Love and Hate.

I love my home.

But it doesn't mean I like EVERYTHING about it.

I dislike my room because there are holes on the ceiling caused by the damn musang, half the eletrical sockets don't work, and the damn bathroom isn't in a working condition.

I dislike the unkept jungle that is my garden outside the house, with its trees and leafy whatnots growing wildly everywhere as a home to godknowswhat new species of scary mutant animals about the garden.

I dislike the fact that sometimes there are cockroaches and mice running about out of nowhere.

I dislike the fact that we have too much wooden old people cina furniture at home, all of which which needs to be handled with care.

I dislike the fact that we have too much JUNK IN THIS PLACE. Company Annual Reports. Magazines. Textbooks. Papers. Broken electrical appliances. Unused plastic containers. Spoilt shoes. Old clothes. It's ridiculous!

I dislike the fact that we have this wading pool which turned into a swamp filled with green algae water and it scares me to wonder what lurks beneath the still waters.

I dislike the fact that this house leaks when there's a heavy rain and floods up the ground floor and that I have to clean it up.

I dislike that there is always so much goddamn black dust everywhere because we live near the zon perindustrian bebas.

I dislike how sometimes for no apperent reason at ALL, my water turns all muddy yellow IN THE MIDDLE OF MY SHOWER.

I love my home.

Yet there are so many things I don't like about it.

It's not the best home ever. It's not perfect.

But I have been living in it for at least half my life. And I still am.

Why?

In spite of all its shortcomings, it's still home.

And I love it.

Happy Merdeka.

The Audi A4's Boot Space, Mostly.

I know about cars as much as most straight heterosexual men know about fashion and makeup.

Unless the heterosexual men is in the media/fashion industry.

Actually, any man who claims to be heterosexual AND is in the media or fashion industry is probably lying.

In fact, I myself know very little about fashion and makeup. So that would make me.....

A complete failure.

Man, I suck at this whole LIVING business.

Anyways.

Last Friday I had the luxury of being invited by THE paultan.org (uh huh, THE guy even straight macho men want to have babies with) to hop along for a test drive on an Audi A4 something something why must they put so many numbers and alphabets on car models sheesh!

When it comes to the subject of cars in general, I'm a complete Reese Witherspoon Legally Blonde bimbo. Paultan.org’s website makes no sense to me and whenever I chance upon anything even remotely related to these 2 words - “review” and “car”, my eyes automatically glaze over and my brain switches on to screensaver mode.

Well, I was really fascinated with Audi's Boot Space. Here are some pictures to proof how fascinated I was.

THIS IS NOT A REVIEW.


The boot! The boot!

See how MONSTROUSLY sweet the boot it is. See how happy I am IN the boot. If one were to, hypothetically, run a ring of illegal baby trafficking activities, one could kidnap and fit about, oh I would roughly say a hundred babies in this sweet ass from the Mexican border straight into the States comfortably without anybody ever smelling a rat.


Having fun in the boot.

This would be THE model car for Ikea’s motto of – BRING YOUR OWN SHIT BACK SO WE DON’T HAVE TO DO IT FOR YOU DAMNIT. If had brought along a couple of pillows and a flask of long island tea, I would’ve been a cosier and a much happier ranger than EVEN the boys up in Brokeback Mountain.


Like a hamster on a running wheel.

Paultan.org mentioned that this car was sexy. The way he said it, if it wasn’t illegal, I bet he’ll want to be having a threesome with the twin exhaust pipes already.

The sound system was fantastic. The driver could adjust the volume from his steering wheel and the loudspeakers are located in every single car door – which sounded like a surround sound stereo. Pretty damn neat.


All that's missing now is a drink.

The buttons and electronic bits in the front were really nifty. Everything from the front seat adjusting knobs, to the lights, to the radio, to the hood y’all was automated and required just a touch of a button. It was so technologically advanced that initially Paultan.org even thought that the petrol tank would be controlled with a button, and thereby spending many, many, minutes looking for it.

Many, many, MANY minutes looking for it.

Fed up, I got out of the car and tried to help figure out which of these thousand buttons controlled the petrol tank. Then I walked to the tank, put my hand on the cover, and popped it open. Suckers. There is no such button. It’s manually operated.


The only time I'll EVER get to be on a driver's seat of a car. When it's stationary.

All that being said, get me a car please.

Bye.

Others:
Paul Tan Dot Org- for a REAL review.
Suanie - from another passenger’s perspective.

A Tribute To The Times When Songs Were Songs.

Is it me or are the local hit radio stations just spewing out endless garbage over and over and over again these days?

A hit doesn't even have to be music anymore.

