Hari yang sangat memenatkan

Saya sangat penat. Hari ini sangat memenatkan.

Wish I could have someone to massage my painful stressed ligaments, without tickling me. ermm… okehlah… the tickle could make me laugh, a laugh is always good to have, and maybe someone to listen to my babbling while I get my feet massaged.

I told a friend that I need to get married. And you know why is that so? I need someone to have sex with, and I need someone to listen to my cranky whining at the end of the day.

But somehow, when the marriage thing was actually within reach, I run away.

Ntah eh… maybe the thought of my husband falling out of love with me someday, of him maybe having an affair with another woman who is just as interesting as I am but who still has the guts of an unmarried single. Or maybe that fear of having children who would turn out to be just as emotionally distant as me.

I think it’s unfair for any offspring of mine to go through what I went through. I fear the probability of me being judgmental, like my parents right now.

Bottom line is, saya penat, bila penat, saya melalut, bila saya melalut, saya melalut benda yang merapek.

Ya-lah

Women have this love and hate relationship with their crowning glory.

On a personal note, mine was a long battle with frizzy ends, highlights that never seemed to grow out, and not knowing what to do with it but to put it up in a bun.

Fretting, I walked into my stylist R, and told him;

“Kasi potong.”

Yup… that was the magic word.

He was hesitant. Afterall, I did tell him that I want to perm my hair like how Joss Stone did, and put some pink highlights in. I think that is cool.

But, I was a desperate woman with a plea for help. I want to be able to wake up and not think about how I should style my hair for once. I want something practical, and I want a cut that would get rid of all my karat hair bits.

And so… R came up with this…

There’s a reason why I stick with R for almost a year since my last stylist hung up his scissors to trade for a corporate job.

I love it. You are a miracle worker R.

A letter to Uncle Kenny

Dear former country singer turn chicken rotisserie franchisor,

First of all, I would like to relay my Mother’s hi. She was a great fan of yours, that is before you turned to be a chicken roaster person. Nevertheless, I did tell her that you are fooked up rich now. Chickens are hot.

Before I proceed, I would like to say that even though I am totally oblivious to your music, the chickens are roasted to perfection and that’s hot. Though I have to say you can learn a thing or two from our local ‘ayam golek’ maker here in JB. I have already suggested to the latter to include mash potatoes and Cheese and Mac into his menu, to which he responded with ‘I-Think-this-girl-hit-her-head-somewhere’ look.

I went to one of your outlets namely in Angsana Plaza, a place full of aunties with donut bangles, teenagers with colored hairs and foreign workers where I ordered a spaghetti bolognaise, which was supposed to be served with a muffin ‘together’ with the pasta. I ordered that with a Diet Coke.

By the by, how I ended up there? The supermarket has the cheapest cat food, so said my Mother. And it was about 5 minutes drive from my house.

Anyway…

It wasn’t until 5 minutes later that the awkward looking waiter told me that they were out of Diets. So being the no fuss no hassle customer that I was, I opted for a regular coke instead.

5 minutes later, they served me a single muffin and my coke, and it wasn’t until another 10 minutes did my bolognaise CAME.

With a single spoon. With a SINGLE FRIKKIN’ SPOON! With a single frikkin’ PLASTIC spoon.

I went WTF with grace and asked for a fork. Heck, I didn’t even mind if it was a plastic fork.

They went out of their way to get me a set of proper fork and spoon. There was a fork, and there was a soup spoon.

Again, being the no fuss and no hassle customer, I literally souped my pasta anyway.

The point of the matter is, just because the franchise is located in a totally local mall with totally local staff, it doesn’t mean that the customers have totally local table set up knowledge. For one, it is western food (Being that you are western in heritage… duh!) and I have never seen people eating pasta with their hands. (Laksa Johor notwithstanding).

Being the no fuss and no hassle customer that I am, (Well, was, at that moment) I let it slide, paid an undeserving RM 19 for it and left. I wonder what deterred me from going over to the suggestion box and dropped a huge ‘You are running out of spoons and forks and the service deplorable.’ card into the bin.

It was one thing that I have to withstand terrible Malay music playing at that moment at the podium, it was another thing altogether having to be treated like someone who doesn’t know that pasta is supposed to be eaten with a fork and spoon, and not only a single frikkin’ spoon.

