Killing Time

For breakfast this morning I ate five pieces of chicken wings and a huge bowl of pear & mango salad with blue cheese dressing (recipes below) — which was something that Amy and I had when we ate at Alexis last week. I am doing my second laundry load of the day, this time for my jackets and coats, I know common sense would tell me to send these to the dry cleaners but I could not be bothered. I trust Samsung’s fuzzy logic technology will not shred my jackets into little fluffballs. I have cleaned and disinfected the mobile phones and the laptop; shortened the hems of the black pants that I bought last week and sew new,funkier buttons on a couple of shirts; all the leather shoes have been waxed and polished; all I need to do now is change the bedsheets & pillow cases, sweep the room and clean the bathroom then I would be ready for 2007. Who knew welcoming the new year involves so many household chores and not one of them require me to be in a party dress?!

I have finished two of the 6 Murakami books that I bought two weeks ago. One is a collection of short stories called "Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman" and the other is a book on Murakami by Professor Jay Rubin, a long time fan, collaborator and translator; without whom I would not be able to enjoy this writer’s work today.

Rubin’s book was a huge relief. I have always been bothered by the fact that Murakami’s stories are presented as is - without any tightening of loose ends or explanations. When I read blogs and discussion boards talking about this hidden meaning and that hidden meaning, I feel intimidated. What hidden meaning? I thought it was just a nice piece of fantasy fiction. Or was I wrong? For instance, in the short story about a woman losing sleep and finding her car being rocked back and forth by some unseen intruders: her fears and anguish are real but are there really real people rocking her car? Or is she just hallucinating and losing her mind? It was never explained. Either way, I enjoyed the story for the fear of the unknown, not to find out if she is going to be chopped into pieces or committed into some loony bin. No reason to overthink the situation.

So, when Murakami himself explained that most of the time he writes without having a specific agenda, and that characters and events were plucked from imagination to push the story along to wherever end it may takes, it gives me great relief to know that I am allowed to enjoy his work purely for the fantasy and mythical elements; not for the so-called "moral of the story". Having loose ends tied up neatly in a parcel is like having the ghosts of your favourite episode of the Twilight Zone exposed for what it really is: a piece of mechanical prop operated by humans. All  the horror and suspense which are the product of your not being able to wrap your logic around mysterious events will disappear. Very clinical. Mucho dissatisfying.

I am spending the first 2 days of 2007 working. January is going to be a very busy month. I could start working right now and finish them in a few hours but I’d rather not. The urge is very strong but I will resist. My new goal is not to slow down, but to spread the work over an acceptable period of time so that the pace is less hectic. There is no way my bp will be allowed to go up to the 180s (183 to be precise) and pop my eyeballs out. No wonder my head felt like it was going to burst — it literally was! The sedatives that are making me sleep 6 uninterrupted hours a night are great but I don’t want to rely on them forever. If you wonder why I don’t reply SMSes at 2am anymore, that’s why. I am dead to the world once those little pills work their magic.

I want to talk a little bit more about work. I am finding that I am liking the role that I have now more and more. The scope is much bigger and harder (and stricter, with us being a newly anointed regional investment bank and all) but as a whole it is a lot more satisfying, especially since I know I have the skills needed to get the job done. When I got the email from Group Finance to say that my Dept Budget was approved without changes, I literally did a little jig around my table because unlike other places that I have been working in before, this would mean that actual money has been allocated for me to do whatever I need to do for 2007 instead of having to beg, plead, rationalise and double or triple rationalise it to 80 different people from clueless secretaries to arrogant bigwigs before I could get my hands on a measly RM800 to pay for the food that we served to our Royal guests. And that was a true incident; preposterous but all so true. I am happy that I get to play the consultant role once again, and that our opinions are sought after and considered when decisions are made. I have been looking for a place to roost and I think I have found it. It is a very hard place to get to, and I know I will be worked harder than I have ever worked before, but I couldn’t have been happier. The only brick wall is the metaphorical one — and if that is the worst thing that could happen then hell yeah bring it on.

If you are looking for resolutions for 2007, here are some suggestions:

1. Read. (Iqra bismi rabbik-allazi khalaq).
2. Watch more TV, but consciously try not to look at the subtitles.
3. Play RPGs. If you have never done so, start now. It’ll teach you a lot about perseverance and problem-solving.
4. Drink less coffee. Trust me, calling yourself a "coffee addict" is not cool especially if you can’t function without 20 pots of coffee a day. It just makes you dysfunctional.
5. Get comfortable shoes. Fashion be-gone.
6. Stop yearning for a soulmate (if you haven’t found the other half).
7. Stop trying to change him/her into a soulmate (if you are saddled with another half).
8. Exercise more patience with waiters who mixed up or forgot your orders. They are limited by their experience and circumstance. You’re the more privileged one so act like one. After all it’s just food.
9. Laugh as loudly as you want. Why should you care about what people at the next table think? They are not in charge of your happiness meter. You are.
10. Lie about one or all of these: dress size, weight, age, how much you hate chicken skin, or how much you love vegetables and exercising.

