:: of life and la-la land: according to lucillus ::

:: of Me & The Work ::

2010-03-22T15:35:00.001+08:00

so fcukin' true.

:: of Me & The Mental Health ::

2010-01-02T21:22:00.007+08:00

She: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah. Splendid, I guess. Why?
She: Nothing. You seem odd lately.
Me: How odd?
She: Odd-er than usual.
Me: Hmm.. Elaborate.
She: You’ve been buying things. Like, A LOT!
Me: No. I always buy things. ALWAYS.
She: This is serious. You’re shopping like, crazy mad.
Me: No lah.
She: Yes. Look, you buys DVDs like you’re stocking up for doomsday. And series boxset? You never like series.
Me: Not true. I like series. I watch loads of series.
She: Name one. Naruto and Avatar tak kira!
Me: Well, I watched Heroes. And Prison Break. And that medical thingy
She: That medical thingy is Grey’s Anatomy. And you downloaded them, you got the rest from frens. You never buy DVDs. But now all of the sudden, you do.
Me: Okay, point taken. But essentially, I’m not overdoing this.
She:Damn well you are. Look at the stuff you bought. Crazy. And Levi’s? For real? You hate them. you said Levi's is too overrated. And you bought two pairs? Kammon.
Me: Well, I kinda like the things, and I buy them. No biggie.
She: You only go retail-crazy when you are stressed out. Are you? For real?
Me: Since you mention it, well, a bit I guess. Only a little.
She: Werk related or unnecessary stress?
Me: A little of both actually. But as always, I manage. You know I do.
She: I know. But it’s not healthy.
Me: I’m not healthy too, but you're always around. That means something.
She: That’s different.

The new love. Its name in Mr.Hott

these popped in the mail. yeay!

and 3 days later, another 1. i booked early and saved 30%.

the obsession with "Merde" series. Stephen Clarke is a semi-God

like with what's between my legs?

my first ever train trip

the new emo tee. wore it once. another of my impulsive spending.

the new boots. just because i never had any.

dvds. heh.

temporary lapse of judgement

sideswap. just like the one in the poster. cuz i'm a wannabe

wanted crocs. since it's too overrated, i got these instead

more dvds

since when?

latest obsession. fettucine, cheese and herb sauce. and loads of ham/beef

:: of Me & The New Year ::

2010-01-02T00:31:00.002+08:00

second day of the new year and don't feel any different. Is it denial or is it normal?

anyway, i can't post pictures from my notebook. WHY!!??

:: of Me & As of Late ::

2009-12-30T13:42:00.002+08:00

Hello peeps.

It has been months since my last post. Real posts at least, because the final few are really just my attempts to update but rather I failed miserably.

Yesterday, I IM-ed Azureus. She asked, what’s with the absence from the blogosphere? I said I was/am busy. Which is true. Mostly. But I have no urge to write anymore. The second half of 2009 has been a real shitty few months of my life. In fact, aside from werk (astonishingly amazing), my other parts of social/financial/spiritual existence are all in turmoil. (Turmoil? Imagine that. I never used that word before).

Werk has been amazing. I never worked this hard before. Even some frens notice that I no longer the first to RSVP-Yes to almost anything now. Last time, I replied YES to every single invite to every time-out gatherings. Now, I have to take rain-checks and even bail-outs last minute due to werk obligations. How’s that for a change? More than ever, I value more me-time this leg around. Yes, free, quality time is HARD to come by nowadays. And I, god-forbid-me, will do almost anything to have a quiet wikend, all alone curled up in a ball of underwear (or without) and quilt, watching DVDs, sucking in cancer seeds and shower meself with horny imageries of wishes unfulfilled. THAT is my quality time. And fuck you for saying otherwise. My life, my ways. You can go to your knitting classes and kit your death covers for all I know. Note* pardon me for the outburst. I find it hard to harness my temper nowadays.

Anyway, year 2009 had seen me severed a few relationships. And I lost two most beloved members of my family. Quite a fcuk-up to cope with.

To lose frens in an unheavenly manner is one thing, but to bear a fault for a crime I didn’t commit is another. I’ve been called one names too many. Most of the time, I can always turn a blind eye and move on and make believe of life is more than just people opinions. But when I had been tarnished with the crimes of unimaginable sins and a flat-out lie, which was the last straw. Not that it hurts, but blindly manipulative for some people to just let others bear their foul actions for they think they are too high and mighty to surrender and admit defeat. Being a better bigger person, I chose to stay behind and let things collide they way they are meant to be. I’d like to sit back and see fools create the same mistakes over and over. A taste of their own medicine. I often call meself delusional. But now that I see people in worse states, I pride meself for being a good actor and liar. At least I play out my roles and revert back whenever I need to, or whenever I go too far. But some people never learn. How many times can you lie to ownself. The dumb me knows the limit. Do you? Whatever rocks your boat. Thanks for the memories, people. I don’t wish you bad things, but no chance in hell I will wish you well. I saw you soaring to the sky, now, I’m sitting under the shade to watch you crash and burn. And from where I’m sitting, it’s gonna be fcukin AA-mazing!

On a more personal note, I lost Mr.Daddy in November. Multiple organ failure due to infections in his chest. 48 days later, I lost a nephew in an accident. 2 deaths in less than 2 months. A little more than I could handle. I could pretty much handle bad news thrown to my face quite well. But the look on my sister’s face was too much for me. I mean, you think losing a loved one is hard enough. But can you handle two? Well, my sister is one mean bitch. The strongest of the lot. She is the backbone of the family. And now, the matriarch is even stronger. And for that, I owe her everything. And being the youngest son, I literally adore her as the one figure that keeps the family together. The last day, when I kissed her cheeks, she held me long and hard. The warmth of love and blood that tie us together were strong reminder of roots and home. And for that, no money in the world could replace the feeling I felt that moment.

Having said those, I feel better now. This part of the year, when I count my blessings, I really thank God for the things I experienced for the past year. I’ve learnt the hardest possible ways of the values of love and family. I’ve gone through some rough patches and I learned from my mistakes. And the frens that I own now, the best ones that stood by me through thick and thin, thank you. The people who fcuked up my life, well, I hope you die a miserable death. Or better, don’t die a miserable death, but suffer first, then die. That would be the cherry on the sundae.

Till later, I love you. And I hate you. You know who you are.

Happy New Year. 2010 sounds promising. Boo-yah!

:: of car dent & fashion victim ::

2009-08-03T19:59:00.003+08:00

i went to dinner with a new acquaintance. Sshe drove of course, for i, regardless of my charm topped with gud looks, have no sense of direction watsoever. plus my driving skills make certain people cringe and flinch.

we were on the left side of the expressway when an ass-y driver swerved into our right and collided into our car. Tires screeched. Necks lolled. And me, being a total dick, screamed like a skoolgirl in heat.

Me: u okay?
Her: think so.
Me: stupid pig. u sure u ok? nothing broken anywhere?
Her: yeah. shit. my new car?!

I got out of the de-virginised vehicle and stormed towards the asshole responsible. he was checking out the damage he inflicted to his super-souped up Japanese car. me suddenly so poised for my heroic act. Performance of the year.

Me: are you fuggen blind or what?!!! I could've died!!!
Ass: you were too slow! I wanted to take the exit. Sorry..
Me: well, u could've taken it AFTER we passed couldn't u?! It's my lane. Now my fren is seriously hurt. And THAT'S her new car! U are drivin at 7pm with sunglasses?? Gile ke ape?
Ass: so sori man. Dun wori. I'll pay for evriting. Wait i get my card. Does ur fren need to go to hospital?
Me: u crazee man! Wait. I go check on her..

I was shuffling to the car when i heard tyres screeching and the bastardy bastard took off and left me in a cloud of petrol smoke. Fcuketty fuck. Fcuketty fcuketty flipping fcuk! I ran to the car and..

Me: hurry! Chase the bastard! Go!
Her: sokay. I'm fine. And it's just a dent. Deep one, but we're fine.
Me: scoot over. I drive. We can catch him. We need the license plate number. Scoot!
Her: fuggedit. I'm too shaky. And i'm not gonna miss dinner.
Me: but..
Her: What did u say to him?
Me: well, he was wearing shades! Like, hello? It's 7pm?! And the Polo shirt he was wearing was fucken ugly! I told him he was an ass for driving like a moron. Now if we go really super fast we could still catch him.
Her: fcuk it. Can we go and have dinner now pls? I feel like eating a bloody whole cow now.
Me: but the shirt was fucken ugly. So fucken ugly. U got to see it!

:: of Me & Morning Bliss ::

2009-06-29T13:06:00.002+08:00

i woke up to this yesterday. such a sight to be hold. i felt like everything is possible when i woke up to a morning rain like this. i wanted to smile for the whole day and do all the nothing i want.

i slept through the rain. till mid afternoon. cheh.

:: of Me & Seremban Cendol ::

2009-06-29T11:45:00.008+08:00

long long time ago, i went to Somban with Bieby, a fren of mine. well, we wanted to go to PD but being a smartass, i took a wrong turn and we ended up in Somban. worry not, we improvised. we went round and round in Somban looking at signages and tried to maneuvre our way out of there, when suddenly, our eyes caught the sight of this:

the infamous cendol of Somban: Haji Shariff Cendol. yummehhh! and the location is in an almost deserted Chinese area with old colonial-esque building.

hari yang panas diiringi dengan cendol yang nikmat beserta rojak mee yang tak larat dihabeskan sebab nafsu melebihi kapasiti tangki perut.

oldskool shutter grill and signboad.

oldtimer tiles

such a pity. this building should be restored and proudly shown as part of our architechtural heritage. but whatever. Somban doesnt care, why should we?

i bet Sarbaini is deceased by now.

anyhow, we managed to get out of Somban and reached PD a couple of hours late than we planned. and gues wot? it rained like shit by the time we got there. we drove back to KL. such a bummer.

:: of Me & Not Being Dead ::

2009-06-29T11:04:00.008+08:00

i'm not dead. not yet. i'm taking a long break from blogging, from werk, from life. sorry if such dissappearance disappoint some of you (almost unlikely, but sorry anyway), but the last time I heard, absense makes the heart grow fonder... blush..blush. i am now officially doing things that i like the most. read. sleep. smoke. repeat the cycle eleven gazilion times. that's me.

anyways, no updates as of late. nothing to say, nothing to tell. to most people from my previous office, my disappearing is called freelancing job. to family, this is crazy. to friends, i'm almost suicidal due to sudden changes of gameplans and hangout time.

however, it is crucial for me to highlight that as for now, life is as i expect it to be. i'm enjoying every second of it. super fast pace at blinding speed, loads of responsibilities, but now people see me more as an individual rather than part of some crappy set of people doing shitty stuff. heh. grudge.

i'm all giddy and excited to wake up in the morning and do things that are new and more likely to make me end up more suicidal and all freaked out than before. but i think i like it for now. as always, my enthusiasm is always short-lived and seasonal. but being a good sport and all, i'm up for it.

i dont mean to abandon you people. it's just that i need to streamline my targets for life. like, what to wear later and where to eat tonight. those are really important things. i know most of your lives gravitate towards me and everything, and i love you for that, but i'm pressured to keep a little attention on something beneficial and fruitful (berbuah?) for me in total. all i ask for is give me some undivided support (wonder bra. hahaha) and your full love. i might turn out good after all (as if!).

bye for now.

miss me, please.

i promise to love you.

all of you.

any of you.

:; of Me & The Grass On The Other Side ::

2009-05-20T09:10:00.002+08:00

I’m making a move. A career change. I think its time now. You know what they say about time, it’s NOW or NEVER. NOW sounds good to me. NEVER would be a swell option too, but I’ll take my chances and wing it out in the open this time. I might be screwed for this, but waddahell, I’m already damaged beyond repair.

It’s been two years. Kalu ada anak, sah-sah anak aku dah potty-trained by now. This is the longest I’ve ever werked in a place so far. Since graduation 3 years ago, I’ve werked in at least 7 offices (that I can remember), with jobs ranging from teaching, event management, business development, corporate analyst and publication, under my belt. If experience in those jobs were to equal gold bars, I’d be a frickin’ rich retard by now. Anyhow, I’m leaving. It’s been a bittersweet experience here. This place that I loathed the most at first, but I guess, after 2 years of being here, it started to grow on me.

I’ll miss the people who helped colour my life, technology-wise. I was an old-school English grad when I came in, but now I’m 30 percent more tech savvy with brand names and softwares rolling off my tongue like I’m the lovechild of Bill Gates and Ivanka Trump. I’m 25 percent nicer to people, strangers and ugly little kids included. Gained more than 15 percent of good extra body weight. Plus the ever-oh-so-obvious expanded waistline is gonna haunt me for some time I assume. And evidently, I’m also 60 percent sexier, of course. With all the experience and infinite wisdom that I’ve gained, how can I NOT be? I practically ooze sexiness from each pore. I once saw a lady with legs shaking uncontrollably with her hand where it should not be when I walked past her. What can I say. I can’t help it, people fall in love with me like ganja leaves in autumn. It’s not my fault that I’m oh-super sexy.

On a less hornier note, I have to make it clear that I’ve learned a lot here, more than I ever imagined. The good-looking websites on the web? Ack, they are way simpler and a lot less complicated than you think. The songs and movies you secretly wish to listen/see but they are not available in stores anywhere now? I’ve learned that the internet is a good place to look for long lost treasures like that. And those haunting movie tunes that made everything believable and solely responsible for all the tear-jerking moments while watching? I’ve mastered it all. With all the free times I had here, it would be a shame if I hadn’t use them in a fruitful manner i.e support international piracy.

Time and again, my colleagues are still restless and keep asking me with my sudden move. I told them I need a break from all this stupid werk and the morons that make my life a bit less bearable than it already was. Mind you, the werk was fine. It helped me stand on my feet, financed my hedonistic retardation of a lifestyle, making me less dependent to my family. I appreciate it for all the stated reasons above. But I’m insatiable. I’m like the bottomless soda drinks at Chilli’s. I’m a restless puppy. What I have now is okay. But okay for me just doesn’t really cut it. I need more. More money. More freedom to exercise my skills (if I have any). More time for me to hone my expertise. More flexibility in terms of the exploits of my body potentials (I’d be more than happy if you could exploit me in all the ways imaginable: career-wise or carnally). I want more. And I’ll always end up wanting more. The nature of me is very obvious and I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied nor I have any plans to curb it in any way, now or ever. And now, the grass on the other side of the fence is so green, it’s blindingly appetizing. If I don’t cross over the fence now, I might regret it.

The decision is made with purely no participation of any moronic figures nor werk-related stress. I chose to resign because I want to. I had it coming for more than a year now. Previously, when I wanted to resign from this formidable yet enticing post, my new colleague was still new and she was a bit off in the tech department, so, I had to stay for a bit longer. Then, my new boss came in, so, she had to rely on me as she was new. I werked hard for my department. I was (still am) the laziest person I know, but still, it has never interfere with my werk. No matter how mundane the werk was (is), I get it done, no matter what. Even after a week off (I take a week off from time to time), when I get back to werk, nothing had changed, I still had to do the werk, double the amount of course, due to a week absence. The colleague? Well, she did a swell job just sitting around in a vapid demeanour and looking pretty. She might disagree, but the whole department knew it but no one said anything because, well, no one cared for her. So, I had to postpone my intention of leaving because I didn’t want to jeopardize my office. I was the first member of it. I know the job-scope more than anyone. How could I leave when a mannequin was the only one left? So, I put my need to a halt, and stayed. Now, the colleague left. The same dilemma come to pass. Stay or go? Go. My boss understand the reason for me to leave. We had a long and stimulating chat and she approved of my reasons. she even encouraged me to go for my vocation. As I am still young (she said that, verbatim), she was happy that I decided to follow my heart. The director of the centre was bit dramatic in her approach, though. She insisted that I should stay, since I have so much potentials (verbatim, I swear). As much I adore and love her creative werks, I have to leave. She even moved us to a new building recently, and added more office equipments. And she said what else did I want? She was willing to fulfill all the needs, as long as I stay. Plus, my werk is at its peak. Touched by her motherly advances, I told her, my reasons of leaving do not include the office, and my werk has not been a part of it too, in the first place. She was sad, but I was/am determined.

Last week, I left my notepad in the meeting room after a lengthy discussion. I was in a haste to piss so badly, so I excused myself and left the room, praying to god so that the bladder malfunction theory that wetting oneself unconsciously really stop at the age of seven and will not make an appearance just to prove the theory wrong. After I was done, I went back to my room and just before I sat, I remembered that I left the pad in the meeting room. The door was ajar and I almost knocked, when I heard the conversation between the bosses, “It’s a big loss for us. I have plans for him. I feel so bad I cannot make him stay. He listens to me usually. With his skills and potentials, we are going to be a better centre of excellence. I really wish he would reconsider. Now we have to replace him, and I don’t think there will be another one like him. Good things happen only once, they say. Talk to him, would you, Mrs.Boss? Tell him we give anything he wants. Tell him I’d personally promise that, please?”. I didn’t knock. I turned and walked back to my room. Flattered and sad at the same time. I left the pad there. I don’t really need it anymore. I’m turning a new page. I might as well buy a new book.

It’s good to know that I’m appreciated and well-liked, especially by the bosses. Hearing the words that day, I was relieved that I leave in my prime. My colleague left not so long ago. She left and nobody ever mentioned her since. Before, when I announced in a meeting that she was leaving, people were like, “Oh, she is leaving? Well, okay then. Moving on to the next item in the agenda…”. Now that I know I leave with a good name and an excellent presence in the office, I could not be any happier.

This is part one. I really need to piss now. Episode two is about the bitch who fcuked up my life when she left. She spread rumors and told people lies about me. Super Holy Cunt she was. Really.

Ack. I’m fuckin’ starving.

Lucillus, later!

:: of Me & Werk ::

2009-04-27T14:12:00.003+08:00

click picture to embiggen(?)

I'm so mad. Crazy mad. Mrs.Boss called this morning fussing over some petty mundane stuff. Even though she didn't mouth the real hurtful words or anything to that effect, her sighs and the tone of her voice were very clear indicators of how I have disappointed her in certain ways and that I'm a total loser for not finishing werk. Well oh well, it was not that I didn't want to do werk or too lazy or anything. It was just that the information gathered were not sufficient for me to weave into a full-fledged article. Creative writing is not something you can simply pull off from thin air. I need a great amount of raw materials and research. Yes, I can conjure a half-heartedly written article in 15 minutes, but what good does that bring? She can bitch and moan all she wants but still, I need to do everything from scratch, alone. And it's not easy being Hans-Solo here. Gimme some credit for goodness’ sake!!

So mad, I ditch werk at nine and went for a super long breakfast with some friends. Mrs.Boss called asking my whereabouts and I lied, I told her I was with Communications for some materials and I hung up before she could ask anything else. We, the morning-slackers, had so much fun smoking and slurping hor fun mee at the kopitiam. And talk about ghost stories. My new office is haunted, by the way. There are stories of previous occupants who saw some really weird/scary shit all the way from the ground floor up to the sixth. It’s an old area here. There are the Others. The day I moved in into this hollow space, I already had goosebumps and weird sensations. There is always this feeling of someone watching over me from behind. According to the senior staff, there bounds to be poltergeist phenomenon, apparition sightings and weird sounds towards late evenings but I would not worry much about that, as I will NEVER stay later than 5.45pm. Too much of a hassle. Plus, we’re not paid for extra time werking. And I hardly ever werk on the normal office-hour basis anyway.

I skipped lunch today. Finishing werk. Plus, the hor fun is still swimming effortlessly in my tummy. Werk done. Took me almost an hour to put the words together and rearrange the display scheme. Everything is nicely prepared. I hear one more word about the article not being done, then the person’s gonna wear it!

OMG! I went for tea to my brother’s place and saw the niece playing an online ragdoll game. I tried for one time and got hooked for life! Ragdoll Avalanche 2. So freakin’ addictive. And the game is mindless and u se only 2 finger the most at one time. That is a good game according to my criteria. free, energy saving, no cognitive process needed. I’ve been playing it all morning. Stopped for lunch-werk. And now continuing. I don’t plan to do any werk today or tomorrow either. Why werk if you have Ragdoll Avalanche 2! I'm so fcukin' ace. Here’s the game for you. Try it.

Ragdoll Avalanche 2

Click here to play this game

* I don't know why the font/paragraph is all fcuked-up.

:: of Me & Blogging ::

2009-04-23T13:53:00.001+08:00

So fcukin' true!