Well, if it’s any consolation, I still enjoyed the bolognaise. But it’s not enough to make me go back there. And I couldn’t possibly blame the rain, and the unbelievable crowd coming into the complex, the lame ass wedding event and the fact that I had to park outside on the gravel parking spot that started the whole ‘go to Kenny Rogers for food alone because I cannot go home … well … not in the rain cuz it will ruin my hair’ drama.

If any of the people who work there happened to read this right now…

Hey… honestly, YOU GUYS DO SUCK, and it is embarrassing for a business to be run that way.

So Uncle Kenny, even though I still think your chicken rocks, that’ll be the last time I am ever going to step into one of your outlets again. I can always ask my coolie brother to go and ‘tapau’ (That’s take away in Malaysian speak for you.) if I crave for those scrumptious juicy breasts of yours (the chicken, the chicken!!!)

Yours truly,

Sarcy

Sarcy’s kind of guy according to A

A is a guy I got to know through another friend. He was that person who came to the rescue whenever I needed company whenever I am struck by boredom. He is divorced so whenever the subject of relationships popped up, he backed out telling me that he would be the last person to be the point of reference.

But not until recently, did I come to know that he actually has his won ideas on what kind of man would suit me. the conversation came on when I was on the phone telling someone that I just don’t appeal to men as someone who would make a good girlfriend or wife.

“Don’t say that.” He said.

“Why? It’s the truth, I have come to that conclusion and I am accepting it.”

“You want to know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think, you appeal to men, I mean, I am attracted to you. Men are shallow, and they would rarely want to even hang out with someone who doesn’t look good IE attractive. Hell, I am shallow, and I admit to that. But there are not many men out there who appeals to you. You don’t care about looks, nor money. I think you want someone who could take care of you, because you are done taking care of yourself.”

“So what makes you so sure that I don’t care squat about how much money the guy makes if I expect him to take care of me?”

“I meant, to take care of you, emotionally.”

“Are you trying to say that I am emotionally unkempt?”

“No… I said you are tired of taking care of yourself, emotionally. I didn’t say you are emotionally unkempt.”

Aiyaiyai… whatever… let’s samba!

Music: Capoiera Do Brasil
Artist : Sergio Mendes

On MC? Who me???

You know you’re treading the dangerous grounds of being a workaholic when you are having a serious case of the sniffles but you refused to go and see the doctor because you have some back order issues yet to be resolved at work.

My nose is running everywhere. I have to steal a roll of tissue from the pantry and thank god, I will not be answering phone calls today. I am the one with the sexy cracked husky voice ala Tina Turner today.

I so crave for a bowl of hot porridge with Bovril now. or just that chicken soup with Tofu and pickled radish. I wonder if my Mom will cook it for me if I ask her to.

See, we have this tough love thing going on. My mum will not simply comply to the wishes of her daughter who is at the moment suffering from flu just because she is suffering from flu. And I have reservations about asking my parents to do anything for me just because I am sick. For some reason, I feel odd whenever they offered to give me a backrub or anything when I am sick.

Maybe it is just me who is odd. I mean who would come up with an entry on their blog when they are sick ay??

Me no idea what to write!

I have been having temporary idea lapse for the past weeks.

For one, work consumed me. Last Friday was a breather. Meeting up with one of the blogger pals was a refreshing kickstart to my weekend. What dude it has been like 4-5 months since the last time we met? Even though it was only for a bit, actually only for about 1 hour, it pretty much completes my day. See you again when I see you eh?

And then I was officially the driver to both my Mother and my Sister. I didn’t have time for my Mocha fix even. I am a habitual anal. Missing mocha for one week is definitely not good. I slacked off on my weekly jog too. Plus I ate like I didn’t eat for two weeks.

Nonetheless, it left me with little time to reflect on other things not so important, like blog entries and love life and sucky things like that.

After a whole week and this is the only thing I could come up with. Oh well, I did say that I am on temporary brain lapse didn’t I?

In the meanwhile, have a listen to one of my favorite song. From Sergio Mendes’ phenomenal Timeless album, The Frog (Feat. Q-tip).

Not me eh?

“Umm… it’s just not you –leh…”

That was what Anna told me last night.

I ‘story’ to her about my latest date. Well, maybe it was not ‘that’ latest, but it has been the only break that akak could get in recent weeks.

