reading pleasure

read today:

Q: why do men give their penis a name?

A: because they don't want a complete stranger making their major decisions.

*grins*

have you ever thought.....?

have you ever given a thought to those people manning the emergency 999 hotline?

i've never had to dial the number, so to me they basically do not exist. they are phantom people, existing only in dreams and suspended reality, until the need arises. how did i come to think about them today? *taking a deep breath* a long grandmother story ensues.

my today's experience with the singapore iras (not the emergency department meh? patience and the answer will be with you) further fortifies my opinion that they are nothing more to shout about than our very own, regardless of some stubborn naive blogger's unproven stand to the contrary (you know who you are). one whole department went missing today. no one answered the phone, despite my ringing off the hook, calling non-stop and shouting down the dialling-tone receiver. granted, it wasn't the hotline, which of course would have been manned 24/7. it's a more obscure, less known department. don't ask me which. you think they would tell me secret hush-hush information like these when they pass out crude "call this number XXXXXXX".

i thought it was a holiday, but 29th april doesn't ring any bell. a little later, i learnt from my personal news reporter that singapore was experiencing earthquake. the logical conclusion was that the entire department was evacuated in a earthquake-drill, hence no one was left manning the phone. ok, forgiven, some obscure singapore income tax department. in situations of life and death, you are allowed to leave your desk.

which brings my sharp and darting mind to our friendly emergency desk. if the obscure singapore iras department is allowed to leave their office during earthquakes and other life-threatening emergencies, what about those people manning the 999 desk? the walls are shaking, the pictures bouncing onto the floor, pieces of ceiling decorating your hair. do you still go, 'you have reached 999. what department are you looking for?' or do you scream for your life and dash out the door like everybody else? when you are hired, did you sign a form to also sacrifice your life for the greater good and stay valiantly glued to your desk, in good and in bad? if they are making you stay by the phone through thick and thin, you better be paid very damn well for the possibility of giving up your life. if you are free to act like any other human and run with your tails between your legs, who will be left manning the emergency lines? the island is shaking, buildings dropping like cards, people injured, death inevitable. everybody needs help. who can we call? definitely not the ghostbusters.

mr personal news reporter's opinion is that singapore's emergency hotline could be outsourced to india, as with anything else in the world nowadays. you want to talk to president bush? you've got to understand the heavily indian-accented white house hotline desk first. you need to speak to a european bank officer in austria? you've to go pass the indian fella again. toilet clogged up? printer kaput? car lost somewhere in timbaktu? india knows all about our secrets. so, the theory is when singapore is having an earthquake, india answers. sounds plausible? have no fear, when singapore is flooded by a sudden meltdown of glaciers in iceland, india is there to answer all the 999 calls and despatch rescue teams into homes.

only problem is, when there is an earthquake in india, who rescues singapore? singaporean will be left wondering why no one is anwering the emergency number when the sky is blue and the ground stable as rock. again, ingenious mr personal news reporter figures that parallel running comes into the picture. interesting theory, huh?

can someone in singapore please call the emergency number to prove my theory? when the hotline answers, 'good morning. you have reached the emergency hotline. which department do you want?', remember to ask, 'are you in india?'.

ROFL.

p/s: evil mr news reporter just informed me that there was no earthquake in singapore. singaporeans, you don't have to panic yet. please blame all inaccurate reporting on mr evil news reporter.

sweet tooth

review: never again. 'nuff said.

whiny food

my breakfast.













your sole purpose in life is to be eaten by me. you have exist thus far so that you can fulfill your reason for existence. you should be honoured that i am going to eat you, that i even consider putting you in my mouth.



ready or not, here i come. *chomp*

the lesser of two evils

those who see my mug day in and day out will know that over the years i have developed a morning cough, caused by weak lungs, exaggerated by cold air. a hacking cough will be a more appropriate description and not exactly conversation conducive. too little lung pounding exercise? too much lounging on the sofa? i thought the mere thought of exercise was enough! blame it on useless reader-digest unproven small facts.

a little while back, mum brought me along to visit a chinese doctor. a miracle worker! an eastern medicine practitioner who could make disabled walk. *raise eyebrow* perhaps mum was tired of being unable to get a word in through my melodious and jarring coughs. anyway, the doctor placed her fingers on my wrist and immediately pronounced weak lungs. a little like visiting a fortune teller. the mystery is unfolded. i was presented with three bottles of capsules; red, yellow and brown. very colourful - for chinese medicine.

without much thought, i popped those into my mouth, over the course of time. i basically will put anything into my mouth. that's the underlying reason i am having trouble keeping the weight off. but then that's another story altogether. the result was fast. almost instantly, the cough stopped. i can hear myself think again. another cynic was converted. and i continued to pop those pills - on and off. on when i remember them, and off when.....i don't remember them.

miracle pills? mum, who had constant pain in her shoulders, was cured. aunt, who found walking to be difficult, became relatively more active. and then there was her and him, and her and him, a whole posse of people who were miraculously cured. whilst we were still taking the medicine, that is. but it has to get you thinking, doesn't it? what is in these pills?

the test result came back last week. arsenic and steroids, it will seem. acccccckkkkkkkk! thump! that was the sound of me falling dead on the floor. i feel like a lab rat! the bottles were immediately chucked into the rubbish receptable. steroids? i can still understand. no wonder i was feeling so full of energy. arsenic? *raise eyebrow* i quite fancy the idea of living and would like to enjoy that for a number of years. i like being witty and clever too, thank you. i'll keep my brain and its not-quite-full-capacity operation, if you don't mind. it helps with the breathing and eating part, another favourite past-time of mine.

today an old friend visited me. i am coughing again.

now i remember

today i remembered why i don't meet up with my old friends more often.

because trying to coordinate a meeting between friends will cause me:

1. to have more white hair

2. to have premature aging

3. to have agina

4. to have high blood pressure

5. to die prematurely

great wall china face

*sigh*

*shaking head* don't know why i am so popular.

