Playing on my iTunes:

Gabriel and Dresden

i was having a particularly trying day at work last wednesday. *Jenni, my in-charge was being a complete cunt.

* names were changed so as to protect the cunt's true identity.

Misery prevailed. Staying composed under siege like that was difficult, bordering impossible. I tried to remain professional about it, get on with the job. I swear i tried.

Everyone has their limits. Mine exhausts very quickly. I guess it showed on my face. Ok wait, i know it showed on my face cause my customers were giving me words of encouragement, and tapping me on the shoulder. My customers. Plus i kept muttering to myself. So shame shame..

One particularly sweet customer of mine, besides cheering me up with idle talk littered with jokes, gave me his book. The Kite Runner.

I caught the movie earlier on that week. Apparently it's shot in obscure parts of china, untouched by urbanisation and man in general.

Before handing the book to me, he asked to borrow my pen. I was pressed for time so i pretty much chucked the book into my locker without flipping through to see it's content. Figured i'd find his name and cell number scribbled in there.

I was in a cab on my way home when i finally read what he wrote.

Here's what i found,

"Yasmin,

I was very impressed when I saw you pray in your moment of stress. Trust Goad and the talents He has given you and you will greatly succeed.

M. Frederick"

What i was actually mumbling:

"omg. ok fuck. ok breathe. Just breathe. Ok...ok. ok. OK. KNN cheebye bitch. AGAIN?! Fuck fuck. Fuckety fuck."

The sweet man. What would he think if he knew the truth.

Hair today gone tomorrow

i shaved today.

Finally. It's probably been 2 months since i last shaved.To be exact, the last time i remember shaving was the eve of zoukout; 07 Dec 2007. Making it 11 weeks to date.I have to be honest, it does feel kinda liberating to revert back to 'ooga ooga' primitive cavewoman-esque behaviour. I mean the hair on one's body is there for a reason -to keep us warm. But why bother with keratin when there are likes of cotton(otherwise known as baumwolle) and acrylic, thrown together in flattering forms to wrap one's body in? Then there's the old fashion bodily warmth..but i'm not going there. Not today anyway.
Hold on a minute, just so we're clear the bodily hair i've been refering to is none other than leg hair. Yes, you heard me. Not my eyebrows(the Frida Kahlo look is so last century), not the fluff down there(gawd forbid i do a 'Germaine', i'll have you people talking about me years later over supper at macs!), and definitely not the underarms. I'm a feminist at heart but hygiene trumps bra-burning anyday.
I've just been really lazy of late and my fine, sparse leg hair grows at a relatively slow rate, in any case it came to a point where i felt a tinge of embarrassment if my pseudo date were to notice the spider leg-like growth, reducing me to 2 choices; either
1)a pair of skinny black pants paired with a flattering babydoll
or
2)to throw in some tights under my 'granny's day out' dress.

I chose the latter.Plus i was pressed for time. The dewd gave me an hour, and stressed that i shouldn't keep him waiting. How the hell do you do that?! Anyhow i was late. 20 mins. Better late than never.
Back to the topic at hand. Grooming, personal hygiene, basically the motion we are all expected to go through on a daily basis. Maybe with the exception of hangover sunday, where majority of us wake up way past lunch hour maybe even dinner, and sit around in our pjs and munch on mommy's cooking while vegging in front of the telly. But then there are the handful of us who don't indulge in such sloth-like activities, instead we go through the motions begrudgingly like any other day and trudge down to church with grandma and aunt suzie for sunday morning service, or meet with the girlies for 'sunday picnic in the park'. And then there are the unfortunate few who actually have to work on sundays. You have my sympathies.
Grooming, it's the reason why i set my alarm an hour and a half before the cab pulls up in my driveway to take me to work in the morning. It's why i leave my conditioner in for that 2 extra mins while i brush my teeth. Why i spend a good 20 mins teasing and blow-drying my hair so that it resembles something other than an afro.
Grooming, it's also where a bulk of my allowance goes to each month. Mani + pedis, cut + highlights + treatments, Clinique's 3-step program, exfoliating moisturiser for the body. The endless list.
Why do we put ourselves through such a stretch? Do these efforts pay off?

Contrary to popular beliefs, it is not for the appreciative glances of the opposite sex. Neither is it to draw attention to oneself. It is for self satisfaction.
Like when you spritz on a new scent, no one really notices it's incanto by ferragamo instead of clinique's happy, but you know it and because of the fact that you're aware of it, there's an extra spring in your step, the slight boost in your confidence. It's really all about you.
Like how girls are always going on about how fat they are, regardless of their size. I know i'm guilty of it myself and i'm a size 6. Topshop 6. H&M 34. Supre XS. It's self improvement that we're working towards. My 12yr old sister worries that she's fat, which is insane! A few pounds lighter and she'll look right at home in a third world country.
It probably boils down to society and the need to conform. come on, we can't all look like victoria beckham, she'll come to a point where her twiggy legs won't be able to support that big fake chest of hers any longer.
At this point i'd like to state a disclaimer.
Kim's gonna be so mad that i just dissed her beloved victoria beckham. So sorry kim. Needed a skinny, boobsy example. Love ya!=)=)=)

For most of the time i don't feel physically fat, but once i step onto the weighing scale and '49kg' glares up at me, it burns a hole right through my memory, such that i'm reminded of it while flipping through the room service menu.