This date was introduced to me by a friend. As usual, he is not a Johorean. I don’t know, Johoreans just have something against me that I could not quite get. I have never had any exes who were a Johorean at all. So go figure. Honestly, I think there is just something wrong with me sometimes.

Anyway… back to the main story.

I told this friend of mine about the whole shebang. And what happened to me at the end of the date, about that getting lost for a minute bit.

“Hehe… it’s just not you leh… is that you talking?” she said.

Hey I might have lost control a bit there but all is fine and all is good. I was trashing myself in the car like a crazy woman for a while but that didn’t matter now. I just want to take it slooooow. And I don’t expect anything to come out of it.

Nada… zero. I do like him though, but … heck… good ones come along and good ones leave… what else is new eh? I don’t want to terhegeh-hegeh like nobody’s business.

Besides I DO have MY life to live.

“Still… it’s just not you.”

Give it a rest already la woman!

Fake Girlfriend

I acted as a friend’s girlfriend during the weekend.

I went to a family gathering with him, it was some sort of a birthday party for one of the niece, who was nothing more than adorable.

At first, I really didn’t want to go. Me and (other’s) family gatherings just don’t mix. But after days of persuasion from him, let us just call him as Fahrin*, I relented and said yes. The main reason was that he doesn’t want all the womenfolk in his family to ask him a lot of questions.

I have known Fahrin for about 2 years and were introduced through a friend.

Pulling up into a driveway full of Beemers, Mercedeses and other imported cars intimidated me. Curious eyes were checking us out, eager to know ‘Pompuan mana pulak si Fahrin bawak balik ni.’

“Do you do this often?” I asked him as I took off the seatbelt.

“Nope. Actually… come to think of it, you are the first one.”

“Erk… Fahrin you are nice and all but you know that this is just acting –acting right?”

He nodded and told me not to worry.

We greeted everyone once we went into the house. It was one of those moments in life that happens sometimes when you were a bit lost, in a matter of 5 minutes, and confused for the next 10 mins.

Let me give you a tip that was given to me by my girlfriends who have gone though this whole ‘Meet the parents’ thingie (I know this is just play pretend, but we are moving on with the program here-la), always, always look for the mother first.

So Fahrin brought me to the kitchen, where my level of nerves shot up to about 50% percent from what it was when I was in the living room.

Mothers just have this thing, this look, or maybe just… yeah… this ‘thing’ about them that is not quite explainable. They make you feel small and just scare the wits out of you. Even when you know that this is not real.

The first thing that all Johoreans, in general, will ask once they are introduced to each other is :

“Orang mana?”

To which I promptly answered with “Orang sini.”

This will usually be followed with another so Johorean (Or maybe it’s just plain Malaysian.) question.

“Dah makan ke belum?”

To which both I and Fahrin shook our heads to.

“We’ll start in about 10 minutes. Fahrin, bring Sarc out to the living room la.”

Tip no 2; ALWAYS offer help even though you pretty much suck at everything that has the ‘kitchen’ connotation inscribed all over it. And even though the host would insist on you to go outside and not to bother, ALWAYS offer again, and this time grab hold of anything that needs to be brought outside.

True enough, Sarc became the centre of attention in the living room, after I was introduced to Fahrin’s father, I was swarmed by his little nieces and nephews. Yeah la, being the kid magnet and all.

I was pretty at home with the family. I guess having a big extended family of my own has its’ benefits. The siblings were nice and so were the Aunties. One of his cousins asked me whether I am going to get married with Fahrin soon to which I answered with a sheepish smile.

Tip No 3; get used to people telling your boyfriend, (Or in this case, pretend ones) “whaaa… pandai ko carik…” and all the whispers going around behind your back, as it would be too darn obvious to ignore.

We spent almost 2 hours with his family. And everything went, well… I didn’t break any of the expensive china, didn’t rub anyone inappropriately, didn’t scare any kids (as a matter of fact, one 2 year old was so eager to climb all over me that the father had to remove him from me.)

And the mother actually did the whole ‘Cium & Peluk’ thingie when I was leaving, dutifully reminding Fahrin to ‘Bawak anak orang balik baik – baik.’

“They like you. My sisters and my Mum.”

