no money, no honey

I want to be rich.

Not filthy rich, but rich rich. Like not having to worry about bills and credit cards and such. Where a thousand dollar suit is something I'd get on a whim, without the usual repercussions (read: shoestring budget for the next six months). Where I'd fly the first available flight, and not wait three months for a cheap seat on AA. Where getting a bottle is not up in the air, rather, how many and which blend.

Get it?

Which begs the question: how? Options include

(1) Striking it big in Toto (I seem to be capping it at RM4)

(2) Finding a hidden stash of loot from a bank robbery (highly unlikely)

(3) Robbing a bank (too tiring)

(4) Finding a sugar mummy (at my age?)

(5) Working hard (can I really enjoy my money at 65?)

So how how how how how (with tone)?

A bit of help would go a long way, mind you. So don't feel shy, or hold back whatever spare millions you'd like to dispose of. My bank account is but a phone call away, and I accept all forms of currency.

Okay, maybe not Zimbabwean dollars.

inspired

sick

i tore my heart open, i saw myself shine

My heart is steel; my heart is nothing but cold, hard steel (repeatedly chanted).

And what's brought upon this latest turn of events? I'm sick and tired, frankly, more so with me than anything else. I'm tired of being infatuated with people, sick of being enamoured of interests, fed up of attractions leading to deeper feelings.

Inevitably I end somewhere in between crashing and burning, and getting my fingers caught in the cookie jar. Regardless, both spell out one word: unrequited. Which is classified under 'Epic Fail', to borrow someone's oft-used phrase.

So I've had enough. I really have. How long more can one go on like this eh?

Admittedly, I tried steeling myself sometime back, endeavoured to harden my head and my heart against all feelings of affections of the loving kind. I confess, sigh, that I failed. Then. I don't know; maybe it was faith, or hope or even a lingering suspicion that I'd get another stab at the Last Chance Saloon. I don't think it'll come to be. I think I've been wasting precious time hoping for the impossible.

As it were, I had been chasing the dream. Never one to settle for anything not up to my fine tastes, that's me. Much to my detriment, in hindsight. But even with knowing the stars are beyond my reach, I still can't compromise. So, rather than lull myself into just taking anything that would come my way, I'm putting an end to this ridiculous delusional fantasy called love. Why does that sound so fucking melodramatic? Okay, let me rephrase that: this ridiculous delusional fantasy called emotions of the romantic nature. There, I'm more comfortable with that.

And I think my resolve is made stronger by, ahem, 'A Guide to Steel-Plating An Emotional Heart'. I really do see where I've been fucking up. After a while, love, lust, affections, attractions and god knows what else all merge to create one hell of a fucked up potpourri.

But yeah, I'll get by. Emotional freedom, that's what I want. Free from the tuggings of my heartstrings. Free from the contemplations in my brain. Free from all the despair, and disappointment and depression.

Just free.

i is back, i thinks

I guess somewhere along the way, I've lost the mood to write. Either that, or I've been too busy. Honestly speaking, I'm leaning towards the former.

I don't know why, though. Guess I've just had less and less to rant about. Or maybe I've grown tired of mouthing (texting?) off. Not that I'm remotely concerned, mind you.

Okay, so what's new? Nothing of great interest, I can tell you. Oh yeah, football's back, so that's always good. Of course, the Toffees had to screw things up by getting thrashed. Looks like it's going to be a dreadful season, if they continue this way. Bloody embarrassing, to say the least.

Money is tight, again. Fuckssakes! And just when I thought things would turn a corner. Keep the faith, I tell myself. But it is fucking tiring, I kid you not. Two steps forward, five steps back. Like a mambo gone awry. Just hate scrapping through (by); at the end of the day, an empty wallet and emptier bank account. Eesh.

Okie, at least there's Bali and Saigon to look forward too, and a sponsored trip to Langkawi thrown in for good measure. Just hope to have enough resources to enjoy the getaways, and not have to scrounge around again. Hate having to save the pennies when travelling; just kills off the fun.

Sometimes, I think money does make the world go round. And round. And round.

stop politicising, I tell you.

Why does the government keep barking out demands to "stop politicising [insert issue here]"?

I mean, they arrest hundreds of peaceful demonstrators, then state that the issue shouldn't be politicised. They detain politicians who oppose their despotic ways, and tell the public to stop politicising the matter.

For Chrissakes, anything remotely related to the government is fucking politics. ISA is bloody politics. The increase in oil and food prices is, you guessed it, goddamn politics.

I'm not sure about you, but when someone flies out of the window while being interrogated by corrupt anti-corruption goons, you can bet your last dollar politics is involved.

