The Pot strikes again! Some people, despite all their proclaimed “class”, like to hit below the belt. I’m not going to play that game, because I have more dignity than that. I won’t link people to The Pot’s private photos, even though she pingback to my private blog more than once in her latest post. I won’t call her names, even though she gave me a multitude of them. Check back at my previous posts, I never did call her names other than “fat cow” which she likes to use to refer to other women, and “pot”. I won’t accuse her of things I do not know, even though she did so to me. I won’t play by her dirty game, because I see no need to do so. I am just amused at the incredulity of what she wrote. Her actions speak louder than her words, and her actions spell out C-R-A-S-S. Which, incidentally, is the same word she uses on me! What did I say? Pots like to call kettles black. I don’t even see a need to justify myself against her appalling accusations, because… why bother? I have better things to do. I’m not even going to linkback to her blog/posts regarding me even though I am the STAR of her post. But c’mon, how often is it that someone types out such a LOOOOOOOONG post about you, and even bothers to go through your PRIVATE blog just so that she can dig out some shit about you? So, I just had to blog about this for remembrance. I am special enough to have an ENTIRE LONG HATE POST! Wow! So much for someone who said this in her first post in “response” to my post complaining about people in general: I am matter of factly and very calmly telling you that you are officially out of my life. I will not be dropping by your blog anymore, the msn and gchat have been duly deactivated, I will no longer feel angry or sorry for you and I hope to move forward in my life, just as I hope you will move forward in yours. I feel no malice or grudge towards you in doing so, just that we are two very different people and I no longer wish to keep up appearances. Apparently, what she said wasn’t very true. She did stop by, one way or another, because she definitely chanced upon my Plurk profile page, and she said: Why foist your unwanted presence on others? Do you not get a simple message typed out in English? (Sorry for the proclaimed “big” words, I was not aware that were any!) And to think you now claim to be a writer. The shame. But… I am a writer now. See the proof! Yes, I got the job and have already submitted my first article. The article doesn’t seem to have been published yet though. And she OBVIOUSLY read my previous post in response to her because she quoted me wor. If you said you won’t come my blog, then don’t come ok? Say you won’t be bothered with me anymore, then DON’T BLOG ANYMORE ABOUT IT. I never said I won’t go to The Pot’s blog anymore, so I can go lor. I don’t need to do everything you tell me to, but I think maybe you should honor what you say? Well, your actions just proved my point lah. Nevermind, you can dedicate some more posts starring me if you have that much time on your hands. Just proves that you are a walking irony who doesn’t mean what she says. But then again, I already expected her to overreact like this. It’s just so… HER. Thought of the day: Ugliness Some people are physically/facially ugly, not because they were born wrong or screwed up their growth somewhere. It is because they are ugly inside, thus they are ugly outside. A point to prove my case: Have you seen an baby or child ugly enough to make you cringe? I always held the belief that everyone is born innocent. (Biblically you can say we were all born with sins, but whatever.) It is with each new-bred skewed perception and expectation that alters a bit of a person’s physical appearance and make them seem less good-looking. Unless you are someone overly superficial, you’ll find it more pleasant hanging out with a nice person who is physically so-so instead of a gorgeous showy person who is full of themselves. And to you, the non-looker is more eye-pleasing than the good-looking one. Doesn’t that suffice to prove that the ugliness inside works to change someone on the outside? As I was contemplating this thought to Nash, he used an analogy of apples to prove his point. An apple that rotting from the inside, you can see parts of the flaw on the outside. An apple that is too glossy just comes across as fake and turns you away from it as well. It’s about the entire package. The whole apple being “good”. I couldn’t agree more. And it only brought to mind about the time Uncle Henry was asking about one of my “friends” and, when he heard about her boastful nature, had told me point-blank to stop contact with toxic