“I have that effect. Or maybe just because Farisya* also likes photography. I talked to her a lot about that.”

I wonder how it would be like though if I am to mee my real future in-laws. Could I keep my cool then?

Then again, would I ever? Hehehe…

*Bukan Nama Sebenar.

MIU

*MIU : Assalamualaikum cik.

Sarcy : Waalaikumsalam

MIU : Cik nak ke mana ni?

Sarcy : Nak balik Office. Dah lambat gila ni. Kenapa ya ‘Bang’?

MIU : Cik bawak kereta laju eh tadi. Sebenarnya tak la laju sangat, tapi jalan ni had laju 70, cik bawak sampai nak dekat 100. kalau 81 saya bleh terima lagi. Lesen dan IC ye.

Sarcy : Ala bang, ni first time ni bang. Saya dah lambat ni.. nanti kena marah.

MIU : Saya tak kisah sangat kalau setakat tak pakai seatbelt atau pakai handphone. Saya bleh lepaskan… tapi ni bawak keta laju betul-betul lebih had ni susah ni.. kena saman RM 300.

Sarcy : Mak Ai… Bang, tak bleh tolong ke? Saya mintak maaf betul-betul ni… 300 tu mahal tu.

MIU : Ish… ada keta ada duit la. Keta siapa ni cik?

Sarcy : keta saya.

MIU : Waa bagus eh ada keta sendiri. Cik dah kawin?

Sarcy : Belum.

MIU : Comel –comel cam ni belum kawin lagi? Saya mesti ada can ni. Kalau bujang 300 mesti takde problem punya.

Sarcy : Bujang bujang pun, ada family bang.

MIU : Cik keje mana?

Sarcy : Kat dalam tu.

MIU : Bila free eh?

Sarcy : Ah? Umm… Hari minggu la.

MIU : Bleh ajak keluar tak.

Sarcy : Heh…

MIU : Saman ye.

Sarcy : Ish bang, sekali ni je bang. Janji tak buat lagi dah.

MIU : 300 je tunang cik mesti bleh bayar punya.

Sarcy : Ish bang saya takde tunang la.

MIU : Kenapa belum tunang lagi?

Sarcy : Sebab belum jumpa la.

MIU : Heh… camni la. Saya bagi peluang pada cik kali ni… tapi kalau saya tangkap cik bawak laju lagi, saya saman. Lain kali kalau terjumpa, bawak la the tarik ke… kuih ke…

Sarcy : Terima kasih bang. Insya Allah.

*MIU – Man In Uniform
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Loike… uh? Long winded eh… I was already late (That’s why I was speeding-la). But yet, I find it rather entertaining to be asked all those questions. Don’t I look as if I am pretty capable of paying for my car myself?

Nevertheless… Sarcy comel kay? Hehe…

So ladies… how was your MIU experience?

Hatemails and what my brother made me go through on the weekends

For the previous entry, it doesn’t get any comments but some 5 hate mails… mostly from women who disagree on the whole independence definition.

In case you are wondering, I do not know these women. All of them are anonymouses who are unable to post their comments on the site.

One of them said that I was too bold to make that conclusion, to them, what I really implied is that all women who want marriage are really women who could not make it on their own, hence needing a man to make that happen.

Now, I am pretty sure, in my entry, I did say that I am not saying that all women who want marriage are not independent. I just thought that independent women rarely thinks of marriage as one of their priorities. We will be the last person who would say, “Let’s get married.” And once it’s understood that the partner does not feel the same about taking it a level up, we would decide to let it go, and move on.

What I was trying to say is that independent women live their own life according to their own rules and not everyone else’s (I really do hope everyone, irregardless of age and gender does this). They don’t give a frikkin’ crap about getting hitched, and wouldn’t mind diving into it, if we think it is the right thing to do.

So you see, to all the silent readers who bombarded me with hatemails yesterday, I believe to each her own, afterall, this topic is subjective, wot?

--

I always get pissed off when I go to any government organizations. Their procedures are painfully… longwinded, troublesome and somewhat unnecessary, because I could think of other ways to go around it.

And the rigidity of it all, pergh… even the most patient person would flip.

My brother was sick last weekend. He was so full of drama. He was whining and was asking my Mum to ‘urut’ him here and there. I don’t remember me or my sister being that ‘mengada-ngada’. By 6 PM he was telling my Mum that he could not stand it anymore, so we decided to bring him to the hospital.

