I hate that period of time when you wake up realising that it's almost dusk. That melancholy feeling you get when the day is almost over and night is coming soon. It's even more difficult when this happens after you spend the whole day catching up on lost sleep.
I remembered crying stupidly for no reason when they're telecasting National Day parade live on TV and I can hear the fighter planes returning to their base. It was the evening after I came home in the early morning after a trip to KL with a group of friends. I crashed in immediately after emptying the bag of dirty clothes in the washing maching and didn't wake up till evening. That was when I started crying.
This has been happening since I was a kid. Seeing everyone sleeping after a tiring trip across the causeway, I'd usually have this feeling of utter misery and hopeless depression.
That's what I'm experiencing now. Oh the outing was great. The barbeque went well and The Hubby's friends all turned out in full force, with wives, kids, tents and ice coolers in tow. We almost couldn't get our pit and thanks to hours of Customer Service courses, I managed to keep my cool when confronted with an unpleasant situation.
Two families got there first. Mine and another of his close buddy. As the pit was directly under the morning sun, we decided to dump our stuff at the shelter nearby and spend the next hour trying to fix the goalposts for the kids (and the kids above age 30). As family by family joined us and the group got bigger, we decided to progress to the pit about 10 steps away to prepare for the evening.
This was when we saw a couple placing their cooler and food there. We thought they're just resting. Then, the wife started to unpack. While the guys were figuring what to do, I went to the wife and asked her this:
"Excuse me, you guys are using the place?"
Girl turned and said "Yes?!" It was something in the tone of her voice that made me stepped back.
"Did you guys book the pit?"
"YES!!!" Her eyes were so huge, I could've sworn it would popped out if she willed it to.
I said "Ok" and walked away.
I was seething with the way she responded to me but I managed to keep calm, only to blow off steam in front of the other wives. I mean, she don't have to be so defensive about it.
Hubby and gang decided to find the nearest AXS machine to print the receipt as proof. However, before they came back, the couple left in a huff after rounds of phone calls. The girl actually came back to me but instead of apologising, she confessed that headquarters have confirmed that the pit was booked by a "malay" guy. I asked if she kept the receipt but she said she threw it away. Then she said that her husband is very, very pissed off by the whole thing and that they decided to leave.
Well, I can put myself in her shoes. I'd be pissed off too. But as this is an event that involves logistics, food, people and feelings, it is important to have everything in black and white. All I know is that if I were the one booking the pit and I didn't have the receipt, I'd have all of hell to pay but since the fault lies with my hubby or maybe the machine, I learned to just shut up and get on with life.
Everyone didn't sleep. We didn't need to. Only the kids. But they managed an average of two hours and woke at midnight. It was hot and the aeroplanes roaring above didn't help matters.
The outing was a success and the kids had the time of their life. We were dead tired and I fought the melancholy by trying to create something for dinner.
Next time, we're definitely going to a chalet. There's air con, comfortable beds, no sand, no irritating people claiming the place is theirs and best of all, no roaring airplanes 20cm above your head.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Of Indonesian Soap Operas
Or Sinetrons as they prefer to call it. Soap is so American. Anyway, from what little knowledge I knew, soaps originated as day time drama serials over radio or tv with continuing or in some cases endless episodes (Days of our Lives(?!) haha. Someone's grandmother actually joked that she'd die first before reaching the end of the story). Well, the said grandma did passed on and the story is still running. Anyway, in January 2007, it was suggested by NBC that Days of Our Lives is unlikely to continue past 2009.
Back to my entry here. For the record, I have never, ever, for the life of me, indulged myself in front of the couch at a certain hour each week, eagerly waiting for an anticipated episode and wondering why the handsome but stupid male actor remain blissfully unaware that everyone around him is conspiring against him and that his stepmother is actually a mad, old cow with an 80s hairdo.
I have never, ever cleared all the cooking, cleaning and slaving superfast on a given weekday just so that I could enjoy that one hour of freedom from everyday life.
And god forbid, I hope I never, ever put on a sour face when guests came at that hour and make me miss that crucial episode.
For I have never, ever been a big fan of soap operas. Never.
That is until I came across the first episodes of Istri untuk Suamiku (A wife for my husband). Now if only I could do the same to my husband. Not!
As riveting as the title goes, the story is so damn stupid, the pace super slow, the parts so bloody unbelievable that I just have to sit through 1.5 hours of it. Every week. I have no idea why but somehow, crunchy peanut butter on celery sticks just tastes better in front of that programme at that hour when you have the TV to yourself and everyone has gone to dreamland.
The story centres around a couple, Alia and Krisna. A happily married but childless couple. Krisna's mom dotes on Alia (Talk about unreal. Is there such a thing?) and openly expressed her wish to have grandchildren before she die. Alia took it upon her head that she has to die-die give a grandchild to her mother-in-law so as not to disappoint her. But, here's the catch. Alia is barren.
So this pious, ultra beautiful woman hit upon this idea of finding a wife for Krisna. A sort of contractual thing where they will consummate the marriage and file for divorce once the baby is born. All expenses paid, no strings attached and a straight cut win-win situation. Apparantly, the producers have never heard of artificial insemnation.
Krisna's violent objection was understood but I think he secretly likes the idea. Which men wouldn't? So we see Alia interviewing women of all walks of life together with her gynae whom I noticed have eyes that are too close together. The fact that she is so wooden doesn't really help matters. I give her credit for her expressive frowns though.
After rounds of interviewing the wrong girls, they came upon Reva who looked like she was forced to marry a camel and is desparate for money to bear her younger sister's surgical expenses.
So the unhappy Reva married Krisna in Alia's wedding gown. A stupid move because apparently, Krisna kept seeing Alia in the gown instead of Reva. The two reluctant newly weds then consummate their marriage.
Alia being the super-understanding, super-sweet wife comforted Reva and assures her that everything will be alright. She clears the master bedroom of her things and moved to the guest room where she lay awake the whole night praying that she could be strong enough to ignore what is going on in the other room.
Krisna came into Alia's room and told her that he's done what he has to do. He looked so miserable that as the audience, we forgot to see that he's a bona fide man and that he's actually itching to get back to Reva's room.
Reva's sister amidst much misunderstanding finally gets to stay with them and undergo the operation so that she can walk again. This one a bit unlogical but the glaring mistake cannot compensate with what I would want to say next.
Reva's pregnancy advances and managed to fall in love with Krisna. Alia meanwhile parades around with a pillow under her clothes to fool her mother-in-law. Seriously, how many women can stand walking around with a pillow like that for nine months?
Then in the hospital, while Reva was struggling to give birth, the mother-in-law kept interfering and stumbling upon Reva and Krisna who unfortunately were always in a less than desirable position when the clueless woman walks in.
Have to give the mother-in-law some credit when she initally suspects but was always put at ease when Alia or Krisna created one white lie after another. As easily as the woman shows her distaste and disgust (like stepmothers in sadistic 70s movies), she can easily be cooled and calmed by the two main characters. Tell me, how many mother-in-laws are like that?
So, we have Reva fighting for her life and her baby. The doctor (surprise! it's the closely-spaced eyed actress again!) told Alia and Krisna that Reva has only 3 hours to live if she is not given a specific medication which unfortunately the hospital has ran out of. How unbelievable is that?
Krisna and Alia is portrayed as rich enough to buy half of Indonesia, and here they are in some bloody, inefficient hospital with a doctor who said matter of factly (forget about the expressive frown! Reva is dying remember??!!) that they don't have that kind of medication and calmly wrote on a slip of paper the name of the medicine so that Krisna can go and look for it. She might as well add potato chips and popcorn on her list. It was so stupid, the writers deserved to be kicked to ER (the american tv series, duh!) and have the doctors there jabbed some sense in their asses.
The next scene have them twiddling their thumbs for 3 hours and looking at the clock's fingers from 12:00 to 2:55 am. Krisna came in with a plastic bag with the medication (maybe he purchased from the nearest 24 hour guardian pharmacy) and gave it to the doctor.
Miraculously, Reva survived (duh!) and so does the baby. Do they live happily ever after? Of course not. Mother-in-law have to come into Alia's room and feed her post-natal food and thank her for giving her a grandchild. Alia is too stupid to confess and kept giving wild looks. Mother-in-law of course was too happy to notice.
The unlogical part. How is it that Alia, who supposedly fought all night to give birth look so healthy with make up to boot and walking around from room to room the next morning? I couldn't walk like that even after a week of giving birth. Mother-in-law never notice this too. She was too busy scolding Krisna for hugging another woman (Reva).
As of today, the serial is still running. It's only once a week, late at night, so, I need not do my housework in a hurry and need not have to put a superficial smile on my face when I have guests over. Wait! Didn't I just deny all this at the top of this page? Well, I'm still in denial. This sinetron is so damn stupid, it's good. And I am so not going to watch this ever again.
So tonight, when everyone has gone to bed, I'll probably can't sleep and start channel surfing. HBO and StarMovie will not have anything interesting unless you unsubscribe. Yes, when you unsubscribe, they advertise all these blockbusters and when you do, you get all these stupid movies.
Oh boy, I can't wait to see more stupidity tonight.
Oops.
Back to my entry here. For the record, I have never, ever, for the life of me, indulged myself in front of the couch at a certain hour each week, eagerly waiting for an anticipated episode and wondering why the handsome but stupid male actor remain blissfully unaware that everyone around him is conspiring against him and that his stepmother is actually a mad, old cow with an 80s hairdo.
I have never, ever cleared all the cooking, cleaning and slaving superfast on a given weekday just so that I could enjoy that one hour of freedom from everyday life.
And god forbid, I hope I never, ever put on a sour face when guests came at that hour and make me miss that crucial episode.
For I have never, ever been a big fan of soap operas. Never.
That is until I came across the first episodes of Istri untuk Suamiku (A wife for my husband). Now if only I could do the same to my husband. Not!
As riveting as the title goes, the story is so damn stupid, the pace super slow, the parts so bloody unbelievable that I just have to sit through 1.5 hours of it. Every week. I have no idea why but somehow, crunchy peanut butter on celery sticks just tastes better in front of that programme at that hour when you have the TV to yourself and everyone has gone to dreamland.
The story centres around a couple, Alia and Krisna. A happily married but childless couple. Krisna's mom dotes on Alia (Talk about unreal. Is there such a thing?) and openly expressed her wish to have grandchildren before she die. Alia took it upon her head that she has to die-die give a grandchild to her mother-in-law so as not to disappoint her. But, here's the catch. Alia is barren.
So this pious, ultra beautiful woman hit upon this idea of finding a wife for Krisna. A sort of contractual thing where they will consummate the marriage and file for divorce once the baby is born. All expenses paid, no strings attached and a straight cut win-win situation. Apparantly, the producers have never heard of artificial insemnation.
Krisna's violent objection was understood but I think he secretly likes the idea. Which men wouldn't? So we see Alia interviewing women of all walks of life together with her gynae whom I noticed have eyes that are too close together. The fact that she is so wooden doesn't really help matters. I give her credit for her expressive frowns though.
After rounds of interviewing the wrong girls, they came upon Reva who looked like she was forced to marry a camel and is desparate for money to bear her younger sister's surgical expenses.
So the unhappy Reva married Krisna in Alia's wedding gown. A stupid move because apparently, Krisna kept seeing Alia in the gown instead of Reva. The two reluctant newly weds then consummate their marriage.
Alia being the super-understanding, super-sweet wife comforted Reva and assures her that everything will be alright. She clears the master bedroom of her things and moved to the guest room where she lay awake the whole night praying that she could be strong enough to ignore what is going on in the other room.
Krisna came into Alia's room and told her that he's done what he has to do. He looked so miserable that as the audience, we forgot to see that he's a bona fide man and that he's actually itching to get back to Reva's room.
Reva's sister amidst much misunderstanding finally gets to stay with them and undergo the operation so that she can walk again. This one a bit unlogical but the glaring mistake cannot compensate with what I would want to say next.
Reva's pregnancy advances and managed to fall in love with Krisna. Alia meanwhile parades around with a pillow under her clothes to fool her mother-in-law. Seriously, how many women can stand walking around with a pillow like that for nine months?
Then in the hospital, while Reva was struggling to give birth, the mother-in-law kept interfering and stumbling upon Reva and Krisna who unfortunately were always in a less than desirable position when the clueless woman walks in.
Have to give the mother-in-law some credit when she initally suspects but was always put at ease when Alia or Krisna created one white lie after another. As easily as the woman shows her distaste and disgust (like stepmothers in sadistic 70s movies), she can easily be cooled and calmed by the two main characters. Tell me, how many mother-in-laws are like that?
So, we have Reva fighting for her life and her baby. The doctor (surprise! it's the closely-spaced eyed actress again!) told Alia and Krisna that Reva has only 3 hours to live if she is not given a specific medication which unfortunately the hospital has ran out of. How unbelievable is that?
Krisna and Alia is portrayed as rich enough to buy half of Indonesia, and here they are in some bloody, inefficient hospital with a doctor who said matter of factly (forget about the expressive frown! Reva is dying remember??!!) that they don't have that kind of medication and calmly wrote on a slip of paper the name of the medicine so that Krisna can go and look for it. She might as well add potato chips and popcorn on her list. It was so stupid, the writers deserved to be kicked to ER (the american tv series, duh!) and have the doctors there jabbed some sense in their asses.
The next scene have them twiddling their thumbs for 3 hours and looking at the clock's fingers from 12:00 to 2:55 am. Krisna came in with a plastic bag with the medication (maybe he purchased from the nearest 24 hour guardian pharmacy) and gave it to the doctor.
Miraculously, Reva survived (duh!) and so does the baby. Do they live happily ever after? Of course not. Mother-in-law have to come into Alia's room and feed her post-natal food and thank her for giving her a grandchild. Alia is too stupid to confess and kept giving wild looks. Mother-in-law of course was too happy to notice.
The unlogical part. How is it that Alia, who supposedly fought all night to give birth look so healthy with make up to boot and walking around from room to room the next morning? I couldn't walk like that even after a week of giving birth. Mother-in-law never notice this too. She was too busy scolding Krisna for hugging another woman (Reva).
As of today, the serial is still running. It's only once a week, late at night, so, I need not do my housework in a hurry and need not have to put a superficial smile on my face when I have guests over. Wait! Didn't I just deny all this at the top of this page? Well, I'm still in denial. This sinetron is so damn stupid, it's good. And I am so not going to watch this ever again.
So tonight, when everyone has gone to bed, I'll probably can't sleep and start channel surfing. HBO and StarMovie will not have anything interesting unless you unsubscribe. Yes, when you unsubscribe, they advertise all these blockbusters and when you do, you get all these stupid movies.
Oh boy, I can't wait to see more stupidity tonight.
Oops.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Sleepless in KK
Someone told me I'd be bored stiff if I were to be warded for 4 straight days in a hospital without a TV. After my experience in a B1 ward in KK hospital back in 2001, where I had an emergency C-section and where I didn't bathe for 4 days despite having a luxurious-sized bathroom and the shock of getting the bill afterwards (although I never fully-utilised the facilities) I was glad that I have a more economic love for reading.
So for my second child, not only did I opt for being wide awake during my C-section (I researched and am mentally prepared for it), I also opt for a B2+ ward which is air-conditioned, subsidized by the government and have an attached bathroom. Even if I couldn't bathe, at least I'm comfortable.
The first night was ok. The minute I was wheeled into the 5 bedded ward, the other 3 patients were discharged and all the beds were freshly made that same afternoon. I felt like the plague carrier. So I was left with the patient in front of me and that night I requested for the nurses on duty to leave the ward door open. (I have a right to be cautious. I've read too much hospital horror stories) So I had a good night's rest with the reassuring whispers of the nurses changing shifts and exchanging gossips.
The first few days there was somewhat enjoyable as I no longer have this phobia that my stomache would burst open. I can enjoy my bath and change my baby's diapers without getting overwhelmed by his sudden yelling and even have time to teach the student nurses how to tie the strings on a maternity pad after I was left unflatteringly exposed while they figure out which end of the strings goes to which loop.
I didn't miss the TV one bit.
My last night stay was a different story altogether. I thought I could jolly well enjoy my last peaceful night of sleep before facing the many months of sleepless nights to come. So after wheeling my baby to the nursery, I prepared for bed as usual and read the first few pages of Bridget Jones Diary with the curtains drawn. I didn't know when I slipped into slumberland because I was jolted wide awake somewhere around 3 am.
It began as this weird dream of playing netball with a group of people. Suddenly I was surrounded by Indian ladies calling out "Ammah....Ayyahhhh.....Ammmahhhhh". They began surging towards me as if I just came out from Planet Reebok with a pair of needed trainers for their netball game. Then they started chasing me and I was jolted awake only to hear more "Ammahhss and Ayyahhss" coming out from the bed ten o-clock to my left.
I instantly remembered the quiet Indian girl, in her early twenties being admitted that afternoon. She has not given birth but was warded anyway. Probably her gynae was monitoring her. So, this girl was crying "Ammahhhhh....Ayyahhh..." for the next ten minutes and it began to get really irritating. I mean, if she's in pain, can't she call out for help? There's a radio button on every bed. What happened to hers?
And so, being civic minded and a bit selfish, I pressed on my own button to call out the nurses stationed outside. One of them came in with a torchlight and goes "who press the bell??" in the darkened room. The girl next to me was snoring and the other two patients were blissfully asleep. I was like "Can you check on the girl? She's been crying like for the past ten minutes"
The nurse turned towards the girl who had just stepped into the loo and spoke through the door, "Rajesh?...You ok or not? Want to go down? (Labour ward)" The girl mumbled something inside and the nurse said "Ok" and left the room. I felt like the boy who cried wolf.
I heard the sound of flushing and the creaking of "Rajesh's" bed. She damn well better get back to sleep because she sure is messing with mine. I was almost dozing off when the crying started again. Wah liao!!. What is this? Just now say ok, then cry some more. I felt like throwing a bucket of water at her.
It went on for the next hour and amidst her crying, I fell into a short dream where I actually literally kicked her out of the room! I was rudely awaken by louder "Ammahhhss and Ayyahhhs". This time I jammed the radio button again and pretended to sleep when the nurse on duty stepped in. This time, Rajesh wisely continued crying. The nurses wheeled her out and then total silence. Well, except for the girl snoring beside my bed who, remained asleep throughout the commotion, but otherwise, very, very quiet.