What, do they think we're fucking stoopid or something?

MMS=Malaysian Mega Sale?

So the Sales are back.

Question: did they ever leave? If I recall correctly, there seemed to be a sale every single month since September last year. In various guises: Raya Sales, Christmas Sales, New Year Sales, Chinese New Year Sales, etc. So does the prefix 'Mega' imply that things will be really, really cheap? Or just another one of those gimmicks Malaysian retailers are so fond of?

But fair enough, off with the cynicism. And in with reality. Can we really afford to be splurging when times are rocky, at best? Yes, I refer to the economy, for those slowly crawling out of their comfortable moss-covered rocks. The Great Economic Slump which has hit almost every country, except Malaysia, if the media is to be believed. I think one can always gauge how bad times are by the paranoia displayed by the average executive. When people are hesitant to even take a valid MC for swine flu (or whatever the gov calls it), you know employers are wielding the axe handily. As The Verve put it so bitterly, "we're a slave to the money, then we die."

Back to the Sales. It appears Mastercard is waxing lyrical about 'generosity without splurging' or something closely related. Yeah, right. Let's see how 'generous' the banks are when they start hounding credit card users for late payments and overdue accounts. Even more incredulous is some banks offering Personal Loans for the shopping season. WTF???

So yeah, despite all the doom and gloom about the threat of a global economic holocaust (softened by the wool that's the AH1N1 outbreak), it's good to know that retail therapy is still being prescribed heartily. Disregard the fact that it is this very therapy which led us all to a mess which even the messianic Obama can't seem to untangle.

But enough of common sense. I'm already eyeing the clothes at Marks & Sparks (wink wink).

worked to death, beaten to death and only paid after death

Okay, yet another Malaysia rant. Bear with me k? Cause I haven't done this in a long while.

I think the growing number of cases involving abused Indonesian maids is highly reflective of the current state of Malaysian society. In general, we've become so fucking absorbed in the rat race, and as a result, have become mightily arrogant. An arrogance that's befitting a collective herd of ignorant, self-centred, narcissistic hypocrites.

And before any of you start huffing and puffing and begin to experience nose-flaring, look at the myriad pictures of the poor abused souls in the local papers (who, incidentally, have stopped any mention of any further maid abuse cases). What on earth gives these fucking sadistic Malaysian sickos the right to treat people like that? And so what if it happens in Singapore, HK and the Middle East? Does it make it justifiable that it happens here too?

And in true Malaysian style, the entire ugly episode first gets distorted, then is promptly swept under the nearest tikar. From addressing the plight of the victims, Malaysians (led by the Man in the Street) started justifying these horrendous acts by highlighting how Indo maids (a) stole from them, (b) ran way, (c) spoke back, (d) fought back, or (e) all of the previous.

So essentially what these pompous pricks are telling is that it's okay to (a) beat the shit out of the maids, (b) pour boiling hot water over them, (c) tan them with an iron, (d) smash their faces into the wall and (e) all of the previous (bonus points for a abuse combo) because they deserve it.

Notice how these abuse cases almost exclusively involve Indonesians. Yet again, since they're perceived to be poorer, some Malaysians think they can treat them like sub-humans. Yet these same scumbags do not have the balls, eggs and whatever else to do the same with Filipinas, for example. Thus it all boils down to playing bully. Pick on those who are meek, and steer away from those who will fight back.

Has the problem been solved? Have the perps been convicted? An overwhelming no. Even better, our inept jokers in power have been busy boasting how Indonesia will suffer because of its ban on sending maids over. The cretin who call themselves 'media' here have been gleefully showcasing how Malaysia is the hub of maids, and how the Indonesian population will be on the losing end for not sending over thousands to the various 'concentration camps' here.

But you know what, this is the Malaysia everyone busy brags about. On one side, you have the white elephants that litter the streets and nooks and crannies in KL, the modern infrastructure, the glitzy clubs and vibrant restaurants. But beneath that facade, a far uglier face manifests itself. Social apathy, unchecked crime, animal cruelty, human cruelty and a host of other infestations.

The article below just goes to prove my point to a tee.

What about employer abuse?

Submitted by pekwan on Friday, July 3rd, 2009

Friday, July 3rd, 2009 03:47:00

I don't mean to sound heartless, but some of these abuse cases are totally over-rated and have been brought up too many times.

Why do we, as Malaysians, care so much about Indonesians? We should be looking out for our own people.

So far, how many abuse cases of Indonesian maids are there - four or five a year?

Now, how many Indonesian maids run away from their employers who spent thousands of ringgit just to get them here? I'm sure it's more than 50 in a year.