You see, I would rather personally go to our family doctor but because of the bad timing, it was already closed, and to seek consultation at a specialist is ridiculously pricey. Besides, after the consultation at the GH, we could always go to the specialist for follow up treatment, which I don’t mind paying for.

There is actually a whole wing for outpatients at the GH, unfortunately, it was already closed when we arrived. This was one of those redundant so called convenience that the GH has so dutifully provided. What good is a whole building if it is going to be closed anyway?

We had to go to the Emergency cases counter at the main building. Had to register, and of course, wait.

20 mins later, my bro came out telling my Mother he will have to fill it up, so he did and he walked in again, one hour later, he came out asking my Mum to make a move.

“Screw it… kalau orang nak mati, dah lama mati dah.” He said.

The way they do it is there is one counter for urine check, one counter for blood tests, one counter for blood pressure checks and ETC. logically speaking, these tests, taken at the same time, should not take more than 15 mins. What is the relevance of going dingdong-ing from one counter to another, and waste more than three hours probably for the whole consultation?

Yeah.. I know, for RM 1 per consultation, surely someone could not ask for more. But bear in mind, we pay the taxes, shouldn’t we deserve better than this?

And why should outpatients be referred to the emergency counter? I would understand if they thought that the outpatient wing could not stay open after 5 pm (Due to building maintenance, short of staff etc.) But couldn’t they just open up another outpatient division within the main building itself after 7 PM? Surely you don’t expect someone that was brought in for an accident case to be mingling around with someone who has diarrhea because they ate bad Dhal curry right?

Besides, judging from the crowd that night, I don’t think the idea was unpractical.

We spent almost 2 hours at GH that night, nothing done. My bro aka wimp turned out to be ok the next day. He could have just dispense with the drama. Because of him, my ‘date’ was cut short.

Ceh…

Desperate Independence?

Someone told me that his ‘independent’ girlfriend wants marriage. He doesn’t want it.

I looked at him in disbelief.

“You sure she is independent?” I chuckled.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because if she is independent, then she shouldn’t want marriage all that much. All the more with someone who doesn’t want it.”

Independent women loosely defined are those who are completely competent and able to take care of themselves. Although we do want some things that are defined mostly as trivial (marriage, relationship… etc) we won’t tell people that and we wont insist. We have this understood universal motto;

‘Whatever will happen, will happen, whatever will not, will not. In the meantime, enjoy life and stop sulking!’

How I know this was when I got together with a couple of single girlfriends a few weeks back and the conversation turned from our love affair with our brand new boyfriends (One just got herself a Beemer, one a MyVi, and yours truly, my Wiwa) to men.

“Akak givap nok.” Said the Beemer owner.

“I have achieved so much in my life already. I don’t need someone who will dictate how my life should be.” Said the MyVi owner.

“Lerr… having a baluk doesn’t mean your life will be dictated la teks!” I (The Wiwa owner) said. I was in my ‘defend the extinct species (men included)’ mood.

This is not to imply that women who want marriage are not at all independent as I believe they are independent in their own way but their need for such trivialities set them apart from hardcore independent women, who would usually only want relationships for the physical benefits it offers. Marriage is fine, just as long as they feel it’s the right thing to do.

But to push for marriage knowing the guy was having qualms about the whole matrimonial bullshit… hardly. That’s not independent, that’s only a woman being a woman.

Some men would say that independent women are only living in denial. In the end it all boils down to nature, as intended. Women need men, and vice versa. The whole corporate glitz and career building front is only excuses, when deep inside, they (independent women) know that they need them (men).

Well, the reason we surround ourselves with this whole ‘denial clout’ is because a woman needs one man, and men need MORE than one woman. Some of us need to have a life, outside of the relationship, lest you fancy getting choked and eventually suffocated. A cheating boyfriend and a clingy bloke is not exactly an attractive option.

That’s why although we do sometimes get weary (see music video and listen to the words) we would rather sip our coffee and me personally, my mocha, at Starbucks talking about our new ride, bought with our own hard earned money. Maybe one of us would find someone who would prove us wrong but until then, we are independent, and we don’t want marriage, at least not now.

