| fly or die | |
| Thursday, July 29, 2004 | |
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Car and I
My Proton Saga of the first generation is in its last throes of life. Just last week, she stalled by the LDP highway. And do you know that nowadays, nobody comes to the aid of a damsel in distress? Perhaps I should have worn a shorter skirt. Thank God for AAM. She is my first car and whatever people may say about Protons, Car has been faithful. She hasn't been always been in tip top condition, but she has worked hard to keep up with my irregular schedules, unreliable servicing and general laziness in terms of cleanliness. It's a miracle that she has served me for so long. I will miss her and all her imperfections. The tail-lights that flood when it rains. The little squeak on my right tyre whenever I hit a pothole. The chilly stains on the seats from too many burgers on the fly. The little dent on the bumper (I never bothered to fix) where my ex-boyfriend hit his tennis racket. His racket was screwed. So was our relationship. Car and I picked up a lot of scars along the years. Each, though marred me, made me stronger. Broken, but never crushed. Some scars we managed to touch up but a new coat of paint never fully covers it, does it? It might fool some but at certain angles, under the right light, I could still see where it warped. Car is not the same lately. The years has taken its toll. The fight is gone from her. And my purse too shallow to keep her spirited. I'm thinking trading her in for a newer model - the Gen2. But my heart is heavy. And I feel almost guilty. | |
| Tuesday, July 27, 2004 | |
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The fattened calf
"I'm on a diet," I said to Matt. "Why?" he asked, pushing the slice of cheese cake towards me, "Eat." Not that I'm obese but I've put on 2 kgs over the last 2 months. And I blame him. All Matt Metabolism wants to do is eat. He is hungry all the time, eats all the time. He gobbles and the fats magically transmigrates to me. Atkins should get a load of this. "You look better with a little weight," he continued, "You're practically wasting away." "This," I said, pinching the tube of lard round my waist, "is not looking better." "Hmm," with his brows knitted in deep concentration, he adds thoughtfully, "your boobs are though." I bop him on the head and crinkles my nose in mock displeasure. "Aww, come on, don't be sad. Here, have some cake," he laughs. I suspect all this force-feeding is his evil bid to fatten me into a C cup. Before I'm lead to the slaughter. So I'll head for the gym tomorrow. And Die-t another day. | |
| Monday, July 26, 2004 | |
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Just chillin'
"Isn't he amazing?" June groaned. I raked my brains for something polite to say but my mind drew blanks. I was dragged to Starbucks, Mid Valley, on a freaking hot Sunday afternoon because June says there's this musician I must listen to. I eyed the man in question - tall, skinny, in jeans, dirty boots and crumpled pale blue cotton shirt which looked like he woke up in, half an hour ago. He had a scowl on the face, disheveled hair (or was it an organised mess?) with a cigarette perpetually hanging from his lips. Honestly, he really wasn't much to look at and I kept thinking, 'Why?' "You mean that guy, is it?" I jabbed with my chin at some other cute guy, a little way off. "No! Him!" she protests, offended at my apparent lack of 'taste'. Pete Teo, June says and for reasons unknown to me, is a hottie. He was nominated for the recent AIM awards, has a spiffy website that won Arachnid some gongs, and an even cooler music video that's also bagging some. Ah, he has a weblog too. The guys writes well, that much I must concede. "His lyrics are beautiful," she continues. "Marianne Called kills me, man!" "Okay," I said. "I shall, for your sake, give him the benefit of the doubt." I was on my second tall latte, and getting a little impatient. The HSBC's Chill Out thingy was set to start at 6pm but they were still doing endless soundchecks. I looked around for a feedback form to vent on - none! That aside, I must say it is a grand idea from HSBC, Starbucks and KLue. Local talents get to showcase their stuff and the indie scene gets a much needed shot in the arm. Yeah, yeah, I know they a hidden agenda of selling credit cards, coffee and CDs but as always, nothing is free. As long as everyone goes home happy, hey, I'm all for it. Slotted for yesterday was Jason Lo, Disagree and Pete Teo. But Lo didn't make the show, so folksy, cute chick Shelley Leong who just cut an album, Story Teller, did the opening instead. Shelley was accompanied by Az Samad of Dalcha Duo on guitar. Az was awesome. I could watch his cute face and lightning fingers all day. Az is the progeny of acclaimed poet laureate Samad Said and I read here that he accompanies his father's poetry reading on acoustic guitar too. Oh, what I would give to listen to that. As for Shelley, I'll say her music wasn't my cuppa. Nice effort though. Disagree was cool. Neat tunes. But I thought the singing was badly muffled - don't