:: of Me & Buks ::

2009-04-23T12:12:00.012+08:00

There was a sale last week. They just chucked some books on the hallway and put up super-cheap price sign. That is an invitation for a human stampede. Of which I really, really like. This is the only chance to step on people’s toes or elbow the heads of ugly kids. Not to mention the perfect platform to touch all the private parts (of other people. not own parts. that would be nasty) and later claim it was all an accident and apologize.

I told you. Super cheap.

Books. Books. Books. Cheap books!!! I was hysterical.
Drooling over every title.

I bought only 3 buks. After hours of cruising and selecting and elbowing and giving mean stares to old women and children who wanted to grab the books I wanted. So unfair. They only put the least attractive titles for sale. I managed to get a book I wanted for so long. The Bad Dog diary. I read a few pages the book at the stupid book shop once and got hooked. Amazing story. Nice hard cover. I hid the book and came back the next wikend and continued reading a few pages each time. It carried on for a few weeks. I wanted the book so bad but it was tagged for RM 49.90. For a book about a dog trying to sabotage his owner's relationships and impregnate all the bitches in the park. Yes. I'm so immature in that sense,

After a few clandestine reading, they had a sale and I couldn’t find the book. And I couldn’t remember the title at that time, only the face of a dog on its cover. So, I couldn’t ask for help from the counter. What could I possible tell the dude? I am looking for a book about a dog trying to sabotage his owner's relationships and impregnate all the bitches in the park that I had been reading for quite a while and I hid it under the shelf but today I can’t find it because you have put the books on shelves for midyear sale?

Well, I got the book(s) I wanted and now I’m a happy clam. Hhmmmmm. The cashier keyed in the codes of the books into the register and I paid RM 20.00. He gave me the balance. A single RM5.00 note. Wow. A book sale and a stupid cashier? That is a real bargain that money can't buy.

:: of Me & Mr. Wobble ::

2009-04-23T12:04:00.002+08:00

Ms. S gave a little porcelain tortoise. I love love love love love love love you. So cute it breaks my heart. The amazing part is it has this wobbly head, flippers and tail. So freakin funny . I shake it a couple of times and put it on the desk and watch all the wobbly bits. It’s like shaking a fat friend and watch her/her wobble. Ha ha ha. It’s fun to have fat people around. Ahh..

Meet my new friend, Mr. Wobble

Mr. Wobble, face on.

Mr. Wobble, with all his hinges glory.

:: of Me & Stuff ::

2009-04-23T11:57:00.005+08:00

I spent a portion of my morning listening to a colleague babbling about her friend’s promiscuity. There was an episode of the friend, drunk and she had to carry her home after the friend tried to mount the bar. Another scene was when the friend chatted up a dude at a lobby of a hotel and then later went up to her room but no sex was involved, only foreplay and a shower, together. No bodily juice secreted. Not that much anyway.The portion of time in my petty little life that I will never get back. I went down to her floor to get a form but ended up listening to carnal ballistics and the story of her ex, who she claimed is the Head Steward, who looks stunningly delicious because of his mixed parentage and only in town a few times a month. I sat like a good dog and gave the occasional grunts, ‘Uh-huh”, and other compliments to make her day (and mine) easier. She said ‘heel, doggie’, and I sat quietly with gleaming hopeful eyes at her feet, tongue wagging. And I don’t even like her. Ohh, the things I do to please you people. *sigh

Anyhow, my office just moved to the main building. That is good, and bad too. Good, as there is more exposure, more respect, more facilities. Bad, because, lack of parking space, dull-er environment, stiff-er people, more ‘appropriate’ dress code (a must), and the boss’s room is just less than 10 feet away. Oh, did I mention I don’t even like the job? One time too many? Already? Well, I tell it again. I don’t even like the job.

I get my own room. Yeay. Huge room. So wide and empty I feel so claustrophobic because of the extra amount of air in it. Stupid, I know. Later, I’ll get another staff. Clerk cum my assistant. Double yeay. I’ll get a person to bow to me, hang my jacket, pick up my mails and make me a cuppa every morning. Double yeay there. Hail the Superior King Lucillus, the Master of the Dark Kingdom of Neon Skulls.

The air-conditioner is another haven. Own unit. In my room. So cold I could freeze up my sperm for future use. With my smoking and eating habit, I most probably need the unfertilized baby me. Definitely. And the toilet. It is Ah-mazing. 3 cubicles. 2 urinals. 3 sinks on the counter. Lots of free space I could roller blade and spread my legs wide open before I could hit the walls. One of the toilet is broken. The flush tank overflows and the excess water goes into the bowl. So, it is in constant flush mode. Super fine. I can poop and smoke without having to flush. What an amazing fuck-up of the toilet system. It saves energy (Mine, for not having to flush) and it is highly convenient (for me, for not having to flush). The mirror on the wall is huge. I can’t help my self making faces and posing in various contortions everytime I go for smokes and poop sessions. I like the toilet so much that I poop twice daily. One in the morning (last night’s dinner) and another one before I leave (to clear up breakfast and lunch. Ok. Half of the lunch. Or maybe just breakfast). I see this as a good sign. This new office is gonna be good for my bowel.

*now I’m trying on a t-shirt to determine my size. They’re making office tees now. Wot happened to corporate shirts and annual 10% increment? Well, it’s free. Who am I to deny such a treat. Size M could optimistically boost my ego coz I could flaunt my bulging muscles and super taut physique. But that is social-office suicide because the people here are all so demure and stuck up aristocrats wannabe’s. Size L however, is a more covert way of flexing my soaring social status in the clan of superior whippets. Which is the more respectable and socially accepted norm. Hmmm. The mind boggles. Coax my ego, or succumb to the bottomless demands of normalcy. Decisions.. decisions. L it is. Plus, I could always wash it (a thousand times) to shrink it.

A happy note. My colleague is leaving. She’s already on leave. She’s getting married in 3 days (women get all excited and giddy when it comes to this). She’ll be back for another 2 days at the end of the month. Then, poof, she’s gone. Greener grass. Selamat Pengantin Baru to you. May you have loads of little fluffy gremlins and a successful career (keria?). God bless. God speed. And everything god.

On a more personal note, I’ve been depressed lately, and it shows. I’ve been snoring my sleep away. I never snore. But last 2 weeks, my roommate recorded me snoring in my sleep. And I assure you, the sight/sound was NOT pretty. I was shocked. He was shocked. I snored like a raging undersexed Sumatran rhino in Kalahari Desert. Long, eerie snore every time I breathe. And I don’t even know I could exhale that long! Lately I lose focus. More than usual. I can’t keep my mind in place, can’t muster enough attention to keep one thought together. I lost appetite for a day and stuff my face like a starving warthog the next. It’s crazy. If I don’t know better, I might think I’m suicidal. The symptoms are there. The tendency is wayyy leaning to the HIGH POSSIBILITY side. And the weather is not helping either. Nowadays it’s not just warm or hot anymore. It’s baking temperature. The alternate rain showers make matters worse as my half human body is not coping well. The demonic side is functioning well though. No worries.

A factor that contributes highly to my depression is this: LUCILLUS - THE WALKING HUMAN COFESSION BOX. I mentioned this before. Times and times over, I get vexed by this. I’m so bothered (not in a good, horny, fluid-inducing way) about this. The thing with me is, I might be an asshole, act like one, sound like one and probably smell like one too, but I always surrender to people’s whines. Friends and families come to me and pour their heartfelt anger and frustrations. Like the good mongrel that I am, I listen and make them feel better.

Maybe it is the nurturing side of me being a model Cancerian, or perhaps I just really AM A GOOD PERSON in the inside. Even the cleaner, K. Tini poured her frustrations towards her management, saying that they cleaners are so underpaid and overworked, with children to feed, schools and buses to pay, health to take care of, husbands to satisfy, all while cleaning my windows. And I listened all the way, the deprived bastard that I am. And it all started when she came in and I asked the inevitable, “have you eaten?”, the epitome of Malay’s decency. And I never expected the coming landslide. Me and my mouth.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t always get pleasure from inflicting pain onto people (but it is oh-so-fun doing it). In some weird times and ways, it gets me all giddy and happy to help other people. Yes, the human side of me sometimes takes over the mind and body. It’s hard being a mix breed. This human side of me sometimes overpowers the whole system and I get all mushy and sweet and doe-eyed. As if it is on cue, when I’m in the most fragile state, I have people swarming over and make the douche out of me. Time and again, I question the purpose of me being put on this planet. Most of the time, I don’t really think it is anywhere near DOMINATE EARTH, CONQUER HUMAN, MAKE PASTA SOUP.

Friends and family detest me most of the time, I think. Sometimes I notice the occasional snarls and they bare their teeth upon seeing me. The low growls accompany whenever I step into a room. My mere presence make them gag. And I’ve come to terms with that, over the time. My needs of love and affection is associated with head rubs and a scratch behind my ears or long continuous strokes on the ribs. But in times of desperations and in need of emotional supports, they come running and sobbing to me. Whining, screaming, asking, demanding, shouting, crying.

It is a bit of a freak show most of the times. The people you know well, the people who claim they are strong and built for challenge and crisis, the people whose smug face are always up high you wonder if they capable of looking down, the voices so loud you think they are superior. Well, not anymore. These people, these creatures of steel hypothesized external, are the weaklings that make humanity suffer from within. They are nothing but fluffy kinky buttons and no more. Upon crisis and emotional distraught, their shields lowered and shattered, their voices quiver, their long limbs slump at the sides, the up high face, finally yield to gravity. And the pearls of sadness roll down their cheeks. And in this sad depressing stage, they come looking for me. As much as I detest them, they are friends and families. And the sessions begin with me listening and end with me telling motions and steps. The irony of it all, in most cases, I don’t even have the experience in truly experiencing their problems whatsoever.

So, how do I justify my opinions and the free tips? Common sense and logic. And I’m good at working my words, twisting them into weaves of soothing caresses that appeal to the ears of the disturbed. These people mostly are emotionally incapable of reaching calmness, thus restricting them to think logically. Their state of mental imbalance makes it hard for them to think logically and they do not associate sense and actions in one sentence. Humans are not the best creatures at this times. They crumble to words. They rise to words. How words make all the difference by simply putting them in a string of orders. Change the orders, change the meaning. Same words bring reverse effects, according how you string them together. Gullible humans. My species will truly triumph over them. Just wait.

I should start charging these people. I am turning more into a human each day. By Christmas, I might have a heart already. The problems they make me bear are total nightmares. Unrequited love (cinta bodoh), abusive love (cinta bangang), bad husband (the other spectrum of male dominion), lazy emotional wife too attached to the mom (letting go issue), crazy stalker (sexyyy!), financial crisis (you asking me? Really?), sex (and you pick me? Wow!), family feuds (that’s where the heart is), office politics (and I am who?), bad boss, lazy colleague, creepy friends, backstabbing bitches/friends, and the list goes on.

And what makes you think I give a rat’s ass about you really? Don’t I have enough problems with me and my little life already? Do I look happy? Do I glow with joy? My eyes are gleaming with happiness? My swagger says I’m fine and confident? The body language says I’m alright? Well, too bad. I’m not. I don’t’. How do I carry on? Well, we can’t all be Brad Pitt, can we? But we can pretend. So, pretend. It doesn’t make the problem go away but it can really make you concentrate more on pretending rather than your problem. Get sidetracked. Get away. The problems? Still there? So what? You want to talk to me to ease the pain? What? I’m Mother freakin’ Theresa now? Wow. You have the audacity of a roadkill. The strength of a wet towel. And the determination of a hound on heat. I give you that. But please. Find a shrink. Pay him well. That might do you some good. Leave me alone. I want just a piece of my life for me, alone.

Now, leave me alone. I need to pretend to work. I have bills to pay, mouths to feed. And I am oh so underpaid. Shoo, now. Until later.

Lucillus,
woof! woof!

:: of Me & FaceBook Quizzes ::

2009-04-14T11:46:00.006+08:00

I love to do FB quizzes. Most of the time, those darn quizzes are downright inaccurate and just another measure to kill time while waiting for lunch/clock out, or in my case, the absolute action of being active in office without risking falling asleep on the desk. I was scanning the list of quizzes available on-screen and then I found myself staring at one picture, among the pictures with titles of those quizzes. I was like, are you 'effing kidding me? For real? I was staring at this:

In close up.

The whole picture. Far up?

Bongok gile, okay? Gambar taik pun nak letak yang real. Khaiiittt..ppptuuihhhhhhhhhh! In other news, I smiled when I read this. Facebook Users Get Worse Grades in College. You FB fanatics are not that bright after all.

:: of Me & Werk ::

2009-04-11T12:07:00.002+08:00

Day: Saturday
Time: 12.00 noon
Venue: Office
Mission: Update info on the web (pending since 2 weeks ago)
Time to shower and get dressed hastily to go to office: 15 minutes
Time to upload: 30 Seconds

FCUK!

:: of Me & Cancer Sticks ::

2009-04-10T17:19:00.008+08:00

I’m a heavy smoker. I sometimes bring a new definition for chain smoking. My car reeks of nicotine with ash residue everywhere. My room smells like an ashtray. And I just found out yesterday they increase the price for ciggies. Now it’s RM 6.60 for a box of 14s. Like, hello, don’t you guys need to advertise/announce for the price hike or sumthin? I was unaware of the fact that the price was ten cents higher than the day before and I paid RM6.50 for my purchase, put the exact change on the counter top and left. The machaa had to yell at me, “Dey, mapley, sikarang sudah naik la dey!” Can you imagine how embarrassing that was? Looked like I was gonna cheat for a ten cents worth of cheapo-ness. Dang.

To make things worse, now every box bears a picture of the consequences of smoking. Premature birth. Miscarriage. Multiple types of cancers. Gangrene. Full fledge awareness campaign, complete with puss, blood and everything. Yucky. Ergh. The most tolerable picture for now is the one with a dead baby on it. Cute. Bloody and all but still cute. The rest are just appetite depressing modules. Perfect for people who are on a diet. Get a pack of ciggies and stare at the box for 5 minutes before you order dinner. Results guaranteed. You’ll be 20lbs slimmer in a week.

I believe the whole stand behind this aggressive campaign is that the government is trying to make us quit. Well intended. Bad move on effort. Because, still, no one quits. Believe me. They may get put off for the first 3 minutes after getting their first box of newly decorated pack of ciggies. But after a day or two, the effect wears off. My frens now go to mamak shops and they “Ane, I want the one with the baby. Not the cancer one. The baby. Yes, dat one”. We humans adapt too quickly sometimes. Yes, we are definitely the most advanced creatures God has ever created.

As for me, my tactic is a bit melodramatic and delusional, as always. I improvise. I get creative. I get funky. I do this. And now frens are so all over me for my services and expertise. Here’s a few thousand words for you. Compliment as you will. Yes, I take bookings to. Colors vary from black to white, red to blue. For now it is just single solid matte color. Suggest. I might come up with multitones and effects.

Lungs with tar. Yummeh.

My fave. The baby.

So, as the creative side of me kicked in, I spray-painted the slide-in
cover. Black. With clear finish. Dammit, I'm good!

Ciggie box and the new suede black cover.

Slide it in, voila!

For what it’s worth, I salute the effort from the government. Yes. We smokers need to quit. But to quit smoking is not as easy as quit wearing boxers and switch to boxer briefs. Nope. It’s very complicated and the regime takes full determination and strength in order to succeed. Yes, some lame asswipes will say “mind over matter” and all the other crappy Dr.Phil stuff. Here’s from me. You all may go fcuk your sorry asses. It’s hard you morons. If it’s easy, you still think I’d be smoking cancer sticks all day long? God. You should shove your pieces where the sun don’t shine.

So, what can the government do? Well, the ultimate move would be - BAN CIGARETTES AND ALL NICOTINE/TOBACCO PRODUCTS. Easy breezy. Voila. No more people smoking. But yes, the government wants all the tax money and shit. Let the people die of sheer ignorance and the poloticians shall be rich from all the taxes they put on all the tobacco stuff. Oops. Sorry government. I don’t vote.

Right? The move is very clear. It’s just a matter of DOING IT or NOT. They choose the hard way. And want us to suffer the hard way too.

Gotta go. Ciggie break.

:: of Me & My Online Status ::

2009-04-09T10:42:00.005+08:00

A few times too many, lately, I’ve heard someone’s been fussing about their frens/colleagues statuses on FaceBook or Friendster or Yahoo Messenger/other IM. These people make such a big deal out of it, losing temper and get all stressed out on the piece of one-liner their acquaintances put on their social networking site/applications.

Now, reality check.
One: What you put on your site/IM as your status is your mode/mood for the moment.
Two: It’s personal.
Three: It’s irrelevant to me or other pepole, but you and you alone. Tu, solamente.
Four: It’s just a line.
Five:It’s fcukin’ stupid to fuss over such stupid freakin thing.

I don’t know about you, but for moi, it’s very childish to put on a flag of emotion on your FaceBook or Friendster or Yahoo Messenger/other IM so that the whole world knows what you are feeling at the moment. Like, putting up “I’m sad. The fugly bitch ……. (add relevant name or IM ID here) backstabbed me and actin’ like tell-tale whore with sour pussy”. Really? And you want what with that? You want a quarter of earth’s population to send you Kleenex? Or perhaps the National Guards of USA to come over and give you a back rub? Seriously.

And to you, the one whose being mentioned, no need to fuss over such petty stuff, because, NO ONE FREAKIN’ CARES. No one gives a shit on you, other than you and the other bitch. Grow up.

Really, people. You really want to mess the mood for the day, flipping out over some really, really mundane and boring event of my-online-fren-punked-me-online-and-I’m-sad-so-please-kill-me? Wow. You such a better person than I am. You really rock the world. You should be Mother Theresa. UN should award you with Good Citizen of the Earth Award. All hail the Queen.

Am I the only who doesn’t really give a crap on this issue? So, you hate me for being good looking with killer personality and put “Lucillus sucks ass and eats earwax” on your IM status. Am I supposed to flip out and drink Clorox over it? Wow. Is that a world knowledge? That means I’m not a good netizen? I don’t know our lives online should interfere with our ACTUAL life in that fashion. I’m so sorry for being so stupid. Oh, please unplug me from internet now and let me crawl away into the corner and die alone for not being actively related to my phony life online.

And if you notice, only women do this. Men don’t really care about it. Is it something in your genetic make-up that makes women vex over such issues? Wow. Men are so handicapped if that is the case.

Please excuse me. I need to change my FaceBook and Friendster and Yahoo Messenger status to “I’m immune to emotions, as with other Men of Earth”.

Logging out..

Lucillus Sucks Ass and Eats Earwax.

:: of Me & My Conversation ::

2009-04-06T17:33:00.006+08:00

I got into a disagreement with a fren, and one thing led to another. We called names and rubbed each other's nose into all the dirty deeds each of us had committed. So juvenile. All those events happened online, of course. I'm such a pussy anyway, to have a fight face to face. Plus, I'm not the confrontational type. I'm more of a pacifist (is that the correct spelling?). Anyhow, as my words most of the times, wringing people's spirits dry and crush their egos to dust of nothingness, the argument ended in dead silence and I was feeling triumphant. Very Caesar-ish. Very high school.

Anyway, the offended party soon apologised, offering treats to make up. Well, I'm not the one who pushes away gifts, so, I surrendered my high and mighty nose from the sky and landed on humble earth. And I emailed, just to show the bigger person that I am.

The email goes:
When it comes to frens, we do not offer apologies. Frens understand each other. Frens can say anything and get away with it. Frens can sit in silence but still understand each other's thoughts.
Therefore, I, as a fren, offer frenship, and that's all.
No apologies. No worries.

Me so sweet, no?

I'm such a good person. It shows. I practically ooze goodness from each pore. Like the tiny fluffy creature in Horton Hears A Who says: I eat rainbows and poop butterflies. That's how sweet I am.

p/s: I declined the treat. See, more proof of ethereal goodness from me.

:: of Me & My joey ::

2009-04-02T16:11:00.004+08:00

I’m sad. One of my sugargliders died last nite. The female one. She was fine when I got home from werk at around 6p.m. She was jumping around, climbing in the cage all fun and happy. I took a nap and woke up around 8 and wanted to feed the pair. I always hand feed them. That ensures bonding.

Anyhow, when I opened the cage, only the male jumped on my shirt. Usually the female would be the one who jumped on me like a famished vampire hungry for blood. But it was the male who was licking my fingers and arm. I saw the other one curled up in a ball of fur under the plastic play-house. I whistled to her. Nothing happened. I tapped the cage. She was not moving.

