"He Cuts People Up"

Sometime during dinner and lots of wine in Romanee at Lau Pa Sat (which serves good Cantonese cuisine by the way; ooOoOoo the steamed fish), the lady boss came over and asked about Kangeroo Man's brother. The name got me out of my pleasantly buzzed state -- it was not so uncommon that one would immediately think they were related, but it is a small world after all. I continued to watch him; there was not much of a physical resemblance with the brother (I suppose God was kind and did not mole-lify both brothers), but I realised that both had similar accents -- Malaysian -- and a particular manner of speech. I vaguely recalled they had the same surname, which M confirmed. And then I remembered that The Masters had spoken fondly of the restaurant.

"What does your brother do? ... His wife is ______ right? ... Ehhh, I think he's my boss."

And so, yes, they are brothers. And Kangeroo Man meets the rest occasionally too.

GAAAAAHHH!!! (Too weird. Too weird. Just too weird.)





The Hills Are Alive

She had her hands over her eyes as she leaned over and whispered, "What's happening?!"

"He nailed the guy's foot to the floor with the screwdriver. And he stabbed him through the neck with the flag pole. And then he drove the axe into his head."

And the reason I was able to relate all this to my temporarily blinded companion was because I did not have my hands over my eyes.

And the reason I did not have my hands over my eyes was because throughout the two hours --

during which a research team collecting samples from a nuclear test zone was slaughtered; a family of nine (including two German Shepherds, Beauty and Beast) travelling through the New Mexico dessert was stranded when their mobile home hit a spiked trap; Beauty ran away and was found eviscerated; the father trekked back to the petrol station for help only to see the owner shoot himself in the head while raving about a mistake; the younger daughter was raped by a lascivious creep; the family watched the father being burnt alive on a stake; the mother was shot in the guts and died; the older daughter was suckled and then shot in the head after she stuck one of the creeps in the knee; the son-in-law raided the abandoned mining town to rescue his kidnapped baby girl and was knocked unconscious; the son found his mother's body missing and stumbled upon a hungry creep eating her; Beast ripped out the throat of a random creep spying on the remaining family; the son-in-law regained consciousness to find himself in an ice box with bodies in various stages of dismemberment; the younger daughter and son blew up the hungry creep with their mobile home; the son-in-law escaped and got beaten up and thrown around a few times but managed to kill two creeps while Beast ripped up a hair-bound creep; a good girl creep picks up the baby and runs to safety with the son-in-law and lascivious creep in hot pursuit; the son-in-law was beaten up and bloodied some more; the good creep saved the day when she threw herself at the bad creep and they fell off the cliff together; the very bloodied son-in-law returned with baby girl to reunite with the younger daughter and son

-- I did not jolt from my seat once, much less scream (though I almost burst out laughing when the teenage daughter engaged in a pillow fight with one of the mutants).

The story did not make sense most of the time -- the bodies were not the only ones with huge gaping holes in them. There did not seem to be a focus or intensity, and the movie simply flopped along. More unforgivable was that the horror failed to engage the viewer; it felt like the director was just going through the motions, and lining up the obligatory scenes of horror, blood and gore.

By the end of the movie, I was entertaining my own fantasy of sticking the Straits Times reviewer's hands to his/her keyboard with sharpened pencils -- for promising me a gorefest that was so obviously not.

The hills were alive. But definitely not with screaming. And come to think of it, no one else in the cinema screamed either.

I. Want. A. Refund.


Jäger Mixing

After a few rather heavenly encounters with the Jägermeister, I finally found a bottle at Carrefour Plaza Singapura a few weeks ago. It has been sitting on the table by my bed -- unopened -- next to the Baileys , which I have not touched for a while either. I have been a very good girl.

Sometime during one of our many inane MSN conversations this morning, The Stapler Maniac pointed me to this.

Dr Jäger : : 2 parts Jägermeister and Cherry Soda

(Eyes start to glaze over.)

Javameister : : 1 part Jägermeister, Coffee/Expresso and Whipped Cream

(Breath quickening. Whimper.)