I checked out my cellphone. Hmm, 4:45am. I might as well get some sleep.
I turned left. Then turn right. Then left again and blinked. WTF??...
And so it was, at 5:00 am, at KK hospital, I bade farewell to 8 hours of peaceful sleep. Well, not exactly forever but at least for the next coming year or so..... I think....
So for my second child, not only did I opt for being wide awake during my C-section (I researched and am mentally prepared for it), I also opt for a B2+ ward which is air-conditioned, subsidized by the government and have an attached bathroom. Even if I couldn't bathe, at least I'm comfortable.
The first night was ok. The minute I was wheeled into the 5 bedded ward, the other 3 patients were discharged and all the beds were freshly made that same afternoon. I felt like the plague carrier. So I was left with the patient in front of me and that night I requested for the nurses on duty to leave the ward door open. (I have a right to be cautious. I've read too much hospital horror stories) So I had a good night's rest with the reassuring whispers of the nurses changing shifts and exchanging gossips.
The first few days there was somewhat enjoyable as I no longer have this phobia that my stomache would burst open. I can enjoy my bath and change my baby's diapers without getting overwhelmed by his sudden yelling and even have time to teach the student nurses how to tie the strings on a maternity pad after I was left unflatteringly exposed while they figure out which end of the strings goes to which loop.
I didn't miss the TV one bit.
My last night stay was a different story altogether. I thought I could jolly well enjoy my last peaceful night of sleep before facing the many months of sleepless nights to come. So after wheeling my baby to the nursery, I prepared for bed as usual and read the first few pages of Bridget Jones Diary with the curtains drawn. I didn't know when I slipped into slumberland because I was jolted wide awake somewhere around 3 am.
It began as this weird dream of playing netball with a group of people. Suddenly I was surrounded by Indian ladies calling out "Ammah....Ayyahhhh.....Ammmahhhhh". They began surging towards me as if I just came out from Planet Reebok with a pair of needed trainers for their netball game. Then they started chasing me and I was jolted awake only to hear more "Ammahhss and Ayyahhss" coming out from the bed ten o-clock to my left.
I instantly remembered the quiet Indian girl, in her early twenties being admitted that afternoon. She has not given birth but was warded anyway. Probably her gynae was monitoring her. So, this girl was crying "Ammahhhhh....Ayyahhh..." for the next ten minutes and it began to get really irritating. I mean, if she's in pain, can't she call out for help? There's a radio button on every bed. What happened to hers?
And so, being civic minded and a bit selfish, I pressed on my own button to call out the nurses stationed outside. One of them came in with a torchlight and goes "who press the bell??" in the darkened room. The girl next to me was snoring and the other two patients were blissfully asleep. I was like "Can you check on the girl? She's been crying like for the past ten minutes"
The nurse turned towards the girl who had just stepped into the loo and spoke through the door, "Rajesh?...You ok or not? Want to go down? (Labour ward)" The girl mumbled something inside and the nurse said "Ok" and left the room. I felt like the boy who cried wolf.
I heard the sound of flushing and the creaking of "Rajesh's" bed. She damn well better get back to sleep because she sure is messing with mine. I was almost dozing off when the crying started again. Wah liao!!. What is this? Just now say ok, then cry some more. I felt like throwing a bucket of water at her.
It went on for the next hour and amidst her crying, I fell into a short dream where I actually literally kicked her out of the room! I was rudely awaken by louder "Ammahhhss and Ayyahhhs". This time I jammed the radio button again and pretended to sleep when the nurse on duty stepped in. This time, Rajesh wisely continued crying. The nurses wheeled her out and then total silence. Well, except for the girl snoring beside my bed who, remained asleep throughout the commotion, but otherwise, very, very quiet.
I checked out my cellphone. Hmm, 4:45am. I might as well get some sleep.
I turned left. Then turn right. Then left again and blinked. WTF??...
And so it was, at 5:00 am, at KK hospital, I bade farewell to 8 hours of peaceful sleep. Well, not exactly forever but at least for the next coming year or so..... I think....
Monday, October 27, 2008
Syawal - The Last Lap
I still missed my cat. It's been 4 years. We could always get a new one but the thought of feeding, cleaning up and worrying after it made me think twice although hubby was all for it. Or course he's all up for it, he didn't have to do the dirty work. He's got the free maid to do everything. All he has to do is "eh, mop this spot" or "come clear this" or "cat food almost finish, buy one on the way home" without so much as a dutiful "Please".
As if the thought of that does not pisses me off, he did something again that made me really mad and scared at the same time. Well, firstly, let me just say that I did something over the weekend that I've never done before and syukur alhamdulillah, we made it in one piece.
The first time when he suggested it, I had this strange feeling of being slapped awake and having stomach indigestion at the same time. I was taken aback by the first bout of challenge thrown directly at me. The indigestion however was the result of having coke with M&Ms for lunch.
I protested to the suggestion so violently that for the first time, the husband actually shut up and wisely did not bring the subject up until the day before our great outing.
You see, hubby and friends decided to meet and visit each other on the last lap of Syawal. They met up with more classmates they had unearthed from Facebook and decided to visit a few more classmates some of whom they have not seen for the past 14 years. We were to go gallivanting across the island again, and this time, it will be much more fun and exciting because there are no in-laws involved.
So the day before the outing, after frenzied rounds of phone calls and SMSs, hubby tentatively suggested (again) that I drove our car while he drove his company's car. There will be a total of 4 cars and I'll be the only wife driving. The thought of it made me sick - literally.
Truth was, I've never had the courage to drive with hubby around. I've driven to work, to workshops and to the supermarket without his supervision. Somehow my parking skills are always flawless to the point of being faultless without his "Left!!..Left!! left no turn some more, no no no too much..right, right.....right lah...turn again!! turn again, lock the wheel!!!!..Where's your right??..Haiyah you ni eh....right also donno!!...
You get the picture. I hate that. I absolutely loathe that. He could kill any good mood and spoil a whole bloody outing just by barking his 'holier than thou' orders at my reverse parking. So I swore to him that I will never drive the car with him around. I forgot the part about him driving within 100 metres from me though and here I am stuck with this decision of driving to Bt Batok, Teck Whye, Punggol, Bedok, Woodlands and then back to Jurong.
Despite all the hooha, I somehow managed to bring everybody to their destinations. It's just a matter of tailgating his car or any of the 3 cars belonging to our convoy. The nervousness disappeared and my parking was once again perfect with almost nil adjustments. I achieved this by parking as far away from my hubby as possible.
The directions? Of course, what with concentrating on the number plates of our convoy and looking out for traffic while trying to switch lanes without getting a heart attack, I did not know where we went and which exit we took. So if you were to ask me again, sorry, i can't remember. Yes, I'm that lousy at directions.
By 6pm, we were already at my place, hubby had to return the company car and I was relegated to passenger position, much to the relieve of Matin who spend his time on my lap enjoying the mother-son moment.
We reached the last house at about 10pm. The husbands watched the second half of a Chelsea-Liverpool match and the wives were forced to watch while battling 'sleeping' mode. The kids were either sleeping or sulking from petty quarrels and becoming best friends in less than 5 minutes.
We reached home around midnight and as usual, yours truly was the last one to hit the bed. For the third night, the kids were sleeping in their own room and I am slowly getting used to them not sleeping on the floor beside my bed. Of course I missed their presence but hey, they're still in the house. One day, they'll went off to school camps and National Service, then what? By then, maybe I'll seriously consider having a cat around the house.
As if the thought of that does not pisses me off, he did something again that made me really mad and scared at the same time. Well, firstly, let me just say that I did something over the weekend that I've never done before and syukur alhamdulillah, we made it in one piece.
The first time when he suggested it, I had this strange feeling of being slapped awake and having stomach indigestion at the same time. I was taken aback by the first bout of challenge thrown directly at me. The indigestion however was the result of having coke with M&Ms for lunch.
I protested to the suggestion so violently that for the first time, the husband actually shut up and wisely did not bring the subject up until the day before our great outing.
You see, hubby and friends decided to meet and visit each other on the last lap of Syawal. They met up with more classmates they had unearthed from Facebook and decided to visit a few more classmates some of whom they have not seen for the past 14 years. We were to go gallivanting across the island again, and this time, it will be much more fun and exciting because there are no in-laws involved.
So the day before the outing, after frenzied rounds of phone calls and SMSs, hubby tentatively suggested (again) that I drove our car while he drove his company's car. There will be a total of 4 cars and I'll be the only wife driving. The thought of it made me sick - literally.
Truth was, I've never had the courage to drive with hubby around. I've driven to work, to workshops and to the supermarket without his supervision. Somehow my parking skills are always flawless to the point of being faultless without his "Left!!..Left!! left no turn some more, no no no too much..right, right.....right lah...turn again!! turn again, lock the wheel!!!!..Where's your right??..Haiyah you ni eh....right also donno!!...
You get the picture. I hate that. I absolutely loathe that. He could kill any good mood and spoil a whole bloody outing just by barking his 'holier than thou' orders at my reverse parking. So I swore to him that I will never drive the car with him around. I forgot the part about him driving within 100 metres from me though and here I am stuck with this decision of driving to Bt Batok, Teck Whye, Punggol, Bedok, Woodlands and then back to Jurong.
Despite all the hooha, I somehow managed to bring everybody to their destinations. It's just a matter of tailgating his car or any of the 3 cars belonging to our convoy. The nervousness disappeared and my parking was once again perfect with almost nil adjustments. I achieved this by parking as far away from my hubby as possible.
The directions? Of course, what with concentrating on the number plates of our convoy and looking out for traffic while trying to switch lanes without getting a heart attack, I did not know where we went and which exit we took. So if you were to ask me again, sorry, i can't remember. Yes, I'm that lousy at directions.
By 6pm, we were already at my place, hubby had to return the company car and I was relegated to passenger position, much to the relieve of Matin who spend his time on my lap enjoying the mother-son moment.
We reached the last house at about 10pm. The husbands watched the second half of a Chelsea-Liverpool match and the wives were forced to watch while battling 'sleeping' mode. The kids were either sleeping or sulking from petty quarrels and becoming best friends in less than 5 minutes.
We reached home around midnight and as usual, yours truly was the last one to hit the bed. For the third night, the kids were sleeping in their own room and I am slowly getting used to them not sleeping on the floor beside my bed. Of course I missed their presence but hey, they're still in the house. One day, they'll went off to school camps and National Service, then what? By then, maybe I'll seriously consider having a cat around the house.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Amazing Raya Race
One Sunday, 12 days into Syawal, I was subjected to a 10-hour roller coaster Hari Raya visits, it left me spinning, not from the overabundance of gassy drinks but the overwhelming realisation that I actually survived the ordeal.
It began as early as 9:30am. I used to scorned at all these never ending raya visits and being embarrased to be seen togged in festival finery after two weeks of Hari Raya. But all that has changed the minute I signed that paper to officially announce me as someone else's property.
Now, we all know that Hari Raya visits are meant to bridge the generation gap and to foster/link/reaffirm relationships with your relatives especially now that you seldom get to meet and gather, what with the hectic work/school/social life. It's the time to reflect and seek forgiveness from each other on past misdeeds bla bla bla. At least, that is what we were taught.
And so, with years of growing up in that environment and managing one or two house visits a day, it no longer came as a surprise after 8 years of marriage that we can squeeze countless house visits in one day. This thing can only happen if it involves my parents-in-law.
After the languid, relaxed, laid back visits on my side of the family on the first week of Hari Raya, the attack came as soon as the obligatory 6 day fast is over for my in-laws. On the first available Sunday morning, while I was lazing over in bed, pondering whether I should pluck the roots of the taugehs in the fridge or to put henna on my toes, the phone shrilled rudely.
From hubby's tone, I knew it's his mom on the other end and before I knew it, found myself spending the next hour frantically tornado-ing around getting ready for the event. By the time hubby came out from his 45 minute shower and dressed, I had washed the clothes, cleaned the kitchen, ironed the baju kurungs, vacuumed and mopped the house, threw out the trash, bathed and dressed the kids and lock up the windows while picking up abandoned toys and straightening the furniture in the process. I am so good at this.
Once hubby said "Let's Go!!", I had barely enough time to put on my crystals laden baju kurung and tudung (I know it's unpractical as the weather is so hot but knowing MIL who would look down her nose at my normal baju kurungs as untasteful and begger-like, I'd rather look like a christmas tree than avoid any confrontations with her). I slapped on my make up in the lift while herding the kids, put on the lipstick while walking towards the car and managed the mascara over two traffic light stops. I should get an award for this.
We spent the whole day practically racing from one relative house to the other and spent an average of 10 minutes in each house. It was becoming more like a precised army drill with with my mother-in-law (MIL) holding the honourable position as the Sergeant Major. Armed with her little grey notebook, she has mapped out every relative's house and which area to visit first. There will be two cars, mine and my brother-in-law (BIL). Since dear BIL could not drive to save his life, his very pregnant wife (SIL) will have to manage.
So there we were, 2 couples, 5 kids (2 of which is mine and the rest belonged to BIL and SIL making it a total of 4 boys and 1 girl), one Sergeant Major and one very old Father-in-law (FIL) who walks like, in the words of Danial, The Undertaker who took forever to reach the ring amidst the dramatic hooha. My FIL is another character altogether. He didn't walk. He shuffles. All thanks to hours of watching TV instead of walking around exercising after his bypass surgery, stubborn, unhealthy diet and the ability to filter out MIL's 70 decibel nagging. The odd thing is, the more my MIL nags, the more he would get on her nerves. This trip was no different. I don't remember hubby switching on the radio that day.
The whole thing was utter madness and since I do not have any say in this, I just smiled and played follow-the-leader. Where the great MIL is involved, it's best to shut up and do not voice out any concerns, doubts or violent objections. Since she's hard of hearing, she might mistook whatever you say, albeit in good intention and think you're being rude.
The most unbelievable and absurdest thing happened at Bedok. My MIL's cousin lived on the 15th floor of a point block. Her first greeting was "Tidor????!" loudly at the person who opened the door. She would do this at every house, assuming that everyone is asleep just because they close the front door. I would be offended by this but maybe her cousins were used to her way of greeting and jested back (well, some of them do). As expected, we stayed for a short while because we have to rush to another cousin's house.
Halfway down the lift, she told us to stop at the 4th floor where the daughter of the earlier cousin lived. That was not in our itinary but she insisted that we "stop for a short while and say hello". Once inside, there were already 2 families there. There were only 2 kids from that family. We sat down and the kids trooped over to the balcony to watch the hamsters on a three deck pedestal. What happened next saw me as the only adult witness to an incident that left the youngest (and plumpest) one and only grandaughter of the Sergeant Major wailing the house down.
One kid pushed another kid and that kid fell on Matin who fell and hit Wiyah. It's like seeing dominoes falling, I tell you. Being the largest, Wiyah's plump legs hit the table where the triple deck cages were and the next thing we knew, the cages toppled, hitting both Matin and Wiyah who screamed as the hamsters were scurrying around. Luckily the cages were intact and no hamsters escaped but sawdust and water flew everywhere. I quickly grabbed Matin and hid him behind the sofa but the wailing of the dearest granddaughter is enough to make sergeant major spring into action. Right there and then, she ordered everyone of us to leave.
The homeowner (very confused with the sudden surge of guests) was going "wait, wait, drink first" and my MIL was like "No need, no need, we're rushing off now. We have to hurry bla bla bla". Her face was tight. There was a lot of commotion. It was totally chaotic and Wiyah was wailing her very own symphony. Utter pandemonium!!
Then she turned, as if she couldn't believe her eyes that we're still sitting there on the sofa goes "What are you all waiting for? We're leaving now!" My exhausted-looking SIL and I apologised profusely to the homeowner feeling rather bad about the whole thing while MIL was going on and on about "rushing somewhere and having to leave immediately". While the other two families stared at our sideshow, I quickly grabbed my two boys and herded them out.
My poor FIL who has just shuffled his way to the front gate (we somehow forgot about him and left him still shuffling on the 15th floor!!!) asked "We're going off already?". Seeing the shocked look on his face and if not for the tense atmosphere, I would have laugh hysterically at the totally ridiculous situation.
Hubby was worried that we might have offended the homeowner. He wasted no time in raising his concerns to his mom. But drill sergeant was so absorbed in her dearest grandaughter's trauma that she snapped "There were too many children in there! I got a headache seeing so many children around" She was so caught up with everything that she failed to realise that the "many children" are actually her own grandchildren.
She mollycoddled the one and only grandaughter to the point of bringing her to sit in our car and banished FIL from our car. FIL shuffled to BIL's car and the very noisy, 3 generation family finally pulled out from the carpark much to the relief of the residents living there.
This did not stop her from gallivanting to more houses. By the time we cleared the last house, it was almost midnight, my poor SIL's feet were swollen from all that driving (her clutch pedal was too tight) and Matin was irritable from the lack of sleep. I was beginning to seriously wonder if Allan Wu and all his camera crew will be waiting at our front door declaring us the $1m winner of this unbelievable race.
At home, I reflected on the day and wondered what was the meaning of these visits anyway. Where is the love after leaving a house in a huff? Where is the silaturrahim? Where is the sincere apologies and forgiveness when you come in, say hi and leave in two minutes? What's the point?Was it to cover all the houses and tell yourself, you've visited all your relatives? If you don't wish to stop at certain houses, why force yourself to go? Why hurt yourselves and others in the process?
I can foresee these events happening again in the years to come and I've come to the conclusion that if they think it's right, then, so be it. If you can't beat them, then you join them, even if you don't really volunteer for it.
As for me, I can think of better ways to spend the 12th day of Syawal and it wouldn't involve any gallivanting across the island. I'd be perfectly happy painting henna on my toenails or plucking a big bowl of taugeh in front of the TV.
It began as early as 9:30am. I used to scorned at all these never ending raya visits and being embarrased to be seen togged in festival finery after two weeks of Hari Raya. But all that has changed the minute I signed that paper to officially announce me as someone else's property.
Now, we all know that Hari Raya visits are meant to bridge the generation gap and to foster/link/reaffirm relationships with your relatives especially now that you seldom get to meet and gather, what with the hectic work/school/social life. It's the time to reflect and seek forgiveness from each other on past misdeeds bla bla bla. At least, that is what we were taught.