people like that. I made excuses to defend said “friend”, but it finally came to a point where it bubbled over and I had to call it quits. I guess the old people do know better sometimes. While that “friend” is probably still seething with anger towards my opinions towards her behaviour, we are laughing at the incredulity of the situation of how the pot keeps calling kettles black but denies she ever does so. Nostalgia. Oh how I miss driving down the expressway with the windows down and the stereo blasting funky bass beats. I saw some youngsters doing that on our way home today, and I was momentarily envious. That scene depicted what seems to be a youthful time full of fun, friends and freedom. Not a care in the world. The scary thing was, I am barely older than them. Maybe, by a freak chance, I may even be a tad younger. Ahhhhhhhh… What I would give to spend a whole day free from everything and everyone else but myself and my loony love, driving to nowhere in particular except to just feel the wind in our hair. I barely enjoyed that sensation of “flying” in safety before the beloved Lancer was sold and I said good-bye to my short affair with the speedy wind. Tell me, why do I feel so old? This is a spree-related rant. Comgateway, also “affectionately” known as CGW, SUCKS. Yes they suck big time. During my short 1 month using them, I have encountered SO MUCH PENT UP FRUSTRATION that I am hereby swearing to boycott them FOREVER AND EVER. So much for the tax-free state they are in, they have wasted much of my precious time talking to CSOs who respond as “actively” as bots. They excel in using copy+paste answers from the FAQ which any English-educated person can read for themselves. If I am to login to Live Help just to get answers that I can OBVIOUSLY read from the FAQ, tell me why the FUCK am I wasting my time using this “LIVE HELP” that isn’t helpful at all? It is stated clearly in the FAQ that you can only consolidate up to 3 orders within 3 days or declaring your order. Yes, YOU HAVE TO FUCKING DECLARE YOUR ORDER. And it’s not the simple matter of forwarding your e-invoice to their email. YOU HAVE TO FUCKING TYPE IN ITEM BY ITEM. And to be completely retarded, they restrict their order form to ONLY 15 ITEMS. So basically as a spree organiser who orders more than 15 items, I have to tally up the remaining items and put them all in as Item #15. Which means they probably don’t need you to list out the items one by one anyway. SO WHY THE HELL MAKE US DO THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?! And then there are all the unwritten rules… Your consolidation cannot exceed 3 packages in total. So basically if your merchant fucks you up by sending TWO shipments for ONE of your consolidated orders, and your total package count is FOUR, you have to pay EXTRA HANDLING FEE. SERIOUSLY, they have LOTS of fucked-up unwritten rules. And you’ll only find out AFTER you try to do something and get stuck, and go to LIVE HELP and get copy+paste answers for about 20 minutes, then find out they have some “SECRET RULE”. FUCK COMGATEWAY. I am sticking to Borderlinx. I’d rather pay sales tax than to kenna all this CGW bullshit and waste my time talking to their USELESS Live help idiots. And trust me, I’m not the only person who has encountered CGW’s lousy business handling. I am going to quit using them before they lose my packages like so many others have encountered and lamented all over the local Internet pages. Just google “CGW lost”. Love is enduring all the shit. We starting keeping a pet cat when I was about 4 months pregnant, and it was agreed upon that HE would empty the smelly (and supposedly toxic) kitty litter and the trash daily. Fast forward 1.5 yrs later, here I am emptying the kitty litter and trash on a basis so regular that it’s really starting to get to me. As I was enduring the stink emitting from the ridiculous amount of poop that two male kittens excrete, I broke into an inappropriate smile. I dunno leh. But I feel quite damn happy despite literally clearing shit everyday. Now the only thing that would make me happier is having HIM home earlier everyday. And maybe when he does start coming home on time, I wouldn’t even need to empty the litter and trash that often anymore. The “Idiot Of The Day” Award goes to… Me! I walked 20 mins from home to Mustafa, spent 1.5 hours picking out all the items on my shopping list, only to find out at the cashier that I had left my wallet at home. I had to call Hubs (who officially knocked off work at 2am) to save me. Malu, malu and more malu. So, who’s the fucktard of the day? I live for dis shit. Or rather, I wish I still did. My