Oatmeal Cookie : : 1/3 Jägermeister, 1/3 Coffee Liquer and 1/3 Irish Cream

(Grip mouse; knuckles turning white.)

Red Headed Sister : : 1/3 Jägermeister, 1/3 Peach Schnapps and 1/3 Cranberry Juice

(Bangs head on wall.)

Like I said, I have been a very good girl. But I have very, very evil friends.





Birthday Blues

It appears that my plans for a quiet week to myself (work, WOW, yoga, WOW, sleep, WOW) -- after a pleasantly quiet and rather uncanny (more later) birthday dinner at Wild Rocket with three lovely ladies on Saturday -- is not going to happen. You see, this birthday girl has social obligations.

I will be joining M and the rest for dinner and wine (appreciation) on Thursday. I am beginning to feel really bad about declining her previous invitations, and do not want her to think it is because I do not like her company; or the Romanian boyfriend who is rather funny; or even Uncle, who while not a particularly exciting personality, is a really nice guy (and has recently found himself a nice Aunty, so I can stop avoiding him). It is the other two whose company I obviously can do without. And I guess plebians like myself will never understand the point to 'appreciating' wine -- I just drink it. Then again, I never really liked the reds they brought along each time (read: I had better). As I was telling CirCe, while M herself is OK, perhaps as a foreigner who came to Singapore alone about two years, she could not afford to be too choosy about her social circle. Heh.

I have also reluctantly agreed to join the sister's gay boyfriend, the sister and her 40-something-divorced-with-two-kids straight girlfriend (who is currently babysitting dating a 28-year-old) for dinner and then some partying at Happy this coming Saturday. However, I suspect Happy would turn out to be more like:

[1] me watching the sister's gay boyfriend cruise for action;

[2] me watching the sister and her very happening straight girlfriend check out straight men who have started cruising the gay clubs after they heard about the not-unattractive straight women who frequent the gay clubs; and

[3] me avoiding eye-contact with straight men looking for action because losers men who, according to the sister's gay boyfriend, cruise gay clubs for straight women, thinking they have less competition and hence a higher chance of scoring, would probably be the sort who would buy a wife from the neighbouring countries when the straight women start hanging out at the regular clubs again.

Anyway, the most memorable birthday greeting this year has to be the one from the chio bu sister with the straight boyfriend.

"Happy birthday alien! Wat do you wan for yr birthday?"

"ALIEN??? Why you call me alien??? I want Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia."

"You always look like alien to me. Everytime weird weird one. Ice-cream? You sure or not? Siao one."

Now, I do not know how that could have come about. It is not like I smear my blood on the bedroom walls, walk around the house naked or molest the dogs (which one of the sisters did, and then she wondered why the male bit her). I spend most of my time at home in front of the computer, playing games and occasionally, gossiping about my sisters to the whole world. I mean, how weird can I look, staring expressionless into the computer screen every night, and maybe, just occasionally, start smiling to myself???

I think the chio bu sister can forget about borrowing my red Kenneth Coles. Hmmmpppfff.

Ah well, happy birthday to me, and thank you everyone who wished me :-D





Spitting is Bad for Your Health

Some level 60 bitch female gnome mage called Staffy ganked me today in Stranglethorn Vale and then the bitch SPAT on my corpse -- not once, not twice, but a few times. What is it with these juvenile holier-than-thou alliance gankers who always have to spit on you after the deed?

Didn't their mothers teach them that spitting in public is bad manners -- and that they might get mouth cancer and die from it?

I guess not. Hmmmpfff.


Runaway Troll-Bride on Raptor. Heh.





It Has Wings

While I choose to solo mostly, it does get a little lonely at times, and it helps to have a little companionship, preferably of the non-player variety. So when I noticed a Snowshoe Rabbit following one of my occasional partner in war, I decided to shop for my own non-combat pet.