And so, with years of growing up in that environment and managing one or two house visits a day, it no longer came as a surprise after 8 years of marriage that we can squeeze countless house visits in one day. This thing can only happen if it involves my parents-in-law.
After the languid, relaxed, laid back visits on my side of the family on the first week of Hari Raya, the attack came as soon as the obligatory 6 day fast is over for my in-laws. On the first available Sunday morning, while I was lazing over in bed, pondering whether I should pluck the roots of the taugehs in the fridge or to put henna on my toes, the phone shrilled rudely.
From hubby's tone, I knew it's his mom on the other end and before I knew it, found myself spending the next hour frantically tornado-ing around getting ready for the event. By the time hubby came out from his 45 minute shower and dressed, I had washed the clothes, cleaned the kitchen, ironed the baju kurungs, vacuumed and mopped the house, threw out the trash, bathed and dressed the kids and lock up the windows while picking up abandoned toys and straightening the furniture in the process. I am so good at this.
Once hubby said "Let's Go!!", I had barely enough time to put on my crystals laden baju kurung and tudung (I know it's unpractical as the weather is so hot but knowing MIL who would look down her nose at my normal baju kurungs as untasteful and begger-like, I'd rather look like a christmas tree than avoid any confrontations with her). I slapped on my make up in the lift while herding the kids, put on the lipstick while walking towards the car and managed the mascara over two traffic light stops. I should get an award for this.
We spent the whole day practically racing from one relative house to the other and spent an average of 10 minutes in each house. It was becoming more like a precised army drill with with my mother-in-law (MIL) holding the honourable position as the Sergeant Major. Armed with her little grey notebook, she has mapped out every relative's house and which area to visit first. There will be two cars, mine and my brother-in-law (BIL). Since dear BIL could not drive to save his life, his very pregnant wife (SIL) will have to manage.
So there we were, 2 couples, 5 kids (2 of which is mine and the rest belonged to BIL and SIL making it a total of 4 boys and 1 girl), one Sergeant Major and one very old Father-in-law (FIL) who walks like, in the words of Danial, The Undertaker who took forever to reach the ring amidst the dramatic hooha. My FIL is another character altogether. He didn't walk. He shuffles. All thanks to hours of watching TV instead of walking around exercising after his bypass surgery, stubborn, unhealthy diet and the ability to filter out MIL's 70 decibel nagging. The odd thing is, the more my MIL nags, the more he would get on her nerves. This trip was no different. I don't remember hubby switching on the radio that day.
The whole thing was utter madness and since I do not have any say in this, I just smiled and played follow-the-leader. Where the great MIL is involved, it's best to shut up and do not voice out any concerns, doubts or violent objections. Since she's hard of hearing, she might mistook whatever you say, albeit in good intention and think you're being rude.
The most unbelievable and absurdest thing happened at Bedok. My MIL's cousin lived on the 15th floor of a point block. Her first greeting was "Tidor????!" loudly at the person who opened the door. She would do this at every house, assuming that everyone is asleep just because they close the front door. I would be offended by this but maybe her cousins were used to her way of greeting and jested back (well, some of them do). As expected, we stayed for a short while because we have to rush to another cousin's house.
Halfway down the lift, she told us to stop at the 4th floor where the daughter of the earlier cousin lived. That was not in our itinary but she insisted that we "stop for a short while and say hello". Once inside, there were already 2 families there. There were only 2 kids from that family. We sat down and the kids trooped over to the balcony to watch the hamsters on a three deck pedestal. What happened next saw me as the only adult witness to an incident that left the youngest (and plumpest) one and only grandaughter of the Sergeant Major wailing the house down.
One kid pushed another kid and that kid fell on Matin who fell and hit Wiyah. It's like seeing dominoes falling, I tell you. Being the largest, Wiyah's plump legs hit the table where the triple deck cages were and the next thing we knew, the cages toppled, hitting both Matin and Wiyah who screamed as the hamsters were scurrying around. Luckily the cages were intact and no hamsters escaped but sawdust and water flew everywhere. I quickly grabbed Matin and hid him behind the sofa but the wailing of the dearest granddaughter is enough to make sergeant major spring into action. Right there and then, she ordered everyone of us to leave.
The homeowner (very confused with the sudden surge of guests) was going "wait, wait, drink first" and my MIL was like "No need, no need, we're rushing off now. We have to hurry bla bla bla". Her face was tight. There was a lot of commotion. It was totally chaotic and Wiyah was wailing her very own symphony. Utter pandemonium!!
Then she turned, as if she couldn't believe her eyes that we're still sitting there on the sofa goes "What are you all waiting for? We're leaving now!" My exhausted-looking SIL and I apologised profusely to the homeowner feeling rather bad about the whole thing while MIL was going on and on about "rushing somewhere and having to leave immediately". While the other two families stared at our sideshow, I quickly grabbed my two boys and herded them out.
My poor FIL who has just shuffled his way to the front gate (we somehow forgot about him and left him still shuffling on the 15th floor!!!) asked "We're going off already?". Seeing the shocked look on his face and if not for the tense atmosphere, I would have laugh hysterically at the totally ridiculous situation.
Hubby was worried that we might have offended the homeowner. He wasted no time in raising his concerns to his mom. But drill sergeant was so absorbed in her dearest grandaughter's trauma that she snapped "There were too many children in there! I got a headache seeing so many children around" She was so caught up with everything that she failed to realise that the "many children" are actually her own grandchildren.
She mollycoddled the one and only grandaughter to the point of bringing her to sit in our car and banished FIL from our car. FIL shuffled to BIL's car and the very noisy, 3 generation family finally pulled out from the carpark much to the relief of the residents living there.
This did not stop her from gallivanting to more houses. By the time we cleared the last house, it was almost midnight, my poor SIL's feet were swollen from all that driving (her clutch pedal was too tight) and Matin was irritable from the lack of sleep. I was beginning to seriously wonder if Allan Wu and all his camera crew will be waiting at our front door declaring us the $1m winner of this unbelievable race.
At home, I reflected on the day and wondered what was the meaning of these visits anyway. Where is the love after leaving a house in a huff? Where is the silaturrahim? Where is the sincere apologies and forgiveness when you come in, say hi and leave in two minutes? What's the point?Was it to cover all the houses and tell yourself, you've visited all your relatives? If you don't wish to stop at certain houses, why force yourself to go? Why hurt yourselves and others in the process?
I can foresee these events happening again in the years to come and I've come to the conclusion that if they think it's right, then, so be it. If you can't beat them, then you join them, even if you don't really volunteer for it.
As for me, I can think of better ways to spend the 12th day of Syawal and it wouldn't involve any gallivanting across the island. I'd be perfectly happy painting henna on my toenails or plucking a big bowl of taugeh in front of the TV.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
The Super Bitch
Yours truly was in the midst of furiously typing a report this morning when the phone rang. It's the swanky new IP phone and the caller ID reveals that it's the GenY SuperBitch calling (aka the boss). Reluctantly pick up receiver.
"Hi ...what's wrong with you? You sound like you don't want to talk to me"
My reply options were:-
"How do you know I don't want to talk to you?"
"Look, it's too early to start an argument"
"Yes I hate you and I wish you get run over by a camel and disappear forever you fucking bitch!"
Hah!..I wish. Instead, I meekly replied:-
"No, I was typing something"
I can't stand these young officers fresh out of university. They think they're so cool and great and clever with their flashy clothes and flashy degrees. They have ideas as big as their parent's bank accounts and pretend they know everything when there's nothing going on between their ears.
We all talk about changes and moving cheeses and that to survive, we have to find more cheese before our stock depletes. But these people come in and took our stock of cheese without so much as a thank you and expect us to kow tow to them. Stupid bitch. I hate her.
The reason why I stayed is because of the department's lifestyle and everyone's easy going manner, including my head honcho. But this officer assigned to me is a reincarnation of the devil himself. I wish I could just kick her to Pulau Hantu and leave her there to rot.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Syawal 1429H
I was on the way to the office this morning and stopped by the cafeteria to buy something. So while I was on the que, the cashier asked "Eh, how's your new year?"
Time and time again, I have to explain that Hari Raya Aidilfitri is NOT a new year for Muslims. It's so hard to explain when they insists that it is. Which is the case of Annie just now. She was like "Come on, it is your new year" with all the patience of saintly matron in a nursing home talking to a senile old bat who had just asked for the upteenth time what her name was.
The other day, at Old Chang Kee after buying fish cakes for Matin, the cashiers there go "happy new year!!". I explained politely that it is not a new year and that we're actually celebrating the end of Ramadhan. It is a new month no doubt but it's definitely not a new year.
Just because the majority in Singapore is Chinese and that there is a two day public holiday during Chinese New Year, that does not automatically states that Hari Raya is a new year for Muslims.
However, Annie asked something that totally stumped me. "So, when is your new year?".
I blinked once, twice them mumbled, "Our new year is not a public holiday" before grabbing my red bean pau and making a quick getaway.
I hurried up to the office and grabbed a calender that has all the months of the islamic calender year on it. A quick flip and there, 29 December 2008. I deserved to be kicked all the way to Timbaktu.
I was so ashamed to admit that I have no idea when Muharram falls on the gregorian calender. Although I know all the months in the islamic calender, I failed to observe the equivalence sometimes. The gregorian calender ruled our lives. We referred to them every other day and we always fail to know the important dates and events that falls in the islamic calender. We only know the holy month of Ramadhan, because that's our fasting month and as kids, look forward to Syawal, the Hari Raya month.
We're into the third day of Syawal. The next person who tells me "Happy New Year" will get this;- "It's not a new year but a new month to celebrate the end of Ramadhan. Our new year falls on 29 December this year and it won't be a public holiday"
Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri - minal 'aidil wal fa idzhin
Time and time again, I have to explain that Hari Raya Aidilfitri is NOT a new year for Muslims. It's so hard to explain when they insists that it is. Which is the case of Annie just now. She was like "Come on, it is your new year" with all the patience of saintly matron in a nursing home talking to a senile old bat who had just asked for the upteenth time what her name was.
The other day, at Old Chang Kee after buying fish cakes for Matin, the cashiers there go "happy new year!!". I explained politely that it is not a new year and that we're actually celebrating the end of Ramadhan. It is a new month no doubt but it's definitely not a new year.
Just because the majority in Singapore is Chinese and that there is a two day public holiday during Chinese New Year, that does not automatically states that Hari Raya is a new year for Muslims.
However, Annie asked something that totally stumped me. "So, when is your new year?".
I blinked once, twice them mumbled, "Our new year is not a public holiday" before grabbing my red bean pau and making a quick getaway.
I hurried up to the office and grabbed a calender that has all the months of the islamic calender year on it. A quick flip and there, 29 December 2008. I deserved to be kicked all the way to Timbaktu.
I was so ashamed to admit that I have no idea when Muharram falls on the gregorian calender. Although I know all the months in the islamic calender, I failed to observe the equivalence sometimes. The gregorian calender ruled our lives. We referred to them every other day and we always fail to know the important dates and events that falls in the islamic calender. We only know the holy month of Ramadhan, because that's our fasting month and as kids, look forward to Syawal, the Hari Raya month.
We're into the third day of Syawal. The next person who tells me "Happy New Year" will get this;- "It's not a new year but a new month to celebrate the end of Ramadhan. Our new year falls on 29 December this year and it won't be a public holiday"
Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri - minal 'aidil wal fa idzhin
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Message Overload
I've got this colleague. Sweet but hopelessly clueless. I mean, we all talk about globalisation and the world getting smaller with onsloughts of up to date technology and information slam-banging into us every other week. No, I'm not talking about a dummy who don't know how to use a cellphone because that honour goes to Miss M who insists she hates people calling her (who would?). So far, no one has bothered to teach her how to send messages either.
Ok, let's get back to my hopelessly clueless colleague. Talking to her sometimes is like settling slowly to the bottom of the ocean. Don't get me wrong. She is nice. She also has marital tiffs like all of us (I mean, doesn't everybody?). She's hardworking and she has her own problems too. But it's her text messages that's driving me up the wall. It's not normal SMSs over the weekend like "what's up?" or "eh, how r u? can u teach me how to pound shrimp paste?" or "where do i get the best toilet seats?" No - it's not like that at all. It's always those unoriginal forwarded ones.
Like these..
-The night is black, the stars are bright, Good Nite.
-Time flies and we fly, so together fly, bla bla. Friends are forever, happy Friendship day.
-We are special, you are special bla bla blupp bloop. Happy woman's day.
-In life we must trust, we must bla bla bla...That's why I'm sending this to you..good morning
-Unity we gain, fun we maintain blabbety bla bla...hello, good day.
-Blooming flowers everywhere bla bla bla...happy clothes hangers day...
-Oceans are blue blam bluum bluum...Happy pregnant goldfish day bloop bloop..
Oh wait! I just received another one.
-Life is full of beautiful things, soft sunsets, rainbows, pretty flowers, love and nice people like you, good afternoon. (Hey! I thought I received this two nights ago??!)
The first part was grossly exaggerated but the recent one is real. But still, you get the drift. It's irritating the hell out of me and I didn't have the heart to tell her to stop sending me all these. I know it's free of charge and there's no harm in me receiving all these. But sometimes, the messages would come in the middle of the night and I, already not enough sleep would check out the message thinking it could be something urgent and discovered that it's only one of those messages above. Worse, I couldn't get back to sleep after that.
For Hari Raya, I get an e-card from her and three "Selamat Hari Raya" poems and SMSs. It's not like she couldn't wish me because we were sitting three cubicles apart from each other. Any other day, she'd come in and wished us good morning and barely three minutes later, there will be one message saying something like "Birds are chirping, life is fun, good morning". What the heck??!! I don't mind creative original ones from her but recycled lame ones? Please lah.
One time, she actually forwarded a message about a bomb threat somewhere in HV. I know this is one of those forwarded ones because I received an email about this. The police had sent a warning against those who forwarded such things. I told her about it and she gave me this skeptical look before asking "how you know? sure or not?"
"Of course I know lah!! I don't spend every lunch time sleeping. I have a curious mind. I surfed and googled for information. I read the newspapers and watch the news. My life don't circle around work and home only!!! I don't blindly forward messages that might cause major pandemonium. I think before I act!!!..."
No, I didn't say all those at the risk of sounding what we malays call it "riak". That would be a sin you know. That incident did not put her off. Five minutes later, another message popped up again - from her.
This has been going on for years and so far, no one has told her off. We couldn't. She's so sweet and sincere it's just too difficult. One time, the messages did stop. When she gave birth and throughout that difficult first year when her baby have medical problems. She was too busy with her first child that she totally stopped sending me those forwarded messages. It was a period of peace. The one or two messages which she did sent are those genuine ones like "how r u" and "send my regards to all in the office". I welcomed such messages and responded heartily.
Now that everything has gone back to routine, the messages have started coming again.
Maybe it's high time I give her a pregnant goldfish for her birthday.
Ok, let's get back to my hopelessly clueless colleague. Talking to her sometimes is like settling slowly to the bottom of the ocean. Don't get me wrong. She is nice. She also has marital tiffs like all of us (I mean, doesn't everybody?). She's hardworking and she has her own problems too. But it's her text messages that's driving me up the wall. It's not normal SMSs over the weekend like "what's up?" or "eh, how r u? can u teach me how to pound shrimp paste?" or "where do i get the best toilet seats?" No - it's not like that at all. It's always those unoriginal forwarded ones.
Like these..
-The night is black, the stars are bright, Good Nite.
-Time flies and we fly, so together fly, bla bla. Friends are forever, happy Friendship day.
-We are special, you are special bla bla blupp bloop. Happy woman's day.
-In life we must trust, we must bla bla bla...That's why I'm sending this to you..good morning
-Unity we gain, fun we maintain blabbety bla bla...hello, good day.
-Blooming flowers everywhere bla bla bla...happy clothes hangers day...
-Oceans are blue blam bluum bluum...Happy pregnant goldfish day bloop bloop..
Oh wait! I just received another one.
-Life is full of beautiful things, soft sunsets, rainbows, pretty flowers, love and nice people like you, good afternoon. (Hey! I thought I received this two nights ago??!)
The first part was grossly exaggerated but the recent one is real. But still, you get the drift. It's irritating the hell out of me and I didn't have the heart to tell her to stop sending me all these. I know it's free of charge and there's no harm in me receiving all these. But sometimes, the messages would come in the middle of the night and I, already not enough sleep would check out the message thinking it could be something urgent and discovered that it's only one of those messages above. Worse, I couldn't get back to sleep after that.
For Hari Raya, I get an e-card from her and three "Selamat Hari Raya" poems and SMSs. It's not like she couldn't wish me because we were sitting three cubicles apart from each other. Any other day, she'd come in and wished us good morning and barely three minutes later, there will be one message saying something like "Birds are chirping, life is fun, good morning". What the heck??!! I don't mind creative original ones from her but recycled lame ones? Please lah.
One time, she actually forwarded a message about a bomb threat somewhere in HV. I know this is one of those forwarded ones because I received an email about this. The police had sent a warning against those who forwarded such things. I told her about it and she gave me this skeptical look before asking "how you know? sure or not?"
"Of course I know lah!! I don't spend every lunch time sleeping. I have a curious mind. I surfed and googled for information. I read the newspapers and watch the news. My life don't circle around work and home only!!! I don't blindly forward messages that might cause major pandemonium. I think before I act!!!..."
No, I didn't say all those at the risk of sounding what we malays call it "riak". That would be a sin you know. That incident did not put her off. Five minutes later, another message popped up again - from her.
This has been going on for years and so far, no one has told her off. We couldn't. She's so sweet and sincere it's just too difficult. One time, the messages did stop. When she gave birth and throughout that difficult first year when her baby have medical problems. She was too busy with her first child that she totally stopped sending me those forwarded messages. It was a period of peace. The one or two messages which she did sent are those genuine ones like "how r u" and "send my regards to all in the office". I welcomed such messages and responded heartily.
Now that everything has gone back to routine, the messages have started coming again.
Maybe it's high time I give her a pregnant goldfish for her birthday.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The SuperLong Weekend
I'm getting old. I knew it. I just hated to admit it.
I knew something was seriously wrong the minute I started dozing off in the middle of Metallica's Seek and Destroy on MTV a few nights ago. As if admitting that was not humiliating enough, it was only 10:15pm.