It doesn't even need to be sang by a normal sounding human being - ting! ting!. Look Mr Justin Timberlake, I really thought NSync was fun because you guys were the only boyband who could actually DANCE and had decent vocals and when you left your group to pursue you own shit, I STILL thought you had pretty decent vocals and damn catchy moves but WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH SEXY BACK??!?!?! (whish IS rather catchy I have to admit, but makes me feel dirty to enjoy it, somehow)

Can anyone even catch what the new bands are screaming about half the time? What's with their trying to squeezing 43932743598 BIG words to a beat and all? Not enough airtime? Trying to cut cost of production? Dudes at Panic! At the Disco, I mean what's up with that? Your lyrics don't even MAKE sense to the sober mind, is it supposed to be like some sort of an EMO shit where there's a DEEPER meaning to your lyrics if only I smoked pot? And your titles like

"the only different between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage"

and

"theres a good reason these tables are numbered honey you just havent thought of it yet"

.... are like woah. dudes. deep. very deep.

I mean what the fuck are you idiots TRYING TO BE FUNNY?

And why is EVERY OTHER SONG out of the airwaves and MTV BLACK RAP HIP HOP BIG BOOTY SHAKING HOES SEE MY BLING MY GRILLS SHIT?!?!?! IT IS NOT SHWEEET FO SHIZZLE IN MY NIZZLE YO!

And Rihanna? The tweenage slut who's emoing over the fact that she's cheating over her loving boyfriend through her "I constantly sound like a bad case flu or a fork scraping against a plate god please kill me now" nasal voice? How is that for the Greatest Role Model for Tweens EvAr award?

Simple Plan? 20 something year olds crying about why the world doesn't understand them? GO HUG AN AFRICAN KID WITH AIDS! GET A REAL JOB!

PussyCatDolls? I......You..... They.... Shit, damnit why do you bitches have to be so damn hot I forgot what my point was.. oh wait it's coming back to me now.. and it has something to do with the fact that THEY ARE A BURLESQUE GROUP WITH ONE "SINGER" AND FIVE OVERPAID BACK UP DANCERS WHICH MEANS THEY SHOULD BE KEPT LOCKED UP IN LAS VEGAS NOT SET LOOSE UPON THE INNOCENT MINDS OF OUR CHILDREN!! Who are our future! Teach them well and let them lead the way! All that jazz! ... and I'm quite sure that "allowing them to watch a PCD concert" doesn't fall under "teach them well".

PARIS HILTON? WHYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?! OH GODDDDDD WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!?!?!?!?!?

Ok. Disclaimer. I have to admit some of these current shit hits are still quite catchy. The flesh is weak.

*ashamed*

But it's still shit, you know?

What happened to the days when singers were recognised as singers because they actually had some REAL RAW TALENT?

See the constant EH?WTF? look etched on my face whenever I hear the stuff my sister listen to these days. All noise I tell you. Noise. Produced though recording sounds made by squishing little furry animals with bare hands accompanied by the clashing of stainless steel kitchen utensils in the background that's what it is.

Actually, to be fair, I bet my mum thought the music I listened to during MY time was noise too.

Maybe I'm getting a little too old for the scene.

Well, because there's no school like the old school, here's a little tribute to the old times when music was... music.

So, if you have nothing against oldies and feel like wasting away a little over 3 minutes of your life today by listening to something which may be detrimental to the well-being of your sanity, ears, heart, reproductive organs, intestines and whatnot then by all means do proceed to click the "play" button.

If you don't swing that way, then this post ends here and I suggest you fuck off this very instant, because really, if you're a normal self-preserving individual like nature intended you to be with half an ounce of grey matter, it would be a very wise thing to do right about now.

Right. That leaves..... the 3 of you.

So, on with the tribute.

Oh, wait. The person involved in this recording wishes to humbly apologise for the cringing flat notes and to emphasise the fact that she/he is AWARE that she/he has NO TALENT whatsoever in this aspect, but in the name of torturing the masses, she/he does not give a fuck AND would rather remain anonymous for these few obvious reasons. Ok, NOW go press the play button and destroy yourselves.


powered by ODEO

Told you so, psychos.

Handwraps.

Woot! Got me a pair of handwraps I've been meaning to get since forEVAR!!111one.



RM29 bucks a pair At Royal Sporting House. Not really cheap for just 2 rolls of cloth, actually. Everydamnthing is not cheap in this country. Everything from the price of chicken rice to toilet roll has increased exponentially over the years while our pays are maintained at a flatline. Sian.

Anyway.

So cool right? Perfect for the ninja-isque feel.

While we're at it,


Eat too full nothing to do lah.

More? Oh why the hell not.


MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Sometimes I kill myself.

Short Story - A Failed Experiment

A strange packet from the You Arse of Aye arrived one day.

A rustling was heard.

Where was it coming from?


It was coming from the packet!

Goodness gracious! There were Gummies in the packet!

They were trapped in that big bad plastic packet!

Undeterred, they were desperately clawing at the plastic walls with their gummy paws and chewing it with their gummy mouth.



Their persistence was rewarded with FREEEDOM!

In jubilation, they celebrated late into the night with gummy dancing and gummy music.

Witnessed by the stars and the moon.

One curious gummy however, strayed and played a little too far from the rest of his pack.

Got itself quite lost it did.



Oh no! What was a gummy to do?

It climbed atop of the highest peak to get a better view.



It explored the inner sanctums of a cave.



But the more it looked, the more lost it got.

Sensing the hopelessness of its situation, it decided to just chill in a well. It was damp. It was cool. It fell asleep.



Unbeknownst to it, nature was forming a sinister plot.



While the gummy fell asleep in the well, the tide came rushing in.



It came in hard and flooded the well.

The poor gummy was forced to swim, if it wanted to survive.



But how long could he keep doggy gummy paddling?

It was about to give up when suddenly.....

..... a voice boomed from far away.

"Let go"

"This water is holy. It is pure. It will cleanse you. It will make you forget"

"You shall be reborn"

Enlightened, it smiled and let go.



And became one with everything.

The End.

Notes:
1. This was a failed experiment to infuse gummy bears with vodka. Can you imagine the possibilities of vodka infused gummies? I would earn MILLIONSSSS! Buy a sports car! Own a harem of virile boys! A holiday villa in Spain! A kennel of award winning pedigree dogs! From past experiences, gummy bears DO soak up water and expand to about 5 times its original size, which is why I thought it would work with vodka too. And in case you're still wondering if it did or not - it didn't.
2. I didn't taste the end product. The concoction did smell like Vodka OJ. But it also smelt like melted plastic. I didn't have enough balls to want to risk 5 years of my life or growing an extra arm out of my face by tasting it.
3. Several gummy bears HAVE been harmed during the production of this short story. Most of them ended up in a darker, deeper, damper cavity of sorts. But fear not gummy bear lovers, for they didn't suffer..... much. Yum.
4. Argh. The camera's condemned to high hell. Macro function is shot. In fact, even the focusing for normal portrait shots is whacked. Flash is wonky too. Time to get a new camera. A handphone. A watch. A car..... and a sugar daddy to pay for 'em all. Sigh.
4. The Gummy Bears were proudly sponsored by Eyeris! You're the best! Muaks!

Refugee: Images - The Musical

What?
A musical about Vietnamese Refugees at Pulau Bidong

Who?
The Canticle Singers

Where?
Panggung Bandaraya

When?
Wed 9 - Sun 13 Aug 2006
(8.30pm, with additional 3pm shows on Sat & Sun)

How much?
Evening shows: RM65/ RM55/ RM45
Matinee Shows: RM55/ RM45
Seniors & Students: RM35 (for selected shows available only through AXCESS Hotline)

Why?
Why not?

Personal thoughts?
1. Just before the musical, the audience were greeted by a condescending VOICE from ABOVE which BERATED us like insolent juvenile delinquents to KILL OUR HANDPHONES and that the higher powers will NOT TOLERATE PHOTOGRAPHY WHATSOEVER. WTF? Who does the announcer think she is? Our mothers? Mahai. Treating us like naughty schoolchildren. The tone of voice is like, damn beh song only. Dowan to be announcer then don't do it lah. Dowan media people who will publicise your musical for you to watch the musical for free then don't give out media passes for free lah. TIU. Where are your basic manners man? This short rude announcement fucked up whatever enthusiasm I may have had for the musical, bugged me DURING the musical, and it still haunted me AFTER the musical. In my sleep. When I take a piss. When I pay my taxes. Damn mood spoiler. It's too late for me now, but please, save yourselves. Jam your earphones into your ears and tune up your Mp3 players to MAX, something, ANYTHING.

2. There is a very good reason why The Canticle Singers are named The Canticle Singers and not The Canticle Actors.

3. I am glad I stayed for the encore. The acappella was truly ass kicking. I wished they sang more and talked less.... or rather, talked none.

4. The sound system was pretty much fucked on the first day, I'm not sure if it's going to be better, but it was realllyyyyyyyyyy distracting.

5. I don't think it was meant to be a comedy, but I couldn't stop myself from giggling quite a bit.

6. I watched it with about 3 hours of sleep in me the previous night and after a hard day's work. Wasn't a really good idea.