I am now the proud owner of my very own COCKCROACH. It has wings. And it fliesss! Wheeee :-D



Random Rants

[1]
My sister roused me from bed this morning to ask if she could have the red Kenneth Coles with the pretty flower for the day. I told her no because "they are too expensive" (and I did not want to have them returned scuffed or lose shape from being worn too often). For some reason, I am feeling guilty about denying my sister these little luxuries I can afford. Sigh. I will most probably pass off the morning as sleep-talking and tell her tonight that I meant to say yes -- but she had better not return them scuffed. SIGH!

[2]
Having to do your own work, supervise and then perform a little emergency human management -- all in one morning (make that over several days) -- is really exhausting. I think I might have just sprung a few screws. Sigh.

[3]
Another new year resolution which I have really got to work more seriously on is to lose the 7 kg worth of KFC fried chicken and cheese fries that seem to have taken up permanent residence status in my body. It is actually beginning to hurt whenever I find myself pressing down on my rolls of fat in a few yoga poses. I kid you not. I have one month to get back into shape or I might just tear my wetsuit (again) on the trip to Perhentian in mid-April. That is a very real possibility because the suit has previously been patched over -- at the butt cheek. It happened while I was letting myself down from the upper deck of a dive boat and my fat ass got caught on a protruding nail. I was actually hanging in mid-air for a second or two before the nail succumbed to the gravitas of my fat ass, and I landed with a very bruised butt cheek and a gaping hole in my wetsuit. Needless to say, it was humiliating having to survive the next few days in the same wetsuit, and being the literal butt of everyone's jokes. SIGH!

So, I have taken next Monday off and am thinking of some rest-and-relax. I am not too keen on going to a spa, because the idea of being stuck in a dim little room sounds a little claustrophobic and I do not know of any spas with nice swimming pools that do not double up as free shows for nearby office buildings. (Of late, I have noticed a strange urge to be out in the open and to be near water, and I seem to be developing an aversion to the night.) Shrug. I might just go out for a quiet breakfast on my own, and then stay in and roll in bed with the dogs and do absolutely nothing for the day -- not even WOW! (Bleah a certain female Tauren Shammy.) Or if I do manage to roll myself out of bed, I will go hang out at the beach. Heh.





Bigger and Better



Hallo! Meet the liger.

Wikipedia has an absolutely intriguing write-up on this amazing creature:

"The liger is a cross (a hybrid) between a male lion and a female tiger. ... A liger looks like a giant lion with diffused stripes. ... Ligers grow much larger than tigers or lions. It is believed this is because female lions transmit a growth-inhibiting gene to their descendants to balance the growth-promoting gene transmitted by male lions. (This gene is due to competitive mating strategies in lions.) A male lion needs to be large to successfully defend the pride from other roaming male lions and pass on his genes; also, in prides with multiple male adult lions, a male's cubs need to be bigger than the competing males for the best chance of survival. Thus, his genes favor larger offspring. A lioness, however, will have up to 5 cubs, and a cub is typically one of many being cared for in a pride with many other lions. As such, it has a relatively high survival rate, and need not be huge as it will not need to look after itself very quickly. Smaller cubs are more easily cared for and fed and are less strain on the pride; hence, the inhibiting gene developed.

"Male tigers do not compete for status and mates in the way lions do; a tigress only mates with one tiger when in season, so a tiger does not have the same genetic predisposition to produce large competing offspring. Also, a tigress typically has fewer cubs, and those have a much lower survival rate due to the tiger's solitary nature, so being large and growing quickly are an advantage; there is no need for a growth inhibitor.

"Being the offspring of a male lion and female tiger, the liger inherits the growth-promoting gene unfettered by a growth-inhibiting gene and typically grows larger than either animal; this is called growth dysplasia. Some male ligers grow sparse manes."





Thinking in the Box


Not exactly a conventional jewellery case, but hey, this rubber icebox from Muji has got just enough compartments for my earrings (for now), and I don't have to worry about scratches. Sweet.