WTF?

I poked her with my finger. And the fur ball moved. Whole. Stiff. And cold.

She was dead.

Dang.

Seriously, I felt like crying. There was a sudden surge of mixed emotions in my chest, all tight and nauseating.

I put the male one in the small cage. With the sliced orange. Picked up the dead female and put it in a paper bag. Tossed the bag into the big bin outside.

I slept at 10p.m and felt like puking. Woke up at 2a.m and made my way to the big bin. Took out the paper bag with the cute grey carcass. Took out the critter and put on table. She was still cute. For a dead animal. I poked at it some more, scratched under her chin, hoping she would wake up and play with me like always. But to no avail.

Put on a tee and pants. Scooped the cutie from the table, into the bag. Went downstairs. Plopped the bag into the dumpster.

Done.

Hope she’s happy, wherever she is now.

The cute little bitch cost me RM250.00

:: of Me & Menage A Trois ::

2009-04-02T11:51:00.004+08:00

Menage a trois.

The third.

Is it wrong?

You (mostly) can't help it.

You despise when there's a third one.

What happens when you ARE the third one?

:: of Me & Frens ::

2009-03-27T16:20:00.002+08:00

A couple of frens from office just opened a hobby centre. Mini Radio Controlled Race Cars. It looks fun. Mini racing cars. Super fast. Guys refuse to get older. Sounds fun. Go for a visit. You might have a blast. I tried. I didn’t. But hey, I’m not your average Joe either.

The racing track.

There's the taukeh. Sitting.

The drift track. Or maybe it's the drag track. I can't remember.

Taukeh and Co-Taukeh.

The Supply Counter.

:: of Me & My Conversations ::

2009-03-27T14:55:00.010+08:00

I went to check out a resort for my cousin. He’s getting hitched this June and I did him a favor, checking out potential venues for his reception. The best one so far is the Aryani Resort. Near my home, next to a very, very gorgeous beach with white sand, secluded and private, quiet, with full scale amenities. And, the yard is simply amazing. A garden reception is highly recommended. Plus, one of Terengganu royalties just had a reception there. So, my idea is not totally original. But then, if it fits for the king, then I’m fine with it.

Anyway, the weather was super hot and dry back in the East Coast. You could simply drizzle some olive oil on the roof of your car and throw a slab of meat, then, voila, you could have yourself a piece of steak!

As the cousin paid for a night stay, I tried to enjoy every second of it. Alone at the resort was calming and refreshing, until Sister Numero Tois and Mr.Daddy decided to drop by and crash my single tea party. Such a pooper. They came in and took over the room. Them, with all their glorious army of brats. How convenient. She claimed that I needed a female perspective. And he said he was there to ensure we behaved ourselves and not taint the family name with our so-called immature demeanors. Wow. Such supportive family that I have.

I went for a few walks by the beach. Tried to read but couldn't get more than 2 lines without my Sister asking my opinions on mundane wedding stuff. Btw, my family always gets to be the party planner for most of our relatives. It’s either we have good taste or they simply refuse to muddle their minds with such useless event that celebrates the oldest form of slavery, that is marriage.

Anyway, I had an interesting moment with my sister. She commented on my tee. It went like this:

She: You know, one doesn’t go around walking with his boobs hanging out from his chest like that.
Me: Wott?! Nonsense.
She: Seriously, with that plunging neck, you might as well whip out a boob and nurse the baby goats out there.
Me: Get off my balls. It’s a beach. People go around half-naked.
She: I’d rather see the half naked ones compared to the ones who tries to cover up but fail.
Me: Mr.Daddy, your daughter is insane!

The fore-fought tee is as illustrated.

Please say I didn’t go overboard with this one:

:: of Me & Tragedies All Around ::

2009-03-16T09:41:00.006+08:00

Hey, kids!

Had any fun during the weekend? I had fun. A bit of it. Well, fun is very subjective. Some people see lounging on a couch all day is fun. Some other think mocking people is fun. Some others find reading is liberating-ly fun. A friend of mine thinks sleeping is fun. To each his own I guess.

Anyway, the past several weeks have been an emotional roller coaster for me. A dear friend lost a baby. She had a miscarriage. And I was told that the mother of my sister in law passed away the week after. 2 deaths in 2 weeks. That was quite a bulky set of news to handle. But being me, I handled them quite fine. Being me, people do not expect dramatic reactions out of it. Fine. I empathize nonetheless. I still have feelings. I’m not as dead on the inside, unlike what I show on the outside.

I’ve been wondering. How do we react to grave news? Of loved ones. The ones we care the most. The close friends and families? When shitty things happen to the people I hold dear to my heart, I often find trouble stringing all the right words. So unlikely of me. I never lose words. But often than not, words escape me when I need them in such occasions. It’s not that I’m unable to feel. Nor that I find it difficult to emote. I can create emotions, for Pete’s sake, even unreal emotions to suit time and surrounding, mostly. But in times of emotional crisis involving my loved ones, I’d be a mannequin. A splendid looking one, of course. But speechless, nonetheless.

What do we say when death/tragedy happens upon friends and family? “Be patient. God works in mysterious ways?” “God has plans for all of us?” “Trials and tribulations are part of rites of life?” “What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger?” Do any of the lines make any sense to you? If shit happens to you, would you stab me if I say those to soothe you? As corny and text-book-y as they may sound, those lines are actually Famous. With capital F! And I don’t even find them soothing whatsoever.

When my mother passed away few years ago, I had a hard time expressing/experiencing grief but knowing myself, I was quite okay with it. But I found it hard to comprehend why friends and lecturers said the stupidest things, like, “Be patient. I know how you feel”. I knew they had good intentions and all that shit, but please. Talk to me like you care, at least. You know how it feels to lose a mom? Like hell you do! The last time I checked, you mom was still ranting endlessly on your filthy cluttering habit.

Have a little bit of respect towards me if not much. That is the least you could do. But do not patronize me. I’m not a fool. I knew how I felt or supposed to feel. And I knew things are/were the way they are/were for reasons known only by God. I knew all that. In times of distress, just want to be alone. And IF you really HAVE, IF you don’t you might die constipated, to say things to me, just tell me that I’ll be fine because I’m built that way. And pat my back. (Or a kiss would be nice. French, of course. I don’t do peck on cheeks). But if nothing at all, just smile. I’d love to get smiles from people. Smile with empathy and sincerity. The one millisecond sympathetic/empathic glints in your eyes say it all. That would suffice. I’m a simple man. A simple gesture would do. Less words is fine. But do it if you feel like doing it. Don’t fake emotions. Don’t lie. I can see right through you.

So, whenever tragedy happens to people around you, please bear in mind that their souls are in tattered condition. Be gentle. Be wise. Be careful. Wrong choice of words or gesture could inflict further damage. When friends and families lean on me for emotional support, I usually attend to it by being present at first. Being there. Sometimes by just being there could help. It helps when we see people support us emotionally, physically, or by just being in spirit. from there then we plan on further actions/better words to say. Regardless of how crappy some friends have treated me before, when they ask for support in times of desperation, I don’t care much of my emotional pain which they had inflicted in the past. I’d allow it to pass for now, at least for a brief moment. For friends’ sake. *(just for the record, some friends have been assholes and cunts. They say the most hurtful insults, did the worst things, made me feel low and worthless, acting all superior and shit. But they forget one thing. Karma. God’s punishment. Call it whatever you want. What comes around goes around. I’ve seen it. To closest of friends and families. I believe in God and good will).

There, my rant for the much hated Monday morning. Monday blues. I don’t mean to whine but I need to let it out of my chest. And God it feels so good.

To friends and families who are in despair, I love you. May all the trials and tribulations be over and you be merry again. But being sad and hurt doesn’t mean you can be the biggest twats and cunts. Just because you’re hurt, no need to hurt others. Shit happens. Deal with it.

To friends and families who made me feel sad about being myself, I’m sorry if you think so. Think again. Who’s the real sad, pathetic one. I still have other friends and family members who accept me the way I am and treat me the way I worth. And I love them. You are the one loathing everyone else while they all despise you at the same time. You are the one sipping chai and coffee all alone.

To friends and families who are in bountiful happiness, may you be blessed. Shit happens sometimes but be wise and accept it. God works wonders. We wait and persevere.

And to you, reader, stop reading and do something useful.

:: of Me & Pics in Phone ::

2009-03-13T16:46:00.011+08:00

Hola! Second post for the day. Nothing much, just emptying some space in the phone's memory card. More new mp3s coming, I've got to make some space for them. Besides, I'm waiting for the time to clock out. Waiting is sooooooo tiring.

Behold, I present you a few thousand words for your eye candy;

A dead rat by the stairs when I was leaving to werk this morning. One of its front paws was oddly placed. I bet one huge cat mawled the poor critter somewhere last nite but lost appetite halfway. The rat was beginning to show symptoms of decay. All bloated and shit. *OMG, I sounded so CSI!

My new red book shelf. Self bought and assembled. Got it from IKEA during one of my excursions with K.

The first arrangement of books which I cancelled before I changed to the new arrangement, as in the previous pic. I decided to empty the top shelf to accommodate my keys, wallet, ciggies, rings, watches, etc. I love to strip off everything (shirt, pants, underwear, accessories) the moment I get back from werk. It's like a therapy. To strip off everything after a dull day. Assuming a new skin. The preferred skin. The original. I'm pretty deep, you see.

The newly assembled shelf. I'm pretty solid when it comes to DIY. A man's gotta do what a man gotta do.

Fresh out of the box. With the manual, next to my Barney-purple bed and boxer. I was naked while doing it. So empowering. Being into the werk, in your natural ambience. The feeling was priceless. Just don't forget to pull the curtains. We don't want to create a frenzy outside the window now, do we ?

I bought 3 boxes of stroberies for $11.00! A bargain. Fresh and juicy ones. Took me 3 days to finish them. Too bad stroberies spoil easily.

K and I went to Alexis for coffee. I had iced coffee with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. K had an iced cappucino. Or something. And we shared a tiramisu. The most tender and lavish tiramisu I've ever had (and I'm not a tiramisu fan. I'm a plain cheesecake lover). Thanks to K, now I think I'm in love.

The foresaid tiramisu. A slice. Next to my box of dried salad, for comparison of size. It was huge. On top of the slice were chunks of nuts covered in honey, syrup and some other malty liquid. Super. Owh, with strawberry sauce.

Alexis is a very nice wine bistro. I havent been to that many bistros myself, but Alexis is kinda nice. Plus, it was raining so heavy that day when I was having coffee with K. Rained so bad and so long, I ended up being scolded by K for staring at other patrons. I couldn't help it. I can't afford to be idle. I needed to do something while waiting for the rain to stop. Staring at patrons was like THE simplest mindless thing I could do. Plus I didn't need to move about that much. I made another classless remark on one of the waiters. K pulled another It's-not-good-to-say-things drama. Ack!

Is it just me or McD's Oreo McFlurry is getting smaller. The last time I had one was during break fast with S and I remember not being able to finish it and I ended up toying with it, much to S's annoyance. And I bought another one last week and the cup was simply, SMALLER. Like, half of the last one. Please tell me I was seeing stuff.

Hokkien mee from yesterday. Basically it was just a bowl of super-fat wheat noodles in heavy soy sauce and chopped greens. And probably some salt. The most interesting part of the meal was the bowl. I fell in love with the bowl. I tipped the bowl over on one side and asked my colleague who sat in front of me to identify the brand so that I could get myself one later. It's Zen. Dang.

Another gourmet a la Lucillus. Vegetable stew with lentils and iced coffee. Yummeh!

Vegetable stew with ciken stock and iced lemon tea. So-so.

Vegetable stew with potatoes and beef and giant shrimps. I know Mr.Daddy is proud of me now.

Home-made steamed fish-n-chips. Voila! With salad and cottage cheese. Gile terer aku!
Tell me you love me.

Steamed dory with toasts, cottage cheese and lettuce. And Darjeeling. Blah.

Fish sandwich. Lightly toasted bread. I can have this everyday and still smile.

Peanut butter and jelly. With slices of stroberies. And coffee.

Check this dude out. Shiny golden pants. Multi colored shirt. And Adidas sneakers. I bet he took forever to pick out the ensemble for the day. The pants shone a bit more in real life. My phone camera didn't do justice for the guy.

K and I dined at Saffron, Solaris. On the restaurant's signage, it says 'Mediterranean Cuisine'. On the menu, they were like almost all non-Mediterranean. But we liked the name Saffron. So, we braved our guts and got seated. I ordered Arabian mixed platter with BBQ lamb, beef, ciken and shrimps. K ordered a seafood paella. And Ciken wings as appetizers. When the food arrived, it dawned on us that we actually ordered lamb briyani and fried rice. And the ciken wings arrived last. So much for Mediterranean shit!

Grilled halibut and steamed veggies with toasts.

Steamed halibut and steamed veggies with toasts.

Ta-dahh! I bought 3 buks to reward me-self for being such a god person for the first quarter of 2009. The To-Do List, How I Became Stupid and Gods Behaving Badly. 3 thick buks for over $150.00 and I finished them all in one weekend! Such a mindfcuk really. I hate when this happens. It took me hours to pick the buks. And I finished them in 3 days. 3 fcukin' days. Pissed me off so bad.

As a consolation, I bought another book. The Book of Other People, edited by one of my favorite writers, Zadie Smith. Basically it's a compilation of short stories/works by a number of contributors. And the best part is, it's not only a compilation of short stories, but it also has comic strips and other arty-farty stuff.

See? Comics!

More comics!

And other illustrations!

And texts, of course. It's a book, you moron. What do you expect? Du'uh!

That's all folks. Thanks for wasting your time here and everything. You should really find a hobby or something.

TGIF, people!

:: of Me & The Day - Friday the 13th ::

2009-03-13T15:03:00.003+08:00

It's Friday. 13th of March 2009. Friday The Thirteenth. Creepy. I woke up this morning with images of Freddy Krueger and Hason Voorhees lurking in my closet. Blah.

If Friday the 13th is unlucky, then 2009 is an unusually unlucky year. This week's Friday the 13th is one of three to endure this year.

The first came last month. The next is in November. Such a rare triple-threat occurs only once every 11 years.

The origin of the link between bad luck and Friday the 13th is murky. The whole thing might date to Biblical times (the 13th guest at the Last Supper betrayed Jesus). By the Middle Ages, both Friday and 13 were considered bearers of bad fortune. In modern times, the superstition permeates society.

Here are five of our favorite Friday-the-13th facts:

1. Fear of Friday the 13th - one of the most popular myths in science - is called paraskavedekatriaphobia as well as friggatriskaidekaphobia. Triskaidekaphobia is fear of the number 13.

2. Many hospitals have no room 13, while some tall buildings skip the 13th floor and some airline terminals omit Gate 13.

3. President Franklin D. Roosevelt would not travel on the 13th day of any month and would never host 13 guests at a meal. Napoleon and President Herbert Hoover were also triskaidekaphobic, with an abnormal fear of the number 13.

4. Mark Twain once was the 13th guest at a dinner party. A friend warned him not to go. "It was bad luck," Twain later told the friend. "They only had food for 12." Superstitious diners in Paris can hire a quatorzieme, or professional 14th guest.

5. The number 13 suffers from its position after 12, according to numerologists who consider the latter to be a complete number - 12 months in a year, 12 signs of the zodiac, 12 gods of Olympus, 12 labors of Hercules, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 apostles of Jesus, 12 days of Christmas and 12 eggs in a dozen.

Fun facts for such an ill-fated day. Btw, the facts are from Yahoo!.

:: of Me & The Pics in Phone ::

2009-02-23T13:54:00.009+08:00

I'm making some space in the phone's memory stick. All old pics have got to go. I have loads of new songs and I'm out of memory space. Hence, old pics out here, new MP3s go in.

My new loafers. The moment I saw them on the display shelf, I remembered my father's loafers in the 80's! Very Miami Vice. Not Collin Ferrel one. The original. Don Johnson's. And I loved seeing him in my mind's eyes, with his cool loafers, walking in the park with mummy and we the retarded brats wrestling behind. We were such still small kids at that time, but I remember well. So, I bought these. And during my brother's wedding last couple of weeks, I wore them. He looked at them for a while and said, "I used to have a pair of those back when you were still a blubber with snots." "I know", I told him.

Brother from down under came back for a week and we were bored stiff in my flat. Mostly stiff. We ate and talked and watched pirated movies and ate and talked. Then one day we decided to head out to the mall and bought ourselves the most ridiculous shades ever in order to crown one of us as Mr. Douche of the Year. Under the $500 budget. So we did. And of course I bagged the much coveted title. I was so freakin' ace, bay-beeh. Don't mess with me once I'm in the mood.

Douche side.

The new alarm clock I bought. And I shall never be late to work again.

First culinary casualty. Left a barely-visible reminding scar.

Mostly, my grocery list looks pretty much like this every time.

We had a gotong-royong painting the office long time ago. There were 3 choices of colours. lime green, soft pink, shocking pink. We were free to use any combination of the given colours. Not much options, but we managed. Voila! Oh, I made pasta for everyone. Some others brought cupcakes, samosas and mango juice(?)

Designer Dude 1: Green and pink

Designer Duddette 2: Shocking pink all the way

Common area: Green

Yours truly After Shot: 2-tone pink

Yours truly Before Shot: multipletone grey

Okay. Loads more pics. Still up to it, people? I'll continue later. I need to werk for a bit at least. It's not nice when I get paid for nothing. It's like wasting the government's money on purpose. And that would be cruel. Wasting is not a good virtue.

Bye now.

Be nice, people. Sape jahat masuk neraka!

:: of Me & The Food I Shove Down My Throat ::

2009-02-23T11:14:00.019+08:00

Here are the pics I promised before. Mr. Daddy thinks I’m a bit un-well in the mental department for taking snaps of pictures of my food. He caught me tilting my head and squinting, puckering my lips, looking into the screen phone camera to get a good snap of the food. He asked 'why' and I told. The truth. Of my obsession with food and pictures of food. He said it was not healthy and I should get a less-calorie hobby. Blah. As if he has any. Collecting wives is not a hobby! At least not here. He’s building a harem there and I know I would bust him one day. I’ll report him myself!

Back to business. Basically I have only 3 recipes, and I recycle them over and over and take pictures from different angles each time so that the food looks different in the pictures. Pretty sick trick, I know. I soo should be in art directing. My eye for art is impeccable. Yes, right? Oh, you’re not the first to say that really. But please, don’t toy with my vanity. That is cruel. Okay, okay, I’ll snap a pic of you later. Yes, promise. Now wipe your drool and lemme present the entrées and main course for tonite’s dinner. Sit straight and let the feast begin. Napkins on laps, everyone? Mind your manners, you, the one on the left side of the table. No elbows on table. And mind the silverware too. Your momma’s not here to pick it up for you if you drop it. Okay people, bon appétit!

Steamed dory with garden salad, fresh from the supermarket, and garlic baguette. With iced coffee, in my favourite Transformers tumbler, of course. And mind the huge alarm clock I just bought. Now I have no reason to oversleep. Or not.

Hmmm...scrambled egg and chili ketchup. and toasted cheese and herbs baguette

Grilled-chicken bruschetta with mixed salad

Fresh salad. Grilled ciken tits. Cheese and carrot bruschetta. Yummeh!

Grilled ciken on a toasted French baguette. And Darjeeling.

Grilled pollock, scallops, fishballs and salad.

Same as above, plus more salad. That means I just went grocery shopping.

Grilled ciken tits and scallops with herbs topped with cheddar. Salad. Darjeeling.

Ciken n' cheese. Salad. Ice tea.

Maggi. I know, I know. BUT, I added carrot wedges, green peppers, celery sticks, eggs, ciken slices, giant succulent fish-balls. Therefore, the junk factor was reduced by at least 75%. Voila. Me so genius, no?

Dinner for two. Braised halibut and scallops, yucky multi-seed baguette, salad, and tea, I think.

Multi-seed baguette, scallops, ciken n' cheese, salad.

Refer above. Just a more colorful salad.

Arghhhh!!! The monotony is killing me!

Pasta and sliced ciken steak. Ooot! Ooot!

Guess.

Omellette. Salad. Tea. Breakfast. Or Dinner. Same difference.

Make up on your own.

I think that was fish. Or maybe ciken? Shit, I ate that?

Fish. DEFINITELY fish.