"Caesar's salad or Macaroni and cheese? Hmmm.... "

But i pick the real food everytime. Self-discipline does not exist in this entity. With good measure. I'd rather be fat and happy than skinny and starving.
The guy at room service laughed when i ordered 2 scoops of espresso coquant ice-cream with my roesti and veal with creamy mushroom sauce for lunch today.
"What's so funny?", i asked.
He deflected my question by offering to add whip cream and hot chocolate on my dessert.
Lunch was divine by the way. Savoured every last morsel. And when i was done, i had a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth and a dreamy look in my eyes. One happy customer.
Embarrassingly enough while i was struggling to open the door with one hand and balance the lunch tray, the heavy wooden lunch tray large enough to hold; -
1) a bread basket
2) glass of orange juice(which was empty by then)
3) a side plate with tiny salted butter thingies
4) heavy bigass plate, home to my roesti and veal before i devoured them
5) glass bowl with traces of chocolate sauce
6) unnecessarily heavy silverware cutlery
7) one lone pink stalk of rose in a vase, small vase but unnecessary anyhow.
- i managed to lose grip of the tray, sending these items toppling over with a loud crash. So i'm standing at the doorway of my room deliberating whether to
a) Run back inside to throw a jacket or some cloth on to protect my singlet/girlboxers/comfy socks modesty before clearing up my mess
or
b) Haphazardly throw all the items back on the tray and leave the mess to the cleaning lady
or
c) Close the door and pretend it didn't happen.

I couldn't do that to the poor old cleaning lady. She was so sweet the night before, made my bed and gave me extra towels. Neither did i have the time to run in for a decent change of clothes. So i fell to my knees and began picking up all that gunk while muttering curses at myself for being such a klutz. My luck would have it that at that exact moment my next-door neighbours, a family probably spanish(i'm guessing fr the accent) mom + dad + little sister + juve brother, decide to head out for a wintery stroll when they chance upon a little asian girl desperately trying to scoop up the million tiny crumbs left by the half eaten piece of baguette. My friendly next-door neighbours then readily got down on their knees to help me in my plight. Aww....
I'm not sure which bothered me more, the fact that these strangers from another country altogether so readily lent me a helping hand while my own people back home could never be counted on to show half as much compassion, or that i was flashing half my bum cheeks at the helpful family.

Lesson Learnt: Put on some pants before taking out the trash.

story time...

This one goes like this...

A fateful night at velvet, 2 years back while i was still a trainee there was some crew night event where entry charges were waived and *drum rolls.. free flow of mr alkie!! Yas was a 'happy trooper' that night.

Fast forward to 2008. Midway thru 10 hour flight to johannesburg.

Enter Sandy.

Some insight on Sandy. Sandy's a dewd who Yas has seen around during training days. Never knew his name. He's one of those familiar faces that your brain tells you, 'hey i've seen him before.'. But that's as far as my knowledge of Sandy's existence goes.

I was on my way to the loo when i bumped into Sandy, and he's all like stoic-faced and betraying no emotion whatsoever he says this, i quote-

"remember that time at velvet, crew night..you were with karen. You completely threw yourself at me."

It took me awhile to comprehend the words coming outta his mouth. Cuz just by looking at him, his expression(or lack of it) you couldn't tell if he was saying, "do you want some tissue paper?" or "your hair looks funny." I couldn't tell.

So i stood there with that majorly confused airhead expression for a good minute or so.

Then it comes back to me. Fuzzy at first. Then like a snowball rolling off the side of a cliff, it grows larger and finally comes crashing down on me.

I then start stuttering like a fool.

"omg like....omg, i.... i....don't know wot to say. erm...sorry?? sorry for jumping you?... i honestly don't remember. erm... erm. I apologise for outraging your modesty all those years ago. erm...ok i'll go now. but i'm really sorry...."

All those years ago, and i only NOW learn of my foul behaviour. i cringe at the thought of how many more of these 'lapses' have occurred without my hazy drunken knowledge.

eeks!

I saw Raja today.

She walked past as i was having dinner.

She waved and smiled as she strolled past.

She was wearing green.

The girl with her was wearing green too.

A similar shade of green.

Raja was wearing a green polo Tee.

She looked nice. As always.

I saw Raja today.