2007 here I come.

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Ijah’s Hi-calorie Pear & Mango Salad With Blue Cheese Dressing
Butter Salad
Fresh Basil
Fresh Red Basil
One ripe Pear, deseeded and sliced
Half a mango, cubed
Walnuts (or cashews, whatever you can get your hands on)
Blue cheese
Mozarella cheese, drained and clumsily halved with your bare fingers
Olives, pitted
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Salt and pepper to taste

• Toss everything in a large, chilled bowl. Best eaten while reading a thrashy tabloid magazine.

If you do it right, it’ll look something like this:

Fried Chicken Wings
Flour
Salt & pepper to taste
Curry Powder or Paprika - whatever is your poison
One egg, beaten
Milk

• Simmer chicken wings in milk til it comes to a gentle boil. Drain.
• Put the flour and seasoning in a ziploc bag. Drop in chicken wings and shake the bag.
• Coat floured chicken wings with beaten egg, dump again into ziploc bag and shake.
• Shake off excess flour then deep fry in clean vegetable oil till golden. Put on rack to cool.

OR: just buy a bag of Ayamas Drummets and be done with it.

The day before Christmas, I went down with fever and flu. This is the first case of the year, and came when I was so close to having a flu/fever-free year too. In early May I had a bout of nausea that lasted almost two weeks but that was attributed to the raw ox tongue that I ate during an ill-advised but adventurous dinner. Nothing that a Motilium (free ad) couldn’t cure.

I woke up at 2.46am in the morning with a scratchy throat and mucus running down my face. I took a Zyrtec (another free ad) and then went back to sleep knowing that I would wake up with a fantastic headache and stuffy nose. At 4pm the fever broke so I woke up and took a long shower. At 7.30pm I went out to have dinner at Black Canyon Coffee before malaise took over rendering me absolutely useless for the rest of the night, so I went home and got into bed.

I wore a Versace Jeans Couture top and an el-cheapo black jeans. Let me tell you: there is absolutely no difference between wearing the ridiculously pricey top and one that cost me RM5 at the pasar malam. The Versace top did not complain that it was paired with a no-name jeans. I didn’t look any thinner. The only difference, as far as I could tell, is that my wallet is few hundred ringgit lighter.

I  remember an episode of Sex and The City where Jack Berger was told to buy a Prada silk shirt. He looked at the price tag and yelped "Does that come with a house?". The shop assistant protested "Yes, but you will wear this forever."

If only you could go through the rest of your life wearing the same burgundy shirt over and over again til the day you cross over to the great beyond…. Plus, wearing the same shirt countless times, even if it IS a Prada, will only make you look cheap - which is exactly the thing you try to avoid when you buy the Prada at the first place.

Who are we kidding, no?

There is a girl in my office that is an absolute fashionista. Carrie Bradshaw has nothing on her. Everything about her screams expensive, from the lipstick that she puts on her voluptuous lips to the chic belts she wears around her 25" waist. I hitched a ride in her car once and her trunk was full with shoe boxes from big names, so big that the value of the shoes alone is probably 3 times her monthly salary.

Unsurprisingly, the rumour mills work overtime when it comes to her. People speculate that she has her lips done and that she has a generous, erm, ‘benefactor’ to help her with her expenses. No one would entertain the thought that maybe this girl is simply a person who spends all her salary and bonuses and savings on expensive clothes. I mean, I spend about RM500 a month buying books and magazines alone. That same RM500 could have easily gotten me a decent Armani top. RM3000 can certainly get me more Armani tops although it means I will be reduced to drinking plain water and eating one Papa Roti Bun every day for the rest of the month. It’s all a matter of choice really. I am sure many can’t imagine spending RM500 every month on books but I do so there you go.

But anyway, I can’t help but wonder about all these girls who wear DKNY diamond bracelets and Guess baguette bags, yak on the latest Nokia or Treo (or whatever phone model that is trendy that month) and compare war stories about getting that last pair of Christian Louboutin or Jimmy Choos.  Mind you, I am no fashion moron. I harbour dreams of owning a Tag Heuer Aquaracer and a Tiffany Atlas Ring just as much as the next tai-tai. But to spend that much energy and effort on making sure you are garbed head to toe in expensive acronyms is just, well, exhausting. Isn’t it saner to choose an article of clothing (shoes, earrings, silk underwears, whathaveyous) simply because it looks good on you? It must take a really strong will  and even stronger stomach (since you will be fasting for the rest of the time to fit into those tiny clothes) to be able to part with several thousand ringgit of  one’s hard-earned moolah every month to satisfy these fashion cravings.

As my Versace Jeans Couture top would attest to: it is all in the head. No one else cares. Not even your best friend. Unless her name is Victoria Beckham.