Ciken, toasts, seafood salad and coffee. Add a movie and a flirt then we have a date!

Seafood pasta, toasted baguette, salad and coffee. Or milk tea. Maybe Horlicks?

Spot on breakfast. Eggs. Salad. baguette. Ketchup. Coffee.

I made burger. Beef. Australian. Thick juicy patty. Salad. I ended up discarding the buns.

Pasta I cooked for office. We re-painted the office that day. So, I made pasta. Nice boy I am.

More pasta. With shrimps.

Freshwater fish steak. Salad with parmesan. I hate freshwater fish.

Eggs.

Food from the team building BBQ. Piled my plate with BBQ-ed ciken, lamb and squid. I only ate the fruits and the ciken. Gile membazir aku ini!

Ergh!

Blackpepper steak, steamed beans, salad, toast coffee. Heaven.

Super juicy steak. Steamed beans, salad. My meat-streak week. I blame my brother. He had a BBQ and invited me over. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you.

Toasts and salad. Definitely no meat/eggs/fish around. That means I skipped my grocery shopping.

That looks like a very, very flat pice of ciken tits on a bed of greens.

Steamed dory with herbs, steamed tomatoes and carrots, lettuce, sliced strawberries and baguette toasted on parmesan.

I have no idea what that pile on the plate was. Looks edible enough.

Steamed veggies with baguette and something else which I can't identify.

There you go. A feast for the eyes. As you notice by now, the half-decent culinary skills that I assume I possess are not quite Jamie Olliver-ish but I really think I stand quite at par when it comes to preparation-sloppiness and licking food from spoon and plates for tasting.

All in all, I need to stress that it is not my reason to brag. With all this posting on food, that is. My food is mediocre to say the very most. But I pride the fact I made them myself and I eat them with the sole purpose of NOT getting a heart attack by the time I'm 30 (That is like, in, 5 odd years or so). My cholesterol is a bit better now. Blood pressure is way normal and lost an inch in my wait *blush.. blush.

The END.

p/s: to all my beloved friends, I am sorry for the words and actions and things that I did or didn't do. I've been out of my fickin' mind. HAH! Finally. I said it out loud. So, frens, come over. I'll make dinner as make up. Don't worry, I promise I won't put arsenic. Wink *fingers crossed..

:: of Me & The Long Hiatus ::

2009-02-23T10:13:00.008+08:00

Hello people.

Please ignore the illustration. It’s just something I pick at random. And I thought it was really funny. No?

Anyway, on a personal note, I’d like to apologize for the long absence. It was intentional. Really. I had nothing to write about, so I didn’t. It’s better to say things when we mean it rather than blabber on things that are irrelevant and totally worthless. Aite?

Just like I said before, when we blog out of obligation rather than vocation or reason, then the blog suffers. Not that I post really high quality stuff in here or anything, neither they are memorable nor important. But at least, when I write things (most of the times) I write on things that are close to the heart (i.e: breast pocket. HA HA HA. Blah! Not funny, I know).

There. The reason of the super long hiatus. Thank you. Danke shon. Another reason is that, I’ve pretty tied up. I know. How could Lucillus be tied up? He’s like, the posterchild of slothfulness and banality. Right. Well, for your information, I’ve been pretty busy. With stuff. Stuff I refuse to disclose, as we could never know who reads this stuff on the net.

Things in life have been pretty solid. Werk’s nice (how super!), money’s been better (economic downturn, no biggie), health is amazing, frens are lame at times (but hey, frens are suppose to be lame, right) Well, that sums up pretty much my whole life for the time being. Wow. I have a very simple life of a very restricted number of words. I can sum up my life in a single simple sentence. WOW. I never cease to amaze me.

What have I been up to?

Well, I went to the plantation resort last week for my team building. Yes. Palm plantation. I swear. Which was fun. My team was announced as the best team and we had a blast. Being the bottom team at first and then we rose to stardom in a flash, blinding each and everyone with our blinding glow of teamwork and passion for team spirit, out-seating all the annoying people and made the 3-day course our own. Well, that would be MY version of the story. Other teams might beg to differ.

Wot else?

Hurmm.. well oh well, it escaped me earlier. I’m a dad now. To the cutest pair of twins. I know I came as a shock to you, but hey, I’m still in shock too. I could never see myself as a dad before, but you’ve got to do what you’ve gotta do. Here are the pictures of my babies for your eye candy:

Clinging on my rock-hard abs. Female on top, male bottom. Ehehehehe.. Stop smiling, you dirty minded fcuk.

What? They’re not humans? Of course they’re not! Why would I want to raise human babies? Sheeshh..have you gone bonkers? Humans are like, the vermins of the planet. Why would I want to have vermins as babies? God, you people!

My gliders are now 3 months old. Strong enough to feed on their own, cuddly enough to fit into my shirt pockets and tag along with me doing groceries. You won’t believe how human chicks dig these gliders. They are all like, “wah, kiut nye hamster dier!” – (they’re not hamsters you stupid cunts. They’re sugar gliders!) or “ee.. comel nye menatang ni. Sama macam tuan dier. Boleh pegang tak?” (Sama macam tuan dier? Am I a menatang or I comel macam menatang? Nak pegang? Pegang la. Bawah skit. Lagi. Bawah lagi. Yes. To the left. In the pocket. Deeper. Grab it. Slow. Yes? What? No? A rod? No gliders? Owh.. sorry, they’re in my breast pockets, not in my front jeans pocket. Pardon me. My bad)

So, there you go. My babies. What were the other things that kept me occupied for the last 3 months or so? Let’s see..

Weddings in family. 3 weddings for the past 6 months. Another 1 coming in June.

Family lunches and dinners.

Frens visiting. New ones. Old ones are very-very vague as of late. Hurmm.. fishy..fishy..

Owh.. my food. Yes. You must be wondering about my food. I’m happy to announce that I still cook, even though now it’s more like once a day. But still I cook and my Tefal muse is still in perfect shape and still in great use.

Now that I have a new roommate, the flat is even merrier and more fun (fun-ner?).

More pictures of food in my next post.

Lucillus, out!

:: of Me & The Tight-faced One ::

2009-01-22T09:43:00.003+08:00

I've been, on numerous occasions, called one name too many. Snooty, distant, weird, and the list goes on. But the one that I often hear for the last 2-3 years baffles me for quite some time and to be frank, I don't really know what it means.

MUKA KETAT. Tight-faced.

Do I have a tight face? Does it make me look younger? Or what?

What does it even mean?

As in "Before I knew you, I thought you were something else. You know, with that muka ketat and everything.."

Is that a compliment?

Humour me, people. I'm open for discussions.

:: of Me & .... ::

2008-12-22T09:51:00.002+08:00

I’m not laid off. As just yet. I still have my job. Kudos to me. *clap clap.

Maybe next year.

Anyhow, it’s a good year ahead. I’m thankful for the previous one and looking forward for the next.

It's holiday time.

So, season's greetings. Happy holidays. Happy New Year.

Let's screw up the karma and do bad.

:: of Me & The Haircut With A Smile ::

2008-11-05T10:31:00.001+08:00

I ditched werk yesterday. Bad bad flu, sore muscles and headache. Woke up at 6.30am to make breakfast, but my head was throbbing like crap with muscle aches on back and thighs. I was sweating in my sleep, the bed was drenched. I already felt the usual hot-cold pre-fever symptoms, but I thought I could sleep it off with a handful of Panadols, which I did. But obviously I was wrong. So, after waking up and trying to stand up straight and make my way to the loo for my morning pee, which I failed miserably (the standing up and walking, not the peeing. I peed flawlessly), I slumped back on bed and texted my colleague saying that I couldn’t make it to werk and would be rocking up later at noon if the fever receded. But it never did. I laid slumped for the rest of the day. Blocked nose, throbbing head with each and every heart-beat, and sore muscles. I needed an epidural.

Woke up at 2.00pm with nausea and thirst, with a hint of feeling like pooping. Sat up on bed contemplating to walk to the loo but I remembered that I already tried this morning and almost failed, so I decided to crawl to the kitchen and boil some water. I managed to stand up and move ever-oh-slowly around the kitchen. Every clink and clank of the spoon and the mug and the sugar jar was like thunder to my ears. Made myself a hot and steamy cup of Darjeeling and fried two eggs with some salad I tossed into my plate. Didn’t bother to season whatsoever since my tongue was literally numb and the taste buds were nothing much of any use. Flu is hell. Had brunch of eggs and greens in bed and fell asleep again with a piece of lettuce hanging by the mouth.

I went for my fortnightly haircut last night, after I rose from my deep, all day slumber. I frequent this place ever since its early conception/opening about a year ago. Owned by two cute sisters. Fresh out of beauty school. Pretty young. The eldest is my age I guess. Or younger. Sometimes there were three of them. Most of the times only the two elders. The youngest makes occasional appearances to change her hair colour (the perk of having sisters with a hair salon) or babysit the kid of the first sister. The kid is a twat. Once he pulled on my shirt and sprayed hair gel on my sleeve. I only smiled of course. I know better not to mess with the kid of the woman who cuts my hair. The aftermath could be ugly.

Anyways, when I got there last nite, the two sisters weren’t there, instead there was another lady. Older, pretty and looked very, very sweet and motherly (Freud would disagree). She has long beautiful black hair and sat at the counter flipping though a magazine when I walked in. She stared blankly at me for a moment and told me the sisters were not in because they’d gone home for some stuff. She was filling in. I said I needed I haircut and I needed it badly (I didn’t really needed it that bad but I was bored lying round, moping at home feeling sick so had to make an excuse to get out of the house and stayed out until midnight). She said she had never done men’s hair before and she was afraid that she might mess up my hair.

I told her my hair was already messed up to begin with and I didn’t really care if she did anything wrong with it because I could chop it all off if things went wrong (I just need a reason to go all Michael Scofield again). She looked at me for a minute longer and asked me to sit so that she could have a closer look at my hair and see if she was up to it. I happily obliged. I sat on the chair and she scrutinized my head, touching and caressing my hair. Finally, she agreed to do it. I told her, it wasn’t all that hard. I’d walk her through it. It was just a bad fauxhawk. Just keep it short, follow its original style and we’d be fine (I hoped).

So, she experimented on me and I trusted her shears and razors, fingers crossed. She chopped my hair bit by bit, talking about how sorry she was if I didn’t like the outcome or if the style wasn’t really my cuppa. I laughed it off and changed the subject: where she worked before, the boifren(!), the kind of customers she liked, the most horrible ones she had etc. It is amazing how friendly I could be around strangers when I know I won’t be seeing them again. I talk about things with unrelenting openness when I’m with unfamiliar people and when they reciprocate, I’d be happy to tell more. Scary thought if all the strangers I talked to finally decide to have a mass reunion and spill all the things I told them.

She commented on the uneven-ness of my hair. That my hair on the left side is thicker and fuller, the back part on the right side is oddly dry and coarse with split ends, the part on top is quite thin compared to the other parts. Blimey. I never knew that. She asked me whether I work in stressful condition, because, the weird hair situation could be hormonal or stress-related. I told her my job is stress-free and how would the hormones be involved in this? And she explained. As we grow old(er), the hormones change and the body could not adapt to them as quickly or as it should. So, the hair and nails usually show the early symptoms if the hormonal imbalance occur. I was like, wow, you learn that in beauty school?

She also said my hair gel is killing my hair and suggested that I switch to lighter mousse. It holds the hair without putting stress on it or ruining the roots or give spilt ends. And that I should condition my hair after every shampoo. She told all these while her hands busy snipping away my unruly mane. She paused at every 2 minutes, asking my opinions on how she was doing and making sure she did it the way I wanted it. Whenever I told her I wanted some part shorter or thinner, she’d smile and say “OK, dear” and continue her snipping. Not that I’m deprived of love and affection (oh, shadap you!), but it’s nice to have someone called you ‘dear’, even though it’s just a customer service courtesy or even a shameless flirt. It does no harm. Heck, if it makes me happy, I’d pay for people to come to me and say it!

Regardless, the haircut was a long 20 minutes. But it felt longer, but nothing unpleasant or anything of the sort. She re-gelled my hair and made me promise to try on mousse. I paid and she smiled, telling me to come back later if I’m not happy with the cut. An $8.00 haircut and a courtesy service? I’d be more than happy. On my way out, a pair of kids walked in . School kids of early teens. The boy wanted a haircut. He explained in sharp detail how he wanted his hair to be; short on sides and the back, thin but long up front, side-swept but no bangs. His exact words.

I wish I could have such strong opinion/need on how I want my hair to look like. Or anything at all really. Just a strong will and a sharp, precise preconception of things in life. Even a school kid knows what he wants. Alas, being young was always easy I guess.

Before I walked out the door, I stopped and glanced back. She was smiling at me. I winked. Her eyes glinted. She winked back. I smiled and left.

It was great to smile with no reason.

:: of Me & My New Muse ::

2008-10-27T18:50:00.012+08:00

Hello, people of the much-hyped blogsphere!

It’s been 2 weeks since my last post. Werk has been crazy lately. I know. I say that a lot. But I mean it this time. I hardly had time to breathe for the past weeks. Never thought my job would consume me. Alas, the period was just a fleeting fraction of my mortal time. Life resumes it slow annoying cycle and I’m back to normal. Well, the word normal doesn’t really describe me and my life. The most normal things about my life are the facts that that I breathe oxygen and shit turds. Apart from that, I’m practically an automated toll gate.

I have nothing much to say. Well, nothing important that is. I always have things to say. It’s just that most of them are pretty much garbage and personal musings that do a free-fall manoeuvre into the bin tagged ‘RUBBISH’ in bold metallic crimson letters.

As promised to some friends (S and I unanimously agreed that day, that the term ‘friends’ are to be replaced with ‘acquaintances’ with no regret whatsoever), I’m going to pull a show-and-tell on my latest muse for the moment. Muse du’jour. Please take note that the term used, ‘for the moment’ is very highly super crucial in this context of the conversation for I am infamous for possessing the attention-span of an ADD-ed five year-old and a goldfish combined, therefore, I shall not be accountable for the switch of personal muse in the future days (should I have one, which is regrettably, according to my past track record, has a high possibility to occur).

The fore-spoken muse is this:

Isn't she lovely? All black and shiny.

Yes. My new muse is a non-stick Tefal pan. I fell madly in love with it upon first sight while I was cruising the kitchen aisles in Parkson. I was the only single good looking male in the section and everywhere else were either; A) Old women B) Mothers with bad sense of fashion C) Mother with small kids screaming as if they were possessed by Satan or they were Satan Himself D) Old mothers with bad sense of fashion with small kids screaming as if they were possessed by Satan or they were the Satan Himself.

As I stoop very awkwardly among heaps of shining pans and pots, I was at a loss and almost took off. Then I decided to make one final round towards the last aisle. And there she was. Smiling and gleaming, dripping with culinary appeal and taunting me coyly. She was mesmerizing and I stood transfixed. Slowly, I picked her from the shelf and slowly held it close to my chest, feeling the smooth texture of its face, fingering every curve, smelling the aroma of a pan in its virginal state, unharmed by any foul ladle, unblemished with blasphemous scratches. I was swooning and drunk on love. Tighten my grip on its handle, I rushed to the counter and paid the price of my newly-found devotion. Hurriedly I left the place and marched towards the parking lot, glancing back every now and then, fearing some evil sinister ugly mothers would club the back of my head with their ugly shoes and steal away my love from me. My precious Tefal pan. (For more vivid visual stimulation, please get a Lord of the Rings DVD and fast-forward to the Gollum part. That would do me justice).

I wanted a medium-sized cast-iron pan/skillet but they are way too pricy and smaller in size. This mommafcuker muse I bought is kinda pricy and is in a league of its own. But, it’s a bit wider in diameter, thick and tough and has a very sexy handle (can I like a pan for its handle? I guess I can). Very suitable for an over-aged amateur cook who is awfully good looking but has no kitchen skills whatsoever and can’t cook to save his life, i.e moi. So, our adventures together began short after that and we have fun all the way. Here are some evidence of love compatibility for your eye candy:

Beef steak with grilled peppers and fresh garden salad, pan-toasted garlic baguette and iced coffee.

Chicken sandwich, baby carrots and sliced tomatoes laced with olive oil and hot hot coffee

Chicken steak with low-cal cheese, toasts, salad and coffee.

Chicken steak with no cheese, triple toasts, salad and coffee.

Chicken steak with low-cal cheese, toasts, salad and no coffee.

Scrambled eggs, toasts and shredded lettuce with thinly sliced carrots.

Scrambled eggs, toasts and shredded lettuce with thinly sliced tomatoes.

Eggroll salad. - I was out of chicken or fish or bread of any sort. Such a mindfcuk really.

Freshwater fish steak with grilled peppers and salad, pan-toasted garlic baguette and hot coffee.

Grilled cheese with veggie omelette and coffee.

The reason behind all these culinary chaos is that I’ve come to this phase of life where I should confront my demon. My genetic demon. The curse of the family. My family tree has its roots deep into the region of the coronary and renal vicinity and almost everyone in the circle at least inherit one of the heirlooms of doom. So now, at 25-ish in my mortal years, I should at least care for the food that I stuff into my face. For this fourth quarter of the year, my resolution is to prepare my own food, healthily in manner, nutritious in content. My goal is simple: Have a well-balanced diet. So, I’ve been pouring over simple recipes and healthy tips from the internet for the past few weeks and I can proudly say that I’ve done a good job at it. And I ate out only 2 times for the past 2 weeks. Kudos to me. Again. Kudos to me. *Clap..clap

And I’ve mastered the skills of doing groceries now. I dreaded the moments where I had to go grocery shopping in the past. There was something in the dark, narrow aisles of the supermarkets that put me at unease and made me shiver with fear and contempt at the same time. How could people steer the carts into the supermarkets? Aisles after aisles of boxed and canned goods with all their glories in colourful packages and small printed expiry dates? Being single and stunningly handsome, I used to despised doing groceries. But now, realising that my biological clock could stop functioning properly and starts giving warning siren signals at any time from now and the next 40 years, I’ve decided to face my fears, and for what its worth, it ain’t all that bad. Well, I had a hard time juggling a bottle of milk, a bag of oranges and another bag of apples, loaves of baguette, and a carton of eggs, but later I realised they provide baskets for that.

Here’s last week’s shopping list:

Kleenex tissue – 3 boxes
Professional Chef cutting board
Salad pack – Romano – 1 pack
Crisp curly lettuce – 1 box
Mixed capsicum – 3 peppers
Chalice garlic infused olive oil
Cherry tomatoes – 1 box
Baby carrots – 1 pack
Cheddar – 1 pack
Chicken tits keels – 2 meaty pieces
Eggs – 1 carton
Fresh milk – low fat – 2 bottles
Apples – 1 bag
Whole-wheat baguette – 2 loaves
Rye bread – 1 loaf
Tefal non-stick pan – 1 love
Ladle - 1
No-cholesterol butter – 1 tube
Black pepper – 1 bottle
Chilli flakes – 1 bottle

This week’s shopping list:

Salad pack– 2 packs
Mixed crisp curly lettuce – 1 box
Mixed capsicum – 1 box, 3 peppers
Cherry tomatoes – 1 box
Baby carrots – 1 pack
Cheddar – 1 pack
Parmesan – 1 250g wedge
Chicken tits keels – 3 pieces
Eggs – 1 carton
Fresh milk – low fat – 1 box
Apples – 1 large bag
Whole-wheat baguette – 1 loaf
Onion – 1 small bag
Garlic – 3 cloves
Spirelli pasta – 1 bag
Autralian tender beef – 1 packet of 6 slices
Garlic and herb spread – 1 tub
Fish slice - 2
Klorox bleach – 1 bottle
Toilet brush - 1
Potatoes – 500g

So, my shopping list is a bit stretched this week. And that called for an upgrade in storage device. So, I switched my old small mini-bar into a full-fledge small fridge, designed for single men. Voila!

For now, almost all my food is grilled. I’ve been having loads of organic salads with no dressings (except for pepper, salt and a bit of garlic-infused olive oil for the extra kick), omelettes with milk, cheese and veggies, grilled chicken sandwiches, grilled cheese, a whole garden of organic greens, whole-wheat bread and baguettes, rye loaves, pastas, eggs, low-fat milk, parmesan and cheddar, heaps of green apples and bananas, gallons of orange juice and not to forget coffee, with low fat fresh milk, of course. My only vice now is coffee. And also cigarettes. But I consider the ciggies as some sort of dried salad with no dressing. It’s better that way. I will continue to further delude myself in any way possible to make myself happy, and it has been working quite well so far. Sod off, you pretentious cunts! I don’t need your opinions here. Shoo you go.