youth has been left behind and now motherhood precedes almost everything else. The choreography and energy of this dance was so good, I was screaming at the TV screen. (We rented the DVD.) Part of me was glad we didn’t watch it in the cinema because I wouldn’t be able to scream when that fella did that MARVELOUS spin on his knees. And I’d probably shit the person sitting in front of me cos I’ll be tapping me feet non-stop. I’m not all that old yet, but still… *sigh* I miss the days gone by. Being a 25-year-old mom probably isn’t a good time to start learning Breakdancing. Joshua goes down the couch. Watch the boy climb off the couch! Other than our couch, he has also mastered the technique of climbing off our bed, Uncle Henry’s bed, Uncle Henry’s couch… Well, you get the drift. But the thing is, he can usually only get off. He has difficulty climbing up furniture that is too high up. (Like duh, if you can’t get your knee on the higher surface, you can’t really climb up, can you? :rolls: ) So he still has to gesture to us to carry him onto the couch, bed, etc. Video breakdown/baby signs explained: 0:00 to 0.06 - He smiles because he thought I was going to take his picture. 0:15 - Points to Mommy, as if to say “You know how I get off the couch what!” 0:20 to 0:25 - Feigns ignorance by scratching his head. 0:29 - I tell him to come, he tells me to go to him instead. :rolls: 0:33 - He insists on me going to him. :rolls: 0:35 - Gestures “No, I don’t want.” 0:40 - Grunt of resignation. 0:43 - Smiles and beckons me to go to him. Again. Adds a winning smile to his gesture. 0:50 - Insists I go to him instead. 0:53 - Notice he was doing “pffffffft” when he finally realises he has no choice. 0:55 to 0:58 - THE CLIMB DOWNWARDS. Finally lor! 1:03 - Applauds his own effort. filling up the void There is a great void within me. I am feeling… bored. Like I had shared some time ago, I no longer know how to sit still. And today, there is SERIOUSLY nothing to do. I am bored. I can’t open new sprees because I am still waiting for the goods of my recent ones to arrive. I submitted my parenting article last Friday, so currently nothing to do until the editor hollers. My mop broke, so I can’t mop the floor until I get a suitable replacement. The flat is quite spanking clean, so I can only clean whatever is already quite clean. So I keep doing laundry, until all my bamboo poles are hung full lor. I did found out some shocking info today though. There are long black strands of hair on the floor even though everyone is quite botak. My boy sleeps on his own arm, just like his father. OMG. SO BORING!!!!! Those people who have been complaining that I have been too busy to MSN with them, you better spam my MSN today. the deal about being woman Every month, I get reminded of my sexual identity as a woman. Not once, but TWICE. During mid-cycle, there comes the nagging ovulation cramps. Yes, I’m one of the “fortunate” few to get that every single month (provided I am not on birth control pills). I feel a dull ache on one side of my lower abdomen for a couple of days, and then it goes away as suddenly as it arrives. When I just started having periods at the tender age of 13, I never knew what the hell it was. My mother would always chide me and said that I was being nonsensical because she had never felt anything like that. But as I grew older, and became similarly well-read in womanhood matters, I was educated about the legendary “ovulation cramps“. Apparently 1 in 5 women experience it, but I hardly ever hear anyone mention it. What’s more commonly overheard are women complaining of PMS and menstrual cramps. So here it is again. Mid-cycle, pain in the right side this time round, and the body kindly reminding you that you have a high chance of getting pregnant if you have sex right now. I am sitting on this one. Unless… And I love you too. I never knew it could be so heartwarming and emotionally satisfying to watch my wee wrinkly newborn slowly morph into a tiny toddler capable of expressing himself. We were at Starbucks on Thursday night, having a drink and a chocolate cake after we had walked from Chinatown to The Central. He walked all over the place using the glass panes and chairs for support. And he decided it would be fun to play peekaboo with me by hiding behind the chair, then popping his head out. So we played. More than a dozen times. With his cute baby chuckling and my insane mommy laughter and loud shouting of “BOO!” I probably looked stupid to everyone else, but I really didn’t give a shit. We were having fun and PapaNash was relishing at how fast his little boy was growing. Then the sweetest