She smiled as she walked past.

another day another bag

Thing is, i'd rather hop into a cab on my own, pay the 20 dollar meter than to have to endure 2o mins of forced conversation and unwelcomed company. And i'd pick the 'staying home on a friday night with nothing but the telly for company' option over drinks at House@ Dempsey if the mood doesn't strike me. Would that make me seem like an anti-social snob? To some it would. I'd like to term it as 'preferring the company of one's self'.

Melissa gave me a fortune cookie on sat night. I broke it while taking a dump in the MOS bathroom stall. It read:
'A hug is a great gift.... one size fits all. '

Run and hide. That's all the advice you're getting.

The energy on sat night was over the roof! If i were a tad taller, i'd have fought my way over to the dj console to reach over and grab one of their(jono, tony or paavo) hands.

Or arms.

Or some part of their anatomy.

It didn't matter whose.

They were amazing. A&B. Got the crowd in a shuffling frenzy.

And shuffle we did. In our '4-inched suede pumps'(me!) and barefoot(mel: She was afraid to break her new pair of heels).

I left at 5, got home put on my uniform and reported straight to work. If my feet could speak i shudder at the obscenities that they'd have directed at me. It was around 4pm when i knocked off and finally had the chance to put my feet up. My clients were really sweet though. Pleasant 8 hours if sore feet weren't counted. There was even a boy of like 14-15yrs, who handed me a rose made out of Ferrero Rocher chocolate wrappers. Aww.... made me feet hurt a teeny-weeny bit less.

I hate having to work on sundays. The day of Sabbath. It should officially be crowned Hangover Sunday; the one day in the week that everyone is decreed to do nothing but lie around in a state of semi-veg and munch on fried chicken and fries.

Bought a duffel bag from Country Road to reward myself. =) =)

*ponders

rewarding myself.......For???

Hmm... either a) enduring 8 hours of work with blistered feet.

Or

b) being an ass. blatantly ignoring the fact that i had work the next morning and fighting for space on the girls podium so i could shuffle to A&B for a couple of hours in complete bliss.

Mommy's gonna be so mad. Last week i got an earful for buying a tiny 68 euro Longchamp bag. I was eyeing the Legende Maxi which would have set me back 580 euros, but mommy wouldn't hear of it.

"Why'd you need Another bag for?!!"

My mommy clearly isn't from Venus. She's from some far off planet in a completely different dimension where women own one pair of shoes and carry one bag, only replacing them once in a decade when they wear out or totally disintegrates. Whichever happens first.

couldn't keep my fingers away long enough

i know i said i had had enough of cyber voyeurism what with the likes of facebook/friendster/myspace shit(and i probably sounded really convincing too!),

but..

but....

i eat my words. There you go. I admit it. But you see these entries are harmless. They can't be classified under 'voyeurism'. They barely even border voyeurism. Just lil ol me churning out random theories, ranting bout sisters stealing my stuff, reporting some juicy piece of gossip every once in awhile, nothing close to a dawn yeo.

omg i'm getting goosebumps. Just listening to Above and Beyond does that to me! i've spent the past hour texting all my trance kakis "A&B zouk tmr. say yes." It's a shame dan's away. He wanted so badly to be around for A&B. So far dan's been my most staple trance kaki, ever since zee rode off into the sunset with his white knight matt. These 'married' people are horrid things. The only things i'm ever invited to these days are pretty picnics and sunday brunchs. Pretty soon i'd be heading to baby showers.

gawd this is depressing. I'm at that age that people around me are starting to formulate their 4year-plan and deciding if it's more feasible to get married in perth(majority of his family) or back home(few of hers). These are the more level-headed of our lot i guess. In fact just the other day i attended the wedding of my friend Malah from kindergarten. Our mommies kept in touch after all this time. I only agreed to attend it cuz i was desperate for a distraction for mommy's surprise 50th.

What i said to her:

"Oh congratulations omg you look lovely. You're lucky you found your soulmate at such a young age. Good on you babes. I wish you all the best."
What i really meant to say:

"Oh congratulations omg diets sure don't go down well with all brides now do they. You lucky girl, only 22 and wiping dribble off your husband's chin already. Most of us wait years before we get a chance to do that. Good on you babes. I wish you all the best."

I gotta admit, when i first heard of talks of getting hitched and whatnots, i panicked. For all of a second(or two), before laughing at my own stupidity. What's the rush. I have my whole life ahead of me. Logically the only reason i see to get hitched early is to buy a HDB flat. Rental is sky-rocketing. Private houses aren't feasible, not when you're 22 it isn't. So get married, place a down payment, part with a small sum monthly and in 5 years it's yours to keep.

Here i am on the 2nd day of chinky new year at 4.46am talking about buying a HDB flat. No wonder my sisters sneer at me when i sing along to Belinda Carlisle and Depeche Mode. I'm clearly fossilising right before your eyes.

It's time for this dinosaur to turn in.
Bonne nuit!