I sent a picture of my self-cooked food to S last week. She was so delightfully encouraging, it moved me to tears. Even though she said my food was a bit like rabbit food, deep in her heart I know she loves me and supports the path I’m taking right now. I *heart you too my friend. Keep buying your food in the polystyrene boxes; they make good decorative attachments to our lovely dry, dying earth. While you’re at it, kill some Siberian tigers and cut down a rainforest too. Don’t forget to open burn the garbage and use plastic bags. Slay some kids while you’re at it.

Oh. A grave announcement on my behalf. I know that my vanity kills people most of the time and I make no effort whatsoever to tune it down, not even a bit, for I think, that it is me who live my life and my vanity is very much justified by my multiple great talents and amazing looks, plus, my too-good-to-be-true personality. Well, last week that vanity paid its price. I’m so vain that the mirror in my room at the office decided to commit a kamikaze for it could no longer bear the pain of having to lie to me everyday as I stared at my face and shirt and pants and belt every morning as I arrived. I gazed upon my face and told myself that I was going to have a splendid day that day while I scrunched my face one final time before I turned around and stay frozen for a split second and slowly glanced back into the handsome reflection in the mirror and gave a smouldering wink, and then I resume the position and sat at my table. Well, the moments of glory are no longer in my life’s diary, for now at least. The mirror decided to end his agony and dropped himself hard onto the floor. It shattered all over the mezzanine floor in sharp pieces, I felt as if the shards were pricking into my heart, piercing every nerve and blood vessels, making me bleed into nothingness. I picked up whatever was left of it and tossed the pieces into a box I found under the stairs and bid my last goodbye to my dearest companion for the past one and a half years. I shall miss you, Mr. Mirror- Mirror On The Wall.

Another bad news. I most probably lose my job by the end of the year. There’s going to be a nation-wide mass lay-off by December. So, any openings, anyone? Let me know. You will be heavily rewarded with salad and chicken tits, grilled to perfection.

On a happier note, S is pretty much settled in her new place. Hurrah for her.

That’s all.

Let’s get back to our jobs, while we have one.

Lucillus, out!

Cheerios!

:; of Me & My Conversations ::

2008-10-14T16:03:00.004+08:00

Azureus: lucillus 3:53 PM
aku risau aaaa 3:53 PM

lucillus: wot? 3:54 PM
u pregnant? 3:54 PM

Azureus: bukan tu 3:55 PM
gini la...i cant work in other places except for (insert state here) ..mak aku la . she's alone at home 3:55 PM
susahla 3:55 PM
you know whats it like in (insert state here) 3:55 PM

lucillus: then werk in (insert state here) 3:55 PM

Azureus: mmg dh decide to work in (insert state here) 3:56 PM
at least for the next two years 3:56 PM

lucillus: i may be all screwed up n shitty 3:56 PM
but i know one thing 3:56 PM
it's always good to be a nice son/daughter 3:56 PM
and.. 3:56 PM
u may have ur own dreams n shit 3:56 PM
but 3:56 PM
sometimes.. 3:56 PM
the life u have now is the best. if it isn't, then you make the best of it 3:57 PM
try first 3:57 PM
if it still sux.. 3:57 PM
then tell ur mom 3:57 PM
or.. 3:57 PM
u can bring ur mom with u 3:57 PM
rite? 3:57 PM

Azureus: yes 3:58 PM
i plan to bring her with me once i get my master done...which means i'll have enough money 3:58 PM

lucillus: see? easy breezy. 3:58 PM
damn i'm good 3:59 PM
no 3:59 PM
i'm great

I just made a person feel happy today. I'm such a good person. No. I'm a great person. Yes. I'm great.

:: of Me & My Conversations ::

2008-10-14T15:45:00.004+08:00

Azureus: you? updates? 3:35 PM

lucillus: updates? 3:35 PM
on wot? 3:35 PM
my depressive and ill-state life? 3:36 PM
my life is more boring than a snail's life 3:36 PM
i bet the snails are better being snails 3:36 PM
i tink they have more fun 3:36 PM

Azureus: snail's dont fuck 3:36 PM
you fuck 3:36 PM
haha 3:36 PM

lucillus: did u know that snails are asexuals? 3:37 PM
that is sooo rockin 3:37 PM

Azureus: what's asexual? 3:37 PM

lucillus: ler 3:37 PM

Azureus: bisex? no sex? freakin martyr? 3:37 PM

lucillus: they have both sexual organs 3:37 PM
if they dont find a mate, they can reproduce by themselves 3:38 PM
like, masturbating n later get pregnant. all alone 3:38 PM
we learn that in Form 3 Science 3:38 PM

Azureus: wow 3:39 PM
i suck at science 3:39 PM

lucillus: i know 3:39 PM
it shows 3:39 PM

It's amazing sometimes how I salvage what is left of my life and still feelin' suicidal at the end of every day.

:: of Me & Post Raya 2 ::

2008-10-11T19:03:00.011+08:00

Being at home all alone for a week is such a catastrophe. Moneyless, flatmate-less, car-less, free-downloaded-movie-less, everything is in LESS mode of some sort that makes my week a bit more of a hell, more hell than it already is.

So, to ease the agony a bit, if it's of any consolation for the already sorry state of the unbearable life thrown upon me, I decided to stuff my face with whole-wheat bread I stock up in my kitchen and watch old movies over and over until I can remember all the prominent lines in them. I keep the lines in a special compartment of my brain (Movie lines Compartment) so that I could use them later in life as movie lines are like the ultimate killer lines and I sort of proud to quote them at appropriate crucial moments in a certain spot in the lines of life as I could get mental blocks at times and I need to retort at/to some retards along the way during conversations as I would NEVER leave an argument undefended because I would NEVER accept defeat for as long as I live even though I'm dead wrong. It is not in my genetics to accept failure. It's just the way I'm hardwired. So, sod-off!

Anyway, I was watching Juno (amazing tracks. Must download them later) last nite and halfway through, I heard a loud thumping, clunking sound from out side. I looked out the window, expecting some rempit fell from his bike and fell face first on the tarmac, but that wasn't the case, instead I saw a stalled Vanette van in the middle of the road, the engine running, headlights on, and its side door missing! I looked further and saw the driver picking the fallen door off the road! The door actually fell off the van while it was moving. Freaky, isn't it? Imagine if there were kids on the backseat? They could get thrown off the van and fell on the road while a sixteen-wheeler zooming past and crushed the kids with its gigantic wheels! Here are some pics for your visual stimulation:

The poor driver hobbled over to the van, carrying the metal door. If it was me, I swear the flesh on my face would melt away of shame and extreme embarrassment! What sin did he commit in his previous life to experience a door-falling-off scenario?

A close-up for your eye candy! THAT IS THE DOOR OF THE VAN, right? I wasn't stoned enough to imagine things to that extent.

He's shoving the door back in its place. But to no avail of course. I wanted to shout "Hey, you need a staple gun for that?!" but I fear that would embarrass him. Plus, I was the one snapping picture at 3am, and I didn't want people to think that I am a freak or something.

Half an hour later a fren came and helped him. Then it got boring. I was rather amused to see the driver at first, trying and toiling with all his might, shoving the door and prayed hard (I think) for the door to stick. But when help came, I was disappointed. I was enjoying it at first when the driver was all alone and helpless. I stopped looking and continued with my Juno. I heard them left after half an hour.

Meet my new fren, Mr. BlueBall.

Meet Mr.BlueBall pinned under my ass. The stain near the crotch area is mind boggling. It wasn't there initially. Faulty phone camera.

Anyway, today I went to a Raya open-house. One designer from the office invited us, plus, she just delivered a baby girl a few days ago. So, we went. The food was fan-freakin-tastic. Her parents are caterers, which explained the abundance of food on the buffet table.

There were loads of people there, enjoying the free food, of course. But I wasn't there just for the food. I wanted to see her baby. I like babies. Babies are nice. They are like, soft plush toys, except that they shit all the time. But I can't help to think that, why should they grow and be such nuisance brats? Can't they just be babies, like, for ever and ever? Anyways, I like to sniff new-borns. They smell nice. Sort of. Mrs.Mummy used to say that babies smell nice because they are pure, that they still carry the smell of firdaus with them. So, basically, I like having a sniff of the heaven. That isn't too weird, is it?

I had rice with perfectly cooked barbecued chiken and tangy fruit salad and savoury veggie curry and fresh shredded lettuce. The red thingy in the left corner is my sock. I told you, I have a feet fetish.

Voila! The after shot. Only the chiken skin. And a weird looking woody spice. I fell madly in love with the spoon and fork though. Perfect weight, perfect length and well-balanced, with good enough curve to spoon food into the mouth. I wanted to steal them but I didn't bring my sling bag. Dang!

An accident on the way back. A 4x4 skidded onto the curb of the roundabout. Too bad. But the traffic jam was evil! One skidded car, hundreds of spectators. Malaysians!

That's all.

Still bored.

:: of Me & Post-Raya ::

2008-10-08T15:13:00.003+08:00

Eid Mubaraq, internet!

The festive season is still rockin’ most of us apparently. And I’m still on leave. 14 days festive leave and I’m loving every single one of it. I’m in the office anyhow. No, I’m not working, I’m not that committed to my job. No way jose. I’m here just to check my mails and send out one translation commission that will definitely pay for my road-tax due in December (hopefully, unless I could not restrain me self from buying the soft leather Puma duffle bag I saw the day I went for my last minute raya shopping with Mr. Daddy and Mrs.StepMother numero tres). Pus, the internet is free in the office.

Anyhow, my raya celebration and balik kampong trip was a smooth one. No messy traffics or awkward pauses between the relatives. It was as festive as ever and as always, I was the official lemang/satay caretaker, which translates to; no raya for the first two days for me as I was busy tending charcoals and the kindling. You see, lemang and satay do not get the perfectly cooked charcoal aftertaste if you smother them with only fire. The proper way is to smoulder them with love, care, devoted attention and affection, with charcoal heat instead of pure fire. That way you’ll manage to obtain the accurate charcoal cooking without slaughtering them with fire. I’m a genius, I know.

Here are my raya snippets. I need to run some personal (and definitely more interesting) errands later and I have no intention to spend more than 20 minutes in the office today. I plan to come in and shake some fat hands with some fat people I who I like (no point shaking hands with people you hate, as you tend to apologize and bitch about them later on, innit?!) and say some sad raya greetings – Selamat Hari Raya, Maaf Zahir Batin. I bet most of us don’t even have a clue what it means - to some other people and ENSURE that they actually think that I’m having a blast today as I’m not working (and God knows that it is totally a depressing lie I tell myself repeatedly day after day but these people don’t know that so it doesn’t really count) and walk out, taunting everyone that they are such lamers for having to work right after raya and I WILL definitely smile cheekily while putting on my shades and walk through the door with poise. And please God DO NOT make me stumble or anything. I want a perfect, graceful and teaseful(!) exit. Please. This one time.

However, I digress, as I always do. Here are my snippets;

-Went balik kampong with Mr.Daddy and Mrs.StepMother numero tres plus older brother. Meaning, I saved up almost $300 for gas and toll. I drove of course.

-I drove Mr.Daddy crazy with my endless radio channel surfing. And I loved it so much it made me sick.

-Some asshole took a bad turn and banged my car the night before we balik kampong. The result? Hideous scrape. From right front door. The douche was suppose to call but still didn’t. Such a put off.

-Arrived home, Mr.Daddy announced that he decided that we should have new veranda for raya. He made the contactor tear down the old shuttered porch to make way for the veranda 2 weeks before raya. Great. He made me spent 2 nights painting it, with full rights to choose any colors that hit my fancy. I started painting from midnight, as I was totally knackered during the day, from the puasa of course. Just to show my retaliation from his decision without consulting us (me, personally), I picked the Mediterranean color-scheme, of terracota and orange-y yellow, which is like the colour of most secondary schools back in the East Coast. And to add to my annoyance, he totally loves it. I clearly so did not inherit his taste for color-schemes and architecture and I thank God for that.

-Our raya morning delicacies included nasi dagang Terengganu, nasi minyak, nasi himpit with satay, lemang, multicoloured kek lapis Sarawak (totally yucky), seasoned boiled potatoes, rendang ayam, mee kari and kuih raya of various names and colors but the same taste of flour, eggs and cheap butter.

-All siblings were home for raya. I had to give up my room for some relative I didn’t even know I had. He has hair on his arms more that I have on my entire body.

-All nephews and nieces were wearing BubbleGummers. Family trait. I remembered my first pair. While leather with straps and a cartoon figure on the sides.

-Cousins are all fabulous and married. Almost all. Shit. Instant depression alert.

-One far off uncle came all in shiny silvery fabric, themed raya outfits. The father, mother, children, grandkids. All of them. Like the 2008 invasion of the Martians, but the fatter version.

-3 weddings gonna take place from next month to January. Next month, a cousin, and I’m bestman-ning. December, some other relative who I cannot remember his name of which side of the family he’s from or why he looks more likely to be related to the Simpsons family compared to ours. January, elder brother’s second wedding (Don’t ask). Must attend all three OR change last name (Mr.Daddy gave the options). I definitely go for the former. Inheritance, bay-bee! Inheritance!

-I have a massive family. My family tree is currently a forest, and it’s growing as we speak. A rain forest. Like the one in Brazil, but twice as big.

-One uncle from Mr.Daddy’s side (third one I think. I can never remember) is super-filthy rich. Even super-filthy is not filthy enough. His kitchen is thrice as big from ours. And his 4 baths are to die for. If the shower-heads could pay my bills, I’d totally marry them.

-I start giving out the green packets this year. I tell you, if you ever decide to join my family, make sure you can afford to drive a Benz. That is one of the lowest predetermined terms you should have. The brats cashed me out the first day.

-The family theme is all shades of red. I went with chiffon-silk maroon. We were all crimson looking and it went awesome with our beige wall. Freakin’ ace.

-I may be a social outcast with my awkward social flairs, but being together these few days with all the people I love made me feel human again, all tingly and mushy at all the right places. Ahh, We’ve all got flaws.

-I cried 3 times. One on raya morning, at Mrs.Mummy’s grave. The second one during salam raya with Mr.Daddy. It was just a tear actually. My sisters were all out hysterical and sobbing to the point of no return. Not to mention a bit of a Hallmark moment for me. I can positively ensure you that, on that fateful morning, all mascaras were NOT on eyelashes mostly. My last tear was during some sappy tele-movie on TV about a durhaka daughter. Or perhaps about a pelita buluh, I can’t really remember.

-One aunt still thinks I’m in school and gave me $100. For books, she said. I smiled coyly and bolted away super fast.

-Most siblings were late on raya morning. The second sister arrived at 11am and made her grand entrance with her huge shades (WTF?!) and gigantic handbag. The oldest brother rocked up at noon. By that time, I already smelled of charcoal smoke and an oily face.

-Another relative just had chemo. She lost all her hair. All hair. She told us all her weird experiences, like, she had to tape her eye lids in order to sleep or her medications make her wanting to eat newspapers and clay or she feels sad and tearful every time she smells people cooking food or this raya makes her feel more suicidal. Creepy. She wanted to show us her surgery scar. I walked off at the right moment. No thanks. I have enough bad childhood memories to last me my whole life span.

-My relatives are massive. Really. I can never imagine the sexual prowess of the male side of the family. They breed like weed. My hip was badly bruised from the pinching by Mr.Daddy in order to prompt my salam raya to each relative. I ended up shaking hands with almost all old(er) male family members including an embarrassing scenario involving me and the uncle’s Indonesian driver. That’s the price to pay for not knowing your family.

-People tend to get more beautiful as they get richer. All rich family members, relatives and family friends are utterly beautiful people. Physically and aura-wise. These people carry themselves in such a graceful manner that you had the split-second urge to claw off your clothes and commit suicide for being ashamed of being yourself and having super-fine relatives that are propping themselves with such elegance and exquisite mannerisms. I MUST get rich. No excuse. MUST.

-My strict no carb diet went into the drain. Raya is all about cholesterol and calorie eating frenzy. The galore of the coronary. And people are using raya as an excuse to stuff their faces with all the fatty and oily foods. Good luck with stuffing your faces with pills in 10 years! That is if you make it to then.

-Younger brother called from the land of the Colonials and cried on the phone. That’s what you get for ditching me here all alone and grumpy.

That’s all folks. I hope you had fun during raya. If you hadn’t, then you still have time. Raya sebulan!

p/s: If you need to have a proper diet during the season but still have to fulfil invitations to open houses and all the crappy free food galore, I tell you a secret. A tip. Before you leave home, drink water. A lot of water. Then soak half a roll of toilet paper in warm water and chomp it down. You will NOT be tempted to even sniff any food of the day. Brilliant, isn’t it?! I’m such a freakin’ genius, I know.

p/s/s: Good luck! And have a merry Hari Raya. Maaf Zahir Batin. Whatever the hell it means. Just so you know, I forgive but can never forget. I remember all the horrible things people say/do to me. They are permanently stamped to my insides and impossible to remove. I have selective memory. So beware, I’ll grab at any chances just to get back to you. Then we’re even.

p/s/s/s: Invite me to your house so that I can ridicule the crappy food you serve and how you suck at picking furniture for your home. I promise to be quick and gentle.

:: of Me & My Wasted Day ::

2008-09-26T09:24:00.005+08:00

OMFG! I had the best out-of-body experience 2 days back.

I came back home after work, scowling over my boss's text instruction of uploading the new web after the eid break even though it is like 35.35% finished. She has no idea wotsoever in the job that I do. Not a single freakin’ clue. All she knows is to have it done and displayed. If shit happens, those insane people will after my ass, not hers. Fuming, I slammed the door and peeled off my shirt and pants (with all those clothes trail, like in a racy sex scene from a movie, but minus the sexual activity, of course) and started reading Ellis’ Glamorama (almost done) with Right Said Fred banging in the background (I’m totally digging the 80’s scene nowadays).

Lying skimpily clad on the floor, contemplating to ponteng puasa even though it was like only an hour to break fast, I was in desperate need of my nicotine fix. Badly. While I was writhing deliriously on the floor and trying keep my sanity intact, as I was still furious with the boss, it crossed my mind that I could perhaps remedy the situation:

Put an end to it, i.e:

Suicide.

Bear in mind that I want to go as swiftly and painlessly as possible. A clean cut death. The perfect suicide. No wrist slashing. Too much blood on floor and clothes. I love my clothes (hate the parquet though). No pills. You might get poisoned from pills and die with a foaming mouth. Die in ugly manner? No way. No hanging. I heard you most probably have the tongue sticking out later. Fugly. I still have a bit of my pride. I refuse to be seen fugly or unkempt. No jumping off building. Again, too much blood and the end result would be horrendous. Body parts in awkward angles, smashed head, etc. No stabbing. I will not assault my body parts. I love the body. No car crash. Have you seen Lady D’s crash pics? She looked like a mangled rabbit coming out of a lawn mower. So, I decided to use the ancient Tibetan suffocation method. The Cold Wrath of God. Behold.

I started with soaking my towel in a bucket of tap water with chunks of ice I picked/forked from the mini bar in the kitchen. Then I folded the towel. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fold a ice-cold wet towel? It took me almost 15 minutes. After I managed that, I scuffled to my room and sit on the bed, both my palms are numb already from the stinging of the ice water. I laid on my back and started wrapping the wet cold towel around my head and face like a turban and then trying to breathe through the wet fabric. Slowly at first. Inhaled. A rush of icy cold air went through lungs. My chest felt like being pierced with a thousand needles. Exhaled. Better. Inhaled. Sharp stinging pain. Less than the first one though. Exhaled. Better. And repeated again and again.

It was around 6.30pm. I was half-suffocated and half excited from the new familiarity. Wet towel really restricted the air and made you woozy and light-headed after a few minutes. I was experiencing rushes of adrenaline and shots of fear at the same time. Heart pumping like a crazy wanker pumping the john.

After a few minutes I started feeling quite sick and nauseous. Difficulty of breathing. Then everything went black.