I just lurrrve the colours they have at Citrusox. Heh. Heh. And they are super comfortable and thick enough to keep those nasty blisters away when I'm running people into the ground on weekends :-)





MOTD

Between all the mother-henning, baby-sitting, bitch-slapping, hand-holding and real work I have to do for most of the work-week, I cannot be expected to continue dishing out sympathy or listening/solving other people's problems the rest of the time. I just want to switch off in the evenings, retreat for some ME-time and engage in loads of mindless killing of brutish ogres and dragon whelpings online, OK?





My Many Faces

Find the celebrity in you with MyHeritage, a face recognition software.

Anyway, it appears that I have a very versatile face:

Aretha Franklin (Alamak! I so need to lose the tan!)

Chen Yi (But, but ... )

Sofia Coppola (Scrutinises nose frantically in mirror!)

Choi Ji-Woo (Hehe!)

Jang Nara (Wah!!! Hehe!!!)





Cruising on Caffeine

Maybe it was the expresso chocolates (plus a coffee and teh tarik for me) we popped just before hitting the road. Or maybe it was not having to fight the heat on a late afternoon. Or maybe, quoting The Stapler Maniac, "crowds excite me" (and it was one helluva crowd that thronged the beach on Sunday afternoon).

And unintended (cross my little black heart, I swear; I was not going any faster than my usual, though I admit to being adept -- and reckless -- at weaving through the crowd), The King was run into the ground though he continued stoically in spite of a very bad blister; while The Queen, who survived the 20km with nary a hair out of place, albeit on two -- bigger -- wheels, looked on in bemusement.

Unfortunately, ye faithful "every weekend come blistering sun or heavy dark clouds" (and more frequently of late, "or dark eyebags from wowing until three in the morning") companion was less amused. When she finally caught up at the end of the stretch past Bedok Jetty (towards Safra), her face was as dark as rain clouds. She EXPLODED in my face -- something along the lines of "My lungs are bursting ... (expletive deleted) ... do crowds excite you ... I don't normally swear at my friends but you are (expletive deleted) crazy ... (more expletives deleted) ... " And I could not stop laughing because I did not know how else to react to being swore at! (Though that probably made me look really fucking crazy.)

So, how about doing this again next weekend? ;-D





Life in Mono

Beautiful underwater photography by Jean-Philippe Trenque. I especially love the monochrome ones; my favourites are the jellyfish-like creature and shark. The beauty of the underwater world is often depicted in all their glorious kaleidoscope of colours, but here, there is something about the starkness that makes its beauty even more undeniably breathtaking.


Tickle Me Elmo



I was making plans to take the Friday afternoon off for some, to quote The Rabid Fan, personal pampering: shopping (oh yeah, press my buttons, baby!) and wax work, and figured my neglected feet could do with a pedicure (my first!) since I will be in the vicinity anyway. Then I remembered why I have never had my feet done before (other than the fact that I have cloven hooves), which also happens to be the same reason why I have not gone for a full body massage again since a rather embarrassing incident in a Bangkok massage parlour -- I have terribly TICKLISH feet.

I am crossing my fingers (and toes, which are already beginning to feel ticklish just at the mere thought) that I will not kick anyone in her face this Friday.


Wednesday Morning



I took the morning off to sleep in and nurse the PMS-induced migraine from last night.

There is something absolutely delicious about having the whole house to yourself in the day, and to be able to stay in bed while the rest of the world is at work. I snuggled up to Elmo while Xena slept at my feet. I began to rouse just before noon, feeling decidedly better and more cheery. I was hoping to toss around in bed for a while more when my mobile phone rang. Someone (not from the office) was calling about work.

"Oh, you sound tired." (Damn right I am.)

"Yes, actually I have the morning off." (HINT.)

A personal assistant of sorts, she goes on to confirm a booking she had made for March. I assured her that it was in, and continued to answer a few more questions. Then she asked about a booking in February. I did not have the historical details at hand and said I would have to call her when I got into the office later -- honestly, it really was not important and I did not see why she could not wait. But she needed the information there and then.

