Hello, Can I Help Chew?

The tiniest incidents I report to you, dear blog reader. Yes you, Adrian. My life has taken a less shake-leg turn the past couple of days, morphing into one led by the Department Store Salegirl. Not that Adrian doesn't already know of course, but this is for the odd other netizen that surfs in out of boredom or pure accident. But I really should get on with my story now, shouldn't I?

I was taking my dinner break today, savouring one of the better ba chor mee I've tasted of late - soft, juicy ba chor, noodles cooked just about right, no pig's liver (oh thank you), actually edible "pig's navel", and the requisite stewed mushroom - the big ones, not the misery looking ones we sometimes get and which you can hardly get the taste out of (only problem was that it was a little on the oily side.). Naturally, I did not want to share my dinner with the odd fly that came by, trying to score a meal out of mine. But, not wanting to put down my utensils to shoo the fly away, or run and risk of inadvertently hitting the bug with the end of my chopstick, I blew at a particularly sluggish bugger. Back it came again, no doubt agreeing that my $4 bowl of noodles was quite appetizing. So, again I blew.

I should've known better.

My aiming has never been good (in school, whenever we had competitions involving some kind of spherical object I've always played defence, never offence). And this turned out not to be an exception, because the dirty little thing which no doubt had been foraging in the rubbish bin somewhere nearby right before he landed on my food well, landed on my food. For two flustered seconds I did not know what to do - pick it out with my icky hands which touched two dozen different similarly germ-infested hands while at work, or use my utensils and contaminate them? I chose the latter. Faster, mah. I left the struggling, oil-drenched body on the table, in front of me, and continued eating while watching it, simultaneously captivated and disgusted. At this point it is needless to say that I was dining alone. For this to be the highlight of my meal, it has to be.

In any case, the determined little fella managed to get off its back, despite being trapped by the oil, and onto its feet again. It made what seemed to be failed attempts at flight, lifting its rear end up, but not going anywhere. It continued to do that for about a minute or so - yes I chose to watch it instead of that Channel 8 drama that was playing on the telly further down the foodcourt, I have rather weird viewing habits - until finally, it keeled over and died. Kaput. Just like that, it rolled over and its legs went stiff, resuming its position unwittingly taken when I first fished it out of my bowl.

Gee, I didn't plan for such a long description on such a negligible happening, seeing as such that bitching about my protagonist's human counterparts would suit readers' tastes more. But to tell the truth, there weren't that many. All the people I've met so far have been friendly and polite. Sure, there was the aunties who brought their friends/family/lady they met in the loo so that they could redeem more freebies (today this auntie boasted to us that she had 6 already!). Or, that lady who stuck out her hand while at the same time saying, with perhaps a little disdain, "I don't want this." But nothing hard to handle, no angry, displeased customer marching up to our counter with any you-bloody-liar-refund-me-my-money-or-burn-in-hell! fiasco. So yeah, all is well (except for the aches and pain from standing for a good 9 hours straight) and good.

Metamorphosis

While waiting to cross at a traffic junction on my way home just now, I saw what appeared to be a bent-over wasp in the throes of death. It looked really bizarre, that black bug, jerking around in a tight circle on the ground, so that I had to stare. No one else seemed to have noticed it, or, even if they had, were too preoccupied with the task at hand - crossing the road - to pay any attention to it. I, on the other hand, find bugs rather interesting (with the exception of roaches, because they are brown and big and flat and have disgusting hairy legs), so I was quite fascinated by it all.

But, upon closer inspection, it turned out to be not a wasp, but two of your standard-issue houseflies (they come free with the preserved salted fish), joined together to form one tiny insect beast. The reason why this beast looked bent was because one housefly was on top of the other - it was in throes, alright, the throes of passion.

It was quite cool, really. For them to choose to mate (well, not that they really did choose it, but you get my drift) right at this here traffic junction, for me to discover. But that wasn't what was going through my mind at that moment. I was thinking: Boy, it would be pretty easy to kill the both of them right now, since they are pretty much grounded. (Because I've had this weird preoccupation with killing houseflies, once killing a few which were trapped in a packet of preserved plums or something like that at my neighbourhood grocery store, smashing them to bits with my fingers. No escape. And then this other time, when a buzz of flies followed us up a tour bus because we'd been to some place that flies like to be, I trapped them behind the curtains of the bus, one by one, and squashed each to death. No, I am not proud.) But then I thought it'd be really cruel to kill them while they were mating. And not very fair, too. A right tragedy it would be to die in the throes of passion.