thing happened. The boy stopped playing, walked nearer to me using the chair’s armrest as support, and stretched his tiny hand all the way up trying to reach my face. I bent down and let his hand caress my face. And as his twinkling eyes stared straight into mine, I knew exactly what he was trying to say. “Mommy, I love you.” I kissed his sweaty forehead and told him, “I know you love me. I love you very much too.” He smiled at me, baring his new tooth, and went back to his peekaboo position to ready for more fun. I, on the other hand, was ready to shed tears of joy. PapaNash smiled at me and nodded, acknowledging the fact that he had seen how Joshua just expressed his love for me. And as we continued to bombard the rest of Starbucks’ customers with our psychotic mother-child laughter and screams, I only wished PapaNash had recorded the entire thing on film. boredom-fighting tactics While Hubs is sleeping, it is the best time to: take a cooling shower (I hate this mid-year weather) slather on as much body creams/lotions as I want without fearing the man would end up ingesting any later on in the night take my time to pick out what to wear to bed (yes, I coordinate my clothes at home too) channel surf cos now I can hog the remote. HAHA! Take that! *zaps the telly with remote* watch nonsense telly programmes engage in long MSN conversations with other chicks do up my blog header play dress up by myself in the wardrobe, then show it to him tomorrow what a marriage is truly about. Isn’t it terrible when you were looking forward to painting the town red with your partner, just to be informed that he would be working late, and that the only possible plan would be to stay in and catch up on Sex And The City season 5? Isn’t it even worse when your partner gets home at 10, eats dinner and promptly falls asleep on the couch watching one of his favorite tv shows? Isn’t it just the worst when you know watching Sex And The City is out (since he’s already asleep) and Friday night will be spent alone fighting a fucked up body clock? But… Isn’t that just what a marriage is? Compromise, understanding, and learning the ability to laugh everything off despite the greatest disappointments. I’ve already brushed off what I thought I’d never be able to accept; the lack of a family car, a tiny little space called “home” where I can’t even hop once without hitting the other side of the room, promises unfulfilled, my spouse’s erratic working hours, my spouse’s lack of energy/time due to erratic working hours, the obvious reduction in affection/attention as the marriage wears on, the 1001 new adjustments in our lives as our child grows each day, etc. It’s only a Friday night’s plans gone down the drain. I’m thinking we’ll have a lot more Fridays to plan for in the many years to come. *sigh* What did I say before? Love makes you blind. And stupid. Welcome to the world of I-am-so-tired-but-I-can’t-fall-asleep. Thanks to the many late nights (aka early mornings) of staying up to settle spree matters, my body clock has developed a fucked up rhythm of its own. Basically my new dictated schedule (as per Shelly’s rebellious body) is that I can’t fall asleep before 7am and then I miraculously wake up between 2-4pm. Yeah, that’s some fucked up shit. I could be in bed by 2am, but I’d be lying wide awake waiting for sandman to just hit me with his sack of sleepy sand. But nope. Hasn’t happened for the past week. So I start tinkling on the DS lite, and suddenly light starts streaming in from that small sliver of uncurtained window. It’s daybreak already. Seriously, like WTF. So I asked Hubs to chut his special power a few hours. And then I am still bloody awake now. Did I say WTF already? WTF!!! All this despite my level of tiredness, the number of times I’ve yawned or how much I really just want to fuse with my fluffy goosedown pillow and Seahorse mattress. If I had any hair to tear, I’ll be doing that right about now. I am boycotting sleep for Thursday/Friday. Come the wee hours of Saturday, I’m sure I’ll be smacked by 2am and hopefully that will reset this stubborn body clock. 