*ducks from flying plates and bottles*

i have said no a million times, and a million times he asked.

eventhough i know he has a hidden business-related agenda, i'll still go ahead and pretend here that i'm all popular and heavily demanded. shhhhhhhhh!.

mr stalker: will you be in kl on 14th december?

me: no lah. i'm on extended holiday.

hiatus of two months. try again,

mr stalker: will you be in kl on 12th february?

ignore message. pretend i lost my handphone. which i did. eventhough it was after i received the text message. but he didn't have to know that.

mr stalker: will you be in kl on 17th april?

me: yes. but i've something on.

mr stalker: how about 18th?

give up!!! surrender! ok, ok. *grumbling. muttering* let's just get it over with. introduce whatever product you have to introduce and hopefully i'll hear the last of you.

me: only in the morning. don't you get the hint?

mr stalker: ok. starhill gallery at 10?

me: can't. have to be on the other side of town at 12. get the hint, damn you!!

mr. stalker: where then?

me: **** (for the benefit of those other people thinking of stalking me!). don't you think it's a little tight? last chance for escape. say yes, dammit. say next time then!!!

mr stalker: ok.

*sigh* some people never get it. is it i muka tembok or they muka tembok?

a matter of opinion

was looking through the websites for ideas on nail painting. it's like a piece of art, that little canvas on the end of your toes. and your fingers, i guess, except i don't like to paint my fingernails. a little piece of red chipped off in the food or your tongue, it's not very tantalising. and constantly having to care for them. too much hassle.

anyway, found these.





















and these.








pretty??



looks like pontianak to me lah!!! how can anyone function in their daily lives with such long fingernails? how do they write?? how do they eat?? how do they wipe their bum, for that matter?? all i can imagine is the owners of these fingers walking around, with their head hanging low, and hands raised around their chest area.

*shiver*

meet up

something i learnt about myself today.

if you harass me often enough, you'll probably get a meeting

smile, you are on candid camera.

bah humbug! it's monday again. life is dead for another 5 days. sigh.

last thursday, we had a big party for some overseas visitors. pretty clothes, fine wine and you know the rest. a nice break from my mindless routine.

last saturday, the little one had a bowling birthday party. lots of kids, food and funny moments. if only i can start remembering faces!!

last sunday, the mother hen brought all five (not all mine) children to pay respect to their great-grandparents at the memorial park for the very first time. a lesson in filialness.

lots of kodak moments. lots of potentially beautiful shots. i brought my camera and i envisaged myself slipping around quietly, taking candid photos of touching moments. i love beautiful photos, i don't know why. i find it touching and inspiring. something about a frozen laugh, a suspended gesture stirres deep.

my first encounter with magical photos was during a holiday to pangkor laut with some friends. after 3 days of lazing around the poolside, playing in the sea and just lapping up the beautiful ambience, i went back fully satiated. mr. friend showed me the pictures he took of the holiday, and i was totally taken aback. it was so breathtaking, like the glossy pictures that jump out from advertorial magazines, and i was in awe. to have spent 72 hours in post-card beauty and not recognise it. there was a desperate yet intangible need to catch that beauty, to preserve the charm. that's where and when i was hooked.

but the physical act of taking photos is not simply pressing the button and chee-chak out comes glamourous pictures. the mood, the ambience, being quietly by yourself, observing all that goes around, being a part of it all. to be in a new place, or a new time. so far i have not been able to do any of that. my relatively quiet photo blog will be testament of that. inspiration is hard to come by when you see the same old things everyday. i always end up rushing here and there, getting caught up in the middle of things and letting things go by before i have the chance to freeze frame it eternally in the shutter window. maybe it's called living life.

it's a tiny regret now. but it is also something i look forward to. when things are not so hectic. when i have a small window of time to myself. to catch all the beautiful things in the world. and freeze frame it for memories.

party the night away

it was a night of red wine and fine food. of songs and conversations. of meeting people, new and old. of high heels and makeup. of perfume and beautiful dresses.

it was a night of listening to stories. sad stories of debilitating pain and a life's journey half passed. interesting stories of new opportunities and constant business reinvention. disheartening stories of people left behind and betrayal. lifestyle stories of changes and adaptation. despondent stories of a lifetime of pain, motherhood and dyslexia.

i love listening to different people telling about their very disparate lives. each person a book of tales on its own. all coming with a smile on their face. but if you listen very carefully, you'll see the sadness in their faces, in their eyes. the tiredness. the secrets. the burden. a room full of people. all laughing, drinking, talking. each with their own agendas. each with their own thoughts. are we all who others think?

we never are.

is there a doctor in the house?

nothing to say?

no, dear, i have something to say and much to write. but i'm feeling nauseous and my neck is tight. i feel nauseous thinking of blogging. i feel nauseous picking up a book to read. i feel nauseous thinking of my nausea. i feel nauseos thinking. for those geniuses whose lightbulb just lit above their head, i am not pregnant. something is wrong, but i can't pinpoint it. there seems to be a headache somewhere inside my brain, but not quite. maybe it's too much computer games and not enough fresh air. maybe it's too much korean series and not enough exercise.

maybe, tomorrow.