chaka chaka

semi-regular girls’ night outing took us to subang parade (fyi it was the shopping mall to be before the parking death traps sunway pyramid, one utama, mid valley and pavilion) in search of some xtra-small baju raya.

i’ve never owned my own baju anything. a hari raya tradition of mine is to arrive at baby’s house on the night of the first day half naked (a pair of hot pants and a tank top, which will earn me a spanking from mima), streak past her house guests and plonk myself into her lovely outfits.

surprise surprise, i bought a yellow (YELLOW!) kebaya for RM200, which the girls assure me is the standard peak season price. looking at the delicate fabric and intricate handiwork, i’m not surprised at how much it costs. but why is the one-piece kain sarung the same price? tsk.

bbm’ed JT a photo of myself in full regalia. he said i look so un-malay, the assumption will be that i’m malaccan. my supposed heritage mah, hon.

according to my guru, amcorp stocks some affordable kains. so i guess that’s where the next girls’ night will be ;)

small veins will be the death of me.

lemon chamomile. or potpourri. same difference.

if i had to stop smoking to keep my complexion, i wou- oh, ya right.

for some it might be money, pretty dresses, 1000 pairs of shoes, a boy, a girl, love, a good fuck, facebook, tattoos, alcohol, television, even billy corgan.

my own quiet fixation? blue skies and birds.

i am black and white
i don’t give a shit about your grey
or myriad feints and excuses and buts and shrugs
i am a despot
tyrant
do not fuck with me i am absolute and immovable

just realised that i’m spamming people’s blogroll literally with a big “fuck you”. so.

in the past week people around me have sucked. hard. some are a big surprise. some are just blood-sucking leeches. always have been, always will be. it’s hard to be surprised when leeches have bad manners. duh.

anyhoo, was having dinner with JT and babbling on about my day and i realised *lightbulb moment* that i should have my own podcast or video blog or something terribly amusing like that.

being terribly camera shy and hating my own voice a lot won’t be a problem at all. no, sirree.

heh. found this on tumblr.

there’s actually one special person to thank for my mind-numbing phobia of getting hurt. surprise surprise, it actually doesn’t stem from my ex-boyfriend (he left me with years of emotional baggage including but not limited to low self esteem, psychosis and irrational paranoia, but that’s another post entirely reserved for a particularly bad day).

i just figured, life was going so well, something was bound to screw up my mood for the entire year.

my most life-shaping best friend, we’ll call her M (because i’m so original and creative that i can’t be bothered to think of a witty pseudonym for her, instead choosing to go for her initial cos i’m just oozing inspiration from a poisonous insect bite on my foot), i met in high school. in retrospect, it was less of a friendship than it was me hankering after her like a stray dog, eager for a word of kindness or a laugh or smile or just some acknowledgment. i worshipped her. she could do no wrong.

anyhoo. we got along fine and dandy except for moments when we didn’t. and by “moments” i mean months. by months i mean a periods of time long enough for a fetus to pass the stage where pro-choicers and pro-lifers argue whether it’s a real human life anymore. and by “didn’t get along” i mean she just cut me off from her presence (which i remind you, was like  air or something to me) for shits and giggles. then after the emotional abandonment gig got stale she’d come back contrite (i wonder), apologise, and like the happy coprophile that i was, i just lapped it all up. mmmmm… yummy!

so lather, rinse & repeat till i finally couldn’t stomach it (haha) and gave her The Ultimatum™ – fuiyoh, damn gaya right? it’s like i grew balls overnight – do it one more time, and we’re through. of course, in a plot twist even m. night shyamalan wouldn’t have foreseen, she disappeared one day and starting bitching about me behind my back.

i fell apart like a weepy little girl. like i got dumped by my boyfriend. i couldn’t eat. couldn’t sleep. lay in bed listening to her favourite songs while covering my pillow with snot. you know the drill. but that was a good 6 years ago and at the time i actually believed i learned some sort of life-affirming, chicken soup for the soul lesson: don’t stand for people treating you less than you deserve and you won’t get hurt.

cue twinkly time travel effects and we’re magically in the year 2010, where i am hotter, wiser and more awesome. and while i’ve had to put my foot down a few times (because humanity sucks that way) i’m still susceptible to this kind of pain caused by the same inevitable brand of puerile bullshit.

and you can’t avoid it.

you can’t think to yourself “i’m not going to let them get close, yo. burn me once, shame on you. burn me twice, shame on me!” because people, with their idiosyncrasies and their flaws and their strengths and their stupidity and their awesomeness and everything else just weasel into your life, and eventually your heart, and you can’t deny it to yourself even if you put on your most aggressive game face to the world. those closest to you can still see it. and in this pathetic, quivering, fragile state, you half wonder if someone you least suspect is one day going to use it against you.

wow. what a liar.

no needs to sees my face ever agains. happeess liaos? byes~

yes, i understand that a friendship is not Give and Take balancing in perfect equilibrium. having said that, i expect (actually demand) that this deviation stay within a certain set of boundaries, which is, unfortunately enough, determined by whim and fancy.

some people i’d forgive for crashing my car; some people i’d never speak to again for the very vague reason that you’ve “hurt my feelings”.

go figure which camp i’ve lumped you in. maybe think about why i may have felt transgressed against.

then don’t come ask me about it.

So it’s been about a month. Working in the heart of the city requires aunty to be in bed before 4am to hit the street by 9am to be sitting at my desk in front of the boss before 10am.

I now eat at regular human time, which has freaked me out.

No, I’m not going to talk about work. Posting biz-related stuff on a public (i.e. unlocked, you idiot. Hiding your url and getting hissy won’t make it magically disappear from spiders) blog. Unless it’s good. And also not some P&C stuff guaranteed to get you escorted out the building by two burly security guards.

So within the third week, they lugged me to a client presso. That, I really appreciate, cos y’know I haven’t been in almost two years.

Just saying.