5.18am. Slightly under 3 hours until I can wake Hubs up for brekkie, then head off to the CCF to return my pledge card. Now I wonder what I can do while trying to whittle the hours away. acknowledging the work I’ve never been one would would be willing to work without acknowledgment. Neither would I let those who do anything for me go unappreciated. Sometimes, all it takes is a simple word of thanks to make someone feel that they have not been wasting all that time and effort. It is also for this same reason, that I truly appreciate Hubs. Be it something as simple as cleaning up the table, doing his laundry, mopping the floor, washing Joshua’s toys in warm water and a few drops of Dettol, or whatever seemingly insignificant housechore, this man usually says “Thank you darling, for [insert housechore].” Followed with a kiss on the forehead. I bet if all men would do that with their wives, plenty of women would volunteer to be stay-home moms. I’m all set up for FAIL. Me: “OMG. My wardrobe going to explode lor. Maybe really need to stop buying liao.” Him: “Can I say something?” Me: “Shoot.” Him: “我听你讲咯!” Me: “… …” :: Me: “So. Do you think it’s easier to get a new wardrobe to add on, or to stop buying?” Him: “You can stop buying meh?!” Me: “… …” :: Some men are just so bitchy. Men, and their excuses. As he was remarking at my smooth newly waxed skin, I asked him if he would like to go get a wax too since he had been contemplating one for the past few years. I recently signed up for a waxing package at STRIP and since I could share the package with immediate family members, he wouldn’t be able to say it was expensive since it has already been paid for. His response to my suggestion: “I don’t wax because you have a habit of flossing your teeth, and I’m just doing you a favor by helping you floss while you XX me. I don’t have a habit of flossing, so you have to wax.” KNS. twists and turns Somehow, saying “I don’t know anyone whom I can name” can be translated to ” I insist there is no one” in someone’s self-absorbed warped mind. It’s more of “no one I know of”. But never mind. Some people, despite declaring how fabulously well-read they are and constantly using big words just to look smart, simply just take words out of context for their own advantage. It’s not even a matter of education. It’s a simple matter of making oneself look better in the light of others. It is very funny and very sad. Maybe pitiful even. But never mind, take that back. Just plain sad will do. I wouldn’t even have known about this if the meow lady hadn’t told me about it. Oh, and I also won’t condemn people simply because they are friends with said sad person lor. But if you wish to condemn me because you are friends with her and you want to side with her, I will also applaud you for being such a loyal friend to her. Say whatever you want to say about me. But if you dare, say it out loud to my face. Not in some underhanded way that some people favour. If you want and you dare to say something bad about someone, say it outright. Don’t beat around the bush lah. Tsk. Cannot stand that kind of people. People say the pot is black, then the kettle think people are talking about him and start to argue back. 真的是做贼心虚。 A disclaimer borrowed from cakie: If you think it’s you I’m talking about, then it’s you lor. I think it’s a very funny disclaimer. I am the next top model. Tell me I don’t look good. Seriously, tell me. Huei comments over MSN: “Ooooooo. Very ANTM.” For the uninitiated, ANTM is “America’s Next Top Model”. And check out the new nose ring. Totally rockin’ the punk look. Love is when they feed your fashion addiction. Despite Uncle Henry chiding my shopping addiction for YEARS, he popped by my place on Wednesday night and brought me a gift. A beautiful white tweed dress which was unfortunately one size too small for my (now slightly bigger) tits. He was slightly disappointed that I couldn’t fit my flabby self into the dress, but he was pretty darn close to getting my size. And that’s when I felt the LURVE and had an “awakening”. When someone says they think you should curb your shopping habit, but yet knows your weak spot for pretty dresses and FEEDS your lust with it. When we passed by Guess on the day of Hair For Hope, I was drawn to a dress. Hubs wasn’t there cos he went to buy kitty litter, but Uncle Henry said “Go on. Try it, and if it’s good, I’ll get it for you.” How can you not want to love an uncle like that? And Thursday night, as Hubs met up with me and Josh at Plaza Singapura, he took the boy off my hands so that I could shop in peace. What for when I already had a wardrobe FULL of clothes, I had no idea. But you gotta admit, not a lot of husbands do that. When he called me back after he had finished his dinner, with Josh in tow, they joined me in the cashier’s queue at FOX. He didn’t say anything about the halter and tube that was going to be mine pretty soon. He only joked about it when we left the store, saying “I thought someone said she’s not going to buy anymore clothes.” Then he chuckled heartily. He patiently watched me try it on again after we got home, and commented about how this top can go with that bottom, etc etc. It was sweet. And then there’s my father. This chunk is gonna be a Mandarin so that he can read it properly. 