I woke up with a jolt, gasping for air. Fcukin’ hell! That was no fun at all. But before I unwrapped the almost dry towel from my head, I prayed really hard to see light instead of darkness. Well, I still have my baju raya. Too bad if they had to go to waste. I forked out one month of pay for my raya preps. Jeans, shirts, polos, jackets(?!), new watch etc. Let there be light. Slowly I removed the towel and opened my eyes. Yeay! And there was light! Looked at watch. 7.15. Cheh, 45 minutes of mock-suicide attempt horror. I should’ve used the Putting Your Face on The Gas Burner On Full Blast While Stabbing Neck Furiously With Fork Method instead.

Then it dawned on me that it was really quite outside. The roads and shops were supposed be bustling with people wanted to buka puasa around this time now. People tak nak buka puasa, meh? I looked outside the window and saw some cars passing by. No signs of people running around. Birds chirping. Chirpily (!). I checked my phone. 07.15am. Again. 07.15AM. Okay. A.M means morning, no? Holy crap. I passed out for more than 12 hours! 12 freakin’ hours! More than my sleep all this week combined together!

Fcukin’ ace!

I’m so fcukin’ ace, bay-bee!

I slept more that 12 hours that day.

That’s all. You can go back to your werk now. I’m done here.

P/: This is my last entry for now. Eid Mubarak, people.Salam Eidulfitri. Maaf Zahir Batin. Be nice, now. Say Maaf Zahir Batin back to me. Okey? We’re even.

P/S/S: I’m replacing cold ice water with gasoline after the Eid. Or maybe Clorox.

:: of Me & Filling Up The Time ::

2008-09-22T15:43:00.001+08:00

Hey peeps.

How was wikend, everyone? I had a marvellous time. I told the people around that I wanted to make the most of the 2 days, and hell I sure did. And what I meant when I say I want to make the most of it is I want to sleep or get wasted (sometimes both preferred) for 2 days, consecutively, with no or minimal interruption (except for the basics: pee, crap, occasional food and oxygen etc), of which I refer to as a seclusive retreat (is there such a word as seclusive?). I now proudly announce that I managed to achieve the near perfect seclusion last wikend and once again demonstrated the ultimate hodgepodge of banality that I am.

Okay, the low-downs (as per S said. Verbatim):

Um... Well, basically I slept. I slept and wasted as much time as possible, all the way through Saturday and Sunday. So that was pretty much it.

Well, after work on Friday, with the determination of steel, I went to the gym, but after my 15 minutes of cardio, I felt like dying of dehydration and famine, so I decided to stop and schlepped home. I fell asleep instantly. Bummer. Woke up at 7.30pm, obviously way past iftar time. Splashed some water on face and raced down to eat. So, after buka puasa, I chatted and smoked and drank (repeat the cycle maybe two, three, eleven times) before I went back upstairs and continued to read my 4^th Ellis while listening to Placebo, Fat Regal, Serge Gainsbourg, Damien Rice and Ravel Maurice’s Bolero (amazing track) with much fascination and almost-impossible-mind fixation. It was around 9.30pm. Then I made a bold decision to watch Ugly Betty Season 1 & 2, CSI Miami Season 1,2 & 3, CSI New York, Prison Break Season 1 & 2, Hitler the series, Chuck Season 1, Gossip Girl Season 1 and few other movies that I can’t really remember. All these, back-to-back, non-stop, staring at the monitor screen. So, after 12 hours of visual stimulants, I decided to go to sleep and it was already Saturday noon. So, I slept.

*** notes***

Ugly Betty rocks. Christina and Amanda are crazee funnies.

Horatio Caine and his shades are the coolest things after Big Macs.

Why don’t we have good looking polichikas in Malaysia?

Gossip Girl is like the audio-visual version of Ellis’s collections.

***end notes***

Woke up at 8pm, went down for a cigarette and a hot drink. After sleeping for the whole day, I wasn’t that hungry anymore. It’s like a au-naturel trick to reduce weight or something. Plus, my current staple diet of toilet paper and warm water is really effective. I watched more series and movies after that. Around mid-morning (2.00am-ish) my frens and I went to uptown midnight bazaar for nothing. We drove, arrived, stared at some under-aged faces and tits and we got bored already and left. So, I slept.

All morning Sunday. Woke-up at 9.00am, peed. Slept. Woke up at 2.00pm and hit the shower. Read more Ellis in underwear and lying in bed in fetal positions, with socks of course. It had been raining since morning, which encouraged more sleep. Woke up at 7.00pm, another shower, got dressed (new corduroy jacket and new t-shirt and jeans. It was a wee bit cold after the rain and shit). Came down and had cigarettes and more drinks. No food. Reading and sleeping fueled up the body real good. More movies and more Ellis. I’m a quarter away from finishing my 4^th Ellis. Must get 2 more titles before I complete my collection of Ellis. By 2.30am, I had a stomach bug and a splitting headache. Ate some noodles before downed a handful of Panadols. Passed out totally. Then…

Ta-dahh! I’m here writing.

Bye babes.

Rock’n’roll.

:: of Me & My Conversations ::

2008-09-17T00:23:00.005+08:00

Douche : Why don't you finish all the food?
Me : I'm full. I don't eat much now.
Douche : Really? WOW. Even meat?
Me : Less meat. Once a week. Less coffee too.
Douche : So, no interesting indulgences? You on a strict diet or something? What's your current vice then? BORING! HAHAHAHA..
Me : Nothing really. Ha ha ha (fcuker!)

I laughed with all the jokes thrown at me, thrown on me. Half-hearted laugh is so lame. Sigh. I always end up saying things that are a) not true b) I don't mean c) to please others. The best remarks are alweays the one you think of later. I'm slow like that. If I could have another chance to re-construct the conversation, it would go as below:

Douche : Why don't you finish all the food?
Me : I'm full. I don't eat much now.
Douche : Really? WOW. Even meat?
Me : Less meat. Once a week. Less coffee too.
Douche : So, no interesting indulgences? You on a strict diet or something? What's your current vice then? HAHAHAHA..
Me : Sodomy

or

Douche : Why don't you finish all the food?
Me : I'm full. I don't eat much now.
Douche : Really? WOW. Even meat?
Me : Less meat. Once a week. Less coffee too.
Douche : So, no interesting indulgences? You on a strict diet or something? What's your current vice then? HAHAHAHA..
Me : Racial prejudice

or

Douche : Why don't you finish all the food?
Me : I'm full. I don't eat much now.
Douche : Really? WOW. Even meat?
Me : Less meat. Once a week. Less coffee too.
Douche : So, no interesting indulgences? You on a strict diet or something? What's your current vice then? HAHAHAHA..
Me : Flashing cock.

or

Douche : Why don't you finish all the food?
Me : I'm full. I don't eat much now.
Douche : Really? WOW. Even meat?
Me : Less meat. Once a week. Less coffee too.
Douche : So, no interesting indulgences? You on a strict diet or something? What's your current vice then? HAHAHAHA..
Me : Peeing in sinks.

:: of Me & Life's Drama ::

2008-09-16T15:54:00.005+08:00

This entry was supposed to be posted on Monday but I failed to do so after hundreds of tryouts for reasons unknown to me or some other heads I asked (I DO work with people most of the times, I’m not Frankenstein. It’s just that my social interaction is so minimal, it seems almost passable to non-existing).
...............................

I'm back at the studio where I play the role of a government employee every Monday to Friday from 8.30am to 5.30pm. Sometimes it ends at around 4pm, or even sooner, depends on my mood for the day.

This drama is boring. And the pay isn’t that good (anymore). Seasoned soap actor can’t make a living here. TV has-been like me needs other options to survive. I in desperate need of another script for a another life series.

I spent all Sunday crumpled in bed with all my 4 pillows and my stinking quilt, finishing my 3rd Ellis, almost naked except for socks and cold because it drizzled all day, or perhaps it did not but then again it might had drizzled only towards the late half of the day, I cannot really recall as being wasted on a Sunday was really my idea of total escapism. Plus, I shut the curtains tight for the gloomy post-depression effect (which totally works every time). Had shower at 7.00pm and went down for buka puasa.

After that I drove up to Cheras and met up with T and KJ (again) for drinks and we talked about pre-16 September day off (which was a total hoax), the lewd acts of big-shots and ministers (mind-boggling fetishes), the raya celebrations (plans and everything), the prices of kuihs (which is getting higher by the minute), everything and anything else that affect us in life, or maybe not, as we tend to talk about rubbish most of the time as we normally do every time we meet and this session was not remotely different compared to any of the rest.

Then we somehow steered the conversation into the aisle of aims of life and directions for retirement and jobs that pays. That was instant depression for me. Fcuk, these people really know how to kill me softly. As I've been handling my pseudo-manic depressive fits thinking about who I want to meet, what job I want to do/good at, who I want to be, whether or not I want to marry, etc. By all means these are really good aspects to ponder on/about/into(?), but at the same time they can be quite exhausting and generally leave me more perplexed that when I first began the whole pondering-thinking process. The result to date is a big hot mess. Unsure about many (if not all) fundamentals of my life at present and trying (desperately) to get a clue (the very least) plus these people are grilling me in unison, I swear they were tagteam-ing to make me undergo a lobotomy.

I paid for the drinks and took them for a spin around town, which was really an abhorrence because I don't ever fancy the idea of having to go for a spin as I think it is really stupid because to spin is to move in rotational/circular motion which brings you nowhere as you move and create momentum and inertia and velocity just to get back right to the place where you started. Kinda pointless, 'innit?

In desperate attempt to cheer up my scarred spirit of being reminded of the importance of being employed and actually fulfill the employment requirement of having to do certain tasks as we are employed, I decided to put my social skills in use and headed down to the nearest mall (much to the dismay of fellow two passengers. I gave them choices of course. I'm not a meanie : the mall with me and a ride back OR share a cab to their parked cars 25km away). I wanted to get myself something that would make me happy and useful at work, for at least, I have a legitimate justification now to turn up to work and (try) to love waking up in the morning instead of dreading. And of course, I asked (made/plead/?) them to come with me, because I wanted their constructive advise on the stuff I should buy and I can always benefit from some encouragement . T snorted that I didn’t really need advice, but rather I just need somebody to agree with me. They get me all the time. That’s the key to our ever-lasting companionship.

Scouted the mall over and under and in between. Finally agreed upon buying the office material of choice; new Guess Steel wristwatch. Steel bracelet (the active person that I am, leather straps might not work as I sweat profusely, even in the office). Shiny and everything.

Grinning, we left the mall, I drove the two dogs to their cars. Happy.

Arrived home. Wide awake and giddy. Not an ounce of weariness. Peeled my jeans and sweater off, got almost naked and jumped onto bed. Tossed and turned for hours. Looked at my clock on the wall. 2.30am. Damn. Got up, put on the fisherman's pants I bought during my island escapade 2 weeks ago (you wear the pants like a kain pelikat, complete with kilas and all, then tie the cloth-string around waist). Took out newly bought watch. Tried on wrist. Left. Amazing. Right. Couldn’t be more elegant. Wanted to try left ankle but realized no one would see it there. Wasted effort if no complements received, eh? Vanity MUST be seen AND acknowledged by at least 3 legitimate eyewitnesses (no inferior level officers. Same pay grade and above ONLY. If in some special/desperate circumstances, inferior levels are accepted under the term THREE inferior employees are considered as ONE vote.). Giddy. Smoked some cigarettes. Stared at the ceiling.

Got bored, removed of the fisherman's pants. Shuffled aimlessly around room. Stared into the door mirror. Moved closer. My hair is a total disaster. Mused over some mundane stuff (work- related mostly) and got depressed. Moved to closet. Tried on new PDI shirts and Topman tees with the corduroy jacket. Along with the two jeans I just picked up from that alteration place yesterday. Tried jeans and Topman tees with jacket. Tried jeans and PDI shirts with jacket. Then another set with another pair of jeans. Smoked some more cigarettes. Popped some paracetamols. I think I might want to remove the jacket’s collar. It’s too tacky and common. That will not fit the whole preppy-pseudo-student-age vanity I’m adapting on/in/into/onto(?) now. I’ll take the jacket to the jeans alteration place later. Maybe they could snip it away or just tuck it into the seams or perhaps suggest other alternatives as the jacket is way too expensive to toy with.

Bored out the frickin’ mind, I rummaged through my books looking for my 4th Ellis. Shit. Couldn’t find it. Poked around deeper into the shelves and behind it. No trace whatsoever. Fcuk. Someone stole my Ellis. Who would have the audacity to steal my Ellis? More importantly, who would read Ellis? Another egomaniac nihilistic narcissist like me? Devastated and sweaty already. More cigarettes. Why would anyone steal my Ellis? It’s not meant for ordinary people. I must look again later.

Ended up staring at the ceiling. Then I felt sluggish. Good sign. Eyes glinted. Malicious smile played on lips. One last cigarette. Puff puff puff. Put the butt out on the window ledge hastily. Turned off the light. Ceiling fan on full blast. Pulled the quilt over the head and started counting sheep.

The alarm went off by the 26th fluffy sheep leaping rather coyly in my mind. Opened my eyes real slow. I flipped on my stomach and moaned profanities into the pillow with spit spewing. All over face. Damn. I wanted raw lamb steak rather violently.
Sat up and wiped (wope?) face and nose with the back of the hand. Grossed out.
Hit the shower rather reluctantly, sleepiness cling on each eyelash.

Zoomed to work.

That explains the mood for today.

Which also explains why I do not switch on the light in my room right now. Post-depression mood in full manifest.

Midnight vanity has never been meaner.

God I hate my life. I need new stuff to look at/into/?. But of course I want to do it/them at the convenience and comfort of my own time, place and mood. I am in need of positive changes. Of course, this is never going to happen, but I can delude myself if I want - it usually works for me.

Such a mindfcuk really.

(Of course I filched that line from somewhere else– can’t remember where – but I like it. Anyway, I’ll type it again because I want to close with that, to leave an ever lasting impression, i.e the perfect closure)

Such a mindfcuk really.

:: of Me & Feeling Like Dropping Out ::

2008-09-16T14:32:00.003+08:00

There was once (or maybe twice /thrice) during my whole education process, I felt like dropping out. I fcukin hate going to lessons and learn new stuff, and partly because dropping out of skool/college would be very cool and I wish I could do it on a regular basis. Like, dropping out of school, dropping out of college, dropping out of work, dropping out of life ultimately… It'll be great, innit?

:: of Me & Monday Blues ::

2008-09-15T10:57:00.003+08:00

It's Monday. And Monday sucks. Mondays suck. Big time. I hate Mondays. Monday means work. And work sucks like Mondays, but in double volumes. There you go. Revelation of the day.

I hate Mondays.

I can't work on Mondays because I still remember yesterday's day-off Sunday.

I can't work tomorrow too, because I'll be too busy remembering today, the Monday that reminds me of Sunday, the day off.

The next day, Wednesday, would be an utter disaster too because by then my moods shall build up a bit (in 2:25 ratio. 25 is the top mood) and I'd be all psyched up to work. Psyched, however, is not enough as it is just a state of the mind. Wednesdays prep me for work. Just prep. Mental prep. I'll hover around the day with a lot of every other things I could think of except to work.

Thursday would be a bummer because the day after is Friday which is TGIF and I would be devastated all day Thursday thinking of the coming Friday, that is the day after, and the fact that I am one day towards salvation and self-preservation would make me deeply unsettled and at the un-pristine condition to concentrate on work.

Friday. A total wreck. Physically and mentally. Taunting the mind. The prospect of fleeing the office in a child-like glee encapsulated the whole mood for the whole day. Friday would witness me in this trance-like state where I am capable of handling no office related matters, except for breathing only. Batting eyelids would prove to be hazardous as it takes too much effort and calories, as those two elements are reserved for the night activities which commences right after I clock out. Friday is a total waste, work-wise that is.

That is why I'm bummed everyday at work. Five reasons to be counter-productive for the whole five days.

I fcukin' hate Mondays.

:: of Me & McDonalds ::

2008-09-14T02:29:00.007+08:00

S and I went for buka puasa last week. We decided to leave after we stayed at the restaurant too long and there were stares from the people. We like, stayed there before the buka puasa and until all the crowd left. Talking rubbish and bitching about a friend of mine who went there to buka puasa with his new student girlfriend and his bad hair and skinny arms and bad appetite and bad table manners and all bad things we could pick on him. Anything as long as they were bad, and that made me and S very happy and everything. We good like that.

Then we sopped by at a McDonalds, for dessert. Ever wonder every time you step into a McDonalds and you hardly see no skinny ass people? I made another social science research (with pictorial evidence, of course. I'm no fraud, unlike an ex lecturer of mine).

FAT ASS

Top circle (I did try very hard to create a circle. Bad mouse). Bulging fat ass with bulging back and waist and tummy and everything. There should be a law on not to have too many bulges on one single entity. Circle two. Almost there. Keep up with the Big Macs, dude!

FAT ASS

See? Proof of the bulges is in the ass. S and I make a very good food critic, not to mention society reality checkers.

That's all.

HA HA HA.

:: of Me & Family Iftar & Pissed Beyond Words ::

2008-09-14T01:22:00.013+08:00

Had buka puasa with la mia familia. The whole bunch of siblings and their evil spawns, along almost all cousins and old uncles with their dazzling wives (my aunts la tu). Sister #3 volunteered to host the grand event at her apartment to, as always, show off her amazing culinary skills. She cooked her infamous nasi minyak with gulai daging and ayam merah. For the whole entourage. 33 pax. She rocks at this. Mr.Daddy was also present, which explains the mandatory presence of moi.

I went by train of course. She lives like in this place which is situated three minutes to the next universe. I made the smart choice of going by train as the gas and toll accumulatively would require me to fork out a quarter of my puny salary.

She made fried quails. Spicy. I had no appetite to eat them for quails are very-very cute. Before they got deep fried and everything, of course. How can you eat those fluffy little critters?

And caramel pudding, my favourite! She made them less sweet with less eggyolks and more flour. I don't really know how but she told me. We need to look after our choleterol level after all. Me and my cursed genes spoil it all.

And fried salted fish. It's a must for nasi minyak Terengganu. The final touch of saltiness completes it all. Like Jerry Mcguire. 'You complete me'. Ikan masin style.

Mr.Daddy had boiled potatoes with chicken. Looks so simple and not to mention cheapo, but it tasted really good. He had 2 potates, I had like 5. Plus rice and everything. God, I'm such a pig!

Brother in law bought kuih seri kaya. Basically glutinous rice topped with rich yolks, steamed, flavoured with palm sugar. Lots of palm sugar. So sweet they are sinful.

And the best looking son, a.k.a moi, bought more kuihs. Stopped by the Gardens and went to Nyonya Colors and sinfully indulged in the satanic desire to borong all kuihs available. From left, bingka ubi, puteri ayu (?), telinga (anak) keling and ketayap rolls. $23.80.

Another reason to call for such family gathering was to bid farewell to the brother who's gonna leave the country to work in far away country and serve the colonials. Which made me more irritated and fidgety all around. I know. I'm such a sore loser.

And then, before we left, everyone was like congratulating him and stuff. I gagged and almost puke. I mean, hello, he's been living off Mr.Daddy for the past 6 months! Congratulations? For what? For making the inheritance even smaller for everyone?!

To top it off, no one offered me a ride. NO ONE.

'How did you get here?'

"Train"

'Oh. OK. Take care. Bye.'

*sigh

And I took the train home. Beaten, sore and defeated.

And there was this lecherous fat uncle who was hitting on me all the way home. Like, making small talks and everything. No, I'm not mean. Please. We Malaysians are NOT that friendly to the extent of making small talks to strangers in a dark, full, immigrant-infested train. Puh-lease. And I kept ignoring him with one-syllable answers and occasional grunts, looking everywhere but at him. He talked about his lame job, lame wife, lame kids and lame everything else. Lame. Totally. I mean, didn't he get the signals? NOT INTERESTED you old fag! I have taste, you old cocksucker! Fcuk, I was pissed off. Popped my ZEN MP3 player, volume on full blast and read my 3rd Ellis. Ellis truly saved my as. Literally. Ellis, if you were there, I would totally be your sex slave.

Got home. Had a long shower. Bored, jerked off to my old collection of porn. And worked out till I felt like an ass. Had masive muscle cramps (Moral of the day: NEVER work out after a wank. NEVER). Had another shower. Headed down for late supper. And here I am. Pouring out my vile feelings.

I need another wank. And paracetamols. A lot of paracetamols.

: of Me & Phone Pics - The Train Ride ::

2008-09-14T00:33:00.004+08:00

Taking trains to go places in KL is very convenient. Hassle free. No need to think of traffic jams (should I say more?), parking fees (they keep increasing the fees. Like, hello!? that it cekik darah y'know?), imbeciles on road rampage (a common sight in KL. No worries. You'll see one sooner or later. Usually sooner), police roadblocks (they always decide to pull one on the very of the most-est of the hottest of the days, with the most traffic. Clever bastards they are).