"Well, I need to retrieve the information from the office and I am not in the office now BECAUSE I have the morning off???" (HINT!!!)

She suggested that I call the office for help with retrieval. (No, you don't understand. I AM, LIKE, NOT AT WORK RIGHT NOW???)

I reminded her again that I was not at work, and I wondered aloud why she even had my mobile number.

"Oh, don't you remember that you gave it to me last month?" (Actually, NO, someone else from the office gave it to you. In any case, I am not obliged to attend to any calls off work, especially when I am nursing a migraine. I am not your FUCKING-ANYTIME-ANYWHERE kind of girl OK???)

I managed to retrieve a vague memory from my decidingly worsening migraine and she went away. Obviously, I was not a very happy muppet by then and I was this close to breaking my new year resolution.

Shortly after, the phone rang again and I attended to another SOS call from work; this time, it was someone from the office who needed some professional assistance and listening ear.

By the time I hung up, it was time to roll out of bed to get to work. Turning on the computer, I found The Queen King next in line, with a bleeding cat who had fallen off the window ledge. So I called the poor boy to ask about the poor cat, who is fine for now.

So, there you have it, my Wednesday morning.

(If you are wondering about the recurrent Elmo theme, the furry one used to be my online moniker. Okay, you can stop snickering now. Wave chakram menacingly.)





Evil Thought of the Day

I believe in giving people what they want. So, if Her Highness wants her own empire, I'll give her an empire -- all to Herself.

I'm such a people pleaser, no? I think I'm beginning to develop a penchant for drawing organisation charts.





Mind Your Language

Not once, but twice today (actually, almost every other day), I was asked if my email address is in 'small caps'. Aiyo! It is LOWERCASE (which for the sake of emphasis, appears in caps) lah!

And not too longer ago, I used to correct callers (with much exasperation) who asked me if my email address was in caps or lowercase -- it does not matter, really. I have since given up repeating myself. But perhaps, the next time I am asked, I might just tell them that it is written with alternate caps, like this: tHeInTiMaTeStRaNgEr@GmAiL.cOm. Heh. Heh. Heh.


Wheels on Fire

(Make that my legs too.)

ScubaPro Girl and I pushed 26km in the midday sun yesterday -- 6km more than our usual, with an extra run from where we are usually parked at McDonalds to Fort Road and back. It all started with talk on the guild channel to go blading at the beach. Z, who is also a regular at the beach (but in the late afternoons), does 40km. Since then, I could not bear the thought of continuing to make do with half the distance -- typical Arian that I am; plus I have to keep up that intimidating front; plus I have not been taking my medication; plus I really need to lose the stubborn 5kg weight gain, because I can see that various parts of my body have runneth over in all the wrong places.

So, 40km here I come! (Hopefully, with ScubaPro Girl in tow -- and hopefully, I would not be saying that in the literal sense.)





Where?

Does anyone know where I can find nice buttons to replace the rather dull ones on a couple of blouses?





Nonsense to the Nth

It is funny how people cannot bring themselves to discipline a subordinate (apparently because, they are too nice to "backstab a friend") but have no problems vocalising their displeasure when it is something that affects them directly. And suddenly, the sympathy you had for the 'carpet' who was just 'too nice' fades.

So you see, there are nice people, and then there are 'nice people'. And sometimes, people are 'nice' simply because they are never the 'bad guy' and so they always look good. While such people keep their house spotless by throwing all their trash out the window, they forget that their neighbours are the ones who have to deal with the disposal.


Zoolanders

More here, and here and here.





I Am

"What is your Perfect Major?" From QuizFarm.com

"You scored as Journalism. You are an aspiring journalist, and you should major in journalism! Like me, you are passionate about writing and expressing yourself, and you want the world to understand your beliefs through writing."

100% Psychology
100% Journalism
_92% Philosophy
_92% English
_83% Sociology
_83% Linguistics
_83% Theatre
_83% Art
_83% Anthropology
_75% Dance
_75% Mathematics
_58% Biology
_42% Chemistry
_42% Engineering