Friday thoughts and sights

Video playing : Rehab (Amy Winehouse)

Common sense

You do not make friends by cracking jokes on their extra pounds on first encounters.

Come this friend of mine who recently met this person in a party organized by one of our friends.

“This bitch shook my hand, introduced herself and told me that I have a beer belly. A beer belly? You could tell me I have a beer belly, but what gives her the right to tell me, someone whom she hardly know, that I have a beer belly?”

Belly overload. And the person, free-free kena called a bitch. Sangat marah this friend of mine.

Granted, she did confess to me that she does have the belly of a beer drinker, but that coming from a stranger whom she have just met seconds after the first handshake, have to admit, even I feel that it is absurd.

What can we call these kinds of people? Inappropriate? Clueless? Ignorant? Insensitive? Straightforward? Or just plain dumb and idiotic?

There is a thin line between being forward, in a good way and in being too obnoxiously forward. In this beer belly incident, the person, whoever it was, was obnoxious (and a few other negative characteristics listed above). Having a flat tummy doesn’t mean that you could put other people’s beer belly down. All the more if you barely know the person.

I have never personally been on the receiving end of such remarks. Considering my short temper and my 24-7 sarcastic mode, I don’t think I could keep quiet. I have always been civilized in meeting people. And I also try to not meet people I don’t like, much. Even if I have no choice, I would steer away from them and mingle with those I feel comfortable with and those whom I, like, better.

Again, it’s common sense wot?

Kiosk dilemma

I was listening to Fly FM this morning in the car on my way to work.

I guess by now, everyone should already know that we might have to fill up before 10 PM in the future.

Personally, I don’t think it is such a big deal, speaking from a consumer’s point of view. I have always make it a point to pump up earlier in the day and I think all drivers should know that they should refill their fuel before any long distance drive, besides, the kiosks on the highways will remain open.

But from the nation’s economy point of view, wouldn’t closing earlier affect the overhead cost in a way? And then we would also have to think about how crowded the kiosks would be if everyone just decided to fill in around 9 pm.

Overall, I don’t think it is a practical idea as I do know some of my friends who preferred to fill in at night. But should they decide to implement this ruling, I don’t have much of a problem either, as long as it doesn’t affect the petrol price I have to pay for my daily commute.

I guess to each his/her own then.

Twisted

I was driving in front of a woman this morning. She was driving a Viva.

From my position, I could see that she is well groomed, with slightly tanned skin, wonderful luscious pouty lips and a beautiful face.

She was gorgeous in my eyes, and if you knew me well enough, my definition of beauty is different from other people’s. I don’t see having fair skin as a bonus, and I am more into details, things men and sometimes women, usually miss.

During that short halt of about 3 mins, I was wondering how it would be like to kiss her.

I am just twisted like that.

Get up

Sometimes I would be driving around with a blank head.

No destination, no purpose, no intention.

Nothing…

I just keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the steering wheel without deciding on a single place to go to.

What was whirring in my head is something else altogether.

It’s the weary feel of a hectic day, of being all decked up in your working clothes still after 6 PM, not wanting to join the happy hour daily with the rest of my friends over at some pub with sucky parking lots, not wanting to be alone but yet, not wanting to talk so much.

I make phone calls, on times like these. I make one after another of those “Hi, so how’s life?” conversation.

Even after two hours of driving to nowhere, I would still be driving around, with no specific place in mind.

Deep inside I admit that I was frustrated, I was depressed and I was sad of not having anything to look forward to at the end of the day. And I know I was offended by what someone told me over the phone, and I don’t think I could get over it, well… not now anyway.

Just look at it this way, I don’t have expectations like the rest of the women my age. I don’t expect to find someone who could complement me and be with me through what may come, I don’t expect myself getting married and having a wedding. What I have now, is what I get by myself.

After what happened earlier this year, it’s getting harder and harder to let someone in.

And the thought of moving out from this house is far more tempting than ever. The prospect of tendering that resignation letter seems attractive.

When I finally touched down, had my shower, took my vitamins, did my push ups and crunches and after my nightly stand on the scale, watching the needle stagger almost reluctantly to a kilo lesser that was achieved only by starving myself, I try to flush it all away by sleeping it off, of course after I get my dose of creativity from the latest literatures I bought.

And then after a good night sleep, I landed back on earth and winged back to reality.

Hey, that’s life.