Furthermore, the ones that do stay can't even do their jobs right. I mean, how difficult is it keeping a house clean and taking care of small children?

If you don't want to work, then why bother coming here?

Then, there are cases of maids abusing their employer's children. Why not expose those cases as well? Are the fates of Malaysian children not as important as that of migrant workers?

Aren't they "the future of our country"?

Why does the government not make a big deal of those things? Why not start an issue with the Indonesian government, as it has done with us?

The Indonesian government now wants to stop sending maids to Malaysia. I say it's proper. But is that going to work? I'm sure those people will find out a way to sneak into our country.

When a maid runs away from her employer, the employer has to pay a deportation fee. Not only has the employer lost thousands of ringgit in agency fees to get the maid, he or she now has to pay extra because of the maid's ill-behaviour. Why should we pay to send them back? Their government should be held responsible for them.

Issues like these make me so angry, especially when I read in the newspapers
of yet another abuse case reported.

If we are so sadistic and love to read about people getting abused, then report also on Malaysians who are getting abused.

I apologise for the tone of my letter, but I feel that's the only way I can get my point across.

Shazreeza AK
Shah Alam

Malaysia Boleh, no?

Switch the Channel: Desperado is on.

It's really amazing to see how desperate Malaysians are to be in the world spotlight. If it were for something of substance or meaningful, then by all means, go ahead.

But reality reads: trivial, mundane, inconsequential. The things people here conjure up to cement their 15 minutes of fame borders between hilarity and incredulity.

Take this latest attempt by to swim across the English Channel. Why, oh why? To be the first Malaysian girl to do so, it appears. So initially it was First Malaysian, now it's First Malaysian [insert gender].

I mean, not to sound discouraging, but BFD.

Think about it, why hasn't there been any Malaysian who has attempted to swim along Sg Rajang? Or across the Straits of Malacca or the South China Sea? What's so earth-movingly spectacular about paddling through the Channel?

I reckon, maybe it's a subconscious form of inferiority complex. Since the Brits colonised Malaya centuries ago, some Malaysians feel the need to flick a finger back by, get this, conquering the Channel. Oh wow! Yeah.

And just to put things in perspective, Wiki quotes, "The total number of swims conducted under and ratified by the Channel Swimming Association to 2005: 982 successful crossings by 665 people. This includes twenty-four 2-way crossings and three 3-way crossings."

That's the country for you: plenty of chest thumping, thrash talking and brash bragging, little of everything else.

feeling of loss

Not a good weekend. Losing a relative is never easy, especially someone who's always tried to help me along my career path. Vaya con dios, Uncle.

I think whenever there's a passing, I tend to feel most sorry for the ones left behind. In my naive mind, the dearly departed are headed for a place way better than this hellhole. Guess we all have to believe that is the case, or there's really nothing to live for then, is there?

On another note, got the second tatt touched up, looks awesome. Maybe I exaggerate, but I really like it. And when the first one finally heals, a bit of background and I'm done. Really.

I predict a really hectic week in the making, on a personal and emotional level.

And I'm going to quite two vices, before the year draws to a close. The stats don't look good.

desperately seeking Mr O. Self

Gasp, nearly three weeks since my last post.

Totally unacceptable. Yet, I can't say I've had an overwhelming inclination to write something. Not so much a writer's block as well. Uninspired would be a tad more accurate. Have just been unable to get myself onto Blogspot and spurt out a few words.

So-so; that's how I'd describe things currently. Things inside me, things around me, things. Go with the flow, and such inane, corny cliches. After all, what's new, pussycat? Eh?

Still unsure where I'm heading with all this, or where I want to head. I'm just strolling along, checking out the rare fancies that catch my eye. Nothing substantial in that. But it's helping me move on, so that can't be that bad.

Unfortunately, I really can't find the old me. I think it's dead and gone. Okay, I had to slip that in. But in all seriousness (if one can even be serious about such things), I've 'misplaced' my comfy old persona. More like I killed it, and I'm now regretting it. It's funny how you try so hard to suppress something, only to realise how much you actually need it, and then find that it's gone. Out of the park, far far away. Yeah, something like that.

But never one to pine for what's done and dusted (yeah, right), I'm carrying on with this new, not-so-nice me. As long as I get through the days not contemplating what ifs and permutations in my thick skull, I'm happy.

Though I get this sneaky feeling, not for long. Being happy, that is.

sobriety sucks

I'm gonna stop drinking for a while, indefinitely. Does that make bloody sense?