7. The RM10 program book is booklet half-filled with (not very pretty looking) advertisements from their sponsors and no, it will NOT help you with the understanding of the musical AT ALL. But the RM10 is for a good cause..... so.... yeah.

8. Halfway through the musical, I found out that there is no storyline. So I stopped trying to understand what was going on and just enjoyed the singing, and truly, they were pretty damn good with the whole singing thing.

More?
Kakiseni
CoolCatalyst
Lainie
moNSTer


Erna strutting her stuff

Thanks for the tix Erna!

And you were great by the way, NOT just because you gave me free tickets and because I'm your friend, you see. No nothing like that, really really, I swear it on my pinkies, and you know without a doubt that when one swear upon their pinkies, one's REALLY not bullshitting. :)

Filler Post.

You're an Expert Kisser

You're a kissing pro, but it's all about quality and not quantity You've perfected your kissing technique and can knock anyone's socks off And you're adaptable, giving each partner what they crave When it comes down to it, your kisses are truly unforgettable

What Kind of Kisser Are You?

HAhaHEhaEHAHeaEHAHEhaEHAHEA.

These surveys are stupid.

But quite kembangfying also.

That is all! Kthxbai!

Endgame.

This is a longggg overdue post. Feeling guilty. Feeling guilty.

I caught Endgame on its opening night thinking that I'll be able to blog about it and perhaps help publicise it a little.

It's been a week since, and well, there are no more shows to catch.

But still, I thought I'll shove my thoughts of the play down your throats anyway.

Yeah, you know you like it!

I caught the play on the night of my birthday actually. Whee! I know right? I'm so goddamn happening it's simply unfathomable by the average human brain.

I mean, can you think of any other better ways to spend the night of your birthday than watching a dark, depressing stage play about death and the end of the world at some godforsaken place far, far away from civilization?

Thought so.

The Endgame.
In a game of chess, there are 3 stages, the opening, the middlegame, and the endgame. "The Endgame" refers to a stage of the game where there are very few major (a queen/rook/bishop/knight/ and of course the king) pieces left on the board. This usually means that the game will soon come to an end by a king's capture (checkmate) or a draw.

So one fine day, this Samuel Beckett fellow came along and decided to create a rather morbid play of the same name. A one act play which represented "the end". I think he was feeling depressed and high on something, and was too chicken shit to slit his throat or flush his head down the toilet, so he took the easy way out and wrote a play to tell everybody how depressed he was. You know these suicidal people, always very attention seeking one.

Endgame, The Play.
So in this play, there are 4 characters. It looks like it's set after an apocalypse, as if they are the ONLY 4 people left on the planet, or something.

Hamm - The lead character who can't stand up. Can't see. And is afraid of dying. No actually, more like, afraid of being left alone in silence and darkness for as long as he lives. The ENTIRE play is centred around him coming to terms with THE END.

Clov - Hamm's almost-a-son-servant who can't sit. Always wants to leave Hamm but just can't bring himself to.... or can he? *jeng jeng*

Nagg - Hamm's dad. Who lives in a rubbish bin. No legs. Always wanting something.

Nell - Hamm's mum. Who ALSO lives in a rubbish bin. No legs. Dies within 10 minutes of the play.

The REAL people.
U-En - Plays Hamm. Was kicking some serious ass. I have no other words to describe how brilliant he was. Out of the entire 80 minutes, he must've spoken for at least 60 minutes of it. Insane stage presence. Maniacally Batshit Insane.

Alvin - Plays the blumbering Clov. It was weird seeing him OUT of the tv screen, but he wasn't half bad either. When I caught it on opening night his accent was a little weird, though.

Sharifah Amani - Plays Nell. We only see her for about 5 minutes, but her presence was felt throughout the entire play right till the end. This is her first play I reckon? Good job! I wish there was more of her sniff. She's damn hot. So tiny can put in me pocket. I'm really curios, did they supply her with video games or other means of entertainment in that bin of her to pass the time?

Kelvin - Plays Nagg. He played Nagg like a cute, almost-senile whimsical old man and I liked it so much I felt like running onto the stage just to pinch his cheeks.

The Pictures.
Sigh. No pictures. I mean there ARE pictures, but being the most horrendous "blogger" that I am, I did NOT bring a camera with me and relied on the generosity of others to be my cameraperson. Due to some unforseen circumstances, I still do NOT have the pictures with me.

However, so as not to dissapoint all 5 of you, I have painstakingly spent over 300 seconds to draw up some scenes which, I'd like believe, captures the heart of the play & characters.

So here it is, Endgame in 4 pictures (slides? something.) Enjoy.