know whether it was his voice or the sound system. Nonetheless, I was impressed with the drummer/percussionist. That man knows how to beat the hell out of those drums. Then Pete came on and I began to see why June has the hots for him. On stage, the man transforms. He trades in his scowl for a wide, boyish, almost impish grin. He cajoles the dull, unresponsive audience. He gets us to clap and sing along. His music is refreshing. His vocals moving. He's as slick as a snake charmer. Jesselton Tonight and Arms of Marianne were upbeat and momentarily lifted the staid crowd. Pete definitely provided the high notes of the evening. I looked around and saw lots of beaming faces and quite a few women with a hynotized glaze in their eyes. As for lyrics, well, I couldn't quite make them out. You have to listen to the CD, June insists. "So you want to have his babies or what?" I asked, as we strolled out of Starbucks. She sighs, "If only." Which goes to prove my theory that women are suckers for the brooding, artistic types. Now why didn't you guys practise your chord progressions way back then? P.S. Why? Still don't believe that a skinny Cina apek can be hot? For Pete's next event, click here.  Pete drives chicks wild.
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Hoe-ly smoke! "That's really fine work. Very good," he said, looked into my eyes with his clear brown ones and shook my hand for a good 40 seconds. Soft warm hands with a strong, firm grip. Woo. I like. I managed a smile and tried not to look too much like an infatuated schoolgirl. I failed, I think. But of course, Susan had to barge in on our moment. "Mr Hoe, we'll revert with the revised costings ... say Tuesday or Wednesday? You're not travelling, are you?" she said, pulling him away from me. Bitch. Can't you let him fawn just a little more? "What happened to you?" asked Susan after she ushered Mr Hoe out of the office. "What do you mean? I thought I did well." "Well? You were super. I've never seen you like that." "Really?" I said, suddenly very self-conscious and wondering whether I overdid it. "Keep that up, gurl." Come to think of it the presentation did go well. My tongue worked with me. I was smooth. I joked. I laughed. I did little impromptu skits to dramatize the story board. I lost myself in the work. I was ON. Woo. | |
| Friday, July 23, 2004 | |
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Hoe! Hoe! Hoe!
Mr Hoe, my favourite client for my favourite brand is coming to the office today. The man is seriously brilliant. And did I mention that he has the clearest pair of dewy brown eyes that with one glance can magically tie up my tongue? I'm sitting here shitting in my pants. Cause we'll be presenting a new campaign at 3pm. And I'm having a hard time telling my tongue to not screw up on me. It's a great campaign, I think it is sound, I think it has some kick-ass lines, I think it is compelling, on strategy, clutter cutting, but till the man says "Yes!" it's still just my opinion. And that's not good enough, even though it should be, but it ain't. You know what I mean? I didn't do anything remotely productive this morning. My mind is on rerun mode - I've gone through the creative rationale like 2,583 times. I've imagined all those provoking questions he's gonna throw at me and how I should slap 'em dead like mosquitoes. My hands are cold. There's a huge butterfly flapping in my gut and I feel like crapping but there's nothing to it. I hate this feeling. Strangely, I'm not like this with other clients. I'm usually a pretty cool cat. I turn up in T-shirt and denims, make a few jokes and get on with selling the stuff. Just that I so desperately want to impress him. Want him to like me. Want him to say "Yes, you are brilliant too." Heck, I even bothered to pick a blouse that will bring out the colour of my cheeks (and spend time ironing it), put on mascara oh so carefully and line my lips, so that at least if my words fail to blow him away, my pout will. Seriously, this need for approval is pathetic. Not since En Ismail from From 3 has it hit me this bad. And the worst thing is I can't seem to shake it. It's says 2.23pm on my watch. I'll skip off for my final trip to the ladies and practise my pout. Wish me luck. | |
| Tuesday, July 20, 2004 | |
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The dating doldrums
One question I never fail to ask dating couples is: "What in the world do you all do every time you meet?" "Er ... eat loh, watch movie loh," is the one of the 2 usual replies. The other, well, is better left undiscussed here. Believe me, there is a dearth of things to do in the Klang Valley. How many dinners and movies can one go to? This dating routine will do me to death. I cannot imagine doing this for another 6 months, hell, no I can't imagine this for another 6 weeks. Or do I just have this freaking fear of boredom? Anyhoo, I came up a list of things to do together before we die or break-up (whichever comes first). Funnily, Matt doesn't know about this list. He just thinks I'm brilliant - whipping up these ideas on a whim. Any zingy ideas to add to it?