In a day or two I will be celebrating my 32nd birthday; ancient for a cat, awfully young for a hobbit. For the past 5 years or so, I have been telling people a lie: that I am already in my mid-thirties. It wasn’t deliberate. I sort of blurted it out a few times at work when asked by colleagues and clients and it just stuck. By my own count, I should have reached the big four-oh last year but the sad fact is there are still many years to pass before I reach the age people claim life would begin.

There is no observation for me to make on this 32nd year of my life. But I do have one small wish. I wish people would stop wishing that I would get a boyfriend and get hitched. It’s a repetitive theme every time this time of the year rolls around. "Dear Raf, happy birthday and I pray you will cepat2 get a boyfriend and get married." There is no way I can respond to such sms except to smile. You can’t get mad at people for wishing you well, no?

Maybe one day I will wake up, bite my nails and shiver at the prospect of not having a husband in my life. When that happens, I promise I will courageously, unashamedly, unreservedly admit my recklessness and buy a husband at the husband shop, wherever I can find one that sells good quality, un-intimidated by my scary brilliance, men.

But till then, this is it. Ijah Amran. Singular, unadulterated, one, un-coupled. And most importantly, happy.

Postscript: If you must, Ijah’s indulgence list is as follows. One for each year of my life:

1. Fresh Martin strings.
2. Fresh guitars.
3. PS3.
4. A subscription to Electronic Gaming Monthly.
5. Bloom lipstick in Sheer. Muchos thank you to darling Job.
6. MNG clutch and coin purse.
7. Adidas wristwatch. Mine is missing/misplaced. Found! It fell behind a mountain of black clothes. Bought a new one too. Can’t resist. It’s pink!
8. Mr Children’s Wonederful Night DVD.
9. Earrings.
10. Jellybeans.
11. A pair of skinny jeans that fits.
12. A pair of knee high ‘don’t mess with me’ boots to go with the skinny jeans.
13. A second, appreciative look from pretty girls. And boys.
14. Hush Puppies Zero-G mary janes. Them shoes are made for walking.
15. TGIF Mocha Mud Pie. Ice cold with a cup of coffee.
16. Golf clubs. Don’t ask me. Any kind will do, I guess. I wouldn’t know. I’m a golf virgin.
17. Foundation that matches my troubled skin.
18. 
    True Love by Elizabeth Arden. Replaced with Bright Crystal by Versace.
19. Photographic memory.
20. Rechargeable SONY batteries.
21. Books. Any language, any subject, any writer.
22. Sparkly black tops. No. I don’t have too many.
23. Emails. Even if you have nothing else to say but ‘Hi’.
24. Leather bracelet in black. No studs.
25. A new bed, firm hypo-allergenic mattress and plump pillows.
26. Godiva’s Chocolate Elixir. Divine.
27. Aten’s homemade durian ice cream.
28. Superman baby tees. From the ever lovable, forever young Ibu Wita.
29. Playing cards. Hola Roma & Venice. Thanks to Awa.
30. Black cardigan.
31. The one ring.
32. Anything Japanese >> Music. Food. Accessories. Clothes. Men. Not necessarily in the same order.

It has been a great week. Sure, the rain may dampen a lot of spirits but for me it is like love is in the air (oi,  metaphorically speaking). The new job is fun, funny and is making me fall in love with what I do all over again. Now, if only I can get out of the golf thing………… *long  sigh*

Anyway, without naming names, a few days ago while trying to waste a Saturday afternoon, I browsed through my Friendster’s Friends list and looked for profiles that listed those dinosour rock bands from the 80’s and college circuit rock bands of early 90’s under Favourite Music. Why? Partly thanks to one Mister Chris Cornell (how I ended up watching James Bond frolicking semi naked in the Carribean is one story I rather not explain) and the other part to YouTube, my interest in rock music and infatuation with Japanese superbands was renewed. So, I busily looked for Goo Goo Doll’s ‘Better Days’ and ‘Stay With You’ (long live open source) pausing only to stare open-mouthed at the disgustingly talented Sakurai’s  rendition of Shirushi (special note to Awa: it is muy excelente. ¡Sé hablar español! It’s exhausting to like them/him this much!). And while all these were going on, I decided to fill the seconds in between with reading other people’s profiles. And, this is how I ended up getting an earful from a stranger.

Let’s call this stranger X. X has an interesting photo travelogue.  A hint: think of the garden gnome in Amelie, or the famous Bert is Evil spoof a few years back.

So, I sent X this message (a faithful reproduction although the names have been changed to protect the innocent): <name deleted>’s cute. Reminds me of the garden gnome from Amelie.

The next day, X replied: <name deleted> would’ve typed this himself … But he had a busy weekend , so he’s still snoring at home … He asked me to say thanks for the nice words … Cheers ..