Why did they have to air the halyconic days of our youth knowing full well that we're all not youths anymore and still fighting with the inner demons of mid-life crisis? Why show all these videos to the Generation Ys and Ms who will never fully appreciate quality noise and who will never, ever understand that Welcome Home Sanitarium is not just a rock ballad. It's not even a bloody ballad lah!!!
Today, I want to talk about my super long weekend. I went for a two day course at SMU. Herg?! Open Uni?...Me??...hahaha. I was super shocked myself but I managed to get through. It was some service skills course conducted by this eccentric fella who wears a pink tie and came from a deprived childhood. He kept telling us stories of his sadistic father and his hoodlum relatives, it didn't really came as a surprise when he didn't view Johnny Depp as Pirates of the Caribbean but more like Willie Wonka.
He admitted that he's a kiddie person but I suspected something more because where Johnny Depp and Tim Burton is concerned, you'd always expect something dark and twisted and well, Willie Wonka. Although he does look cute in that weird hairdo.
Anyway, I spent close to a hundred smackaroos on my own deprived adulthood. I went to PS during lunchtime and tapau cakes from Secret Recipe, a Loreal compact and eyeliner to refill my exhausted stock. To top it up, they gave me a revitalising eye cream as a free gift. A course mate told me that I was lucky to get it for free. I view it as another sign of ageing.
The next day, in a bid to deny that age thing, I got a cute handbag and two skirts from Dhoby Ghaut's Xchange underground thing. Broke and still feeling old, I trudged back to SMU with my loot.
My "best friend" came, so I was not allowed to fast for a week. I bought a bun and orange juice from 7-11 and settled into a quiet corner away from the eyes of the numerous cameras.
I came across only 1 malay/muslim student on his way to Friday prayers because he was carrying a sarong in his left hand. Other than that, I'm free to eat away from everyone. Hey, I have to respect Ramadhan even though I am not fasting. Hah, the perks of being a woman. You get seven days off. The perks of being a woman again? You get to pay that seven days within that year. Hmm, the perks of being a woman.
Sometimes, during my "cannot fast" days, I feel embarrased standing in a que at MacDonald's to buy something back to the office (and hide somewhere to eat ) while we have all these supposedly muslim teenagers eating and smoking in public right in the middle of the fasting month. The older generations are no better. In fact, you'd see the old geezers having the time of their life downing their drinks in public as if to tell everyone they can jolly well cheat death himself. Whatever lah. Kubor kau, jawab sendiri.
Saturday and Sunday, Matin got sick. Flu. The family doctor had to attend to an urgent housecall somewhere in the north, so I went to another clinic nearby. Very nice decor but not children friendly. It looked more like an aesthetic spa than a clinic. I was half expecting someone to greet me with a basin of frangipani water. Doctor was super cold and super no-nonsence. Definitely not the kind you'd wish to massage you all over with volcanic mud. Luckily, Matin was super co-operative and we were out in less than 5 minutes.
Monday and Tuesday, I decided to take Legislated childcare leave and spend the two days cleaning up the house. Hubby threw out his boxes of donno-whats in the study room after months of nagging from me. Then we went to Geylang to buy that bamboo carpet which was all the rage and which I was determined not to get involved with. I mean, everywhere we go, someone will be sure to carry one on their shoulder. But, my dear hubby was so excited about it and when hubby is excited, you get infected and one thing led to another, we ended up breaking fast at Mad Jacks, somewhere in Prinsep Street and burning a further $56. Danial got his pizza after nearly 40 minutes. Poor kid's been fasting all day and he looked so miserable that I had to run to the kitchen twice to see for myself, what's holding up.
What came out next made me feel guilty though. I was half expecting they pop a ready made pizza in the oven. I didn't know that they really do it by hand. No wonder it takes so much time. Hubby and I had finished our meal and as much as we try coaxing Danial to eat our share, he insisted on waiting for his pizza. Poor dear. When it finally arrived, it was too hot to eat and we had to rush off to pick up hubby's friend at Southpoint. We tapau the pizza for him to finish in the car but he ended up sleeping for most of the journey.
Four days of wonder, four days of cleaning. I'm tired. I have black rings the size of army truck tyres under my eyes. Good thing for the Loreal revitalising eye care cream. Hey, if I'm indeed ageing, I might as well age gracefully....
I knew something was seriously wrong the minute I started dozing off in the middle of Metallica's Seek and Destroy on MTV a few nights ago. As if admitting that was not humiliating enough, it was only 10:15pm.
Why did they have to air the halyconic days of our youth knowing full well that we're all not youths anymore and still fighting with the inner demons of mid-life crisis? Why show all these videos to the Generation Ys and Ms who will never fully appreciate quality noise and who will never, ever understand that Welcome Home Sanitarium is not just a rock ballad. It's not even a bloody ballad lah!!!
Today, I want to talk about my super long weekend. I went for a two day course at SMU. Herg?! Open Uni?...Me??...hahaha. I was super shocked myself but I managed to get through. It was some service skills course conducted by this eccentric fella who wears a pink tie and came from a deprived childhood. He kept telling us stories of his sadistic father and his hoodlum relatives, it didn't really came as a surprise when he didn't view Johnny Depp as Pirates of the Caribbean but more like Willie Wonka.
He admitted that he's a kiddie person but I suspected something more because where Johnny Depp and Tim Burton is concerned, you'd always expect something dark and twisted and well, Willie Wonka. Although he does look cute in that weird hairdo.
Anyway, I spent close to a hundred smackaroos on my own deprived adulthood. I went to PS during lunchtime and tapau cakes from Secret Recipe, a Loreal compact and eyeliner to refill my exhausted stock. To top it up, they gave me a revitalising eye cream as a free gift. A course mate told me that I was lucky to get it for free. I view it as another sign of ageing.
The next day, in a bid to deny that age thing, I got a cute handbag and two skirts from Dhoby Ghaut's Xchange underground thing. Broke and still feeling old, I trudged back to SMU with my loot.
My "best friend" came, so I was not allowed to fast for a week. I bought a bun and orange juice from 7-11 and settled into a quiet corner away from the eyes of the numerous cameras.
I came across only 1 malay/muslim student on his way to Friday prayers because he was carrying a sarong in his left hand. Other than that, I'm free to eat away from everyone. Hey, I have to respect Ramadhan even though I am not fasting. Hah, the perks of being a woman. You get seven days off. The perks of being a woman again? You get to pay that seven days within that year. Hmm, the perks of being a woman.
Sometimes, during my "cannot fast" days, I feel embarrased standing in a que at MacDonald's to buy something back to the office (and hide somewhere to eat ) while we have all these supposedly muslim teenagers eating and smoking in public right in the middle of the fasting month. The older generations are no better. In fact, you'd see the old geezers having the time of their life downing their drinks in public as if to tell everyone they can jolly well cheat death himself. Whatever lah. Kubor kau, jawab sendiri.
Saturday and Sunday, Matin got sick. Flu. The family doctor had to attend to an urgent housecall somewhere in the north, so I went to another clinic nearby. Very nice decor but not children friendly. It looked more like an aesthetic spa than a clinic. I was half expecting someone to greet me with a basin of frangipani water. Doctor was super cold and super no-nonsence. Definitely not the kind you'd wish to massage you all over with volcanic mud. Luckily, Matin was super co-operative and we were out in less than 5 minutes.
Monday and Tuesday, I decided to take Legislated childcare leave and spend the two days cleaning up the house. Hubby threw out his boxes of donno-whats in the study room after months of nagging from me. Then we went to Geylang to buy that bamboo carpet which was all the rage and which I was determined not to get involved with. I mean, everywhere we go, someone will be sure to carry one on their shoulder. But, my dear hubby was so excited about it and when hubby is excited, you get infected and one thing led to another, we ended up breaking fast at Mad Jacks, somewhere in Prinsep Street and burning a further $56. Danial got his pizza after nearly 40 minutes. Poor kid's been fasting all day and he looked so miserable that I had to run to the kitchen twice to see for myself, what's holding up.
What came out next made me feel guilty though. I was half expecting they pop a ready made pizza in the oven. I didn't know that they really do it by hand. No wonder it takes so much time. Hubby and I had finished our meal and as much as we try coaxing Danial to eat our share, he insisted on waiting for his pizza. Poor dear. When it finally arrived, it was too hot to eat and we had to rush off to pick up hubby's friend at Southpoint. We tapau the pizza for him to finish in the car but he ended up sleeping for most of the journey.
Four days of wonder, four days of cleaning. I'm tired. I have black rings the size of army truck tyres under my eyes. Good thing for the Loreal revitalising eye care cream. Hey, if I'm indeed ageing, I might as well age gracefully....
Monday, September 15, 2008
Night Out
It's time for the bi-annual Family Day again. Of all my 14 faithful years serving the organisation, this is my second time attending such an outing. I didn't regret buying the cheap tickets one bit.
Hubby and I plus the two kids met up with his best buddy, wife and two kids as well. It was held at Sentosa's Palawan Beach. Free food and awesome goodie bags. The evening started of great and the kids never bothered about the inflatable playground as they were too busy chasing each other across the sand. Matin as usual was engrossed in piling up sand in the middle of the goal post, oblivious to everything.
About a quarter to 9pm, everyone walked the short distance to watch Songs of the Sea and the laser display thing. We nearly couldn't get in because hubby's friend misplaced the tickets. I've got all 4 tickets tucked safely in my bra as I've got my hands full with the still uneaten food and my carrier and clutching a whining Matin who couldn't understand why everyone wouldn't go in.
It was like watching The Amazing Race as the couple blamed each other on who lost the tickets and the husband had to make a mad dash to the nearby carpark, either to get away from the angry wife or just to check in case the tickets were under the spare tyres in the boot - as if.
The kids mending the gates were easy on us and let us in minus the tickets (I don't think they'd like to hold my sweaty ones). We were the last ones in and the sweet kids ushered us to the best seats in the house. Smack dab in the centre. Turned out that there were lots of empty seats! The show was meant for our staff and their family only. Hah! All that fuss for nothing.
So that show entertained the kids who were so excited by everything. Of course the dads had to join in the fun and flirted with the performing teenage girls just to annoy us. They even throw in a "Eleh, lagi lawa muka bini aku bangun tidor" at the holographic image of the Princess in the story. I was glad this event was held at night, in the dark.
I was expecting a mass jam at the carpark but everything went on smoothly, even at the causeway. We headed up to Changi Village next to meet up with two more of his friends. Both kids were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to wake them up. It was afterall 10plus. But I've earlier chased them around the house and forcing them to have their naps in the day in order to hold this night. This kind of late night outing happens only once in a blue moon and I didn't want to spoil it for hubby who couldn't wait to meet up with his old buddies. I couldn't wait to meet up with their wives too.
So there we were at Changi Village hawker centre catching up on each other's life stories. Danial was wide awake especially if he's got Hasnita and Halicia for company. Matin was sleeping on my lap, so I didn't have trouble with him running all over the place. After midnight, we headed on to the beach. I was usually very testy about beaches at night, especially where babies are concerned and when I'm having my time of the month but the beach was littered with tents and there were so many people!
The girls and I retired near the jogging track under a streetlight and talked some more while the kids raced each other again. Matin, wide awake copied everything his brother did. The guys gathered on a stone bench a few metres away and lepak like a pack of poker players, smoking, and talking quietly. Once in a while, someone would let out a dirty joke and they'd all burst out laughing themselves silly.
I couldn't for the life of me figure out how the campers could sleep here. The planes from the nearby Changi Airport roared overhead every other minute. Even our conversations have to be constantly interrupted by the passing planes.
It was almost 2 am. None of the kids showed signs of fatique. We've ran out of stories to tell and have came to the "bitching about each other's husband" part. Just as it was getting interesting, the husbands decided to call it a night. Sheesh. We said goodbye at the carpark before zooming off to different parts of the island.
Back home, much as I hated it, I have no choice but to drag the sleepy, protesting kids to the bathroom and showered them with warm water. I couldn't let them sleep in their dirty clothes and sand filled hair! Once the ordeal was over, they promptly went back to sleep, snug in their own beds, probably dreaming about the Princess who looked like their mom who just woke up from bed.
Hubby and I plus the two kids met up with his best buddy, wife and two kids as well. It was held at Sentosa's Palawan Beach. Free food and awesome goodie bags. The evening started of great and the kids never bothered about the inflatable playground as they were too busy chasing each other across the sand. Matin as usual was engrossed in piling up sand in the middle of the goal post, oblivious to everything.
About a quarter to 9pm, everyone walked the short distance to watch Songs of the Sea and the laser display thing. We nearly couldn't get in because hubby's friend misplaced the tickets. I've got all 4 tickets tucked safely in my bra as I've got my hands full with the still uneaten food and my carrier and clutching a whining Matin who couldn't understand why everyone wouldn't go in.
It was like watching The Amazing Race as the couple blamed each other on who lost the tickets and the husband had to make a mad dash to the nearby carpark, either to get away from the angry wife or just to check in case the tickets were under the spare tyres in the boot - as if.
The kids mending the gates were easy on us and let us in minus the tickets (I don't think they'd like to hold my sweaty ones). We were the last ones in and the sweet kids ushered us to the best seats in the house. Smack dab in the centre. Turned out that there were lots of empty seats! The show was meant for our staff and their family only. Hah! All that fuss for nothing.
So that show entertained the kids who were so excited by everything. Of course the dads had to join in the fun and flirted with the performing teenage girls just to annoy us. They even throw in a "Eleh, lagi lawa muka bini aku bangun tidor" at the holographic image of the Princess in the story. I was glad this event was held at night, in the dark.
I was expecting a mass jam at the carpark but everything went on smoothly, even at the causeway. We headed up to Changi Village next to meet up with two more of his friends. Both kids were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to wake them up. It was afterall 10plus. But I've earlier chased them around the house and forcing them to have their naps in the day in order to hold this night. This kind of late night outing happens only once in a blue moon and I didn't want to spoil it for hubby who couldn't wait to meet up with his old buddies. I couldn't wait to meet up with their wives too.
So there we were at Changi Village hawker centre catching up on each other's life stories. Danial was wide awake especially if he's got Hasnita and Halicia for company. Matin was sleeping on my lap, so I didn't have trouble with him running all over the place. After midnight, we headed on to the beach. I was usually very testy about beaches at night, especially where babies are concerned and when I'm having my time of the month but the beach was littered with tents and there were so many people!
The girls and I retired near the jogging track under a streetlight and talked some more while the kids raced each other again. Matin, wide awake copied everything his brother did. The guys gathered on a stone bench a few metres away and lepak like a pack of poker players, smoking, and talking quietly. Once in a while, someone would let out a dirty joke and they'd all burst out laughing themselves silly.
I couldn't for the life of me figure out how the campers could sleep here. The planes from the nearby Changi Airport roared overhead every other minute. Even our conversations have to be constantly interrupted by the passing planes.
It was almost 2 am. None of the kids showed signs of fatique. We've ran out of stories to tell and have came to the "bitching about each other's husband" part. Just as it was getting interesting, the husbands decided to call it a night. Sheesh. We said goodbye at the carpark before zooming off to different parts of the island.
Back home, much as I hated it, I have no choice but to drag the sleepy, protesting kids to the bathroom and showered them with warm water. I couldn't let them sleep in their dirty clothes and sand filled hair! Once the ordeal was over, they promptly went back to sleep, snug in their own beds, probably dreaming about the Princess who looked like their mom who just woke up from bed.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Quotes from Bikini Bottom
Caught an episode of SpongeBob last Sunday. The porous one received a "You're a Winner" letter and was subsequently invited to go to Karate Island to be crowned the Karate King (which pisses Sandy off because she was supposed to be the better chopper). Once there, he was locked and coerced into signing a timeshare contract. Hah!! It sure kick those assholes who pressure sell timeshares at innocent passerbys a well deserved one in the butt.
I love Spongebob for the clever word-play and cultural references. Sometimes hubby would wonder why I was laughing out loud to something which was seemingly not funny and I just said "Nothing" leaving him to conclude that all those time spent slaving in the kitchen is finally getting to me. Hubby is the type to laugh at slapsticks and direct comedy. I don't.
That's why I love it when Spongebob surfs down a slope to the tune of Pantera and Squidward's "nobody cares about the fate of labour as long as they get their instant gratification" quotes. You get dialogues coming out of supposedly dumbass like Patrick's "The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma" or his "We're not talking about some dumb mail fraud scheme or hijacking here, We STOLE a balloon!!" What a squeal!!...
Here's some quotes I find most interesting:
Isn't this great Squidward? It's just you, me and this brick wall you built between us.
People talk loud when they want to sound smart. Right?
If I had a dollar for every brain you don't have, I'd have one dollar.
Remember licking doorknobs is illegal on other planets.
I always come to work at 3 am. This is when I count the sesame seeds.
I smell the smelly smell of something that smells smelly.
That's it Mr! You've just lost your brain priviledges.
I order the food, you cook the food. We do that for 40 years and then we die.
You senile bag of fish paste.
Oh bodyguard. My body is in your guarding hands.
I'm a realisitic looking fish head and I'm live at the fry cook games.
==> You just have to love em'
I love Spongebob for the clever word-play and cultural references. Sometimes hubby would wonder why I was laughing out loud to something which was seemingly not funny and I just said "Nothing" leaving him to conclude that all those time spent slaving in the kitchen is finally getting to me. Hubby is the type to laugh at slapsticks and direct comedy. I don't.
That's why I love it when Spongebob surfs down a slope to the tune of Pantera and Squidward's "nobody cares about the fate of labour as long as they get their instant gratification" quotes. You get dialogues coming out of supposedly dumbass like Patrick's "The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma" or his "We're not talking about some dumb mail fraud scheme or hijacking here, We STOLE a balloon!!" What a squeal!!...
Here's some quotes I find most interesting:
Isn't this great Squidward? It's just you, me and this brick wall you built between us.
People talk loud when they want to sound smart. Right?
If I had a dollar for every brain you don't have, I'd have one dollar.
Remember licking doorknobs is illegal on other planets.
I always come to work at 3 am. This is when I count the sesame seeds.
I smell the smelly smell of something that smells smelly.
That's it Mr! You've just lost your brain priviledges.
I order the food, you cook the food. We do that for 40 years and then we die.
You senile bag of fish paste.
Oh bodyguard. My body is in your guarding hands.
I'm a realisitic looking fish head and I'm live at the fry cook games.