But taking trains has its tolls; accumulated bad body odours, full-boarded trains, sudden unjustified long halts, noisy crowds. But those are overlook-able. I love being in public transportations, even though most of the time it sucks like a toilet plunger. And I take the liberty to get in touch with my social sciences instinct and be a paparazzo.

The people boarding trains are very interesting crowds. We have the ever-economical students, the foreigners (tourists, not illegal immigrant workers), the yuppies with oh-so-much-hair gels that there should be a law on putting gel on heads, gediks skoolgirls with wild eyes eyeing for train-ride flirts, scumbags who don't shower, illegal imigrants with too much pasar malam perfume sprayed on it seems like they soak in the perfume, etc. In short, Malaysia is becoming the second place for the World Village after all. Pictures, dear readers;

A prebet haram manager of some sort. He'b be right infront of your face the moment you step out of the train. 'Mana mau pigi, adik? Sorang saja ka ada lagi adik manis sekali?' Like a concierge. But fat. Fat beyond reasoning. That's why the government bans samsu haram. The result is painfully irritating the eyes.

Again, in close up. For your viewing pleasure. I swear to god the day I get this bloated and fugly, I'll slit my throat for taking to much oxygen of the earth to supply to my body cells.

This dude wears the tightest pair of jeans that his crotch lays flat(tenned?). I mean, skinny jeans are for skinny skinheads, right? What a douche! And his hair is in his freakin' eyes! I had the tendency to go to him, pat him on the head and tie him a ponytail or side-sweep the hair. Rimas tengok!

This dude wears a sweater. In the blazing hot dusk. I had my thin Topman tee on and sweating like a gigolo after a gangbang. And he wears a sweater? Wow!

Just the pipe at the station. Pops out. I got bored finally.

The kid is so skinny I was afraid to sneeze for fear it could break him in half. Come on, last time I check Malaysia is still a good country to live in. And why does this kid looks like we're in famine of some sort? I think the kid maybe eats oxygen and dust particles only. And maybe some carbon monoxide for dessert.

This dude wears this shoes with wide square toe I suspect he works for the construction industry. You know, scooping cement of something.

In zoom mode. Shoes or spades? You think? It's kinda cool to buy shoes that really serve the functions to help you with your work. A bargain at its best!

A good looking girl with knitted long sweater. I dunno what they call it. In the hot dusk too. She was sweating like a pig. Look at the glistening sweat on her arm. And she called someone to pick her up. And waited for like the whole hour. She looked pissed. No sex for the boifren that night!

Girl with the gold handbag. Literally, gold and shining. i don't know metallics make the comeback this year. Another girl with silver dress and metallic silver handbag. I coulnd't snap a pic. Train too full. Needed both hands to hang on the grippie thingy overhead (What do you call those?)

That's all for my society report for today. Have a pleasant ride.

:: of Me & Yesterday ::

2008-09-09T09:04:00.001+08:00

I left the office early yesterday. Picked up the flatmate and went to the pasar ramadhan. The roads were all filled with eager, no-manners bastards rushing home or dashing to pasar ramadhan like me or just simply making each other’s life miserable by driving aimlessly at peak hours just for the kick of it.

Reached the pasar ramadhan at 6pm. So much of leaving the office early to avoid the crowd. It was like a feast there. Throngs of people. Half of the Bangi population were there. I felt sick to my stomach.

Went around the bazaar back and forth looking for food. Bought half a roasted chicken, a tub of caramel pudding, air kathira, and some kuihs. No rice.

The crowd was overwhelming. I felt like puking. So many people, so little land left to step on. Said ‘Sorry’ and ‘Excuse me’ like a zillion times, didn’t really mean them anyway, without even looking at their faces.

After a while, I felt short of breath, dizzy and my head was spinning like shit. The people, the noise, the voices, the smell of food, the colours of all the things there, the nudges, the smell of putrid breaths, the smoke from the sate and roasting chickens. Everything. The world felt like spinning on a super fast mode for a moment before it slowed down to a nauseating crawl, like an underwater movie or something. I felt terribly uncomfortable.

I was still in my office wear. Pants, shirt tucked in with both sleeves rolled up to my elbows, tie, and my huge shades. The shades were my only solitude from the dagger stares as I tried to avoid the eyes of the imbeciles in famine. My head was throbbing.

Grabbed my flatmate’s arm tightly that he flinched, and told him I wanted to go back and throw up. Threw him the keys and made him drove back. All the way back home, my head was in my lap and I wanted a ciggie so badly. I made him stop at one fruit stall by the roadside and gave him some cash to get me a bunch of bananas. I didn’t really want bananas. I just wanted to buy something. Anything.

Reached home, I threw the roasted chicken, caramel pudding, air kathira, and kuihs into the bin, put the bananas on the fridge and I told him I wasn’t hungry. Undid my office wear down to my undies, I locked myself in my room. Stared at my self in the mirror for a while. Nothing interesting.

Took my Ellis from the shelf and lied down on the floor. Staring at the ceiling fan, I wanted to go back. I didn’t care where. I just wanted to go back. Suddenly I missed Mrs.Mommy. I had a splitting headache.

Took off my underwear and lied on the floor naked. Ellis on my chest. Popped a couple of paracetamols and blacked out after I finished 3 pages of Ellis.

Woke up this morning without a hard on.
Get dressed for work hastily. Hungry.

:: of Me & Dreams ::

2008-09-08T16:57:00.004+08:00

I had a very weird dream last nite.

I was at a party with all the friends/people I know. It was fun. Then I blacked out. And when I woke up, we were all having sex, group sex. Me and all friends. And my body was attached to another body. One of my best-est friends. We were having sex. Hot sex. I was sweating all over, pulsating and all. Nasty. Kinky.

Then I woke up.

Didn't wet the bed though.

Dang!

:: of Me & Buks ::

2008-09-08T15:30:00.003+08:00

Bret Easton Ellis so fcukin' rocks my world. Is it normal to fall in love with people because they write melancholic stuff?

Well, I fell on love once with a girl who could juggle 3 McDonald's trays and still smiled. But I fall easily. Almost too easily.

:: of Me & Spring Cleaning ::

2008-09-06T17:09:00.008+08:00

I cleaned the whole house. The whole house. Alone. At 4am. Couldn’t sleep. After 2 hours furiously tossing and turning trying to fall asleep, I gave up. Fcuk. It’s wikend, goddamit! Why can’t I be like normal sensible people. Normal people eat, sleep, shit and do whatever things normal people do in routines. Why can’t I be normal? Oh well, I’m special maybe. I thought so. I should try the Paralympics next year.

I decided to spring clean the whole house. Well, not the whole house really, just my room to be precise. I mean, how the hell could I spring clean the whole house? And WHY would I? I only inhabit a small section of the flat anyway. So, I did. Cleaned the whole room. Mopped the floor. I salute those Makcik Cleaners. Mopping could kill amateurs. Literally. Who invented the darn mop in the first place anyway? Couldn’t he create something more practical and user friendly? I almost twisted my back mopping. And how do you manoeuvre that stick? It always ended up between my legs and I got footprints all over the spot and I had to re-mop all over again. I quit halfway. No. After four wipes. Too complicated. To messy. Too much effort. Rolling myself on the floor would cover much more square feet. Should I wiggle or just lay stiff while I roll? Decisions. Decisions. This required more thinking. Which I incapable of executing. Maybe I call the guy who sweeps the corridor later tomorrow. I can pay him. Or not. More decisions. Decisions…

I moved to my wardrobes. Arranged all my clothes into categories of usage. Casual wear, formal wear, jackets, underwears and bags. After 15 minutes I found out that it might require a determination of steel and the attention span of an adult to sort out the whole wardrobe. I brood over for 10 seconds and decided to call it a quit.

I shifted to all the boxes in my possession. Shoeboxes, PC monitor box, helmet box. In the monitor box I found 3 sling bags and 2 duffel bags. How many bags do I own really? God. Sorted them out into the bag wardrobe. More like shoving and stuffing actually.

Guess what I found in between my receipts/bills stash in the monitor box too?! Rubbers. Expired ones. Thought for a while. And I settled on blowing them. Huge balloons with tits. Looked kinda funny. I hang one in the shower and put another on my study desk. *T came over for sahur and saw them, ‘Bakpe ade belong dalang jambang?’ Me, ‘Huh, ade belong? Belong mende mung nih?’ Him, 'Belong mung gatung tu la’. Me, ‘Ooo, BELONG tu..’

Mr. Durex on Desk

Again. The same one. Minus lighting.

Mr. Durex on face. ha ha ha.

Mr. Durex 2 in bath.

I did more digging. Behind wardrobes and my desk. T watched. I found more stuff and more dirt and cobwebs. No. Lots of cobwebs. There’s a whole population of weird spiders down there. I could open one pet shop specialising in spiders only. And I found 2 stuffed animals from McDonalds (from Kiddie Meals. I’m cute like that), dozens of empty cigarette boxes (contemplated to quit smoking), my long lost Neo figurine (from the Matrix), 1 F.O.S tumbler (I loved that tumbler once), 1 crumpled and hardened/crusty underwear (WTF?!), heaps of movie tickets (money wasted on fictions), coins (amounted to RM5.73), melted Hacks (Damn. I thought my old roommate stole them), Heineken ashtray (free gift, really), 1 can of Livita EX Pineapple flavour. Still not expired. Yeay!) and more rubbish.

And I found a Guess poster S gave me when she was thrown out by her parents when they found out she‘s a lesbian and planned to have a sex change surgery. I loved the poster. I put up the poster once in college. Splayed across the wall of my room. People walked by could see it clearly. That was my whole intention actually. I once caught one student trying to snap a picture of it from outside. Like, 100 yards away. Pathetic attempt. I would let him come into my room and snap it if I know his name or if he paid me money. I knew no one back then. My bad. The student fellow later saw it and he was in rage and banned me from socialising with other students for fear I might convert them into hedonistic idolisation. Like I gave a fcuk. He made me take it down. I didn’t. He declared war. I stayed aloof and innocent. He threatened to kick me out. I took the poster down.

Anyways, here’s the poster. I have no idea who she is.

I ran out of ductape by the third frame. Fcuketty fcuk.

It’s nice to wake up to a gigantic display of tits. I took various pictures with various poses with it. But of course most of them are too vulgar and vile and erotic to be posted here. Plus, Mr.Daddy reads this blog. He might get another coronary attack and I’d feel bad about it later (maybe) and I then might feel so miserable for being the one who caused it and I might kill myself with an intimate encounter with Clorox. That would be sad.

Hand on tits.

Stand in front of tits.

Face on tits.

I’m not a pervert. Really.

You see, I could really make a positive impact on my life when I put my mind into it. The new clean room proves it. One more thing, I finally found out that the ceiling fan is not broken actually. Just too much accumulated dust on the blades. After cleaning them, I swear it sounds like helicopter blades on full blast! Who says I am not independent? See? I can clean my room. That warrants me one gold star for cleanliness and another star for being geniously creative with decorating my room. Who’s your daddy now, bitch?!

After all that hard work I still couldn’t sleep. I golek-golek for a while and T left after I put up the poster and after I let him lick the tits of the model. I still didn’t feel sleepy. I wanted to scrub the shower floor but that would make my hands dehydrated and brittle later. Ack. Plus, that would be categorised as hard labour. I’m too self-centred for that. Only common people scrub floors. So I resorted to reading one of my Ellis’ and managed to cover a quarter book.

By 8am I was still wide awake. Took a couple of Panadols. Blink. Blink. Yawn. Yawn. Stared at the ceiling. Noticed some watermarks with amazing patterns. Should call the landlord later. Spot a hairline crack on the wall. Blink. Blink. Read some more. Got disoriented. Blink. Blink. Yawn. Still wide awake. Yawn. Yawn. Blink. Blink. Yawn. Popped more Panadols. I passed out. Like, finally.

:: of Me & The Outing ::

2008-09-06T15:51:00.016+08:00

Yellow, people!!

How's wikend? Good? Yeay for you. I had a good one too. At least it is so far. It's just Saturday. Tomorrow could suck. I might fall gravely ill tonight and wreck the whole Sunday (my body decides to disregard/forget to ask my estimations for most of the time). Or I could misplace my wallet (lost once during Uni) and be a destitute (that would definitely suck. I might as well die). That would be a wretched one, innit? Or perhaps Mr.Daddy would change his mind (like he always does) and pay me another visit (he just left 3 hours ago. He stayed for 1.5 days) and make my life a bit more insufferable than it already is (du’uhh!) by saying that I have a dreadful haircut (he did yesterday. Twice) or that all my clothes are hideously rempit-ish (he wants me to wear collared tees. Like, who does?) or I should abscond my current job because it makes me despondent to boot (he reminds me of that every time we meet, without fail) or he decides to disown me/make me change my last name just because I fail to exhibit proper decorum (he said I’m too proletarian. Like hell! Who uses the proletarian anyways?), just because he could and he sure would. Bet my all my shoes on that.

Visited MPH Bookstore Midvalley. A must. Wandered aimlessly for while. Bought books. Bret Easton Ellis. Finally. Bought the whole collection. Except one. They didn’t have it. Left my number. They will call when they have it.

The parking. Never forget. Or be miserable later. Choose. I chose the former. For the sake of my mental health.

Found a book. Factoids or something. Funny one. Full of facts. And the writer added his own lines later on. Hilarious. Here's a peek.

If you place a tiny amount of alcohol on a scorpion it instantly go mad and sting itself to death. - Which sadist discovered this?

Bought these. Might take a while to finish. My Xmas shopping is done.

General Fiction. 3 blowjobs. ha ha ha.

Purchase of the night.

Had buka puasa with KJ. She paid. Yeay. A Thai place at The Gardens. Rak Thai or Tak Thai or some shit. I can’t recall. Thai people have weird names. Nice place though. Simple décor with authentic Thai ambience. Almost. Like a Thai street-stall in Thailand (ha ha ha. Obviously). The place so authentic they decide to hire all Thai workers. No one speaks Malay and they all have lousy mastery of English. The most English they could muster are just ‘Order?’, ‘How many?’ ‘Yes’, and ‘Thank you’. And when we left and I said ‘Thank you", the waiter smiled and say ‘Thank you’ back, with pride and all smiles. I was like, whatever. Felt like punching him on the neck and giving him a wedgie. I swear if I waited a bit longer, his buttons might pop due to the swelling of chest cavity. I rolled my eyes and left. KJ giggled like a maniac.

We had a buka puasa set for two. Pictures:

The decor. And some clientele.

More clientele as it was near buka puasa.

Tom Yum Gai. Pedas macam haram. Gile hape diorang ni. Berasap kepala la!

Funny looking fish in Siamese dark soy sauce. Boleh la.

Omelette with weird spicy stuffing. TAsted really weird.

The whole entourage of pigging delicacies.

The menu.

House specialty. Air serai!

Seriously, it's just sugar syrup and lemongrass. Ack!. Who the fcuk minum air serai!!!

Decor.

Decor. my shoulder on bottom right.

Kangkung masin. Masin.

Kuih. Gile sedap okeh kuih nyonya. Susah woo nak jumpe kuih sedap kat KL ni. Yang ade rase macam tepung tambah kaler ade la.

More kuih. RM5. Mahal tapi sedap. So, what the fcuk la kan. The price to pay for sedapness.

Mooncake. Pure lotus filling. RM16.00

More mooncakes. Pandan lotus. RM11.50 for 4

More Air serai. I drank up water only. And 3 more glasses of water later on. Puasa.

Then, next on agenda was shopping for raya. I know, it’s like so early and there was no sale whatsoever. Who cares. I’m not a destitute (as yet) and the plastic money is very convenient. KJ was like, ‘Are you stressed or something?’. Me, ‘Why?’ She, ‘You shop like you are.". Me, ‘No. I’m not. Now hold this for me. I need a jacket. It’s raining outside. I might get sick from the cold’. She, ‘It’s barely a drizzle, you moron.’. Me, ‘I still could fall sick and suffer and die and you’ll be sorry then!’ She, ‘Shut up and get yourself a fcukin’ jacket please’. I know how to win an argument. Childlike persistence and a crescendo at the end of the conversation always pay off. Always.

And I got myself 1 retro checkered cowboy shirt, 1 yucky moss green polo tee and 1 uber cool corduroy army jacket. I’ll be the hippest and most chic dude at the pasar ramadhan. I don’t know when or why will I wear the jacket actually. I am never cold. And the despicable shop assistant made me put that jacket on when she noticed me eyeing it for every 5 seconds. You know we don’t just try on clothes. We try on clothes that we like and we can afford/want to buy. I haven’t ripped off the tags yet. And still have the receipts. Just in case I gag while looking at me wearing the jacket. Or not. I never gag looking at myself. Maybe when I experience self pity within these 7 days, I might return it. Oh wait, I have no self pity. Well oh well.

Jacket with shirt.

Jacket with polo tee.

Jacket with dork.

I know. Malaysia is always hot and hotly humid all year and the jacket would be a dumb option. There’s a catch though. The faux-fur is detachable. Voila! Ha ha ha. I’m smart like that. I might run off to Iceland or Norway (or perhaps Alaska or the South Pole or the Artic) later when I couldn’t afford to pay off all my study loans/credit-card debts, the faux-fur would help me survive the forever-winter climates. At least until I find some 56-year old Euro trash momma who would keep me as her underfed sex slave, chained to the wall, in a cottage with a nice fireplace and a four poster bed with fluffy pink hand-cuffs. Maybe I’d request for a metal studded leather whip and vinyl S&M gears too. Just in case I need a different fetish. Sex could be boring after a while. Ask S. She knows.

Btw, I have way too many tees and polos and shirts and pants and shoes and underwears and socks and belts and perfumes and books and bags and stuff. I think I need to re-evaluate my spending and financial situation. Should I prioritize in what to buy and what not? But that would be proletarian (as Mr.Daddy puts it). What do you think? Should I sell the whole stuff? I can never give those away for free of course. No way. Urgh. I’m not Ghandi. Nor Mother Theresa. I’m a vain selfish hedonistic narcissist. Charity would defy that representation. How can I taint such modishness and reputation for the sake of mere humanity? So, should I burn them instead?

Jackets closet.

Formal wear closet.

Casual wear closet.

Belts behind door.

Books and more books.

I could sell those definitely. But I’ll have nothing to wear now won’t I? If I start over with smaller scale of stuff, the volume might double in no time. God. I think might need another spree. I’m so stressed. Thinking uses too much effort. I’m not built for this. My brain is not wired for deep thinking or making self evaluations. Thinking, most generally.

I’m stressed and brain lethargic already. I need Valium. Bye.

p/s: Someone groped my ass in the elevator to the car park while I was fumbling with my bags of purchase and keys and parking ticket. Twice. I glanced back and there were 2 Caucasian dudes chatting in a weird nasal language, 3 Kelantanese rempits talking about budu or something, and 2 bulgy Chinese ladies yapping noisily. Oh, 1 Nepalese Pak Guard staring at the wall. You people, have some decency in public, please. Shame on you. At least smile/wink so that I could reciprocate later when we were alone. Where are your manners?

:: of Me & Buks ::

2008-09-04T12:15:00.002+08:00

Does anybody have any books by Bret Easton Ellis? I desperately need one. Any one of his. If you know any place with any of the books, lemme know. If you have any and you wanna get rid of them, call me. I'll pay.

:: of Me & Vacation Stuff::

2008-09-04T10:49:00.008+08:00

Last night I was sorting out my stuff from the 4 bags and I found a couple of things that we bought during the vacation;

1 pair of flip-flops. Black with yellow stripes. Hideous. I don't know why I bought 'em.
1 t-shirt. White. With a gray collage/picture across the chest -3 guys with cat/dog heads or something. Interesting.
1 Asian Cuisine Handbook. I plan to learn to cook, healthy foods. Shadap yu!
1 sterling silver ring. Good bargain.
1 giant snow globe. A gnome smiling inside. Pervy looking.
2 wooden ashtrays.
3 keychains. Shellfish.
12 medium sized cultured pearls. Or maybe fake ones. I can never differentiate.
3 jar of jams. Street fair deal. A jar of passionfruit marmalade and 2 jars of strawberry & blueberry royale jam. I don’t know what the difference between jam or marmalade or conserve is. Btw, when we were bargaining for the 'yellow one' (passionfruit flavor), the seller didn't know the English word for the the fruit, and kept trying to tell me we didn't have it in Malaysia. We looked it up later and it was "passionfruit." And then I snapped. I was like "bitch, we do fucking have passionfruit in Malaysia!"