So. X has a sense of humour. You thought that would be the end of it? Hah. This compulsive typist just had to poke further. X lists the following in the profile (in the interest of preserving X’s copyright, I only reproduce part of the list)

Fav Movies: How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days, Pulp Fiction, Trainspotting, High Fidelity
Fav Music: U2, Justin Timberlake, Babyface and Peter Pan
Fav Shows: CSI, Friends and Smallville

Now, me being the elitist that I am could not resist sending X my comment: How can you like How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days and Pulp Fiction at the SAME time? It’s like saying Julio Iglesias is equivalent to Pink Floyd. Not in THIS universe. Maybe <name deleted> can teach you a thing or two about cinema noir. Non? Rgds, ~IA

And, ladies and gentlemen, imagine my amusement when I read X’s reply: So , does that mean since I enjoy Pulp Fiction / Reservior Dogs / Snatch … I can’t watch and enjoy romantic comedies like Jerry McGuire / How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days / Love Actually … ? I can’t watch summer blockbusters like X-Men / Star Wars / Casino Royale … ? I can’t watch cartoons such as Shrek / Finding Nemo / Wallace & Gromit … ? I can’t watch classics like Breakfast At Tiffany’s / Ben Hur / Apocalypse Now … ?

Regards …

My oh my. I am guessing here but I think the diatribe was written in extreme agitation and annoyance. And to my shame, instead of feeling remorseful, I laughed.

In my defense, I am blaming it on the rain (cliche intended). And I did send an apology though I was smiling broadly when I did so I don’t think it came out sincere. Probably not. Aih. You can’t win them all. I must watch Austin Powers again coz am losing my mojo, baby.

But this has been a great week. And the roast, in whatever spirit it was intended, made my day so all’s well. I think there is a moral in here somewhere but I am too old to care.

In case I get sued by X, my privacy policy and disclaimer applies!

Bonus round: I’ll take you to an expensive and super lavish dinner if you can figure out who X is.

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ADDENDUM

From Merriam-Webster:

Main Entry: roast

Pronunciation: ‘rOst

Function: verb

Etymology: Middle English rosten, from Anglo-French rostir, of Germanic origin; akin to Old High German rOsten to roast

transitive verb

1 a : to cook by exposing to dry heat (as in an oven or before a fire) or by surrounding with hot embers, sand, or stones <roast a potato in ashes> b : to dry and parch by exposure to heat <roast coffee beans>

2 : to heat (inorganic material) with access of air and without fusing to effect change (as expulsion of volatile matter, oxidation, or removal of sulfur from sulfide ores)

3 : to heat to excess <roasted by the summer sun>

4 : to subject to severe criticism or ridicule <films have been roasted by most critics — H. J. Seldes>

5 : to honor (a person) at a roast
intransitive verb

1 : to cook food by heat
2 : to undergo being roasted

SPECIAL POSTSCRIPT

Title: Shirushi (Proof)
Words: Sakurai Kazutoshi (Mr Children)
Music: Sakurai Kazutoshi (Mr Children)

we each listened to our hearts beating to different tempos
as if things were meant to be this way from the start

no matter what words I choose, it sounds insincere
I crumple up the letter I wrote with the left side of my brain
and throw it away

do you hear the voice of my heart?
It’s in this silent song…

darling, darling, I’ve seen you from many different angles
all of them exquisite, you’ve shown me what love is
now you’re trying to show me by way of subtle techniques *1
that your uncertainty is a precautionary border
to keep you from getting hurt.

someone makes fun of our picture, "you two make such a pair"
Do we look alike? Or is it that we’ve started to?

we faced one another with such seriousness
that it was almost a burden to get on with it
so much so that it makes me jealous of the thoughtless guy I used to be. * 2

no one will hear the voice of my heart
I’m ok with that, it’s better that way.

Darling, Darling,
I know you have many faces.
no matter what I do,
when I remember you, it pains me so.
more than all those memorable days on my calendar
my memory is filled completely by vivid memories
of every second of every day with you. *3
we cry, we laugh
it’s a precarious sort of feeling but
it is proof of you and me.

Darling, darling
I’ve seen you from so many different angles
even if the day we can no longer be together comes our way
I don’t think it matters because I can’t help loving you.

Darling, Darling
Oh my darling
Maddeningly, and vividly
you fill in my memories completely
Darling, Darling.

Translated By: Brian Stewart & Takako Sakuma

Translator’s Notes: The title "Shirushi" could be translated as Mark or
Seal. I chose proof because of the context of the lyrics the way I
interpreted them. I think the word mark fits just as well though. We
think the song is a love song about being away from someone for a long
time. The opening lyrics would at first seem to indicate a "doomed
love" but we think Sakurai means it as "we nestled in clsoe and felt
eachother’s pulse."

* 1 - When Sakurai writes nyuansu, he means subtle things the girl does
to make it clear that she wants him to understand her misgivings. The
meaning is a bit different than the literal translation of the English
nuance.