Tighty-Whities

For some strange, unknown reason, the words "tighty-whities" kept recurring in my head for the past few days. Maybe it's got to do with my obsession with getting Chye a pair of CKs.

In any case: while Ching, my sis and I were waiting to board the bus to get to Zouk's Flea & Easy, I overheard this Jap boy on the line with his friend, and I could swear I heard him go "tighty-whities"! And he repeated it a couple of times for his friend who apparently needs a good ear candling session. Bizarre (or maybe I'm the one truly in need of the therapy).

After that the word stopped appearing in my head. Told JW and Eugene and they had a good laugh over my (supposed) delusion.

While we're on that topic, they even sold underwear at the flea market, no kidding. A box of women's underwear, those stripey cheapo ones that are cut high up your thigh were going for a buck each. Not a lot of people saw them though, I'd expect, because it was so so crowded (unlike Zouk on a Friday night, erhem) and especially because the box was placed, in a bad-marketing decision, on the floor at the front of their table.

I bought so many things. A bag at the aforementioned stall, a Topman tee for Chye, an Adidas tee I have no idea what to do with, a Golden Breed tank (in yellow), a funky looking top with organza and what-not, a pair of black, patterned stockings, and this:


my best buy of the day! A mossimo dress, at a steal for but $8. Yep, I think that's about it. Set me back a good $70+ but oh well, everything was going for a song. Even Ching, who's usually tight-fisted about her purse strings, spent a good 40-odd dollars. My sister rung up the registers to the tune of erm, also $70+ (but managing to clinch the Top Spender of the Day award).

On another note: Had a weird dream last night/this morning. I dreamt some woman was chasing me up the stairs, I think to kill me or inflict some such other pain/torture on me. Now in these dreams, I somehow always manage to run out of steam really really quickly, way before my pursuer does, to the point that I feel like I'm in that Gatorade advert where that swimmer is erm, swimming in a pool of lead, only I feel that my legs are lead. At this juncture I get really panicky for my life, not knowing I'm really in a dream, silly me, that's the only reason why I can run in that manner and seem to hover for a good 5 seconds in the air before landing 2cm from the spot I was before that - and so I run out of the stairwell, out into the carpark of the shopping centre. Looking for a way out, my brain attempts that deus ex machina trick and a Rastafarian-looking guy materialises out of nowhere and I run with what's left of me to hide behind him, safe and away from that women hell-bent on hurting me.

Then she comes and tells me I'd dropped my wallet.

From "Choke"

"It's pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed. Even if it's for sure unexplainable. Even God."

- a novel by Chuck Palahnuik.

Bored.

Because I have nothing better to blog about, my life reduced to such ennui, here's a nothing quiz I took some days (or was it weeks?) ago. Found it at Janice's blog. You scored as Hedonism. Your life is guided by the principles of Hedonism: You believe that pleasure is a great, or the greatest, good; and you try to enjoy life's pleasures as much as you can. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die!?" More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page... Hedonism 95% Existentialism 70% Strong Egoism 65% Justice (Fairness) 60% Utilitarianism 45% Kantianism 35% Apathy 30% Nihilism 15% Divine Command 5% What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com

My New Cap

Yay. Now I can deliver newspapers in style.

In Memory of Wu Ming - 10th May 2005

Was at my class chalet when I received a call from my sis, telling me the news. We found a tree to bury him under. He went in style - an old Miracle box was used as his coffin. Don't worry guys, I'm fine, only pity is that his owner didn't come back in time to see him. Rest in peace, little one. You were a delight to have.

First Day of Being Miss Nuah

This was what my schedule for today was supposed to look like:

Wake up at nine-ish.
Go for a jog at ten-ish.
Go to the bank at twelve-ish (hmn. elvish.).
Go to SSDC at one-ish.

But this is what transpired:
Woke up at ten-ish.
Went to the bank at eleven-ish.
Was rejected by the bank for not bringing my ic, at late-eleven-ish.
Pissed off at twelve-ish still.
Went for a jog at twelve-ish.

