, I realize that I was actually a FHM centrefold living in a 'Lifestyles' feature. Oh... did I mention my 6-figure income as CIO of a high-profile data network company? Hellllooo--- Fortune cover story. Anyway, my aforementioned friend had the good graces to blink twice before launching into a uber-vision/version of herself.

"MR LELY, I DESIRE YOU WOULD USE ALL YOUR SKILL TO PAINT YOUR PICTURE TRULY LIKE ME, AND NOT FLATTER ME AT ALL; BUT REMARK ALL THESE ROUGHNESS, PIMPLES, WARTS, AND EVERYTHING AS YOU SEE ME; OTHERWISE I WILL NEVER PAY A FARTHING FOR IT."
~Cromwell on having his portrait painted, in Horace Walpole, Anecdotes of Painting.

I love the quote above... how many people can say that their completely satisfied with themselves. Oh sure, I tell people I wouldn't change a thing about myself while checking out my accursed nose in the privacy of my room. I truly admire people who are confident in their own skins- knowing that they are capable and loved just as they are.

I'm a realist, while I don't expect to be picture perfect, it would be good to have pictures where I don't seem like I'm smirking at the establishment. Now with modern technology, one can 'touch-up' their photographs. Maybe a little concealing here or some smoothening out there... just a little, to look good. I guess I am guilty of such- well, it was a free service. Not that there is anything wrong with wanting to look your best and being pretty but somehow, I'd like to look at my pictures and see the same thing I see in the mirror.

I constantly check myself when chatting up people in a formal social event. "Am I talking too much? Is this an appropriate topic of conversation? What the hell is he talking about?" Of course, not to mention the ever-distracting "Do I have something between my teeth? Is my hair on straight? Why is he staring at my chest? Myhosehasarunmyhosehasarun- *-* does my pantyline show?" I guess it's time to stop it, huh?

Looking at my life so far, it's safe to say that I've been blessed with a relatively normal childhood and excellent friends. I have friends that come to my house and don't bat an eye at me in my ratty houseclothes and unshaven legs. My Mom's been pretty cool about how I dress and how I refuse to have my hair cut sometimes. (I'm guessing she'll shave it all off when she can't stand it ) Why do I worry about how I portray myself to public when the people that really counts in my life loves me for who I am? I'm comfortable, confident and totally cool- who cares what I look like?

Like Garfield, I suppose I should say "I gotta be me!" Or James Brown, the classic success story of pauper to 'Godfather of Soul'--- I FEEL GOOD!!

A segment of “Grace, Get A Life”; proudly brought to you by Grac's Coffee High. This comes with a nerd alert; batteries not included.

Music In My Head

My entire life is musically scored. When I walk, my tempo depends solely on th’ song in my head an’ th’ type of percussions. Big band jazz seems to be a big favorite- I love to swing. Following closely is my ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ heavy metal / bass & drums. Placid days will vary from traditional Irish jigs to new age Enya. Glorious angst invokes anything from Morrisette-like heart screaming to tear-inducing Groban. Joseph Arthur, M-R-A-Z! Good Charlotte. The genius that is White Stripes. I LOVE guitars; classical mellowness, upbeat acoustic, distorted twanging, feedback squealing… I love it all.

I totally get the top-40s buzz now. I used to despise being 'trendy'- pop culture is sooo conformist, I couldn't stand it. But now, I bob my head to Maroon 5 and "Hey Ya!". Tap my foot to Black Eyed Peas... lip-sync with heartrending, pointless Coldplay. Cringe an shudder when I realize I can sing Britney, Hillary and boyband songs. Eurgh. Am such the trendy little conformist, its sickening.

When I get insane or tired, there’s th’ nursery rhymes and monotonous humming. I’d hum tunelessly and repetitively. When I’m peppy, chipper or just unnaturally high, I’d whistle. It doesn’t matter what. Th’ Nutcracker suite is a big hit with me. Precision whistling, I call it. But nothing is as difficult as Grande Valse Brilliante. Th’ running notes itself will do you in. Chopin’s Nocturne No. 9 on rainy days, a baroque canon for days that don’t seem to end, Shostakovich or Bartok for those stilted, weird days when everything seems to go wrong. Am learning Flight Of The Bumblebee... now, that's tough t'whistle to.

And there are th’ musicals. Phantom is HUGE with me. I can sing th’ entire musical in my head an’ do th’ character voices as well. I get weird stares when I yellin’ “… down once more to the dungeon of my dark despair, down we plunge to the prison of my mind…” I love that song. Other old favorites- Les Miserables: especially “…but you will live ‘Ponine, dear god above…”. It’s pretty effective when you start emoting that song with th’ proper ‘whygawdwhy’ hand gestures and singing it at th’ top of your voice. Gets you all worked up and properly angsty. Miss Saigon: A point of irritation here for me. Why does my mom yell at me when I start belting out “The heat is on in Saigon th’ girls are hotter than hell… // …we should get drunk an’ get laid, since the end is so near” but never bites into my bro when he does the same? Even when he yodels th’ Engineer’s whore-mongering songs, he doesn’t get into trouble. It’s not fair, I tell you. Ooh, oh- I totally loved that BtVS musical: Once More With Feeling! I can sing th' whole thing too! Disney cartoons don’t count as musicals, but I know ‘em all anyway. All time favorite Disney bit: “I’ve a girl back home who’s none like any other.” “Yeah, the only girl who’d love him is his mother”. Know where that came from?

Speaking of maternal fondness, my God-fearing charismatic mom said that when I was born she prayed to TPTB to put, quote: a new song in my heart every morning, unquote. *snarkles* Bet she didn’t know that I woke up with “Yankee Doodle” today. Or “She Hates Me” yesterday (I swear I could hear that G.C/Em.A.D opening riff like it came from the radio).

Parting words: “Stuck a feather in his cap and called it Macaroni”. Whut in great googly moogly is Mr Doodle calling Macaroni? Th’ town? Feather? Cap? Strangely enough, ‘Yankee Doodle’ snapped me into instant wakefulness. You should try it.