But that'll make one sad urban love life. P.S. We've done No. 2 (with superduper high power waterguns) and 8 (He made a pretty good Gollum, but I figured it was all a pretext to keep stroking me and calling me 'Precious'). Started on 3 (he picked a picture of some 1970ish scenic countryside. Blah.) | |
Dave does it!
I love these people who try so hard at being bad, they are good. Dave Zobel (pix on left), 42, of California won top honors at the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest celebrating bad writing. He writes: "She resolved to end the love affair with Ramon tonight ... summarily, like Martha Stewart ripping the sand vein out of a shrimp's tail ... though the term 'love affair' now struck her as a ridiculous euphemism ... not unlike 'sand vein,' which is after all an intestine, not a vein ... and that tarry substance inside certainly isn't sand ... and that brought her back to Ramon." De-veining a shrimp will never be the same. Woo. I like. Read more. Sadly, his haul was only $250. Better keep the day job, Dave. Yet again, there is hope for us all. | |
| Friday, July 16, 2004 | |
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Damn Good Kisser
"6 weeks, baby, and not a drop," I told him at the end of our coffee-bet. I was downright smug. "You sure?" he asked, corking his right eyebrow. "Of course," I said, "You calling me a liar?" I didn't tell him I drank lots of tea as an alternative mind-altering stimulant. Or sat very close to Tomas' mugs of coffee for invigorating sniffs. But honestly, the whole coffee weaning thing has actually done me good. (Bless your soul, Matt old boy!) I'm not a coffee junkie now. I don't need a cuppa every morning to get me going. I'm clean. I'm clean, man. Gosh, I can't wait to load up. "O-kay," he said, "But you still want to kiss me. You want to, you want to, you want to." I rolled my eyes. "Forget it, hypnotism won't work." "Well, your loss," he shrugged. "Really?" I asked incredulously. "I've been told I'm ... ahem," corking his brow again, putting on his pseudo Sean Connery accent, "... a damn good kisser," he said, moisting his lips, pouting. "Forget it. I'm not kissing an ape," I lightly swiped his head, "Now, take me to Starbucks." | |
| Thursday, July 15, 2004 | |
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Place your bets
The things we do to amuse ourselves. Matt and I have this silly bet going on. It's about me weaning off coffee, the one substance I'm addicted to, for 6 weeks. If I lose, I have to kiss him. Considering that we've never kissed (Horrors!), that's something. Yup, I'm conservative. And shy. ;P If he loses, well, I haven't thought about what I'll do to him. Maybe get him to kiss my neighbour's grandpa or something totally freaky like that. Hah! Any ideas? Well, 6 weeks is over. Guess who won? | |
| Tuesday, July 13, 2004 | |
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Am I a Jedi yet?