我老爸从不阻止我买东西。当我不开心的时候，他还常常会给我一点钱去购物。应为他知道购买新衣是我最大的嗜好。 在我还没嫁出去之前，我常常还会在他的面前晃来晃去，展示新买的衣服。老爸从不责骂我，每次只是面带着笑容，说出他对新衣的看法。他就象是我第二个老妈。在我十五岁生日那年，他买了当时最流行的 Versace 牛仔裤给我。$200 多的牛仔裤，他连眼皮都没眨就买了下来给我。 When my mom was around, she would never question my shopping habit either. In fact, she would add the bulk to my wardrobe by buying pieces for me. No hand-me-downs or nonsense like that because she knew I was not into wearing people’s old stuff. Not that she would allow it either. Although our financial situation in my younger days as a child wasn’t fantastic, she made sure I got pretty frilly pink frocks every year for Christmas, new stuff from head to toe for each day of Chinese New Year, and a birthday suit. Each year, without fail. When I started work, she bought branded work wear for me because I could never fit into those G2000 stuff without looking like an overstuffed dumpling. It was Morgan de Toi, Cop.Copine, Zara, AXARA and all the other European brands. Only the best for her (chubby) baby girl. She even used to scoff at the stuff I bought from This Fashion, saying they were cheap stuff that didn’t last. She was, of course, right about the longevity of those cheap apparel. She would egg me on to buy and wear skimpy stuff, as long as I didn’t look like a hooker or grossly spilling out of those clothes. She marveled at my “bravery” when I got my first tattoo. She enthusiastically approved of my belly piercing and then went all out to buy sexy cropped tops for me so I could show off the new body stud. Albeit what you may think about my life, I am actually very very blessed. In more ways than one. I cannot name you another husband who would allow his stay-home wife to shop as much at his expense. I cannot name you another uncle who would feed you with pretty clothes and lovely home-made dinners. I cannot name you another father who is such a willing (and sometimes paying) audience of his daughter’s private catwalk shows. I cannot name you another mother who slathers her daughter with such ridiculously expensive work attire and approves of all the body art. I cannot name you another woman who is as fortunate as me in this department. I’m sure there are richer and more well-loved women than me, but right now, I don’t know anyone whom I can name. And regardless of whatever those women might have that I don’t (eg: a washboard flat tummy), I really have no jealousy towards anyone else, because they certainly couldn’t get more love than what I’ve got: family members who feed your fashion lusts without complain, judgment or snide remarks. But it’s also maybe because of them that I am quite the spoiled brat. The Dark Knight It wasted 153 minutes of my limited youth. They tried to make it so spectacular that it got so boring and draggy. You think it’s gonna end? Nope, it doesn’t. You really think it’s gonna end now? Nope, still not it. WTF. Christian Bale was hidden most of the time. No sexy pecs or abs. Maggie Gyllenhaal really doesn’t fit into the role of Rachel Dawson well. Not pretty enough, not young enough. This is not a personal attack. I just feel that someone else better could have portrayed the role. In any case, Rachel didn’t have a big role in this sequel. Any (pretty) newbie actress would have kept the budget in check as well and definitely served as much better eye candy. The Joker is fabulously demented though. It’s not something I thought Heath Ledger would be able to pull off, but he did. And in great Joker style. Kudos. But seriously, the show was way too long for my liking. 153 minutes of my youth, down the drain. Everyone else who hasn’t watched the show, feel free to wait for the video. Plurk timeline Plurk.com Joshua’s new toys So I went and did it. I splurged on the boy. I don’t know if it’s pity for his long suffering teething (with that darned tooth still barely peeking out from his gums) or the fact that he caught the flu and fever from me, but I went and bought him some not-so-cheap stuff. Joshua’s got wings now! We did a short trial with him, and he’s loving being able to walk without needing to grab onto anything. Makes us happy too. Purchased from My Miracle Baby, who delivered the item the next working day and provided friendly service. Thumbs up! And he also got a Leafrog LittleTouch with 3 books featuring Dora, Pooh and (his favourite) Rainbow Fish. Yeah, I’m kinda hoping we’ll be just like the mother and son in the product image when we’re using it. Thanks to wonderful Karen who got me all the necessary contacts to get the coveted item. Pity we have no