Oh WAIT. I won't be held responsible if you lose sleep, puke, go mad, start eating hamsters etcetc over the sheer horrendousness of my artistic talents.

Okay, NOW enjoy it, DAMNIT.









Ohmygod it's almost like you WERE THERE!

Did I like it?
Yeap. I sure did. It was disturbing for me, but that's because I could relate to Hamm's issues with the whole death and dying deal.

Even after a whole week of watching the play, I still catch myself randomly reciting certain memorable bits of the script, which really doesn't jive well with other people's perception of my sanity - but it DOES, however, prove that the play had SOME sort of a long lasting effect on me.... which IS a good thing.... FOR the play. But Not For Me, though.

The bastards.

More?
The Production Diary
moNSTerblog
Lainie
LimeSodaVodka

Won't They Ever Shut Up?

When one cuts up a credit card and mail it back to the bank in pieces, one will inevitably receive a phone call from one's friendly neighbourhood customer service personnel.... FROM HELL.

"Why you cut our card ah?"

"Why dont you want it?"

"Let me tell you about this promotion okay it is a very special promotion this week only we offer you it is a special deal if you let it go you sure regret one I tell you......."

*etcetcetc blahblahblah yak yak yak yak mehmhemhemhehetc "

......so on so forth for the next 20 minutes.

And no matter how many times one chants,

"No. No. NO. NO. dowan lah. I got a lot of cards already. Really. No. NO. No. No. No. NO!"

... they'll just keep talking. And talking. And talking. AND TALKING.

It's as if their brains were hardwired to compeletely forget that the word "no" ever existed in the english langauge and thus whenever "no" is uttered their modified brains would process it as background noise.

Or maybe it's hardwired to process "no" actually means "yes please do go on raping my ears with your incessant marketing bullshit it really makes me horny mistah", thus encouraging them to go on with the fullest vigour.

THIS is how banks FORCE credit cards down the throat of their poor innocent customers.

Weaken them with endless, mindless chatter.

Talk to them until their ears bleed.

Talk to them until their eyes roll to the back of their heads.

Talk to them until the only civil way to make it all stop is to SAY YES OMG OMG YES JUST GIVE IT TO ME OKAY I CANT TAKE THIS MINDLESS DRONING OF REDUNDANT INFORMATION I DONT GIVE TWO FUCKS ABOUT ANYMORE ANYTHING ANYTHING BUT THIS OHMYGOD STOPITTTTTTT ARGH.

More failproof than kryptonite to Superman I tell ya.

So anyway, this is what happened to me today.

Some fucker called me up, told me they'll take away the "if you don't spend 80 bucks on your credit card per month, we'll charge you 10 bucks for that month" clause, and that he would like to introduce me to this "BRAND NEW ALL IMPROVED PROMOTION SPECIALLY AVAILABLE TO YOU THIS WEEK ONLY" where I just need to swipe the card SIX TIMES in a year for a lifetime fee waiver.

I really, really really tried to say no.

But he just wouldn't hear it.

Sigh.

Damn the sneaky corporationey fuckers.

They play dirty.

A Year Older And None The Wiser.

Happy fucken birthday to me!


Apperently, I started camwhoring YOUNG.

Wow. Some things sure never changed. The high forehead. The flappy ears. The fat cheeks. The height. The lack of boobs. The inverted bunny teeth.

Boy, Father Time sure snuck up me.

26 years old already!

Gained a few scars & bruises. Extra worry/smile lines. A million stress spots on face. And eyebags deep enough for squirrels to store their nuts in.

Am thankful for all the good times. Am amnesia-ing all the bad ones.

Haven't learnt as much as I should have. Haven't lived as much as I should have. Haven't loved as much as I should have. Haven't laughed as much as I should have.

Still quite young. Still have time. :)

I don't know what to wish for yet though.

Definitely not world peace though. That's never gonna happen, so it's gonna be a waste of one good wish.

But whatever it is, I hope it comes true.

Of course I'm not gonna tell you what it is! How is it going to come true otherwise huh?


A Happy Monkey!

Thank you so much for being part of my life.

Have a good day y'all! It's on me!

:)

What To Do When Given Lemons By Life.

Shove the lemon up its ass

Give it the finger.

...... then proceed to chill with a mug of Hoegaarden.



Cheers.



On other news,

I just got myself a SIM card replacement.

Set me back 50 bucks. Sigh.

I'm using my sister's old Nokia 3410 for the moment.... or forever, depending on my mood which, at this moment, is leaning towards "I don't give a fuck".

Well, at least nobody would even want to THINK about flicking this baby dinosaur.

Call me. I don't have your numbers anymore.