I have taken Master Tomas' advice to heart and worked like a true padwan - calm, in control. Jenna is still my partner. But because of the strain in our relationship, there is no creative flow between us (not that there was heaps before anyway). That also means I bear the load of the work. I have to think through strategy and spend many late nights thinking up ideas, solo. Some days that frustrates me. But some nights, I relish the quietness and the morbid helplessness that surrounds me. I have no crutch. No one to hang on to. No Heng to whip my ass. I think I've benefitted from it. Thinking for two is definitely tough but it has enlarged my capacity. Hey, even my art direction is sharper now! What did they say about adversity is true. Hah! Bring it on, man. Our conversations typically go this way: "Hey Jenna, anything?" I ask She shrugs. "I have some. Have time to discuss?" "Sure." We go through my ideas. She nitpicks on why she doesn't think they will work. "Let's take it to Big Billy, okay?" I say to shut her up. "Okay," she dashes to Billy with her big flashing smile. I scowl. I present my ideas. Then, she sneaks in a few ideas of her own. Billy haw-hums on them. Repeat above, tomorrow. God help me. | |
| Monday, July 12, 2004 | |
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Matt's School Reunion Pt 2
"Wong has 2 kids. His oldest is 8, can you beat that?" Matt went to his School Reunion last Sat. With Donna. "And Roslan is like this," Matt used his hands to indicate a barrel girth. "My gawd, he used to be the captain of the football team. I promise you I'll never get fat like that," he said. His fingers rubbing his sucked-in belly. "Vainpot," I muttered. "You sure you're not gay?" "There's only one way to find out," he raised his eyebrows in a come-hither look. I rolled my eyes. "So how was Donna?" He smiled. I guess he knew the question was coming. "She's ok. I went around with her at first, but then she started whinning. 'Oh Matt, can you get me a drink? A Perrier please? And don't forget the lemon' That woman is tiresome. And to think I had such a major crush on her back then." "Hormones I guess," I said coolly. But inside, I was flipping. I could have done cartwheels. "But this I'll admit - it was flattering. You know, 'School nerd dates Prom Queen' thingy." "Zero to Hero, huh?" I teased. He sighs, the corners of his lips curved slyly. "Damn, she does have killer legs." "Bastard." | |
| Thursday, July 08, 2004 | |
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The day after
The storm has receded. But I still feel shitty. I hate arguing. It's never my thing. I feel cut to pieces. I walk about dragging a millstone round my neck. For reasons unknown to me, I avoid Donna. Round about lunch, the reception buzzed for me. I went out and there, a package awaited me. An ice-cream package, complete with ribbons and balloons. Oooh, I feel better already. A sugar high. He had scribbled "Sorry" and drawn a sad, smiley face (wait, can a smiley face be sad? What an oxymoron.) on the card. "Hey," I called him. "Hey," he replied. "I'm sorry too," I said. This sappiness can kill me. I can't believe I actually said this stuff and am putting this down on permanent record, "We talk tonight?" "Okay," he said, his voice brightening up, "Er ... before you hang up, can you pass the line to Donna?" He laughed. "Just joking. Joking only, okay?" Aaah, the best part of an argument is after. :P | |
| Wednesday, July 07, 2004 | |
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Of Men and Stupid Answers
Question: "Why didn't you tell me that you were going to the reunion with Donna?" Answer: "What is there to tell?" To men out there who are not beyond redemption - read and learn: this is exactly the kind of answer that pisses women off. The best thing to do when you stupidly piss her off is to back off, tell her what a fool you are and kiss her feet. Unless you want to fight, which then, you may add something like this: "Not like you tell me who you go out with all the time." Now, tell me, isn't this guy asking for it? The point of contention here is not who he is going out with, but why he chose to conceal the matter. Men have a problem figuring this out. And women can't understand why men don't think lack of transparency is a problem. So we start this stupid argument. "There is nothing between us," he insists. I say, "You don't get my point. I'm asking why didn't you tell me?" Donna would be laughing. | |
| Friday, July 02, 2004 | |
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Time out
Tomas was lying on the grass. Staring up into the sky between the leaves of the giant rainforest. I walked towards him and slumped down beside him, looking up at the same patch of blue he was. We chatted - silly stuff. Then, we started jabbing each other's sides and almost wrestled. We laughed like kids. Then I woke up. I felt strange. But strangely good too. It was nice - warm, fuzzy. Does anyone else have such "inappropriate" dreams or is it just me? And yeah, any diviner of dreams out there? I need therapy. | |
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