* 2 - I saw this line as being that he’s jelaous of the carefree jerk
he was, because now he has to deal with something he can’t run away
from. It might be a conversation, it might be sex. He’s saying that
he’s growing up and there’s a lot of presssure that comes with that.

* 3 - the "every second of every day with you" comes from the word
kokizami which in this case means the smaller measurement of time. More
than the birthdays, anniversaries and landmark events in their life, he
remembers the minutest details and his memory is overrun with them. So
much it drives him mad.

the above transliteration was taken from the excellent Centigrade-J

Very recently I had the opportunity to meet the Group Managing Director of a public listed company somwhere in the vicinity of KL’s Golden Triangle to discuss a gig that may be suitable for us. It was an interesting meeting and my friends, if you are ever going to hang up your towel and jump into that corporate shark pool, here are the three most important questions that you MUST prepare for:

1. Do you play golf? (I chuckled when I was asked this. Me? Golf? It’s an unlikely combination. I thought of lying and said yes but I couldn’t figure out what is a respectable handicap (20? 30? 130?) so I decided to tell the truth. The man smiled at me sadly.)
2. Do you hold a position in any political parties? (I swear my iris got bigger just listening to this question.)
3. What car do you drive? (Note that the question is not do you drive, but rather WHAT car do you drive. Interesting, no?)

Live and learn.

This will be my last entry for a while so I will stretch it as much as I can. I get writing cravings much like how you get chocolate cravings. So here goes.

Last week I had lunch with a few old friends. When I say old friends I mean members of the press. As usual, I asked them about the latest dirt so Miss M (not her real name) asked me whether I have heard about Siti’s World Cup interview. I said no. So, gleefully she told me this: during the World Cup, her reporters went around asking local celebrities which was their favourite team and Siti answered (wait for it)…. AC (freaking) Milan. Choking his laughter, the reporter then politely told Siti that unfortunately AC Milan is not a country. Bada bing bada boom. All true.

The second story happened to be a joke. A reporter went to a mamak stall after covering an event and asked for roti canai. The mamak asked him whether he wants a Tun M roti canai or a Pak Lah roti canai. The reporter has never heard of such roti canai so he asked what’s the difference. The mamak answered, "Tun M roti canai ada telur, Pak Lah roti canai takdak telur," (to non-Bahasa speaking readers, the literal translation is "Tun M roti canai comes with egg, Pak Lah roti canai no egg". BTW the word "telur" means egg but in this case the word "telur" refers to its colloquial meaning i.e. balls; or as we cultured people call them — testicles.)

Heh. I love the press.

By the way, on the matter of Tun M versus Pak Lah my allegiance lies with Tun M. Pak Lah is alright but Tun M is my man. Sorry, I like ‘em smart AND with balls. It’s not even an option.

Last night I re-read ‘Kafka on The Shore’. This time I skipped chapter 16. Yes the chapter where Johnnie Walker cuts up a cat and eats its beating heart.  I was told the book contains hundreds of hidden messages and double meanings and complex layers but I didn’t get any of them. But I did wish I could talk to cats and make it rain leeches (or, make that raining watermelons coz it is so hot these days and a watermelon would hit the spot. On second thought, watermelons could be dangerous so scratch that and let’s get back to raining leeches. There are a few people that I would like to be sucked dry.) All said, it’s a great book. The best I’ve read in the past 10 months.

Last night too (oh it’s incredible all the things that I could do in one night) I watched 40 Most Awesomely Bad Metal Songs Ever on MTV. I could not resist and texted Saiful and then howled and rolled around the living room with laughter as the countdown reached no 1. Guess what it is. (see answer at the end of this entry). I grew UP with these songs. It is amazing to see how awesomely bad these songs are although back then they were the epitome of cool (okay, so was spandex and guys in make-up. We had some real bad taste). Kids remember, fifteen years from now this is how you would feel when you reminisce about 50 Cent and Simple Plan.

As I am writing this I suddenly find myself remembering my old apartment in Vista. Sure it was small and pratically furniture-less, I barely had any money and had to put up with some terrible housemates from Hades. But I was young (still am) and I had friends (I think some of them still remember me) and the only thing I had to worry about was who I would find sleeping in my living room (strangers, most of the time) so it was all good. Hearing Lal screamed like a prissy little girl as the boys huddled in fear while watching the Japanese version of The Ring (without subtitle!) at 3am was priceless. And yes I still remember how Ijam and gang furiously discussed The Blair Witch Project believing with all their little hearts that it was true. I used to have a wall covered with all sort of photos of all sort of friends who popped by at the apartment. I wonder where did I stash those photographs. Probably in one of those unopened boxes that I have lugged around as I moved from one apartment to another. And didn’t I use to own 3 cats? I am sure I did. I even remember that we named one of them Dayang Siti Nur Camelia (or was it Aieu that named the darn cat?). What happened to those cats? Anyone?