==> You just have to love em'
Generation Gasp
Recently, I went for a 2 day course at IPAM. Something to do with working with different generations. In a nutshell, here's what I learned:
Attributes of the 4 working generations.
Early Baby Boomers (post war generation)
Late Baby Boomers (born in the 50s)
Generation X (1965 - 1980)
Generation Y (1981 - 1999).
3/4 of the class belonged to the Late Boomers. There were 8 Gen Xs and no Gen Y. We spitefully said that all the Gen Ys are in Division 1 bossing us around.
The attributes for Gen X ..hehe..my generation. Known also as the slacker generation - so that's why during my school days, the phrase "Apa mau blajar....rillllekkkkk suaa" is all too common. Everything was so laid back. Relax was the order of the day. That's why I always procrastinate when it comes to math homework and rather spend an entire Sunday afternoon painstakingly copying the Guns N Roses logo on mahjong paper to paste on my school file. Hah...that is what I call chill.
When it comes to work, we are quite techno savvy. We learn the basic mechanics of new softwares fast because we were introduced to computers at a young age although not many of us own one at home. But at least when we first started working, we didn't expect the keyboard to produce musical notes.
Here's another interesting thing I learn. The early and late baby bloomers are hardworking workers who like to follow rules. That's why my parents listen to the 'gahmen' when they say stop at two. In the early 80s when 'gahmen' say "Have more if you can afford it", they decided to produce two more. My family make quite an interesting case study because there is one early baby boom (Dad), early boom (Mom), two Gen Xs and two Gen Ys.
The Baby boomers are known as such because after the war, there was an increase in birth rate. Either birth control was an unpopular choice or there was nothing interesting on HBO.
All the Gen X have moved on in life and entered the work force while the boomers are slowly retiring. But then again, the main bulk of the course is based on American lifestyle. If you apply it to local context perhaps only 98% is accurate. But it's quite interesting to analyse these. Afterall the main aim is for us to work among cross generations and understand each other. Yeah. All those Gen Y bosses should attend too and not make our lives more miserable than it already is.
Attributes of the 4 working generations.
Early Baby Boomers (post war generation)
Late Baby Boomers (born in the 50s)
Generation X (1965 - 1980)
Generation Y (1981 - 1999).
3/4 of the class belonged to the Late Boomers. There were 8 Gen Xs and no Gen Y. We spitefully said that all the Gen Ys are in Division 1 bossing us around.
The attributes for Gen X ..hehe..my generation. Known also as the slacker generation - so that's why during my school days, the phrase "Apa mau blajar....rillllekkkkk suaa" is all too common. Everything was so laid back. Relax was the order of the day. That's why I always procrastinate when it comes to math homework and rather spend an entire Sunday afternoon painstakingly copying the Guns N Roses logo on mahjong paper to paste on my school file. Hah...that is what I call chill.
When it comes to work, we are quite techno savvy. We learn the basic mechanics of new softwares fast because we were introduced to computers at a young age although not many of us own one at home. But at least when we first started working, we didn't expect the keyboard to produce musical notes.
Here's another interesting thing I learn. The early and late baby bloomers are hardworking workers who like to follow rules. That's why my parents listen to the 'gahmen' when they say stop at two. In the early 80s when 'gahmen' say "Have more if you can afford it", they decided to produce two more. My family make quite an interesting case study because there is one early baby boom (Dad), early boom (Mom), two Gen Xs and two Gen Ys.
The Baby boomers are known as such because after the war, there was an increase in birth rate. Either birth control was an unpopular choice or there was nothing interesting on HBO.
All the Gen X have moved on in life and entered the work force while the boomers are slowly retiring. But then again, the main bulk of the course is based on American lifestyle. If you apply it to local context perhaps only 98% is accurate. But it's quite interesting to analyse these. Afterall the main aim is for us to work among cross generations and understand each other. Yeah. All those Gen Y bosses should attend too and not make our lives more miserable than it already is.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Movies of Late
Caught Duyung and Evolusi KL Drift over the weekend. It was on Demand TV. Hubby was so excited over our free Hub Station that he took this as an excuse to try out everything. I can almost feel my wallet bleeding in my hands since yours truly will end up paying for the services - as usual. It's bad enough that WWE pay per view matches cost $10 per view, we just HAVE to watch every major match after the previous major one.
And so, that weekend saw us watching 2 Malay movies. Something, totally unlike us. Evolusi KL Drift was awesome because Farid Kamil was there...mm..yummy. I just love his eyes. That scene in Remp-It when he was about to make out with that slutty girl after he won the first race just turns me on. You just have to love the way he look at you. Eiii....cam nak gigit jer.
No, he was not the lead here. He was already the lead in Remp-It, they couldn't possibly give him the lead in a flashy cars movie right? No, he's not the director, so he cannot be the lead. The lead goes to the producer's son. He was afterall the director of this movie, so, he gets to be the lead and a wooden one at that. But who cares since this is a movie about fast cars.
Like all awesome adreneline pumping speed racer movies, the story line was super weak. Aaron Aziz as the head "chong" Joe, was impressive although the "lu-gua" lingo sounded more like Singapore's local gangsters than those from the other side of the causeway. I didn't get a close look at his tattoos but he was so into character, you have to take your hats off at him.
Major disappointment was Fasha Sandha and her squeeky high pitched voice which really grates on your nerves sometimes. She was spot on in her acting, afterall, she's Malaysia's movie darling for now. But come on! She was supposed to be the lead actress here. The intro scene was fancy enough with her getting ready to go to (her boyfriend) Zack's, race patch. The S15 she drove is reminiscence of Neela and Suki from F&F: Tokyo Drift and 2F2F, (Oh sorry, Neela drove an RX-8 and Suki vroomed around in a Honda S2000).....and that's just about it.
You'll see her angsty, crying character all the way till the credit rolls. At least Neela taught Lucas how to drift and Suki actually raced in her hot pink S2000. Fasha did nothing of that sort. Apart from successfully falling in love with her boyfriend's best friend, she left the poor car decorating the asphalt and the front porch of her big monster of a house where she left the sunroof open (at night!) and leaving the gate unlocked while she go to the shops. How careless, tsk, tsk. The S15 did nothing for her character's self-esteem. Zilch...Nadah...Kaput...How nice it would be to see her race her bloody jerk of a boyfriend and wrecking his car in the process for being such an asshole.
Other talents from our sunny island, Huda and Shahril were given minor roles to support the main cast. Well, at least Hetty Sarlene also get to join her hommies by being part of their gang as well. Oh yes, the gang. There is something seriously wrong with this picture. It seems that the gang do nothing in the workshop but read magazines and play Need for Speed: Most Wanted/Grand Theft Auto (or is it? I don't know, but whatever). There are scenes where someone is under the car looking greasy enough but not much to remember by. The girls looked too schoolgirl clean to be seen holding a greasy screwdriver. In fact, they're not holding any tool at all because they have perfect fingernails and perfect makeup. Nope, not even a smudge of engine oil on the chin. They spend their time ego-bashing Zack but since he's so wooden, he couldn't care less anyway.
Talking about scenes, a direct rip-off from F&F:TD was Zack's circling of the car Fasha was in. It's just like Han circling a perfect O with his RX-7 around the one with the two females. Another obvious unrealistic horror of a cock-up was when Farid Kamil (Sham) got hit by Joe's RX-7 and his body snapped the rear spoiler before lying in a cute heap at the tarmac. The next thing you see is the car speeding away, rear spoiler miraculously intact.
Apart from nitpicking about all these, the R34 GT-T, S13 Silvias and FD used in the film was worth salivating over although the tacky stickers was a bit of a let down. I just wondered why they don't have the "pressing NOS" scenes. Maybe they don't allow NOS on KL roads. Yeah, you see all the traffic lights in KL at night seemingly not working and you cannot use the NOS. Bummer.
Oh yeah, I hate the soundtrack. The rapping was cool but the intro/chorus was nonsence. Very uncreative. Not like the next movie I want to talk about. Hehe. Duyung.
I refused to watch a certain horror movie starring Maya Karin. While she was so good in that movie, I didn't know she looked so good as a mermaid. Hubby said Fasha should play Duyung and I was like "What?!!" Her voice would spoil everything. The KRU brothers would cry all the way back from the bank.
Saiful as usual played the unlikely hero. He may not be as cute as that guy who played Izham in Impian Illyana but he can sure deliver. I just love these:
To his father "Bapak, jangan lupa pakai baju, elok2 jadik orang kang jadi arang pulak.."
While about to blow that sea shell to call Puteri the Mermaid in his self-made island "Sini takder coverage, kat atas ada"
To Puteri "Mak Bapak saya marah sangat dengan saya sampai dia cakap jangan panggil dia bapak lagi, habis takkan saya nak panggil dia Daddy"
To Wak Pagek "Alah Kordi tu Cucuk Botox la. Dia pakai asteroid (steroid), saya punya ori.."
When Wak Pagek said "Aku nak tanah", he replied "Wak cakap jer berapa kampit wak nak. Tanah apa? Tanah merah, tanah besar, tanah liat, tanah bundle, tanah kubur, Guantanamera pun ada..."
To his mother after a minor fallout with his father "Mak, laki mak mana?"
Lepakkkk...
Maybe Saiful should play Zack, ...nah, he'd take our attention away from the beautiful cars but then again, that would be a welcome change from the glaring flaws and the obvious mistakes of KL Drift...
So there, my weekend. Beats cleaning the toilets anytime.
And so, that weekend saw us watching 2 Malay movies. Something, totally unlike us. Evolusi KL Drift was awesome because Farid Kamil was there...mm..yummy. I just love his eyes. That scene in Remp-It when he was about to make out with that slutty girl after he won the first race just turns me on. You just have to love the way he look at you. Eiii....cam nak gigit jer.
No, he was not the lead here. He was already the lead in Remp-It, they couldn't possibly give him the lead in a flashy cars movie right? No, he's not the director, so he cannot be the lead. The lead goes to the producer's son. He was afterall the director of this movie, so, he gets to be the lead and a wooden one at that. But who cares since this is a movie about fast cars.
Like all awesome adreneline pumping speed racer movies, the story line was super weak. Aaron Aziz as the head "chong" Joe, was impressive although the "lu-gua" lingo sounded more like Singapore's local gangsters than those from the other side of the causeway. I didn't get a close look at his tattoos but he was so into character, you have to take your hats off at him.
Major disappointment was Fasha Sandha and her squeeky high pitched voice which really grates on your nerves sometimes. She was spot on in her acting, afterall, she's Malaysia's movie darling for now. But come on! She was supposed to be the lead actress here. The intro scene was fancy enough with her getting ready to go to (her boyfriend) Zack's, race patch. The S15 she drove is reminiscence of Neela and Suki from F&F: Tokyo Drift and 2F2F, (Oh sorry, Neela drove an RX-8 and Suki vroomed around in a Honda S2000).....and that's just about it.
You'll see her angsty, crying character all the way till the credit rolls. At least Neela taught Lucas how to drift and Suki actually raced in her hot pink S2000. Fasha did nothing of that sort. Apart from successfully falling in love with her boyfriend's best friend, she left the poor car decorating the asphalt and the front porch of her big monster of a house where she left the sunroof open (at night!) and leaving the gate unlocked while she go to the shops. How careless, tsk, tsk. The S15 did nothing for her character's self-esteem. Zilch...Nadah...Kaput...How nice it would be to see her race her bloody jerk of a boyfriend and wrecking his car in the process for being such an asshole.
Other talents from our sunny island, Huda and Shahril were given minor roles to support the main cast. Well, at least Hetty Sarlene also get to join her hommies by being part of their gang as well. Oh yes, the gang. There is something seriously wrong with this picture. It seems that the gang do nothing in the workshop but read magazines and play Need for Speed: Most Wanted/Grand Theft Auto (or is it? I don't know, but whatever). There are scenes where someone is under the car looking greasy enough but not much to remember by. The girls looked too schoolgirl clean to be seen holding a greasy screwdriver. In fact, they're not holding any tool at all because they have perfect fingernails and perfect makeup. Nope, not even a smudge of engine oil on the chin. They spend their time ego-bashing Zack but since he's so wooden, he couldn't care less anyway.
Talking about scenes, a direct rip-off from F&F:TD was Zack's circling of the car Fasha was in. It's just like Han circling a perfect O with his RX-7 around the one with the two females. Another obvious unrealistic horror of a cock-up was when Farid Kamil (Sham) got hit by Joe's RX-7 and his body snapped the rear spoiler before lying in a cute heap at the tarmac. The next thing you see is the car speeding away, rear spoiler miraculously intact.
Apart from nitpicking about all these, the R34 GT-T, S13 Silvias and FD used in the film was worth salivating over although the tacky stickers was a bit of a let down. I just wondered why they don't have the "pressing NOS" scenes. Maybe they don't allow NOS on KL roads. Yeah, you see all the traffic lights in KL at night seemingly not working and you cannot use the NOS. Bummer.
Oh yeah, I hate the soundtrack. The rapping was cool but the intro/chorus was nonsence. Very uncreative. Not like the next movie I want to talk about. Hehe. Duyung.
I refused to watch a certain horror movie starring Maya Karin. While she was so good in that movie, I didn't know she looked so good as a mermaid. Hubby said Fasha should play Duyung and I was like "What?!!" Her voice would spoil everything. The KRU brothers would cry all the way back from the bank.
Saiful as usual played the unlikely hero. He may not be as cute as that guy who played Izham in Impian Illyana but he can sure deliver. I just love these:
To his father "Bapak, jangan lupa pakai baju, elok2 jadik orang kang jadi arang pulak.."
While about to blow that sea shell to call Puteri the Mermaid in his self-made island "Sini takder coverage, kat atas ada"
To Puteri "Mak Bapak saya marah sangat dengan saya sampai dia cakap jangan panggil dia bapak lagi, habis takkan saya nak panggil dia Daddy"
To Wak Pagek "Alah Kordi tu Cucuk Botox la. Dia pakai asteroid (steroid), saya punya ori.."
When Wak Pagek said "Aku nak tanah", he replied "Wak cakap jer berapa kampit wak nak. Tanah apa? Tanah merah, tanah besar, tanah liat, tanah bundle, tanah kubur, Guantanamera pun ada..."
To his mother after a minor fallout with his father "Mak, laki mak mana?"
Lepakkkk...
Maybe Saiful should play Zack, ...nah, he'd take our attention away from the beautiful cars but then again, that would be a welcome change from the glaring flaws and the obvious mistakes of KL Drift...
So there, my weekend. Beats cleaning the toilets anytime.
Bdays McSpazetron
I suddenly realised that Danial has been watching too much WWE when he asked "one on two or two on three?" after I complained to hubby about the idiot van driver, who nearly mow us down at the handicap lot. Danial thought I was referring to a handicap match.
I felt like the world's biggest shmuck on my 34th birthday. I treated myself to a BK meal during lunchtime over at Holland Village. I thought I'd just spend my bday like how I did for previous years - by myself. I didn't expect anyone to treat me like a diva bday queen. That's why I never take leave to "enjoy" myself like how my colleagues do at work. What is there to do? I have below $10 in all three bank accounts. If I stayed home, I'd end up cleaning the house anyway. So I purposely choose this date to attend a course at IPAM. No one would know and no one would care.
And so it was that after classes, I received a call from hubby telling me to rush to my mum's. I eventually arrived an hour later to a dark living room with a chocolate cake and 3 candles with Danial and Matin giving me the widest grin and everyone yelling "SURPRISE!!..." like how they did on TV.
Dad brought out pizzas and everyone plunged in. Turned out that hubby had ordered in and everyone had waited for me for two hours to reach home so that they can eat. I was still full from the BK meal and had guilt written all over my face while I took a bite of the cake. All this while, my whole family had patiently waited for me to come back to celebrate my bday and I had in self-pity, indulge in a BK meal that I could've sworn moved the size of my butt to cover half of Pulau Ubin.
So now you know why I felt like the world's biggest shmuck....
I felt like the world's biggest shmuck on my 34th birthday. I treated myself to a BK meal during lunchtime over at Holland Village. I thought I'd just spend my bday like how I did for previous years - by myself. I didn't expect anyone to treat me like a diva bday queen. That's why I never take leave to "enjoy" myself like how my colleagues do at work. What is there to do? I have below $10 in all three bank accounts. If I stayed home, I'd end up cleaning the house anyway. So I purposely choose this date to attend a course at IPAM. No one would know and no one would care.
And so it was that after classes, I received a call from hubby telling me to rush to my mum's. I eventually arrived an hour later to a dark living room with a chocolate cake and 3 candles with Danial and Matin giving me the widest grin and everyone yelling "SURPRISE!!..." like how they did on TV.
Dad brought out pizzas and everyone plunged in. Turned out that hubby had ordered in and everyone had waited for me for two hours to reach home so that they can eat. I was still full from the BK meal and had guilt written all over my face while I took a bite of the cake. All this while, my whole family had patiently waited for me to come back to celebrate my bday and I had in self-pity, indulge in a BK meal that I could've sworn moved the size of my butt to cover half of Pulau Ubin.
So now you know why I felt like the world's biggest shmuck....
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
The Office Again
On Paper Usage
The office is trying to monitor the number of papers used. It so happened that our department holds the mother of all records for the most "usage of precious papers".
I'm all for it because sometimes, the way the colleagues used the papers in our office literally made me cringe. It screws up your insides just like how the other day I saw a senior officer on the verge of retirement brushing his teeth/dentures in the pantry while letting the water run (yes, run as in big turn of the tap) wastefully down the sinkhole. I felt like pushing him down the sinkhole myself. He was lucky that day because my parents taught me to be respectful of all elders.
Going back on the papers, I felt that it was a good move because I've been a good example lately by printing double-sided while I can and using recycled paper for filing emails and whatnots. The only drawback is that we have to record whatever we print onto a record book which was hastily made up of recycled paper and 4 folders. One for each printer and the photocopier.
I find this recording strange because I thought there were counters in the machines churning out the amounts used. Maybe not. But to record every single print is a indeed a bit of a hassle. Other than this, my main gripe was missing pens. As the printers are located somewhere near to me, all those who come to collect their printing would naturally look for pen and the first person they can locate is....yours truly.
So, for the past three days, I've been replacing pens on the printers and for my table. I bet there is an overabundance of pens somewhere in somebody else's cubicle. Heck, there could be 3 or 4 extra pen each in every cubicle but mine. This morning alone, I lost 3 pens. This cannot go on man...