AA batteries at home so we can’t really use it. Tomorrow, I’m getting batteries! Neither the boy nor I can wait. Then last weekend, we got the PlaySkool basketball toy thingy that counts your score. Can’t remember the item name, threw away the packaging days ago, and can’t seem to google it. And then an Aquadoodle mat (or some Jap equivalent) from Kiddy Palace. All this, on top of the new toys I got for him from BabyMallOnline last week. If I keep this up, I might just end up spoiling the kid. My manly man I am totally not used to seeing him glued to the telly, watching some manly sport in action. He’s not one who’s soccer-crazy (or else I would never have married him) so I’ve never seen him so attracted to the men fighting it out on screen for some trophy. The most he ever did while with me, was to watch a whole game of rugby in our hotel room while we were on holiday in KL years ago. But now he rushes back from work every Thursday, just to catch “The Contender” on Channel 5. I never thought I’d feel this way about this new habit. But I find it a great turn-on just to watch him jeering the Muay Thai fighters battling it out in the ring. I am smitten. not used to standing still AYou know what? I think I’ve been so used to being busy for the past few months that I no longer know how to vegetate properly. Instead of laying limply on the couch and mindlessly watching telly, I now feel a compelling urge to do something while I watch telly. Last night, while watching 5 episodes of Sex In The City back to back, I somehow just had to: soak and pumice my feet with Joshua’s old bathtub (that he obviously doesn’t use anymore cos his ass has gotten so much bigger) do a face and hand mask wrap up one spreer’s package that’s to be mailed eat a small can of salmon mayo with 16 pieces of Ritz crackers (I skipped dinner ) check on the status of all the spree shipments blog about some irritating people who are blind to their own personality flaws And now, after making Hubs his morning coffee, I feel… bored. Thus one more blog post. *LOL* All I have to do now is wait til the man gets out of the house and heads to work, then I can hit the sack for a couple of hours. Oh hell. I’ll just go tinkling with the DS lite. Sitting around is just so… boring. Posh says for me to Plurk. She said, “Eh shell, join plurk le. No fun without you le.” And I said, “If at least 10 people want me to Plurk as well, then I sign up.” So, got 10 or not? If not I Plurk for what fuck?! pots calling kettles black This has been an issue that has vexed me for months, and maybe even years if I dig back into my memory archives deep enough. It’s about the pots who call the kettles black. The bitches who call other women bitches. The fat cows referring to other slimmer women as cows simply because of a character flaw in the accused “cow”. Personally I think I can be considered impartial. Even if I don’t like a person due to her character flaws, I will not simply say she is “fat” or “ugly”. Not in reference to her physical appearance anyway. Yes, I don’t like Joanne Peh of the Beach.Ball.Babes drama. But I say that because I have encountered her very personally in my life before. We were classmates. And despite how much I scoff at her seemingly friendly disposition displayed in front of the local public, I do not deny that her ability as an actor has improved by leaps and bounds. And that she truly has a beautiful smile. I don’t find a need to describe her as “ugly” just because she might have a character flaw. I find it utterly detestable when someone feels the need to show off something, just because other people have it. And then to downplay the said envy-inducing factors by listing the various (unrelated) reasons why this person is “pathetic”, followed by unnecessary sarcasm towards the target to make yourself feel better about what you lack. It’s despicable. And no matter how you justify it, despicable is despicable. You only appear shallow and full of hot air to others viewing this spectacle of envy turning you green in the face while you try to pull off the Shrek look saying how green matches you so much better. It’s such a joke. The rules are simple: You’re only allowed to point fingers and criticise fat people if they are fatter than you. If you’re wearing TWO sizes bigger than them and obviously have more extra rolls on you, please shut the fuck up. Don’t even bother justifying anything. Likewise, you just appear two-faced when on one hand you are accusing people of certain behavior when you are acting in a similar manner. Hypocrite. If you want to show off your new car, go ahead. There is no need to put down someone