Dell sent an email the other day asking me about Mr Doctor and Mr Rockstar. Those who got to know me in recent times probably won’t believe this but I used to be hot (as in desirably dateable) and I used to multi-date (just like multi-tasking but with boys. Most of them have cars and I don’t drive so it was mostly out of necessity. I even managed to con at least 3 of them to leave their cars with me. It pays to have boobs). People used to have fistfights about me, no? Hahah. Or, at least I used to get into trouble with a lot of girls who were convinced that her guy was sneaking out with me (he probably was). But I digress. What I wanted to say here is that I dated Mr Rockstar (two dates, the first one sucked and just when you think it could not get any suckier, the second date did) but Mr Doctor and I were just friends. Right. Like that Ella and Hans Isaac movie. Hanya Kawan.

But, with multi-dating comes multi-horrors. Here are two horror stories that I want to write down before I forget about them altogether. They are not important. They rival all the bad dates stories that you can stomach at the Dating Hall of Shame.

Story # 1: The Cheater

I use to do this tv show for teens and had to spend a long night at the studio to set up props and what-have-yous. At about 9 or 10pm my cameraman and broadcast journalist came back from their assignment with a huge but suspiciously naughty grins on their faces. They went into the conti room, popped in a tape and called me. I was tired so I said no, I’ll watch them tomorrow. But the cameraman insisted, he said he had a really good and important footage that I must see RIGHT NOW. Reluctantly I pressed play. And there it was, the guy that I was seeing, walking through the crowd hand in hand with another girl. I think my eyes popped out. The cameraman said, oh by the way we went up to him to say Hi and we had a chat. He saw you? I asked. Yup, said the cameraman. I could not wait to see how he wriggle his way out of this one, he added. Well, I replied, I could not wait either.

So, what did I do? I called him. He wasn’t at his house. I called his friends. His friends didn’t know where he was either. I went out of the studio and sat in the middle of the dark carpark. I wasn’t mad. A bit amused maybe, mostly very curious. If you were the guy and you were caught that way — not only red-handed by reliable eye witnesses (yes, plural), mind you; but ALSO on a freaking beta tape, what would you do? 

I thought for a while and dialled another number. A hurried voice said Hello, and before I could say another word he said, I know what you saw and I can explain. Where are you now? I will come.

The number I dialled was my own private number. For the phone INSIDE my room in my own freaking apartment. He had been sitting there all evening waiting for me to get home so that he culd explain the, err, incident.

I could not remember what we talked about when he came to the studio but I remember that there was no drama. We probably went to have teh tarik at Ali’s Corner and then we went into the studio and I introduced him to the rest of the crew. The cameraman patted his back (not too gently, I recall) and the rest was que sera sera. I mean, what else could I do? Toss him out on his rear end? I wasn’t that dramatic. But wasn’t it a horror for him? THAT was punishment enough.

Story # 2: The Stalker

3 years ago I had an event to stage at KLCC. It was the morning of the launch and for some reason my team forgot to pick me up from my apartment. I had been waiting for about 30 mins and was getting reasonably angry when I discovered that yes, of all the things that they could have forgotten to do, they forgot to pick up their boss (I use the term boss loosely here).

So, what to do? I took a taxi, braved the rush hour only to find out that I have lost my purse! So yes, I was in a foul mood. Wouldn’t you?

Anyway, after the event was over I discovered I was hungry. So I borrowed RM10 and made my way to Mrs Fields kiosk to buy some cookies. I took the escalator 3 floors up and decided to look over the balcony to check up on my team. I stayed there for about 5 minutes before making my way to the kiosk and almost knocked a guy over. I look at him and smiled and said I am sorry and turned away.

Now, bear with me here, you  may think this is like a plot from a very bad movie but I swear it is all true. I have witnesses who could vouch that this really happened. The guy blocked my way and said (paraphrase), I have never done this before and I am very nervous. (dramatic pause) But for the last 3 days I have been gathering the courage to say that (pause) I think you are amazing and I would like to get to know you better.

Now, normally I am a reasonably friendly, easygoing person. But this was just… bizzare. Firstly, I looked nothing like Gisele Bundchen. I am using her as an example because I am watching Taxi as I am typing this. Come to think of it, even if I was Gisele Bundchen, Leonardo Dicaprio still didn’t want to marry me! So, the game evens up even if you are the hottest lingerie model on the face of the earth. Anyway, secondly, where did he learn all these lines? The School of Very Bad Pick-Up Lines?  Where is this school because I want to burn it down.

I said (while blinking rapidly from the sugar-deficiency), I am pretty sure you got the wrong person because I have never seen you in my whole life. And he replied, yes I know but I have been watching you from the balcony.

(Can you spell STALKER?!!)