My god, the hot sun beating down on my back. I'd never felt so weak. It took me a good 15minutes to complete my route, which was only slightly less than 2km. I'm so lousy. A few hundred metres into the run, my right lung started hurting. But I continued to plod on, refusing to give in to that little bit of discomfiture. Then, another few hundred minutes into the run, the pain gradually beat a retreat. Only to be followed by a vague pain in the abdomen. This was then joined by a compadre, pain-in-the-knee-joint. And finally, the best part - I felt like I needed to go poo-poo.

At the end of my run, heading to the void deck to cool down, I let out a big yawn. Geez.
This void deck, by the way, is also home to a PAP kindergarten. Boy, are those men in white starting them young. I noticed as I headed towards the void deck that the kids were lining up outside their classrooms. I thought, "Oh goody their teachers must be taking them for a walk. At least that's one of the perks of being in pre-school. No need to be studying all the time. There's always time for play."

But then, as I walked out of sight of them, but not out of earshot, I heard the little 'uns chanting: “慢慢走！ 慢慢走” and I thought, gosh, these pre-school teachers nowadays really have a way with kids. But, just as I expected to see two neat rows of kids come staring at the big jie jie sweating like a pig, their chant morphed into “坐下来！坐下来！” and slowing fading into silence. Turned out they were headed to the comp lab. Wah piang eh, well-trained or what, man.
I went home, legs a little jelly, then sat down to stretch a bit more.

My toes seemed a million miles away.

Then,
Lunch at two-ish.
Back to the bank at three.
Took a slow walk to the driving school after that.

I tell you, the weather was so hot and humid, my tee stuck to my 'pits because they were soaking wet. I was uncomfortable, and also very conscious about the possibility that people were staring at my sweat stains. Ew. How unglam.

When I finally arrived at the school, I decided to ask the ladies behind the information counter about how to go about enroling into the school. Bad choice. Without as much as an explanation, one of them whipped out a few brochures, together with a queue number and told me to go to the "breathing room". Huh? What's wrong with the air down there? Was I really sticking that bad?

Confusion ensued until the younger lady next to her clarified, upon looking at my bewildered face, that it was the briefing room I had to go to. Apparently these people aren't a safety school for nothing.

But it was such a waste of time, really. Almost everything I needed to know was already in the brochures they gave me. Well, ok, I found out I could take some complusory test online instead of trudging down to the school again, and also the amount I needed to pay, but hey, nothing vital there.

In fact up till I got into the room, I was just plain confused. What was the queue number for? Was I supposed to go queue for something before this? Pay first perhaps? What was the briefing about? Yeah, yeah, I'm a swakoo. But I feel it was basic courtesy (not to mention part of the job) to just say "Okay Miss, before this you have to attend a briefing session first, take these brochures and go upstairs, second floor first door to your right. The queue number is for registration after you've viewed the powerpoint presentation. It's really boring - you are duely warned. Have a nice day!"

Anyway, so I sat there for a good 20 minutes before someone came along and delivered a polished but bored presentation. After that we signed our forms like good little pupils and went downstairs.

And guess what awaited me? Come on, just try, it's a no-brainer. What's it you say? You got it! More waiting. Well at least there was CNA on mute. Wondered why they were interviewing a horse acupuncturist. Or why breeding jackals had got to do with the channel... (On a totally unrelated note: Did you know they broadcast local soccer matches on CNA as well? Really, the incongruity of it all.)

When it was finally my turn, I was informed that the school was fully booked up to July. My eyes opened wide in disbelief. But I just went on with it anyway. But after leaving the place, it finally sunk in: in all likelihood, that would mean I wouldn't get my license til August. August?! What the hell am I supposed to do with my time till then?! And I told my dad I was going to look for a job, no more hand-outs from him thankyou. Why did I not take the hand-outs? Why? Now I'm not sure what to do. Get a job? Where? Intern? But what about my practicals?

That just leaves me with temp jobs. Gee. I need cash. I need it to play.

Bloody friggin' 5th July!!!!!

Anybody Wants to Go?

Some words to help you decide:
The last time I went there, I bought lots of earrings (special designs at reasonable prices), a granny-style cardi I love so much at $5, a white small-girl tank top at $5, a necklace I never wore at $1, and that's about it. But it was great fun I'm gonna go again! So, any takers?

Time to Hang Out Again

As I was telling Adrian, seeing the cheeky, grinning faces of my friends just brings a smile to mine. These people have a camera radar hardwired into their system. Each time a flash goes off, the synapses in their brains tells them "Gotta... get... into... that... picture!!!" Gotta love 'em.