Back to the programme. Yeah, I know I've declared that many times over, the most recent being sometime in April or May. This time, though, it's gotta stick.

Gotta sort out some things, and I need to be fully sober to do so. Besides, there's only so much abuse my body can take, and it's time to give it a rest. Take it down a notch, and ease around. Something like that.

Can't wait to burn off the calories next week. Think perhaps I used the geisha a bit too much as an excuse not to workout. Well, no excuses next week, I promise.

Okay, gotta run now. Perhaps I'd better walk instead.

lost

"Where do we go, where do we go now..."

Good question, can't think of a good answer.

But less time spent contemplating the answer is definitely a good thing.

Drink, drink, drink and be ill tonight, remember? And tomorrow night and the night after that, and after that and after that and ...

Watched Angels & Demons over the weekend; it's definitely better than The Da Vinci Code. As is the protagonist's hairdo.

Rome is truly a remarkable city, if you haven't already noticed already. Simply amazing. That's one place that's a given on my bucket list. And maybe watch a Roman derby. Who knows eh?

hello there

Hmm, it's been quite a while since I last posted. Not that things have been maddeningly hectic; just couldn't cough up something worth writing.

Updates, you ask? Well, finally got inked. Love the design, loved the pain, and looking forward to the next one. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't painless; but my threshold for pain seems to have increased dramatically over the past few months. Which is good. I reckon the crisscrosses were far more painful than the needling, and even then, they merely stung, thanks to copious amounts of alcohol.

Barca gave Manure a 2-0 thrashing; a humbling lesson in football and grace. Great news. Hats off to the Catalans for emulating what Milan did in 2007 - thwarting the hordes from the EPL. On saying that, it'll be even greater news if Everton were to finally win a piece of silverware after umpteen years this Saturday. Fingers crossed. Maldini will play his last match this weekend; just one word - class. Absolute class. One would never find such a player in the EPL, that's for sure.

Love life is non-existent, surprise surprise. Even worse, more and more I find myself slipping away from my love (like?) interest; really need to cling on to something and haul myself back into the reckoning. Not that I was ever in the reckoning in the first place.

But hey, this is my piece of cyber property, so I'll delude myself as much as I want, thank you very much. So yeah, dammit! I need to start rubbing the twigs together and produce anything that resembles a flame, be it a minuscule spark or a wisp of smoke. Anything.

A laborious endeavour indeed.

Prometheus, where art thou?

are we clear now?

Clarity under intoxication

I'm still trying to articulate my thoughts on that. I've been saying it quite often these past few weeks, without really explaining what I mean; all of which has left some people wondering if I've got full control of my mental faculties. More so when I'm trying to express it over a drink, or six.

Here goes. First the disclaimer; this epiphany-like condition only applies now; previous bouts (read: ten years ago) were purely an exercise in futility in trying to shove everything in my head down the drain. Needless to say, the only thing that went down the drain was the contents of my abused guts. Onwards to 2009 (hope this isn't the start of a ten-year cycle).

I seriously reckon over-thinking is a disorder. I mean, it just sends you (me) down this downhill slope right into Despair Zone. Myriad scenarios, situation, outcomes and permutations race around my brain, in some damaging Brownian motion. Then wham! bam! The collision. And the realisation that everything will end in abject failure. Which is not pleasant, in whatever manner imaginable.

But with fermented rye and barley and wheat and God knows whatever else is put in liquor, the fog parts, to reveal the dark clouds. Therein lies the clarity. No what-ifs, no questions up in the air, no will-it-work-outs helter-skeltering about in this thick-skull. And for that moment in comforting intoxication, I know everything will come to naught. No buts, no maybes, just a stake-driven Nyet.

After all, what can be more welcome than the absolute truth, boiled in whiskey and garnished with ginger ale?

And the next morning, when everything is one smorgasbord of a mess, the carousel starts again.

Clarity under intoxication - now do you get it?

the world through a frosted mug

Why do I drink?

Why do you drink?

I don't mean having a sip or two, or a shot or three. I mean good ol' intoxication-induced drinking. The type where you stare blankly at the bill, unsure if you can't believe how much you've spent, or how much you've consumed. That's what I mean by 'drink'.

So yeah, why do you and I and anyone else who staggers away from a bar drink?

Which leads to a more profound question - does it matter?

And the answer is no, it doesn't.

Cause nothing really matters, to me (fade song).

where have all the days gone...?

How swiftly the weekend vanishes.