else’s car just because it’s not as fancy as yours. Admit it, you’re just jealous that you’re not the FIRST to get something fancy and you just can’t take it down that others got it before you. Be honest to yourself. Why is there a need for you to falsely reduce your age and/or dress size, and increase the salary figures and/or the size of the place you live in? One day the cat will get out of the bag, and people will know you have a 40 inch waist instead of the 30 inches you claimed you were. Why make up stories about approaches that you turn down flatly? So that it makes you seem more appealing? Anyone with half a brain will know that such opportunities won’t knock at your door, and you’re just fibbing. You don’t like people questioning about the way you live your life. You don’t like people to judge you. SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU KEEP JUDGING PEOPLE?! And you do it the worse way, sneaking in snide remarks instead of confronting them upfront. Despicable. People laugh at YOU and your stupid antics when they find out what kind of person you truly are. They just can’t be bothered to tell it to you in your judgmental face lest they become the next victim of your stupidity. Nonetheless, I maintain a diplomatic approach to such people. Because there’s no point in arguing with them, and they are way too caught up comparing their shit with others to ever see your point. Trust me, I have tried and fell flat on my face (while increasing my blood pressure point) doing it. As a final reminder to all who read this: Before you point a finger and accuse someone of behaving in some way, please, LOOK IN THE MIRROR FIRST. Or as the Chinese like to say “撒泡尿照照自己先”. shallow contentment My heart does a little happy skip when I pull open my bra drawer, and see a row of bras in all various colors and designs laid out nicely for my day’s picking. It’s like a mini bra parlor and I adore it. Then my heart does another happy skip when I try picking out my clothes for the day, and I have just the exact piece of clothing for the day. Today’s selection was a brown puff-sleeved V neck button hoodie with black TopShop shorts with beading detail on the side. I think it’s wonderful how my wardrobe is like a mini boutique that covers any possible fashion needs. And I also happen to think it’s about time to stop purchasing new hooter-covers because I might need to upsize any time suddenly due to the introduction of a parasite into my body. Remember my nehneh shrank? Well, now it’s back up to a 38C. I think it was some strange side-effect of being on the Pill. And now I have to use the fugly invention called the bra extender so that I can just give my bra band an extra half inch for comfort. Oh, and this other weird thing is how the dress size isn’t going up with the titty size. Curiouser and curiouser indeed. Hormones are such weird thingies. But me likey the idea of bigger titties with relatively proportional dress size. Then today this lady commented I had good skin. Before I had a chance to speak after my slight smile at the compliment, she asked if I was pregnant. I was quite stumped whether I should be offended, with her following up a nice compliment with a crooked line of sight. I think I shall just ignore the second remark and bask in the shallow joy of the first comment. Oh, what simple shallow joys I can count on to perk up a rainy Wednesday that foiled all my plans of heading out to the mall. the ultimate dulan-ness Is when you prepared a hot meal of yummy Myojo kimchi mee topped with enoki mushrooms and crabsticks, with actual Korean kimchi as a side dish, just to find that the ONE and ONLY porcelain soup spoon is MISSING. With no other soup spoons, plastic, porcelain or otherwise, in the house. The other soup spoon has been missing for weeks, with no information given by any eye witnesses to its mysterious disappearance. After much frantic digging, you find a pathetic shallow use-and-throw plastic spoon that vaguely works as a sad replacement to your beloved porcelain spoon. Sipping MSG-ladened instant mee soup never felt less satisfying. Come tomorrow, I will go buy some ridiculous 6 pieces of plastic or porcelain soup spoons that can hold a whole mouthful of soup and mee in each serving. The use-and-throw plastic spoon has, obviously, been used and thrown. That’s only as much as it can do. The sad sad excuse for a soup spoon. Spoons, like people, should all have an appropriate depth. Shallow is as shallow gets. Spree-ing again! GAP/Old Navy Spree, and Hot Topic Spree. Also looking to open a Forever 21 and Mandee spree end of this week or early next week. Any takers?