And the excuse for our get-together? Celebrating, belatedly, the birthday of this here 23-year old man-boy.

Painting the Town Red

The last adacamic exercise of my life (well, for now, anyway) that will judge me according to some arbitrary criteria based on how much muck I could churn out in under two hours IS OVAH. This is me celebrating on a night out at Phuture:


It was awfully cold at Zouk. Awfully boring, too. Everyone was just standing around, boogieing in their seats; it was obvious they were there to be seen. But we had drinks coupons that came along with our entrance tix, and we took some pictures while we were at it. Well, that was until the bouncer came along and shook his finger at us. And like meek little lambs, we complied (we'd better! That's my bro's precious cam!)

I was trying out my "sultry" pose. More like "sloshed". Without the ruddiness, thankfully.

And here is proof of Ching's legendary prowess behind the camera, bar none.

P/s I really don't know why my page looks like this now. I suspect it's the size of the pictures that caused it. Thumbnails, help?

闭关修炼 - 可为什么总是炼不成仙？

So, like every hardworking student at this time of the year, I've been holing myself up at the CC mugging away. Not that I'm really working very hard - obvious in the fact that I'm writing this entry instead of poring over my notes like a good student ought to do. But, this being the last exams I'm going to sit for in my career as a professional student, I was getting nostalgic of the places I'd see everyday as I chose to hermitize myself along with other like-minded people. As a result, the idea of capturing snapshots for keepsakes germinated.

P/S Not that you could tell if you didn't already know, but I shuttle between two CCs, one newly-renovated and nearer my home, and other one staked out during the refurbishing works of the former. Surprisingly, it is the older one that I have more fondness for, probably because it and the neighbouring shops radiates in that old-school familiarity which takes me back to my childhood.


On my way to the CC today, I spied a sleepy cat. Needless to say, he wasn't too thrilled about making his impending debut on the world wide web.

I always thought these beams would make a nice picture. Too bad I don't make a nice photographer.


I was surreptitiously (or so I thought) taking pics of this birdshop at the CC, and upon the third photo taken I stopped because the flash from my camera went off - I didn't want the portly uncles from the shop to come marching over to the magazine stand behind which I was standing, rip the camera out of my helpless hands and smash it onto the floor in indignation for not having been paid their due royalties - or otherwise infringing upon their privacy. It was also at this point that the young salesgirl of the shop I was staking out at came by and took me by surprise with her quizzical what on earth are you doing look, asking me what it was that I was taking, having lurked around their shop for so long.


Our spanking-new study room. You'd think NUS hired the same contractors to do up the place.


But nevertheless, a study room made for kids-at-heart like us in mind.


And... guess whose hairy appendages these are?

Another Reason Why We Shouldn't Wear Fur

Wu Ming abandons his "Fairprice Softness" comfort and roughs it out on his usual pee corner in a bid to stay cool. Talk about being unglam:


Seriously, the weather's been freaking hot, so much so that some people have wondered aloud how many suns there are in the sky (true story). Wu Ming, especially, entering that geriatric stage in his life (well he's not yet quite as ancient as Cuddles lived to be), has been finding the going rough. Of late, every breath he takes is laboured and quick, every step wobbly and unstable. I do hope he can at least last this last month or so before his rightful owner returns. It's quite bad, even my mum has noticed, and a few nights ago suggested that he be moved to join me and my sis in our sleeping quarters. So now, he gets to sleep in air-conditioned comfort - I hope - about a third of the day.

I said I hope, because when the room starts to cool, he starts to disappear under his sheets of the afore-mentioned brand of tissue paper (two-ply @ 3 sheets per hand-out), so much so that I'm waiting for people to start asking me whether there's actually a living creature in that cage or am I just breeding the bacteria that will eventually decompose the bio-degradable wood shavings? You can hardly see he's there at all. But when he does deign to poke his little nose out from under his nest, he's as cute as can be. Which is why I couldn't resist taking these pictures below (with captioned-accompliment):


This is his "OI!" face. For having been disturbed in his sleep with a spotlight (mind you, cataracted though his eyes could be, and previously thought to be already blind, he is still quite sensitive to light.). Grumpy like the old fogey he is.


This is him investigating my handphone-holding appendix. Probably hoping I'd drop him a snack.


And this is him retreating back into his bed, having found none. The End.