Hit the sack at 3AM, and next thing you know, the alarm's blaring at 7 on Monday morning. I know, time and tide wait for no man, but they could at least waltz by at a slower pace, couldn't they? Very inconsiderate of them.
One thing productive from the weekend, other than the bucket loads of sweat I oozed, is that I've more or less settled on my work of art. Have to run it by one or two 'advisers' and see what they think. But I'm quite pleased with the proposed piece, I must say.

On another note, I kinda like being 'convolutedly ambivalent'; it has a rather calming effect on my inner chakras. Fair enough, there's no such thing as 'convolutedly' but the meaning is pretty clear, no? Admittedly, I do get stirred up once in a while (with 'while' being rather frequent), but a couple of bitch slap and People's Elbows sees the restless feelings held down temporarily.

Which is why booze is definitely a humongous no-no for me. Sober, things are quite manageable. Sloshed, and out come the little demons for a bit of playground time, see-sawing and swinging about.

Oh, and I've really got to cut down on the smokes, like, totally. Been receiving lots of complaint messages from Mr Lungs and Mrs Heart. And I just hope situation down South doesn't take a turn for the worse. No, really.

And hey, note, no whining here this time around.

there are four jokers in a deck, y'know

First of all, I know what 'joker in the pack' means; someone who is unpredictable yah-dee-dah.

Now that I've highlighted my literary knowledge, I can move on to what I actually what I wanted to say. Every now and then, I get sick and tired of being a joker. Not in the pack, but in everything. Or, more accurately, being taken for a joker. After a while, who takes you seriously eh? You're expected to provide the laughs, the lawak bodoh, the antidote to everyone else's gloom.

Laugh a little less, and it's an immediate "something's wrong with him/ her". Crack one joke less, "something bothering you?" It's bemusing how easily people take others at face value. Get drunk once, and you're a drunkard for life. Sounds familiar to most of us, I'm sure.

I am entitled to a bad day or two, surprise surprise. Unbelievable, but even jesters toss their hats away and slump down on the chair, depressed or dismayed or upset or just plain saddened. And that's definitely hard to fathom for some, by the look of things.

Then again, question: do I give a damn?

Answer: Vehement, expletive-filled NO!

three nights in Bangkok and I'm none the wiser

So I'm back from Bangkok.

No use in whining and moaning; all roads lead back home, whether I like it or not. Just have to get on with things and look forward to the next getaway.

I find the word 'getaway' more spot-on than 'holiday' or 'vacation'. A momentary distraction to get away from the mess that I've created. Would it make sense if I said I was running away from myself? The only thinking I had to do was decide where to go, what to eat etc. And it was liberating for an all-too brief span of time. Nothing on this convoluted mind to paint a dark picture. Shopping was great, food was delectable (as usual) while the partying (albeit slightly muted) was pleasantly distracting. Though I must say, with all honesty, I mildly regret not doing one or two things in particular. Next time, definitely.

I know, I usually post the ins-and-outs of my trip. But things change. So this time, around I'm not reviewing the hotel, and the food and all the good things about Bangkok (which far outweigh KL). I wasn't keen on coming back, at least, not that soon. Enough of that, anyways.

They keep coming back. Think it's a name of a low-budget horror flick or something. Yeah, but they do. Just when I think I'm safely beyond their grasp, they just reach out and grab me, refusing to let go. I struggle and twist and turn, and I succeed, for a while. Before the whole dance starts again. I'm sure of the outcome, which will be inevitable failure; self-fulfilling prophecy and all.

I mean, I shouldn't kid myself eh?

round and round the mulberry bush

I think hectic barely describes today. Frantic, maybe. Or even helter skelter. Tomorrow's going to be even more so, I reckon.

At this very moment, I'm itching to head downtown for a bit of wining and grinding. Which will mean a late night out, and barely enough sleep for the flight tomorrow. Any sensible person would head home early to start packing and get enough mileage in slumberland; operative phrase being 'sensible person'. Somehow sensible and me haven't been seeing eye-to-eye for several weeks now.

I may be deluding myself, but I think, I think, I've lost a respectable two kilos over the past two weeks or so. If that's indeed the case, then woo-hooh! I'm not going to say it's due to the heavy drinking; that'd really make me delusional. Probably the fact that I haven't been supping late at night. Remember all that jazz about eat right, live right? Yeah, one out of two ain't half bad, mum.

For once, I'm going to stay away from the padkapaos. I'm serious. Okay, maybe I'll have one serving. Just one, mind you. And definitely no beers to chase the food down. Fingers crossed.

On a totally random out-of-the-air note, caring less had made me less, erm, depressing. Yes, that's not a grammatical error. Whatever fucking goes.

Okay, back to the post. Think a ten-minute nap, followed by some coffee, and I'll probably head home.