I know you're thinking "Just attach a bloody string to the bloody pen-lah"
We've tried. The lifespan of such a creation? Two hours. Someone actually cut the string.
So it was this morning that saw me printing these in Font Arial Size 8 and attaching these messages on all my new pens.
"Pls return to (insert name here) who can't keep requesting for new pens everyday"
"Stolen from (insert name here)"
"Hah! So you're the pen collector!"
"This is not my property but it's not yours either"
Oh, while I'm at it, here's another for the printer and the counter:-
"I am responsible and did not mistakenly steal this from the printer"
"I know it's not your intention to steal. Yours truly, The Counter Pen"
We'll try reverse psychology and if it still doesn't work, I don't know what else to say.
On CellPhones
Ninety-eight percent of the people in this department have a cellphone. That counts for almost everyone. I thought the purpose of your phone is for private and personal use, which is always the case. So, it's either easier for you to call out and easier for others to call you. I mean, that's the purpose right? For easier communication. Otherwise, why commit to buy the cellphone if you do not wish for others to disturb you?
Ok, here's the irritating part. The office did not stipulate that one must switch off the cellphone once you step into the office. This is not an examination hall. However, if you're committed to own that cellphone, and if you refuse to switch it off, then have the basic courtesy to answer your bloody call lah!!. If you don't wish to answer, then at least switch it to silent mode. What's the point of owning one bloody fancy phone when you're not there to answer the bloody call because you're having your bloody lunch and have the whole office listen to your bloody ringtone over and over again? It doesn't make bloody sense.
On Office Foghorns
Ok, this is a new record. But then again, it's not like everyday I can bitch about my office people right? So here's another bite.
There's this certificate cutter in the records room. I hate that room because it's eerily quiet. There are many uncollected certificates there. For all you know, some might stay uncollected because the owner are no longer in existence. I've ever received a request to dig out one so that his relative could burn it together with new clothes and money to spend in the "other world". He might just need that qualification I guess. However, apart from this, that room just gave us the creeps.
Anyway, aside from the creep nature, there's this brand new cutter for us to use to cut the perforated edges of our certificates. I had the misfortune of ruining two certs because of the alignment error. I raise the alarm and Mr L had to call the maintenance people. The people call back and told Mr L that it's a simple problem and that we can adjust the alignment by twisting a grey knob.
So, Mr L told me, "just twist the grey knob". I said "ok" and turn to my work because I'm not turning grey knobs that day because I've got something urgent to settle.
Along came Miss M. She is well known in the department as the office foghorn. Well, she sounds like one anyway. She's the type to come to your cubicle and suddenly say things like, "I notice you like to wear red" although that was the only red outfit you've ever had, or "I read in the newspaper survey that unmarried women are actually happier than married women. True hor?" leaving you speechless. Most of the time you're speechless anyway because your eyes are glued to the monitor and you politely nod your head every appropriate interval while Miss M goes on and on about the merits of one bakery in her neighborhood with another.
She's always a joy to entertain sometimes because her naivety exceeds beyond her 53 years. The only thing we can't stomach is her loud voice and her ability to repeat the same story to 6 different people who sit at close proximity to one another oblivious to the fact that altogether, 6 people have heard the same story 6 times.
After a while, it became plain irritating and when you were called aside by your boss telling you to "not entertain" Miss M so much, it really brings out the hackles. Number one. Miss M is the one that visits my cubicle. Ever since my mentor Kak S (who has no choice but to entertain Miss M because Miss M likes to tell stories to Kak S) have moved up to HR, Miss M have been bugging me about her stories and neighborhood shopping experiences - loudly. It's embarrasing sometimes. So, my boss offered to talk to her boss about this.
Apparently, they don't need to. Because one fine afternoon, during the grey knob incident, we found Miss M urgently needing to print her certificate. Very urgent. And when Miss M says urgent, the whole department should know. So, naturally, Miss M comes to me.
I told Miss M, "just twist the grey knob to adjust."
Miss M was like "What grey knob?"
I said, "I don't know. Mr L told me twist the grey knob"
"Come show me."
"How to show? I don't even know where the grey knob is" Patience at dangerously low level.
"Don't be like this lah" Annoyed.
"Go in and see lah. I need to rush this thing!!" (me) equally annoyed.
That was about how the conversation ends. But I can tell Miss M was totally angry with me. Should I feel guilty? Why should I?
Mr L gave me a fishing rod. I have not even gone fishing, how could Miss M ask me for the fish? The most I can do is lend her the fishing rod (the grey knob). What else did she expect me to do? Hold her hand, walk slowly, oh, how about a wheelchair while we're at it and perhaps she'd like me to carry her into the room and see together the grey knob? WTF man.
I tried to talk to her the next day but she answered me in a huff and till today, refused to talk to me. Like I care. For once, peace descended in the office. Let this be a lesson to her. I can't spoon feed her all the time. You learn, you write in a book, then if something like this happens you panicked and make everyone do your bidding. You know the irony of all this? Just the day before, Miss M attended the "Think on your Feet" two-day course. What did she learn? Think through her feet?
So here you have it, the office. You just have to have all these thrown at you 8 hours every day. Live and live!!
The office is trying to monitor the number of papers used. It so happened that our department holds the mother of all records for the most "usage of precious papers".
I'm all for it because sometimes, the way the colleagues used the papers in our office literally made me cringe. It screws up your insides just like how the other day I saw a senior officer on the verge of retirement brushing his teeth/dentures in the pantry while letting the water run (yes, run as in big turn of the tap) wastefully down the sinkhole. I felt like pushing him down the sinkhole myself. He was lucky that day because my parents taught me to be respectful of all elders.
Going back on the papers, I felt that it was a good move because I've been a good example lately by printing double-sided while I can and using recycled paper for filing emails and whatnots. The only drawback is that we have to record whatever we print onto a record book which was hastily made up of recycled paper and 4 folders. One for each printer and the photocopier.
I find this recording strange because I thought there were counters in the machines churning out the amounts used. Maybe not. But to record every single print is a indeed a bit of a hassle. Other than this, my main gripe was missing pens. As the printers are located somewhere near to me, all those who come to collect their printing would naturally look for pen and the first person they can locate is....yours truly.
So, for the past three days, I've been replacing pens on the printers and for my table. I bet there is an overabundance of pens somewhere in somebody else's cubicle. Heck, there could be 3 or 4 extra pen each in every cubicle but mine. This morning alone, I lost 3 pens. This cannot go on man...
I know you're thinking "Just attach a bloody string to the bloody pen-lah"
We've tried. The lifespan of such a creation? Two hours. Someone actually cut the string.
So it was this morning that saw me printing these in Font Arial Size 8 and attaching these messages on all my new pens.
"Pls return to (insert name here) who can't keep requesting for new pens everyday"
"Stolen from (insert name here)"
"Hah! So you're the pen collector!"
"This is not my property but it's not yours either"
Oh, while I'm at it, here's another for the printer and the counter:-
"I am responsible and did not mistakenly steal this from the printer"
"I know it's not your intention to steal. Yours truly, The Counter Pen"
We'll try reverse psychology and if it still doesn't work, I don't know what else to say.
On CellPhones
Ninety-eight percent of the people in this department have a cellphone. That counts for almost everyone. I thought the purpose of your phone is for private and personal use, which is always the case. So, it's either easier for you to call out and easier for others to call you. I mean, that's the purpose right? For easier communication. Otherwise, why commit to buy the cellphone if you do not wish for others to disturb you?
Ok, here's the irritating part. The office did not stipulate that one must switch off the cellphone once you step into the office. This is not an examination hall. However, if you're committed to own that cellphone, and if you refuse to switch it off, then have the basic courtesy to answer your bloody call lah!!. If you don't wish to answer, then at least switch it to silent mode. What's the point of owning one bloody fancy phone when you're not there to answer the bloody call because you're having your bloody lunch and have the whole office listen to your bloody ringtone over and over again? It doesn't make bloody sense.
On Office Foghorns
Ok, this is a new record. But then again, it's not like everyday I can bitch about my office people right? So here's another bite.
There's this certificate cutter in the records room. I hate that room because it's eerily quiet. There are many uncollected certificates there. For all you know, some might stay uncollected because the owner are no longer in existence. I've ever received a request to dig out one so that his relative could burn it together with new clothes and money to spend in the "other world". He might just need that qualification I guess. However, apart from this, that room just gave us the creeps.
Anyway, aside from the creep nature, there's this brand new cutter for us to use to cut the perforated edges of our certificates. I had the misfortune of ruining two certs because of the alignment error. I raise the alarm and Mr L had to call the maintenance people. The people call back and told Mr L that it's a simple problem and that we can adjust the alignment by twisting a grey knob.
So, Mr L told me, "just twist the grey knob". I said "ok" and turn to my work because I'm not turning grey knobs that day because I've got something urgent to settle.
Along came Miss M. She is well known in the department as the office foghorn. Well, she sounds like one anyway. She's the type to come to your cubicle and suddenly say things like, "I notice you like to wear red" although that was the only red outfit you've ever had, or "I read in the newspaper survey that unmarried women are actually happier than married women. True hor?" leaving you speechless. Most of the time you're speechless anyway because your eyes are glued to the monitor and you politely nod your head every appropriate interval while Miss M goes on and on about the merits of one bakery in her neighborhood with another.
She's always a joy to entertain sometimes because her naivety exceeds beyond her 53 years. The only thing we can't stomach is her loud voice and her ability to repeat the same story to 6 different people who sit at close proximity to one another oblivious to the fact that altogether, 6 people have heard the same story 6 times.
After a while, it became plain irritating and when you were called aside by your boss telling you to "not entertain" Miss M so much, it really brings out the hackles. Number one. Miss M is the one that visits my cubicle. Ever since my mentor Kak S (who has no choice but to entertain Miss M because Miss M likes to tell stories to Kak S) have moved up to HR, Miss M have been bugging me about her stories and neighborhood shopping experiences - loudly. It's embarrasing sometimes. So, my boss offered to talk to her boss about this.
Apparently, they don't need to. Because one fine afternoon, during the grey knob incident, we found Miss M urgently needing to print her certificate. Very urgent. And when Miss M says urgent, the whole department should know. So, naturally, Miss M comes to me.
I told Miss M, "just twist the grey knob to adjust."
Miss M was like "What grey knob?"
I said, "I don't know. Mr L told me twist the grey knob"
"Come show me."
"How to show? I don't even know where the grey knob is" Patience at dangerously low level.
"Don't be like this lah" Annoyed.
"Go in and see lah. I need to rush this thing!!" (me) equally annoyed.
That was about how the conversation ends. But I can tell Miss M was totally angry with me. Should I feel guilty? Why should I?
Mr L gave me a fishing rod. I have not even gone fishing, how could Miss M ask me for the fish? The most I can do is lend her the fishing rod (the grey knob). What else did she expect me to do? Hold her hand, walk slowly, oh, how about a wheelchair while we're at it and perhaps she'd like me to carry her into the room and see together the grey knob? WTF man.
I tried to talk to her the next day but she answered me in a huff and till today, refused to talk to me. Like I care. For once, peace descended in the office. Let this be a lesson to her. I can't spoon feed her all the time. You learn, you write in a book, then if something like this happens you panicked and make everyone do your bidding. You know the irony of all this? Just the day before, Miss M attended the "Think on your Feet" two-day course. What did she learn? Think through her feet?
So here you have it, the office. You just have to have all these thrown at you 8 hours every day. Live and live!!
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Appreciating Nature? My Foot!
A few Sundays back, the hubby and I plus the two boys in tow met up with hubby's best friend with his wife and two girls. We've always had this kind of get together and the four kids as usual, were having the time of their lives chasing each other.
So, that Sunday saw us clambering up the top of the Terrace Garden at Telok Blangah Hill Park trying to be gungho about everything and declaring that the few steps are chicken feet. It was breathtakingly beautiful and I would have snapped a couple of pictures on my new Nokia if not for the fact that I was panting like a punctured dragon. I couldn't take in anything. The day was just beginning and I was already dripping lakes of sweat! The kids as usual were urging us to hurry up while we old folks pretended to be still 16 and bravely clambered up the steps trying not to show our exhaustion.
We took a short break and continued down to the Forest Walk. The weather was great and the walk was fun. We met couples with kids, couples without kids, older couples, younger couples, whole families with barely 3 month-old babies sleeping peacefully in prams. We met caucasion couples jogging and voila, the domestic helps have a new port!! They settled themselves on shelters, shared their potluck lunch of tupperwared stews and potato chips while exchanging stories to fellow citizens. I do hope they remember to clear the area before moving off later in the day.
Halfway, we cheated by getting down and taking 97 to Harbour Front where it suddenly drizzled and we had to wait it out at Vivo. While trying to make it again, we were stopped by more drizzle and ended up at MCD. Mothers with children, one table. The two fathers, without children on another. They chomped down on their big macs, oblivious that that they've managed to gain back what they've successfully burned not an hour ago.
Danial spent the entire time glued in front of the PC with Hasnita, trying to teach her the wows of Youtube. Matin entertained himself by being a human crane and transferred the fries, scoop by scoop, from one tray to another and peppering himself with salt in the process. Anita and I exchanged stories alternating between gossiping, feeding, scolding and cleaning up the kids, whichever comes first. We are so good at this.
By this time, the rain has let up and we crossed the road to climb up some more, groaning under our fat bellies. We climbed more steps and stairs that I cared to remember and ended up at the Henderson Waves where Danial decided to let go of all the Iced Milo he had downed earlier. It was a new record. A whole plastic bag full and yes, yours truly had to hurry to the other end (and miss all that view) to search for a rubbish bin desperately praying that the flimsy bag would not burst.
It was at this stage when I saw something that really irks me. I was desperately trying to find a rubbish bin and I nearly collided with a girl perhaps about 13-14 years old. She was busy trying to beat a huge ant with the butt of her umbrella. The ant was scurrying away trying to get to safety and this hapless half wit going "hiak..hiak...hiakkk" with every jab at the thing.
I told her to leave it alone but she just smiled at me and continued to chase the poor creature with her gaudy umbrella talking in a yes, foreign language. Hmm, it's the mainland people again. I recognise their slang anywhere.
Not that I'm against them, but sometimes they behaved like this is their place and we the locals are really the outsiders. It makes me appreciate my fellow singaporeans even more, no matter how crude, rude, boring, ill-mannered they are in the eyes of foreign counterparts.
That girl's behaviour that afternoon deserves that plastic bag of puke thrown in her face but of course, we are not that uncivilised...
We ended the day parting at the carpark and promised to try the HSBC hanging bridge thing at MacRitchie. Urgh....MacRithie reminded me of that endless hike during my Girl Guide days and yeah, cross country...sheeshh..but then again, I really need to get rid of my thunderous thighs. I could've sworn I heard them growing at MCD just now.
So, that Sunday saw us clambering up the top of the Terrace Garden at Telok Blangah Hill Park trying to be gungho about everything and declaring that the few steps are chicken feet. It was breathtakingly beautiful and I would have snapped a couple of pictures on my new Nokia if not for the fact that I was panting like a punctured dragon. I couldn't take in anything. The day was just beginning and I was already dripping lakes of sweat! The kids as usual were urging us to hurry up while we old folks pretended to be still 16 and bravely clambered up the steps trying not to show our exhaustion.
We took a short break and continued down to the Forest Walk. The weather was great and the walk was fun. We met couples with kids, couples without kids, older couples, younger couples, whole families with barely 3 month-old babies sleeping peacefully in prams. We met caucasion couples jogging and voila, the domestic helps have a new port!! They settled themselves on shelters, shared their potluck lunch of tupperwared stews and potato chips while exchanging stories to fellow citizens. I do hope they remember to clear the area before moving off later in the day.
Halfway, we cheated by getting down and taking 97 to Harbour Front where it suddenly drizzled and we had to wait it out at Vivo. While trying to make it again, we were stopped by more drizzle and ended up at MCD. Mothers with children, one table. The two fathers, without children on another. They chomped down on their big macs, oblivious that that they've managed to gain back what they've successfully burned not an hour ago.
Danial spent the entire time glued in front of the PC with Hasnita, trying to teach her the wows of Youtube. Matin entertained himself by being a human crane and transferred the fries, scoop by scoop, from one tray to another and peppering himself with salt in the process. Anita and I exchanged stories alternating between gossiping, feeding, scolding and cleaning up the kids, whichever comes first. We are so good at this.
By this time, the rain has let up and we crossed the road to climb up some more, groaning under our fat bellies. We climbed more steps and stairs that I cared to remember and ended up at the Henderson Waves where Danial decided to let go of all the Iced Milo he had downed earlier. It was a new record. A whole plastic bag full and yes, yours truly had to hurry to the other end (and miss all that view) to search for a rubbish bin desperately praying that the flimsy bag would not burst.
It was at this stage when I saw something that really irks me. I was desperately trying to find a rubbish bin and I nearly collided with a girl perhaps about 13-14 years old. She was busy trying to beat a huge ant with the butt of her umbrella. The ant was scurrying away trying to get to safety and this hapless half wit going "hiak..hiak...hiakkk" with every jab at the thing.
I told her to leave it alone but she just smiled at me and continued to chase the poor creature with her gaudy umbrella talking in a yes, foreign language. Hmm, it's the mainland people again. I recognise their slang anywhere.
Not that I'm against them, but sometimes they behaved like this is their place and we the locals are really the outsiders. It makes me appreciate my fellow singaporeans even more, no matter how crude, rude, boring, ill-mannered they are in the eyes of foreign counterparts.
That girl's behaviour that afternoon deserves that plastic bag of puke thrown in her face but of course, we are not that uncivilised...
We ended the day parting at the carpark and promised to try the HSBC hanging bridge thing at MacRitchie. Urgh....MacRithie reminded me of that endless hike during my Girl Guide days and yeah, cross country...sheeshh..but then again, I really need to get rid of my thunderous thighs. I could've sworn I heard them growing at MCD just now.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Territorial Pissings
In this entry, I'm going to gripe about this man who lives about 3 doors to my left. Now, I'm not against foreigners or something bashy of that sort. I wouldn't want "bloody foreigner" thrown at my face if I were to visit say, the land down under one fine day (that is, if I can gather enough spare change from under the carpet - oh yes, I have spare changes jiggling out of my ears!!). Hey, I'm a firm believer of what goes around, comes around.