Anyways, I have no intention of keeping all of them. I'm sorry that I'm an impulsive shopper. I'm giving almost everything away. Call me if you're interested in any of those stuff. I'm keeping the t-shirt and the ring and the book only.

:: of Me & Post-Vacay Days & Ramadhan ::

2008-09-03T15:16:00.005+08:00

Hey,

I'm back. Into the office. Bummer. Time sure does fly when you really want to do all the nothing you want to. Hmm.. Fcuk. I need another vacation later. Maybe before Xmas. That’ll be a good time for another retreat.

And it's puasa month. Fasting month baybeh! Ramadhan. Puasa and working sans food and water is tiring. No. I take it back. Not tiring. Too subtle. It’s not just tiring, it’s everything that makes us weak and worthless, almost physically challenging, it’s makes you feel suicidal, like stuffing your throat with plastic bags or anything to that effect. And everything reminds you of food. I was cleaning the drawers and found some old sweets wrappers. And I gulped, unconsciously. I mean, really, how low can I go?!

And just now, a colleague accidently burnt plastic while using a paper-laminating machine. And I swear to God it smelt like she was baking vanilla muffins in the office! I feigned to be asleep in deep slumber. I can’t bear to live through the agony of sniffing faux-muffins.

It’s 2 days puasa already, and I’m psyched. Almost. I took the time during my vacation to do a bit of raya shopping while I was at it. Kain baju Melayu is bought and sent to the tailor, upon recommendation by some good friends with ~~self-acclaimed~~ good looking baju Melayu during the yesteryears. And I’m taking their words solely with full trust and admiration. Now it’s their words against mine, and I’m in the bad position here. No other tailor would take another commission during puasa. Cerdik la sangat lupe buat baju raya sendiri. Alas, I tried and it pays off. HAHAHAHA. Pedulik la baju aku buruk pun, pakai sejam je di pagi Raya nan mulia.

It’s all shades of red this year. The whole family MUST wear red. It’s for the gambar raya dengan family. Why must I care for the family photo, you ask? Well, that would prove to be useful later on, just in case, when we fight for the family inheritance in the next 10 years. If those people claim I’m not part of the family, then I can shove the picture into their pie-holes and yell “I WAS IN THE RAYA PHOTO YOU FCUKERS! THAT MEANS FAMILY. HAKUNA MATATA!!!”

Anyways, my baju Melayu is maroon red. No, Dunhill red. Yes. Perfect. Dunhill red. Chiffon silk. In red. I think it would look nice if the tailor manages to tailor it according to my body’s measurements. He seemed to be measuring me in a hasty mood that day. Please God, please don’t make the sleeves too short, or the collar too tight. With 3 pockets. Just as I like it. I’ll post a pic of the fabric later.

And I already bought 2 pairs of jeans for raya. I don’t always buy jeans for myself. I’d wear the same one till the seams break or until it becomes threadbare around the knees, upper thighs and ass. And I stop buying Levi’s like, aeons ago. Levi’s is so overrated and over-priced. I’m going oldskool again this year. I bought a pair each of Lee and Lois. Stonewashed Lois and true indigo original denim Lee. Pics later.

I’m so sleepy. Not hungry tho. Macam pelik la pulak puasa tapi tak lapo ni.

Anyways, bye peeps. Have a nice puasa. Jangan tipu puasa. Jangan korek idung. Jangan berjimak di siang hari kepada mereka yang dah berkelamin(!). Jangan lupa niat. Klu malas niat, terus niat sebulan macam aku ni hah (padahal sebab malas bangun sahor). Klu ade kelapangan, pi la terawih. Boleh lantak moreh sekali.

Salam Ramadhan y’alls.

:: of Me & The Pictures In Phone ::

2008-08-28T22:35:00.014+08:00

Hello people. Tomorrow's my day off in a stretch. So, it's Friday up to Tuesday. 5 days, office-free days. Heaven. So, I'll be busy for the next five days and obviously I won't be anywhere near internet or a PC. Therefore, I give you a couple of thousand words to keep you warm and wet while I'm gone, just in case I don't ever come back.

This is me trying to master the art of the Malay-Islamic caligraphy, the Jawi. Can you figure out the writing? No? HAHAHA. I know, I suck at it. Actually it reads, KURA. Kaf, Wau, Ra, Aliff. KURA, phonetically speaking. I heard something on TV in the news, of some kura-kura with no legs (tortoise have legs? Paddle? Limbs?) that has been given a set of rollers/small whells and then the kura-kura immediately mated with a partner (talk about celibacy. But with no legs, no chick would come crawling, eh? You can't crawl on the bitch's back for a doggie pose with n back legs, can ya'?). So, I just doodled the Arabic numerals over and over while waiting for my dinner at Bob's Diner. So, it reads KURAKURAKURAKURAKURA (REPEAT TILL YOU'RE BLUE IN THE FACE).

My promised zoo escapade pictures. Now the entrance. There were like a gazilion people there. But of course you don't see them in the pic. I honestly swear, it was like a public orgy there. I wonder why parents think a trip to the zoo would make childhood a better period of living for the kids. I had a terrible time at the zoo when I was small. I almost got mauled by a squirrel! Damn those furry critters! I was deeply traumatised of course, up until now. Which explains the present condition of my social misfit syndrome, it is a kind of a natural reverse effect towards the injustice I was imposed on at the zoo during my very important phase of childhood.

The entrance, in close-up. Cool sign I must admit. They should put animal statues on top of the letters. More like a zoo then. Now, for some retards, it might read SCRAP METAL WAREHOUSE with all those embossed shining alphabets. But I could be wrong of course.

The entrance wrist tag. On my wrist that was. I know it looks like as if it was wrapped around my ankle, but it was really my wrist. I swear.

As always, the backup ammunition. Just in case the trip would be a bore. One of my latest purchase towards wisdom. Nicola Barker's (Woof, woof!). It's about a man who suspects that his child is actually a reincarnation of the devil from the past, that his wife was raped/consensually got intimate with a devil. A bit twisted I must say. But you know me. I'm twisted like that. I never got past the third page. Barker's diction is almost impossible, even for an outstanding intellect like moi.

Meet my friend, Mr.Francois, the tortoise (turtle?) who squrried with the speed of light! I swear to God I never witnessed any tortoise that ran like he did. Like, one minute he was munching on kangkung in one corner, but then the next minute he was on the other side of the cage trying to face-fcuk a hot female. I couldn't believe my eyes and decided to wait a bit more and I finally witnessed the cutest tortoise-dash of my life. Ever. Imagine this. Small feet with rapid super movements attached to a huge shell on the back. I almost cried myself silly watching him. Nothing gets any cuter than a horny running tortoise.

These are small tortoises. HAHAHA. Dumb statement. Well, these are cute too. Cute small ones, with yellow lines on sides of their necks up to the tip of their noses. Let's call them Kura-kura Berhidung Belang Malaya. Can?

Now, the House of Reptiles. The coolest place in the zoo. I stayed there for more than 2 hours, scrutinizing each and every exhibit. Amazing. I was dumbstuck. All reptiles in one place. Steve Irwin would flip! In the highlighted red circles, are the two most terrifying pythons I have ever laid my eyes on. Huge snakes. I wonder if their keepers feed them with midgets. we have a lot of midgets in Malaysia. I mean, how could such creatures grow so big? Sorry for the bad attempt to draw the circles. I have shaky hands I guess. Or is it that I'm THAT talentless that I couldn't even draw circles with a mouse?? I think it was the faulty mouse. Definitely the mouse.

The monster serpent in zoom mode. Sorry for the bad quality of the image. I have been told, continuously, for numerous times that I have a very good editorial aesthetic judgement. This is just a bad camera phone that I purchased. Bad bad camera phone.

Hmm... Those are pterodactyls, the allegedly extinct prehistoric flying dinosaurs. One Zambian zoologist found a flock of them living harmoniously in Gua Niah, Sarawak, near Selangor. Cool beaks. Bald heads. Which reminded me of one of my lecturers back in Uni. Can't recall his name, but he is a baldy like that.

Anaconda. Cool shiny scales with deep dark piercing eyes. Reminded me of Jennifer Lopez. I wonder why... I asked my sister but she said I was a nutter and that I should stop thinking about ass because it's mentally not healthy. Is it true? Ass are mentally discouraging? Even J.Lo's? Please tell me it is one of the lies Moms tell to their kids. Please.. please.. please..

Another beautiful one. Crimson red prints with hues of orange. Exotic and daring looking. Would look better if it were my shoes.

Vine-snakes. Skinny looking, big headed. Like, the supermodels of the serpent world. Fast moving, they seem to float weightlessly from twig to twig. I used to catch those skinny ones back during we went balik kampung to my home town. Abundant of them in the bushes. Tame, non-poisonous and funny looking. I kept them in bottles/jars. Mrs.Mommy later finally found out where the missing jars and bottles went. She gave me one big lecture on responsibility and animal rights. She was furious to find all those jars in the garage filled with dead snakes in them. Sheesh. Moms.

A tree viper. Highly poisonous. Could kill in minutes. Strike at lightning speed and mostly found in wet woody areas. Wet woody areas do not include horny human groins.

An albino python. Lonesome and sad. I mean, just look at him. No snake is more beautiful and lonelier than him. It is a curse to be that beautiful. I understand that on a deep personal level. That explains why I don't have friends. I am beautiful and lonely. We beautiful creatures have to endure life's cruel punishment for being good looking. I feel you, Mr. Yellow!

These are red-spotted wild Tibetan horses. This species has very long necks. It is believed that their ancestors got their necks stuck between some logs and the necks got longer when they tried to free themselves.

More red-spotted wild Tibetan horses for your viewing pleasure. During the Jurassic era, it was believed that they had bat-like wings. Like the Northern Andes apes and the West India's fishes. But when they found food on land, they shed the wings and settled for being land grazers. Amazing creatures, huh? Talk about girls with long necks and sexy skinny legs!

These are iguanas. Giant ones. Some sort of mutated species. They could imitate human voice. The one on the top was singing Cranberry's Zombie when I walked past. A bit off key though. Pitching lari.

That's a leopard. Very-very nice skin. They put him in a cage, fully covered. I bet he is bored being kept in a cage like that. Tried to pick the lock to let him out but one animal keeper said the cat can't live outside the cage due to possible lice infestation.

A croc. Huge. Not the crappy sandals but a real one. I wanted to make a circle to make him more obvious but my previous attempts proved to be disastrous. Bad mouse.

Ho ho ho. These are pygmy crocs. So cute I almost cuddle them!!! Like, a foot long each, big popping eyes with cute croaking sounds. How cute can crocs be? No wonder Steve loved them. Peace, Steve. * Don't you think, Steve's eldest daughter, Bondi, looks a bit crocodile-ish? I'm just saying y'all...

Those are giant pandas. People think they are extinct but we still have a couple here in Malaysia. And those heaps are their dungs. High pharmaceutical values. Could cure AIDS.

One in close up. Cute panda, huh? The long tube attached to his face is a sort of natural device to transfer the sperm from their brains into the female's anus. Yes, those are the panda's dick. HUGE dick! Hence explains the origin of A DICKFACE.

The precious dung in close-up. Collected fresh and wet and warm, the stool is diluted into a thick concoction and AIDS patients snort the green liquid using the nose. Those who have runny nose could just spread the still-warm stool onto breads (full-grain preferably) as sandwiches. After 3 days, AIDS is like only a common flu. Amazing what we achieve in natural biotechnology nowadays.

This is found at the parking lot at my office. What do you think of the 'glorious' metallic stickers? I know the owner must had almost cracked his brain to come up with the design and shit. I mean, look at those blinding stickers. It looks like a lot of effort and time were harboured in producing such masterpiece. But really, why would anyone do that to a car? Don't all sticker with all those brands bring enough humiliation? Do you really have to add more macha kind of stuff onto the body of the car? For the sake of art, GOD SAVE HUMANITY!

Again, in close-up. Really? Wow!!!! You are like, the MOST talented human being ever roamed the earth. Elton John would've cried and turned straight after seeing this.

Bored. Waiting for my laundry to finish. One minute left. The longest one single minute of my yesterday.

The same minute. I can't simply stand idleness. I might look like a retard if I stay idle. I tried stopping my breathing while waiting for the minute to pass but I almost blacked out after 15 seconds. I should really quit smoking.

This is the Maggi Sup Seafood I had last nite. I know this might give you a severe, even might prove fatal coronary attack but I lost a bit of my appetite lately. Yes, shocking, isn't it? I eat more pasta and noodles lately. Maggi is categorised as some sort of an Asian pasta right?

A wedding gift from a newly wed officemate. A bag of sweets, muffin and more stuff inside, I can't really remember. When I first got it, I told a friend that the bag reminded me of a bra. A Victoria Secret's perhaps. The friend said I was a horny nutter (a lot of people think that I am a sort of a nutter lately. It breaks my heart. I am a very very serious man you know? Why can't people see that?).

Okay, look again. It does remind you of a bra, right? Look very very carefully please. Tell me I'm not a stupid horny nut.

How about this one? Like the lace from a pink bra right? Right? Right? See, I told you I'm not one horny ass nutter!!

Okey, I'm done here. I'm off tomorrow. For five days. Five full days. Woo-hoo! You all can rot in your offices and die a slow painful death.

Ciao.
*And that's Italian for Good-bye. Just in case you are not that bright.

xoxo,
Me, Lucillus The Great.

:: og Me & My Conversations ::

2008-08-27T16:59:00.002+08:00

S just IM-ed me this;

"some guys are just so damn fucking goodlooking they shud be banned"

And she logged out right after (or perhaps she switched into invisible mode, which means she's logged on but in invisible mode (du'uh! smack forehead), which translates to she wants to stalk people, or she's constipated and didn't want to be bothered, or she's really logged out).

And I wonder who she met for her to utter such mind-boggling statement. I haven't seen her lately anyway. Hmmm... the plot thickens..

:: of Me & The Wikend ::

2008-08-27T13:55:00.003+08:00

It has been raining like shit nowadays. Not that I hate rain, I really like it, LOVE it, due to the super hot hot hot temperature that is killing every cell in my body, drying them all out into a shriveled sapless molecules. Okay, that was a bit too pushing it. I may be delusional, but there are lines I cannot cross. That is, I CAN NEVER BE SHRIVELLED INTO PULPS, giving the current texture of my body.

Friday, it rained. All freakin’ day. I was wet (That didn’t sound as dirty in my mind). On Saturday it rained. Almost all day. I wetted myself again (ha ha ha). But I can’t remember that well. I think it rained. I went to the gym on Friday I think, but I maybe wrong coz I think I went out. But I may be wrong .

Saturday morning I met up with my 2 sisters and their husbands and their brats. Sister number 1 was having the convocation. And sister number 2 was tagging along trying to herd the kids. And after that the couples decide to go to the Zoo Negara in order to admire and harass the sad animals there. And because I went to see them by train, I couldn’t manage to evade the corny family get-together. 1 because I was hungry. Family outing means free food for the single member. Second reason was the train was so full because it was school break. All mommies and daddies decided to go to malls with trains along with their spawns. And all illegal immigrants decided to dress up to the occasion and boarded the train as well. On the way to meet my sisters I was pinned between a fat nyonya with bulges on all the wrong places and an Indon construction worker with long ugly fingernails and bad body odour. All the way from Bangi to PWTC. Almost an hour of assault from unattractiveness. Not happy at all.

The zoo was immensely not up to scratch as most of the animals are, well, wild ones. I was told that we cannot pet the animals there. When I asked for one, they told me to go to the petting zoo in Melaka or some shit. Bloody bastards the zoo keepers. I asked one of the employee why can’t they do a petting section so that people could actually touch the animals instead of just watching them with the stench of their shit and all, because we could always watch Animal Planet or some other discovery Channel programs if we want to just see some stinking animals, and he told me that they might do it if they have more people working with the animals. Well, that was not my problem, innit?! You open a place like that then you should provide the full scale service that caters to all people who visit the place! He asked me if I would perhaps work there and become a trainer so that I could pet all the animals and help other visitors to pet the animals as well. I asked him how much he gets paid because I’m always in the market for a ridiculous new career, but they get paid even less than me, which I suppose is an achievement of sorts.

Then it rained. Plus my sister was kinda embarrassed to see me making a scene with the poor git animal keeper. We went for dinner and my brother in law sent me home. I'll post some pictures of animals later. Oh, i got a picture of a heap of elephant dung too!

Sunday nite I went to a surprise birthday party for a fren in Ampang. More like a surprise dinner party actually, with all Gals A Plate, Boys A Crate. Which means, we ate what we brought. And I brought 3 loaves of cold French bread, 1 tub of garlic & herbs spread and 1 large Tupperware of chicken broth minestrone with pasta from home. No, I didn’t cook it. My sister did. Some cheapskates brought cookies. Cookies. Wot kinda cheap bastard drop by the 7-Eleven and bought 2 packets of Oreos for a party? And I thought I was a cheapo!

I warned some frens that they should not under any circumstances throw a surprise birthday party for me on my birthday because I hate a) surprises and b) medium-sized groups of people under one roof c) being reminded of me aging

We crammed ourselves behind doors and screen dividers and behind sofa, just to jump out and yell SURPRISE when he walked in. oh, we were all equipped with party necessities. Hats, balloons, those party whistles and party poppers (WTF?!). I may be 25 and counting, but this was no fun. After some deliberations, I told my mate T that I was out and wanted to leave. No way I could/would jump out from behind the curtain and feign the sheer joy of seeing another fren getting old(er). Unless he shove some Valiums into my throat or twist my arms and gag me and make me do it. He chose the latter. Bloody hell. My biceps are STILL sore.

So, there, I stood in the dark with his arms twisting mine. I flinched and grimaced quietly contemplating the final show of Gangstarz that I was gonna miss.

The fren walked in. We shouted SURPRISE!!!. He almost shat his pants. I couldn’t tell whether he was really surprised from all the frens initiative or that he was thinking of some robbery was going on in his house. Either way, the look on his face was like a Kodak moment mingled together with Mastercard’s. Priceless.

I dropped one of my contacts on the floor. Tried looking for it for no use. Dang. But I refused to check under each person’s shoes. I just bought that new pair. I still have my 2 pairs of glasses. But Dang it is. The newly bought contacts. Shit.

The still pasty pale host offered some cakes and pizza to me. No thanks. Berlatih puasa, thank you. People left around 11.00 I was told. I left a bit early. Need my ciggies and a good nite sleep (No Smoking policy in the fren’s place. Cunts!).

Monday sucks like a vacuum cleaner.

:: of Me & Whatchu Lookin At? ::

2008-08-21T10:49:00.004+08:00

Driving back from work yesterday, I had an remarkable encounter with an MPV driver.

Picture this:

Me (looking fantastically psyched, off-office excitement),driving down the road from the 3^rd gate of my office towards the traffic light, singing along to Dani Brillant's "Tu Vuo Fa L’Americano" (and I lip-sync-ed it a-la pretentiously, with lips barely moving, head mildly bobbing).When I came finally to a halt, at the traffic light, that's about the time I started to get a creepy feeling. Felt like some kinda hot sensation at the back of my head to the ear lobes, like, I was being watched.

Sure enough...when I looked to my right, I saw this driver looking at me, with a stern look on his face and shaking his head, eyes fixed on me. I looked right into his eyes and raised a brow and feigned a smile (or maybe a smirk, I couldn’t help it). He bulged his eyes and raised both his palms towards me. I was like, “WTF?!”

Huh?....What was that all about?!

Just as I was about to show him what my middle finger looks like, he made a dash straight ahead and I made a left turn, infuriated..

I spent the remainder of the drive home obsessing over what caused the driver to look at me like that.

- Was it my singing? [couldn't be...the windows were rolled up]...

- Was it my finger snapping/chicken neck bopping? [possibly, but I was being discreet]...

- Was it the hole in my sock? [no, that's just ridiculous]...

- Did he hear/smell my fart(s)? [no, again, the windows were rolled up]...

- Was he jealous of my kick-ass side burns? [most likely].

Hmmm....the mystery continues, but for now, I'm claiming mistaken identity. But GOD THAT WAS ONE ANNOYING SONOFABITCH!