I shook my head. I  am sure I laughed pretty hard too. I told him, that’s nice but I would like to buy my cookies now. And I did.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, that was not the end of it. After I bought the cookies and took the escalator down he was there again trying to chat me up! So I decided to cut the man some slack and told him he can have my number if he managed to get my full name. And you know what he did? He said, oho… so you are playing hard to get? I like that.

OH. MY. GOD.

True enough, later that afternoon he came to the concourse area and said he wanted to talk to me. I said, I can’t talk to you now coz I am working. However, if you are a customer…..

And yes, he went into the supermarket across the hall, bought some products, plonked them on the counter, looked at me straight in the eyes and said, I’ve bought these damn stuff so now you have no choice but to talk to me.

But he didn’t know that I was running the show and I had 6 people at my disposal. I turned to one of the promoters and told her, can you please take care of this gentleman and explain to him how he can play our Wheel of Fortune (well, it was an exhibition and we were giving away freebies and we had this wheel… you get the picture). The promoter escorted him to the Wheel of Fortune and I quietly disappeared to the stock room.

Now, this is the horror part. When I came back to the booth about 30 minutes later I found out that:
a) The guy offered the promoter money (a very handsome sum) to get my full name,
b) The guy offered the promoter DOUBLE that sum for my cellphone number; and
c) She took the money and gave him both.

I lived the next 4 days in terror every time the cellphone rang. He persistently called and texted me for about a month but in the end he just lost steam.

Now, you may want to ask, what was my problem? The guy wasn’t bad looking, he obviously had some money to  burn, he was resourceful and more importantly he still wanted to get to know me despite the obvious rejection.

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND? This is no romantic comedy. This is real life. If that had happened to your sister, you would have locked her in the house and let her out only after at least 6 months have passed. I was lucky I only had to endure a month of it.

Right now I miss Awa because I think only her horror story can top mine. Haha. I will let her confess about that in HER blog.

Trivia question: How many times did I use the word ‘freaking’ in this entry?

I end with an excerpt from ‘Kafka On The Shore’:

The strength I’m looking for isn’t the kind where you win or lose. I’m not after a wall that’ll repel power coming from outside. What I want is the kind of strength to be able to absorb that outside power, to stand up to it. The strength to quietly endure things - unfairness, misfortune, sadness, mistakes, misunderstandings.That’s got to be the most difficult strength of all to make your own…Everyone of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that’s where I imagine it - there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library.

Here’s to the boy named Crow.

Answer to the no 1 Most Awesomely Bad Metal Song Ever: Final Countdown by Europe.
Answer to trivia question: 5, including the one in the question. That’s still 5 times too much.

Yesterday as I was taking the shower I thought about how much I like travelling, either for work or for leisure (especially for leisure). I mean I REALLY like travelling, just for travelling’s sake. I like everything about it. The packing (Tip # 1: use ziplocks for your makeup, lotions and potions and accessories so that if anyting spills, it won’t smear your clothes with pink goo that is the devil to wash out), the selecting of what to wear to the airport (Tip #2: Sensible shoes, a warm jacket and a bottle of mineral water. And no, those 5" Renoma heel do not constiture sensible shoes), the checking in at the airport (Tip #3: Always smile to the guy who does the check in, you’ll get better seats… or even an upgrade to first class hoho!), the ‘hello I am from Malaysia’ small talks with taxi drivers, even the jet lags (I don’t sleep well anyway so jet lags are great sedatives), the checking out of the bathrooms in hotels to see how plush (or poor) is the bath kit et cetera. Even changing money amuses me. Really. You should see how I struggle to convert Rupiah into Ringgit in my head to see if that cheap pair of jeans is indeed very cheap. And being a Muslim, finding a Halal place to eat is always an adventure of its own.

But mostly, I like being in a foreign place. It’s not about soaking up the culture or eating all sorts of strange food, although I must agree that eating is a big part of my travelling experience, ahem. I think it’s about making your way around (getting lost is something that I actually look forward to) in a place that you know absolutely nothing about, forcing you to interact with the locals, adjusting yourself and your set of moral and cultural beliefs to accommodate others, cursing in Bahasa Malaysia when something annoys you without anyone batting an eyelid, and enjoying the freedom of being unknown. It’s like having a clean slate at life. No one knows me here. I could be mysterious, I could be annoying. I could be deep, I could be lame. I could be nice, I could behave badly. Maybe it is a journey to find oneself? I don’t know how eating fried cockroaches could lead to  that.

And the best part of travelling? The buying of souvenirs and coming back home to distribute them. Don’t you think so? Raise your hands if you have never received a souvenir keychain or a cheap t-shirt and I will show you a liar!

I hate Takuya Kimura. He is so damn pretty, should be against the law.

Two days ago I spent 8 hours watching ‘Beautiful Life’ where Takuya pouted his way to a pristine beach and a little shop with bells at the door. Aih. Sometimes I had to shield my eyes and peeked from the corner of my (well-worn) pillow because he is just too pretty for words. Why God, why?  Lucky for him he can act. I remember reading a comment that he made many years ago about his singing ("If I sing, please run in the other direction"). If you have ever seen SMAP sings, you know that THAT is an understatement. They are even worse than a Vogon reciting poetry.  For your comparison, THIS is a Vogon:

And THIS is SMAP:

Haha.