I've met this man's son many times. He's one of those from mainland China. A very nice young man who cycles to the factory nearby every day, earning a decent living for his wife and two kids, one boy and a recent addition, a cute baby girl with eyes as round as fifty cent coins. I'm such a sucker for babies with big adorable eyes.
All went well until the man's parents (the one I'm griping about) moved in. While the wife is motherly and nice enough, (I've tried my smattering of mandarin on her and it didn't work - really), it's the father's uncivic-mindedness that gets on my nerves.
Here's his routine everyday. Every morning, he will bring his grandaughter downstairs. He'll carry her here, there and everywhere. Every evening, he will do the same thing. In fact, everytime I'm downstairs (going to and from work, or go buy curry leaves at the last minute) I'll bumped into him. You'll think there's nothing absolutely wrong with carrying your grandaughter downstairs to get fresh air right? You have not heard the whole story yet.
One evening, while stopping at the void deck to rid the letterbox of junk mails and (wish I could get rid of it too) endless bills requiring immediate attention, I chanced upon the old fella again with his oh-so-cute-grandaughter. They were both sitting at a specially made ledge designed for residents to sit and enjoy the breeze which was lovingly provided by the HDB. What happened next literally made my jaw dropped.
He casually slid aside the grandaughter's panties (she's not wearing diapers) and made this sound "shhhhhhhhhh..shhhhhh" right there on the seat!!!! The fuck was he trying to do??? He was actually, encouraging her to pee on the seat! Right there.
I gestured wildly at a small drain nearby and signalled him to let her pee there. Old man just smiled, nodded and "shhhhhed" away, not moving a single muscle. I was like "This is not your country lah!!!..." turned in digust and stomped towards the lift.
That was not the only time he toilet trained her. In fact, I saw a couple of incidences where he'll just carry her to one side and let his grandaughter shower the grass near the playground for the whole world to see. She's even got this custom-made pants with slits in the crotch for easier business dealings. Then, with the buttocks still dripping wet, he will casually straighten the pants and carry her away, his shirt sleeves darkening with the telltale spread.
I've got colleagues at work with babies who'll count to the last cent the cost of each baby diaper. If they could see what this old man does to save on the cost of diapers, I'd bet they would eat their calculators - batteries included.
I've met this man's son many times. He's one of those from mainland China. A very nice young man who cycles to the factory nearby every day, earning a decent living for his wife and two kids, one boy and a recent addition, a cute baby girl with eyes as round as fifty cent coins. I'm such a sucker for babies with big adorable eyes.
All went well until the man's parents (the one I'm griping about) moved in. While the wife is motherly and nice enough, (I've tried my smattering of mandarin on her and it didn't work - really), it's the father's uncivic-mindedness that gets on my nerves.
Here's his routine everyday. Every morning, he will bring his grandaughter downstairs. He'll carry her here, there and everywhere. Every evening, he will do the same thing. In fact, everytime I'm downstairs (going to and from work, or go buy curry leaves at the last minute) I'll bumped into him. You'll think there's nothing absolutely wrong with carrying your grandaughter downstairs to get fresh air right? You have not heard the whole story yet.
One evening, while stopping at the void deck to rid the letterbox of junk mails and (wish I could get rid of it too) endless bills requiring immediate attention, I chanced upon the old fella again with his oh-so-cute-grandaughter. They were both sitting at a specially made ledge designed for residents to sit and enjoy the breeze which was lovingly provided by the HDB. What happened next literally made my jaw dropped.
He casually slid aside the grandaughter's panties (she's not wearing diapers) and made this sound "shhhhhhhhhh..shhhhhh" right there on the seat!!!! The fuck was he trying to do??? He was actually, encouraging her to pee on the seat! Right there.
I gestured wildly at a small drain nearby and signalled him to let her pee there. Old man just smiled, nodded and "shhhhhed" away, not moving a single muscle. I was like "This is not your country lah!!!..." turned in digust and stomped towards the lift.
That was not the only time he toilet trained her. In fact, I saw a couple of incidences where he'll just carry her to one side and let his grandaughter shower the grass near the playground for the whole world to see. She's even got this custom-made pants with slits in the crotch for easier business dealings. Then, with the buttocks still dripping wet, he will casually straighten the pants and carry her away, his shirt sleeves darkening with the telltale spread.
I've got colleagues at work with babies who'll count to the last cent the cost of each baby diaper. If they could see what this old man does to save on the cost of diapers, I'd bet they would eat their calculators - batteries included.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Birds, Bees and the Cuckoos
Something distressing happened yesterday. I was, as usual, engrossed with work while thinking of ways to get rich quick without having to go through the usual nonsence like direct marketing, obscure offshore schemes, internet scams and pure hard work.
At exactly, 11:12am (God, it's not even lunch yet!!), I received a call from dear Teacher. My heart, missed a beat. A call from a child's teacher is not exactly a social "How-are-we-today? Here's a hundred gazillion dollars for you to stop working your ass off and spend more time with your kids" call. It's always something very grave, very serious and enough to make your what-I'm-going-to-do-with-a-hundred-gazillion-dollars dream came to a chalkboard screeching halt.
Apparantly, teacher received a complain from so and so's mother that Danial has been watching "pornography on YouTube in the internet". This is not the first time this boy's mother has been complaining about my boy. To put everything in a cup, this mother did not want her boy to be mixing with mine.
So, teacher adviced me to draw a line somewhere and teach my son on the ethics of web surfing bla bla bla like I'm a cyber retard. So and So's mother also think that all these boys talk on body parts should stop as she did not want her child to be exposed to these "dirty things" and it is not healthy for a seven year old boy to talk about filthy stuff like these.
Of course, being un-witty, unclever and unstreetwise, I just "uh-huh" "yeah" "hhmmhhed" my way through the conversation. You would have asked why I didn't say anything? Firstly, there is a slight truth in this whole hoo-haa. Sad to say, I am actually guilty of it too because I happened to go against the norm and conforming to what society dictates. However I must admit, I knew this day would come. The day when dear teacher would need an explanation on our liberal views on the natures of life.
True, Danial has been surfing the net as soon as he learned how to talk. He didn't go through the basics of an overpriced toy laptop in Toys R Us. No, he went in straight for the real thing. Afterall, mummy and daddy met in cyberspace and the internet has been a part of life even before he was conceived.
From educational websites, interactive cartoons to featured sites on his special obsession - trains, Danial learned a lot from the world wide web and always within our presence. Lately, he's into wrestling. The hubby has been into it since as long as he can remember. Wrestling came a close second in hubby's life ranking after his friends, his two sons and his parents. I ranked somewhere at the bottom near his pile of laundry.
Whatever it was, I was a bit apprehensive at first because I knew eventually, our sons would be drawn into it as well. Afterall, watching half naked men fighting over a belt has always been a family affair. I'm ok with it as long as Jeff Hardy, Chris Jericho and John Cena is in existence.
Being testerone filled as it is, things wouldn't be complete without the WWE Divas whose only decision in life is to decide to appear in Playboy or not.
To generate more income to supplement their steroid stock, they will ask the public to vote if Maria should make it to next month's Playboy cover. It's all in the name of entertainment really. Afterall, we all know wrestling is just one big drama and they're only entertaining us although the hazards are real. So, whereever you are, please, don't try this at home....ok, sorry, cannot resist that part.
But the message we drove into Danial's head were serious. He should never, ever attempt these moves on any human being, safe for Tigger (he's outgrown Winnie the Pooh). The poor lanky soft toy has to endure the RKO, tombsone, 619-whatever move on the big bed in the guest room on one of Danial's "berangan" moments.
Where You Tube is concerned, Danial has been exposed to it only under our supervision. I've voiced out my concern to hubby for being too open with the kid. I mean, we've been to school before. Kids talk. They couldn't differentiate what is right and what is wrong and they'll tell the story like it is. Apparently, his friend, Edward came from a more sheltered background and listening to her son talking about "where do baby's come from" and why do you call this "cuckoo bird" and not a penis came as a shock to the mother who complained that Danial is a bad influence on her beloved child.
Of course hubby went into an emotional tirade when he heard about the complain. As usual, I shelved my "I told you so". What's the point? I've shelved too many "I told you so's" to care because hubby is the type who would rather fall down and broke his nose before learning his lesson. Any "I told you so's" now wouldn't help matters.
My take on this whole saga is that a child should not be shy of his body parts. What he's discussing could jolly well be Trish Stratus's plastic bussom in YouTube. Please lah, just look at the girls nowadays. They wore their bra in public and no one gives a hoot. In my time, (ahem) fashion is colours, style and taste. Now, the epitome of fashion is two strips of red thread holding a cloth the size of a 20 cent coin.
Maybe I'm being defensive but I always belief that you have to be professional in handling these things. If the mother do not want her child mixing with my boy's liberal discussion of Fiona Xie's boobs which everyone can see on Channel 5 anyway, then by all means, go and sit the child somewhere else. But I wonder how it would be if teachers start talking about sex education during civics or when the boy discovers the wows of the opposite sex and lost his virginity at age 15 because his mother wouldn't tell him why his cuckoo bird gets a big erection everytime the girl at the next table asks to borrow his pen. I have not even started on the National Service part yet....
The conclusion reached was that Danial was not supposed to discussed these things in class. Afterall, the main reason for going to school is to study and make friends and generally have the time of your life. Maybe our method is wrong but dear son would need to know why he has to be circumcised soon. Couldn't we just leave his bird alone, it didn't trouble him. We can't just say "so that it would be clean". A seven year old boy would retort back that he always washes them, so it's already clean. Why need to be cleaner? Why? Why? Why? The questions are endless and we have sworn not to become like our parents.
I get a good scolding when I got my first period. My mom says that I keep playing police and thieves with the neighbourhood boys, so the blood is a punishment. I was made to feel guilty on something as natural as my menses. I didn't know that sex is done "that way" until I'm all of 14 years old when a group of us sat at a corner during home economics. We grew tired of watching teacher trying to teach us how to fold a cloth diaper (helloooo, I've been folding cloth diapers in huge piles ever since I was nine!!!) so we grouped ourselves in a corner and some smart mouth started asking the hole-in-one (no pun intended) question.
I was horrified of course, not at the diaper, but at the graphic image of sex painted by one of the story tellers. You mean, his "that one" and my "that one"...ewww!!...But I still did not know you can get babies from that so-called gross act. It's just too complicated. Sweet Dreams books didn't cover all these. It's always a case of I-thought-you-thought-that-she-thought-that-I thought love triangle and ended up with the boy kissing the girl in the last page.
Mills and Boons were hiding behind weird phrases like "they explode in unison, bathing in euphoric nirvana" to get their points across. It didn't even came close to describing what the hell just happened. Of couse, at that time, I have not discovered Jackie Collins yet.
If my parents were to tell me all these, at least, I could've embraced puberty with strong arms and a somewhat normal mental state rather than being made to think that I've done something wrong just because I'm a woman. Schoolwork, pimples, jealous teachers who thinks your skirt is always too short and boys unhooking your bra in the middle of class for fun are causing too much problems already.
Horrific childhood experience aside, I hope I can be a good mummy to my boys. I'm always debating whether I should be like our parents and leave things as it is or be the new generation of parents who are open and liberal. But then again, our parents never have to deal with nonsence like these because in our time, there's no internet, downloading is a strange word and cellphones only exists in science fiction books. These days, you can get information without taking the trouble to go to the library. How do we feign ignorance and tell them that the male cat is actually searching for fleas on the female cat while the two have a go at it under our car?
It's going to be a long journey but I'll be there to explain all the questions and the rationale behind all our actions. I just wish I could say the same about mother-teacher situations though.
At exactly, 11:12am (God, it's not even lunch yet!!), I received a call from dear Teacher. My heart, missed a beat. A call from a child's teacher is not exactly a social "How-are-we-today? Here's a hundred gazillion dollars for you to stop working your ass off and spend more time with your kids" call. It's always something very grave, very serious and enough to make your what-I'm-going-to-do-with-a-hundred-gazillion-dollars dream came to a chalkboard screeching halt.
Apparantly, teacher received a complain from so and so's mother that Danial has been watching "pornography on YouTube in the internet". This is not the first time this boy's mother has been complaining about my boy. To put everything in a cup, this mother did not want her boy to be mixing with mine.
So, teacher adviced me to draw a line somewhere and teach my son on the ethics of web surfing bla bla bla like I'm a cyber retard. So and So's mother also think that all these boys talk on body parts should stop as she did not want her child to be exposed to these "dirty things" and it is not healthy for a seven year old boy to talk about filthy stuff like these.
Of course, being un-witty, unclever and unstreetwise, I just "uh-huh" "yeah" "hhmmhhed" my way through the conversation. You would have asked why I didn't say anything? Firstly, there is a slight truth in this whole hoo-haa. Sad to say, I am actually guilty of it too because I happened to go against the norm and conforming to what society dictates. However I must admit, I knew this day would come. The day when dear teacher would need an explanation on our liberal views on the natures of life.
True, Danial has been surfing the net as soon as he learned how to talk. He didn't go through the basics of an overpriced toy laptop in Toys R Us. No, he went in straight for the real thing. Afterall, mummy and daddy met in cyberspace and the internet has been a part of life even before he was conceived.
From educational websites, interactive cartoons to featured sites on his special obsession - trains, Danial learned a lot from the world wide web and always within our presence. Lately, he's into wrestling. The hubby has been into it since as long as he can remember. Wrestling came a close second in hubby's life ranking after his friends, his two sons and his parents. I ranked somewhere at the bottom near his pile of laundry.
Whatever it was, I was a bit apprehensive at first because I knew eventually, our sons would be drawn into it as well. Afterall, watching half naked men fighting over a belt has always been a family affair. I'm ok with it as long as Jeff Hardy, Chris Jericho and John Cena is in existence.
Being testerone filled as it is, things wouldn't be complete without the WWE Divas whose only decision in life is to decide to appear in Playboy or not.
To generate more income to supplement their steroid stock, they will ask the public to vote if Maria should make it to next month's Playboy cover. It's all in the name of entertainment really. Afterall, we all know wrestling is just one big drama and they're only entertaining us although the hazards are real. So, whereever you are, please, don't try this at home....ok, sorry, cannot resist that part.
But the message we drove into Danial's head were serious. He should never, ever attempt these moves on any human being, safe for Tigger (he's outgrown Winnie the Pooh). The poor lanky soft toy has to endure the RKO, tombsone, 619-whatever move on the big bed in the guest room on one of Danial's "berangan" moments.
Where You Tube is concerned, Danial has been exposed to it only under our supervision. I've voiced out my concern to hubby for being too open with the kid. I mean, we've been to school before. Kids talk. They couldn't differentiate what is right and what is wrong and they'll tell the story like it is. Apparently, his friend, Edward came from a more sheltered background and listening to her son talking about "where do baby's come from" and why do you call this "cuckoo bird" and not a penis came as a shock to the mother who complained that Danial is a bad influence on her beloved child.
Of course hubby went into an emotional tirade when he heard about the complain. As usual, I shelved my "I told you so". What's the point? I've shelved too many "I told you so's" to care because hubby is the type who would rather fall down and broke his nose before learning his lesson. Any "I told you so's" now wouldn't help matters.
My take on this whole saga is that a child should not be shy of his body parts. What he's discussing could jolly well be Trish Stratus's plastic bussom in YouTube. Please lah, just look at the girls nowadays. They wore their bra in public and no one gives a hoot. In my time, (ahem) fashion is colours, style and taste. Now, the epitome of fashion is two strips of red thread holding a cloth the size of a 20 cent coin.
Maybe I'm being defensive but I always belief that you have to be professional in handling these things. If the mother do not want her child mixing with my boy's liberal discussion of Fiona Xie's boobs which everyone can see on Channel 5 anyway, then by all means, go and sit the child somewhere else. But I wonder how it would be if teachers start talking about sex education during civics or when the boy discovers the wows of the opposite sex and lost his virginity at age 15 because his mother wouldn't tell him why his cuckoo bird gets a big erection everytime the girl at the next table asks to borrow his pen. I have not even started on the National Service part yet....
The conclusion reached was that Danial was not supposed to discussed these things in class. Afterall, the main reason for going to school is to study and make friends and generally have the time of your life. Maybe our method is wrong but dear son would need to know why he has to be circumcised soon. Couldn't we just leave his bird alone, it didn't trouble him. We can't just say "so that it would be clean". A seven year old boy would retort back that he always washes them, so it's already clean. Why need to be cleaner? Why? Why? Why? The questions are endless and we have sworn not to become like our parents.
I get a good scolding when I got my first period. My mom says that I keep playing police and thieves with the neighbourhood boys, so the blood is a punishment. I was made to feel guilty on something as natural as my menses. I didn't know that sex is done "that way" until I'm all of 14 years old when a group of us sat at a corner during home economics. We grew tired of watching teacher trying to teach us how to fold a cloth diaper (helloooo, I've been folding cloth diapers in huge piles ever since I was nine!!!) so we grouped ourselves in a corner and some smart mouth started asking the hole-in-one (no pun intended) question.
I was horrified of course, not at the diaper, but at the graphic image of sex painted by one of the story tellers. You mean, his "that one" and my "that one"...ewww!!...But I still did not know you can get babies from that so-called gross act. It's just too complicated. Sweet Dreams books didn't cover all these. It's always a case of I-thought-you-thought-that-she-thought-that-I thought love triangle and ended up with the boy kissing the girl in the last page.
Mills and Boons were hiding behind weird phrases like "they explode in unison, bathing in euphoric nirvana" to get their points across. It didn't even came close to describing what the hell just happened. Of couse, at that time, I have not discovered Jackie Collins yet.
If my parents were to tell me all these, at least, I could've embraced puberty with strong arms and a somewhat normal mental state rather than being made to think that I've done something wrong just because I'm a woman. Schoolwork, pimples, jealous teachers who thinks your skirt is always too short and boys unhooking your bra in the middle of class for fun are causing too much problems already.
Horrific childhood experience aside, I hope I can be a good mummy to my boys. I'm always debating whether I should be like our parents and leave things as it is or be the new generation of parents who are open and liberal. But then again, our parents never have to deal with nonsence like these because in our time, there's no internet, downloading is a strange word and cellphones only exists in science fiction books. These days, you can get information without taking the trouble to go to the library. How do we feign ignorance and tell them that the male cat is actually searching for fleas on the female cat while the two have a go at it under our car?
It's going to be a long journey but I'll be there to explain all the questions and the rationale behind all our actions. I just wish I could say the same about mother-teacher situations though.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Of all the Questions...
What is todays date? 6 Jun 08
What time is it right now? 13:40
Nicknames? Putri Lopes (reminiscence of Kampung Aman)
Where do you live? Western Singapore
What's your age? I lost count after I hit 25..
Hair colour? Black. I don't do fakes
Eye colour? Dark
Height? Never, EVER ask about height....
Shoe size? 4 half, maybe 5
Date of Birth? Somewhere in August
What's your star sign? Virgo.
Element? Wind perhaps.
How many siblings? Four
How many pets? 1 Cat- Died. I've told him time and again NOT to sit on the window ledge.
Obsessions? Neat prick. I hate it when things aren't at their proper place.
Bad habits? I keep saying "correct" when i agree on something instead of using proper words like "exactly" or "yup" or "uh-huh". And yeah...Procrastinating.
Phobias? Snakes, worms
What makes you happy? Sitting alone in the afternoons with a good book. I'm easy to maintain.
What really irritates you? Having an itch you can't reach. Tap water running while the person slowly brushes his teeth.
What makes you sad? People not appreciating what I've done and nit-pick on the final product without considering the time and effort I spent on the bloody thing.
What makes you angry? People who hurt other people on purpose.
What makes you scared? Being alone. I have an overactive imagination.
Who is your best friend? Never have any ever since my so-called best friend decided to get engaged and did not "know" how to break the news to me.
Ever broken a bone? Nope
What's the best advice you've ever received? Learn from mistakes
What trainers do you own? Nike
What was the last CD you bought? The Cranberries - Bury the Hatchet.
What was the last book you read? Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination (Helen Fielding)
Who was the last person you spoke to? My colleague
What was the last thing you ate? 1 slice Blueberry cheese pie
What was the last thing you drank? Water
What's the best thing you've ever bought? Those cute-cute blouses when I could still fit into those.
What's the worst thing you've ever bought? Those cute-cute blouses and then realising I couldn't fit into those.
What's the best thing you've ever been given? Creative Zen 30gig.
What's the worst thing you've ever been given? A lacy panty disguised as a rose from the ex. I have no idea he had a different agenda on his mind...sheesh...
What are your future goals? To be rich
Describe your bedroom? Sleepable
What's your most embarrassing moment? Opening my mouth to sing Madonna's Crazy for You and the polo sweet popped out of my mouth and roll on the MRT floor in front of everybody.
Who do you consider the most beautiful woman in the world? Me. They say beauty is subjective.
Who do you consider the most handsome man in the world? 925.
Favourite thing to do on a hot summers day? Watch reruns of Friends.
Favourite thing to do on a snowy winters day? Nope, no snow in Singapore
If you were granted 3 wishes, what would they be? 1) To be rich, (2) To be rich and (3) To be rich
If you could go back in time to see or change something, when would it be and what would you do? I would go back to 30 March 1993. This time the Umbrella Incident drama should be more intense.
What's the first thing you think about when you wake up? Thank god I'm still alive.
What exactly were you doing on September 11th as the terrorist attacks were being carried out in America? Coming back from night class. Repeated module. Pfft.
Have you ever been in love? Does unrecruited love count?
Do you believe in the after-life? Absolutely, 100%!!
Where do you see yourself in 10 years time? Slogging for money.
If you could choose your own death, how would you go? Peacefully asleep.
Would you ever consider having plastic surgery? No. I'm perfectly happy - ugly
What's the funniest joke you've ever been told? Can't remember. Lame jokes comes a close second.
Do you have any regrets in life? Yes plenty, but I think it's good to learn from these mistakes and to move on.
What advice would you give to a kid? Keep your mouth shut, listen and learn!
Any hidden talents? I have the gift of the gab.
Last job? Sales Assistant 14 years ago.
Current job? Clerk
Dream job? Radio Deejay
Who is your hero? Don't know.
Describe yourself in 3 words: Sensitive, considerate, polite
Favourite colour? Royal Blue
Favourite number? 5
Favourite animal? Cats
Favourite sport (to play)? I'm not a sporty person
Favourite sport (to watch)? Football
Favourite soap? Dove
Favourite programme/s? Project Runway
Favourite radio station? I station surfed normally, so no specific favourites.
Favourite movies? Mr and Mrs Smith, Bridget Jones Diary
Favourite band? Metallica 1984 - 1991...RIP (sigh)
Favourite song? Beautiful Ones (Suede), Master of Puppets (Metallica)
Favourite room in the house? None.
Favourite football team? Queens Park Rangers (I like their emblem)
Favourite footballer? Christian Vierri
Favourite famous celeb/s? Angelina Jolie
Favourite board game? Scrabble
Favourite video game/s? Don't play
Favourite PC game? Don't play
Favourite food? Western
Favourite fast-food? French Fries
Favourite drink? Kickapoo
Favourite magazine? None
Favourite place? This sounds weird but I like my workplace. I do!!!..
Favourite cartoon character? Daria
Favourite advert/commercial? There's this one about little toddlers being naughty. A boy splashing on the cat's water bowl, another one yellow-hand-printed the wall and couch, a trio jumping up and down the bed, feathers flying everywhere...it was so awfully cute...
Favourite day of the week? Monday
Favourite day of the year? No favs
Favourite season? No season here.
Favourite car? Porsche 911 Turbo, Maserati GranTurismo, Mazda RX8.
Favourite shop? None
Favourite holiday? None
Favourite girls name? Seri
Favourite boys name? Haziq
Favourite country? None
Favourite smell? 'Pleasures' by Estee Lauder
Favourite sound? Not sure
Coke or Pepsi? Coke Zero
Pen or Pencil? Pen
Day or Night? Night
Cat or Dog? Cat
T.V. or Radio? Both
Brains or Beauty? Both
Cup or Mug? Mug
Neighbours or Home and Away? Neighbours
Tea or Coffee? Tea
Gold or Silver? Gold (in times of need.....)
Brush or Comb? Brush
City or Country? City
Red or White wine? I don't drink
Early or Late nighter? Early
Early or Late riser? Early
Scarey or Romantic movies? Romantic
Board or Computer games? Both
Rugby or Football? Football
Half full or Half empty? Half Full
Long nails or Short? Short
Happy and poor or Sad and rich? Happy and rich. There is nothing else.
Swimsuit or Bikini? Neither
Glasses or Contacts? Contacts
Salt and Vinegar or Cheese and Onion? Cheese and Onion
Flowers or Chocolates? Both
Love or Money? Both
Hugs or Kisses? Hugs
What are you wearing? Green scarf, white blouse and dark green bohemian skirt.
What's the latest news? I can't open this document!!! (Someone in the next cubicle)
What's the weather like? Calm
How do you feel? Happy
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU...
Cried? On Friday
Laughed? Today
Swore? Just now
Lied? I never lied....;)
Got drunk? I don't drink
Read a newspaper? This morning
Read your horoscope? I don't do horoscopes. They're immature.
Had a bath/shower? This morning
Had a cold? I'm coming down with it
Smiled at someone? just now
Gave someone a cuddle? Yesterday
Said, 'I love you'? Yesterday - but will again today
What is a turn on? His wink
What is a turn off? Bad oral hygiene
What physical feature are you attracted to the most? Lips (kissable), Bum (tight) and Legs (un-chicken like)
Best chat up line? There's just one letter missing from my alphabet... U
What's the most irritating thing about them? How they leave the toilet seat up and fart out loud
Could you live without them? Can't live with or without 'em.
Describe your ideal partner? Loving, kind, wise, thrifty without being stingy. Think long-term. Smart and funny.
What time is it now? 14:40 (I need to think)
What time is it right now? 13:40
Nicknames? Putri Lopes (reminiscence of Kampung Aman)
Where do you live? Western Singapore
What's your age? I lost count after I hit 25..
Hair colour? Black. I don't do fakes
Eye colour? Dark
Height? Never, EVER ask about height....
Shoe size? 4 half, maybe 5
Date of Birth? Somewhere in August
What's your star sign? Virgo.
Element? Wind perhaps.
How many siblings? Four
How many pets? 1 Cat- Died. I've told him time and again NOT to sit on the window ledge.
Obsessions? Neat prick. I hate it when things aren't at their proper place.
Bad habits? I keep saying "correct" when i agree on something instead of using proper words like "exactly" or "yup" or "uh-huh". And yeah...Procrastinating.
Phobias? Snakes, worms
What makes you happy? Sitting alone in the afternoons with a good book. I'm easy to maintain.
What really irritates you? Having an itch you can't reach. Tap water running while the person slowly brushes his teeth.
What makes you sad? People not appreciating what I've done and nit-pick on the final product without considering the time and effort I spent on the bloody thing.
What makes you angry? People who hurt other people on purpose.
What makes you scared? Being alone. I have an overactive imagination.
Who is your best friend? Never have any ever since my so-called best friend decided to get engaged and did not "know" how to break the news to me.
Ever broken a bone? Nope
What's the best advice you've ever received? Learn from mistakes
What trainers do you own? Nike
What was the last CD you bought? The Cranberries - Bury the Hatchet.
What was the last book you read? Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination (Helen Fielding)
Who was the last person you spoke to? My colleague
What was the last thing you ate? 1 slice Blueberry cheese pie
What was the last thing you drank? Water
What's the best thing you've ever bought? Those cute-cute blouses when I could still fit into those.
What's the worst thing you've ever bought? Those cute-cute blouses and then realising I couldn't fit into those.
What's the best thing you've ever been given? Creative Zen 30gig.
What's the worst thing you've ever been given? A lacy panty disguised as a rose from the ex. I have no idea he had a different agenda on his mind...sheesh...
What are your future goals? To be rich
Describe your bedroom? Sleepable
What's your most embarrassing moment? Opening my mouth to sing Madonna's Crazy for You and the polo sweet popped out of my mouth and roll on the MRT floor in front of everybody.
Who do you consider the most beautiful woman in the world? Me. They say beauty is subjective.
Who do you consider the most handsome man in the world? 925.
Favourite thing to do on a hot summers day? Watch reruns of Friends.
Favourite thing to do on a snowy winters day? Nope, no snow in Singapore
If you were granted 3 wishes, what would they be? 1) To be rich, (2) To be rich and (3) To be rich
If you could go back in time to see or change something, when would it be and what would you do? I would go back to 30 March 1993. This time the Umbrella Incident drama should be more intense.
What's the first thing you think about when you wake up? Thank god I'm still alive.
What exactly were you doing on September 11th as the terrorist attacks were being carried out in America? Coming back from night class. Repeated module. Pfft.
Have you ever been in love? Does unrecruited love count?
Do you believe in the after-life? Absolutely, 100%!!
Where do you see yourself in 10 years time? Slogging for money.
If you could choose your own death, how would you go? Peacefully asleep.
Would you ever consider having plastic surgery? No. I'm perfectly happy - ugly
What's the funniest joke you've ever been told? Can't remember. Lame jokes comes a close second.
Do you have any regrets in life? Yes plenty, but I think it's good to learn from these mistakes and to move on.
What advice would you give to a kid? Keep your mouth shut, listen and learn!
Any hidden talents? I have the gift of the gab.
Last job? Sales Assistant 14 years ago.
Current job? Clerk
Dream job? Radio Deejay
Who is your hero? Don't know.
Describe yourself in 3 words: Sensitive, considerate, polite
Favourite colour? Royal Blue
Favourite number? 5
Favourite animal? Cats
Favourite sport (to play)? I'm not a sporty person
Favourite sport (to watch)? Football
Favourite soap? Dove
Favourite programme/s? Project Runway
Favourite radio station? I station surfed normally, so no specific favourites.
Favourite movies? Mr and Mrs Smith, Bridget Jones Diary
Favourite band? Metallica 1984 - 1991...RIP (sigh)
Favourite song? Beautiful Ones (Suede), Master of Puppets (Metallica)
Favourite room in the house? None.
Favourite football team? Queens Park Rangers (I like their emblem)
Favourite footballer? Christian Vierri
Favourite famous celeb/s? Angelina Jolie
Favourite board game? Scrabble
Favourite video game/s? Don't play
Favourite PC game? Don't play
Favourite food? Western
Favourite fast-food? French Fries
Favourite drink? Kickapoo
Favourite magazine? None
Favourite place? This sounds weird but I like my workplace. I do!!!..
Favourite cartoon character? Daria
Favourite advert/commercial? There's this one about little toddlers being naughty. A boy splashing on the cat's water bowl, another one yellow-hand-printed the wall and couch, a trio jumping up and down the bed, feathers flying everywhere...it was so awfully cute...
Favourite day of the week? Monday
Favourite day of the year? No favs
Favourite season? No season here.
Favourite car? Porsche 911 Turbo, Maserati GranTurismo, Mazda RX8.
Favourite shop? None
Favourite holiday? None
Favourite girls name? Seri
Favourite boys name? Haziq
Favourite country? None
Favourite smell? 'Pleasures' by Estee Lauder
Favourite sound? Not sure
Coke or Pepsi? Coke Zero
Pen or Pencil? Pen
Day or Night? Night
Cat or Dog? Cat
T.V. or Radio? Both
Brains or Beauty? Both
Cup or Mug? Mug
Neighbours or Home and Away? Neighbours
Tea or Coffee? Tea
Gold or Silver? Gold (in times of need.....)
Brush or Comb? Brush
City or Country? City
Red or White wine? I don't drink
Early or Late nighter? Early
Early or Late riser? Early
Scarey or Romantic movies? Romantic
Board or Computer games? Both
Rugby or Football? Football
Half full or Half empty? Half Full
Long nails or Short? Short
Happy and poor or Sad and rich? Happy and rich. There is nothing else.
Swimsuit or Bikini? Neither
Glasses or Contacts? Contacts
Salt and Vinegar or Cheese and Onion? Cheese and Onion
Flowers or Chocolates? Both
Love or Money? Both
Hugs or Kisses? Hugs
What are you wearing? Green scarf, white blouse and dark green bohemian skirt.
What's the latest news? I can't open this document!!! (Someone in the next cubicle)
What's the weather like? Calm
How do you feel? Happy
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU...
Cried? On Friday
Laughed? Today
Swore? Just now
Lied? I never lied....;)
Got drunk? I don't drink
Read a newspaper? This morning
Read your horoscope? I don't do horoscopes. They're immature.
Had a bath/shower? This morning
Had a cold? I'm coming down with it
Smiled at someone? just now
Gave someone a cuddle? Yesterday
Said, 'I love you'? Yesterday - but will again today
What is a turn on? His wink
What is a turn off? Bad oral hygiene
What physical feature are you attracted to the most? Lips (kissable), Bum (tight) and Legs (un-chicken like)
Best chat up line? There's just one letter missing from my alphabet... U
What's the most irritating thing about them? How they leave the toilet seat up and fart out loud
Could you live without them? Can't live with or without 'em.
Describe your ideal partner? Loving, kind, wise, thrifty without being stingy. Think long-term. Smart and funny.
What time is it now? 14:40 (I need to think)
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Dating Boo boos
You know how it is when one's mind when in an idle state would think of the darnest thing? I was experiencing that just now while packing certificates for the upcoming students' graduation.
Somehow I started to think of the reasons why my past dating experience had always been a big disaster in that, the outing would go on fine enough but somehow, there would hardly be a second chance.
One of the key things I learnt in my Dating 101 game was, never, ever tell him about your past love life. I think I have read this somewhere. He wanted to get to know you and NOT the person who used to hold your hands. While it's good to confess and come clear, sometimes, certain things are better left unsaid. He is not interested in what time you used to do together. Full Stop. I still remembered what I did to this person whom I used to date back then. He was not really my first choice as I was on a rebound. He wanted to go out, so I was happy to obliged. I wanted to be the free-spirited, confident un-whiny type because I thought all guys hated the whiny, needy kind. He was not impressed and found my attitude a bit "vulgar". Well, whatever lah Mr Rebound.
I then went on another date with a friend (which was arranged by another friend) that ended up in a disastrous hollow state - to my hungry stomach that is. We didn't know where to go so we ended up walking from Plaza Singapura all the way to Shaw House Lido. The Malays would've called it "ukur jalan" - measuring the distance of Orchard Road from one end to another.
There were no interesting movie screening so we ended up walking again. It was a good workout if it weren't for the fact that I was wearing a new pair of shiny, black patent Mary Janes and my toes were practically killing me.
Once we reached KFC, I thought it would be ok to appear coy and ordered iced lemon tea. I mean, girls aren't supposed to eat, right? They'd be seen as greedy, gluttony and fat, right? He didn't even bother with "are you sure?" Just went to the counter to buy himself a complete zinger meal and placed a hot cup of tea in front of me. I asked for iced tea!
Ok, it was an honest mistake and as I'm not the type to create scenes, hot tea is perfectly fine with me.
And so it was that I spent the entire time opposite him trying to sip the burning hot tea while ignoring my rumbling tummy and trying not to salivate at the juicy zinger he ate. Every bite he took was pure agony on my self-made hungry self. If I were not pretending to be prim and proper, you could've seen me drinking my own saliva right there on the table.
There were no more phone calls after that and I'm more than happy not to hear from him. Lesson learnt: If you're hungry, order whatever you fancy and pay for it. If he likes you, he'll accept that you're human and would gladly pay your share of the meal. If he doesn't at least you know that you've paid your half and that you didn't owe him anything. Oh, and wear comfortable shoes.
Less than a month later, I was at the same KFC with this guy whom I've been dating on and off. I was slightly shivering because of the motorbike ride along the expressway on a chilly night. So this time, I asked him to get me hot tea. Stupid me, I used a straw and burned my tongue. Lesson learnt: Never use a straw to drink hot tea.
On another date, I had to wait almost 2 hours for him. I am very particular about punctuality and if you're late for that long, you're considered as "unforgivable". Maybe that's one of the reasons why he left me. The black face. Nobody wants a scowling bride. Lesson learnt: Never ever scowl. You might get a permanent scowl if you continue using a straw to drink hot tea but at least, it's an accidental one.
I learned a lot along the way and sometimes I'd kick myself on all those avoidable incidences. There were so many "what ifs" back then. But then again, maybe we're all destined for something better and that we'll live and let live.
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