Thanks to the Toraja coffee that I brewed earlier, it is now 5.53am and I am still wide awake. As a result, I am watching two or three of everything: Wonderfalls, The OC, Kevin Hill, CSI:New York and *sigh* Spiderman 2.

I hate it when people ask me if I am in a bad mood. Asking me that almost always guarantees one. Sometimes I just like to work or be quiet or crawl under my rock and vegetate and that’s that. No need to read too much into it. Some days you like ice cream, some days you don’t. So is life. I’m too young and too modern for mood swings.

Useful Definitions:

• Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future. (Mensa Invitational)
• Ignoranus: A person who’s both stupid and an asshole.(Mensa Invitational)
• Dilberted: To be exploited and oppressed by your boss. Derived from the experiences of Dilbert, the geek-in-hell comic strip character. "I’ve been dilberted again. The old man revised the specs for the fourth time this week."
• He’s 404: Someone who’s clueless. From the World Wide Web message "404, URL Not Found," meaning that the document you’ve tried to access can’t be located. "Don’t bother asking him… he’s 404, man."

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I am having a good week. It has been raining so the weather is pleasant. I am spending a lot of time with my sisters and old friends, something that I have not been able to do for the past year and a half. And, my sabbatical is ending so I will be thrown back into the working population again soon. I love not having to do anything but knowing that I will not have plenty of disposable income to spend on my Renoma heels fetish unless I work my tush off makes me nervous.

And speaking of work, I want to rant. Last year I threw in the small fish towel and decided to join the corporate hostile waters, a decision that I was uncomfortable with from the start. However, at that point, I knew I would have to make the plunge if I want to further my career. I spoke to various people, clients included, to get their opinion. After thinking about it for a few months, I decided, okay I will give this corporate thing a try. Besides, I have been managing several difficult MNC clients, I figured it was about time I become part of an MNC myself.

Anyway, long story short, it wasn’t long before I was unhappy. Not with the workload, frankly most of the tasks I was overseeing could have been handled when I was an inexperienced 25-year old. I was hoping to be able something more strategic, that would be able to impact not just the organisation but also the society that we are living in. You think I had my head in the clouds? I did.

But okay, that is not the point of this entry. Even when I realised that I intensely (and please not that I use the word INTENSELY) disliked many of the people that I had to work with (or irrelevant, completely stubborn and out-of-depth people that I had to put up with simply because they are too big for their collective breeches), I decided to stick to my guns, to use an overused phrase.

Then one day, I received an amazing offer from another MNC. After rounds of discussions and some hew-ing and haw-ing on my part, I decided to leave the current employment and go with the new. And, although I would only start my new employment in July and I had part of May and the whole of June to kill, I made up my mind to leave as soon as my notice period was up. I decided I deserved a holiday and a respectable ‘mourning’ period to wipe the slate clean and rid myself of all the bad vibes. All is well, yes? No.

Just last week, I found out that a person from the old job called up the MNC that I am going to join TO CHECK WHETHER I AM REALLY WORKING WITH THEM. Then, rumours started to swirl around with people talking about how I lied about my new employment bla bla bla. Let’s not get into details. Suffice to say, I then received a phone call from my future employer to inform me of the incident. While they laughed it off and told me not to be alarmed about it, I am so f***ing furious.

Firstly, this is what I want to say: I know who you are. Just because I have not retaliated doesn’t mean I am unaware or is blissfully ignorant of your identity. Boy, you are a nothing and you will remain a nothing. Here’s my little secret. I knew you were about to be terminated but someone grovelled and pleaded and appealed to the powers that be to keep you in the company. Fact is you are still working only and ONLY because people took pity on you. Wake up! You and your posse can take your perceived superiority and shove it at a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

Secondly, I know enough that I can’t fight city hall. When remarks such as these were passed with alarming ease, trust me, I will not stick around to wait for the ink to be dry:

1. Don’t worry. I will keep all the [race deleted] united.
2. If I don’t take care of the [race deleted], who else will?

And thirdly, which is the most important, if you fish-mongers feel so unhappy, dissatisfied and angry about how my career is shaping up although I have no idea why things that have nothing to do with you or your lives would be the main conversation piece in your daily gossip sessions, you can just, quite simply

For goodness sake, I am no where close to Angelina Jolie so being the centre of your collective attention is really unnecessary. Go talk about Akademi Fantasia or the latest Bollywood movie or something for a change. Or, here’s a radical idea. You can start to actually work for a living. How’s that?

And to end, I leave you with my mantra, which happens to be a quote from a very famous physicist:

And you know what, I don’t care what you think. Go do something else now.