Monday Blows

What could be worse on a cloudy-rainy Monday morning?

Venue; cross junction near Peng Hwa (the Chinese girls’ school), a grey Satria was in front of me, we had just miss the green light by a car, so we were pretty much in front, less than 5 seconds into waiting, Ah Beng driven Satria ahead started to behave suspicious. Made an attempt to somehow exit the wait and take the left exit rather than waiting to go straight. It’s obvious even from where I could see that the turn would be impossible, I do not know of a car which can manage such a ridiculous turn ratio. So he halted and waits. Peeking thru the back of his car, I could see he was at some sort of discomfort, agitated perhaps. Maybe he was still high on his Sunday night ecstasy pill-taking, what else would you expect from an Ah Beng seated inside a hideously modified Satria with the classic huge ass I-can-fit-my-entire-fist-inside-that-exhaust. It’s as stereotype as it gets.

The light finally turns green.

An Honda Accord tried to overtake AhBeng@Satria, he got startled, forgot his tyre was at the wrong angle (prolly forgot that he had made a futile attempt to escape the wait), jerked to the wrong direction and stalled in the most embarrassing manner, he hastily restarted his car and floored the pedal and sped off ahead of me and the Honda.

We came to a stop again at the end of the road, the traffic lights just before Waterfalls.

All of a sudden,
A fucking head pops out.
She seemed dazed and search around for something.
She found it; it was her hair-clip.
He seemed more relaxed and started to drive with more composure.

Fucker was having a Monday morning drive/blow job.
I do not need to see that. Not on a Monday.

After that, he drives damn slow man.
Makpukicaucibaigetthefuckouttamyway!

Rant & Rave

It seems that these days, I can’t even hangout…by myself without feeling guilty. It’s like I have been robbed of time. Robbed of me-time.

Work consumes the most part of me everyday. I come home; I spend some couple of hours or so with my parents during dinner and after dinner, by then, it’ll be 9pm and more often than not I’ll be too exhausted to even think of going out. And yet, I swear I could sense the tone in their voices, of obvious displeasure that I’ve chose to stay home. Forgive me that I chose to concentrate on my career lah, but gimme a break man. Would you rather hangout with a disgruntled and deprived-of-sleep me? It would pester more than pleasure.

Some of them have a ridiculous schedule as well, but you don’t face idiotic-cum-asshole clients everyday. Idiotic-cum-asshole clients who completely disregard deadlines and make threats at us. I’m not exactly the coolest person around threats, I hate threats and it prompts me to react. Often enough with actions I would later regret. Lucky me, the boss was there to take over matters. Even he was fuming with rant and rave.

I love my work but the shit I have to put up with day in day out, a little me-time isn’t asking too much, is it?

Random Needs

“…and then hioh, I use paper to glue it together and cut off the corners so that it’ll look nicer lor,” that was one of the many things she said to me a year or so ago, on the telephone. “Man, the amount of assignments we have are ridiculous, I don’t think we’ll ever be so over-worked in the real world,” I complained, as usual mid-way thru the semester after waking from the pre-semester slumber. But hey, turns out, college was way easier, really. Anyway, the conversation went on about assignments and bitching about how little time we have and how much money we have to spend. Then…

In a complete random moment, “I’m horny lah,” she utters out those words.

How the hell do you respond to such a random statement? Oh baby, I’ll light up your fire and rock your world while pissing the neighbours off at the same time as the dogs howl to the moonlight aiding us to cover our passionate moans. I would have just hanged up. Being me, I don’t handle awkward moments to well. Not well at all.

But honestly, to this day, I can’t remember what I answered, maybe because I was so stoned.

No, I did not do it. That I remember. It would have been weird if I did.

Do You Want Some Orange Juice?

I would post more but it gets really graphic from there on :P
(Girl-on-girl, Taking thongs off and flinging, going commando, all that jazz)
And I have to hide my camera after that, before it was my turn to get wet
Oh, Happy 19th Diana! Great party!

(Amy & Zach broke the lamppost behind the last picture while they were pole-dancing, heh)

King of the Road

Apparently, the road’s name is called Jalan Perak. “It’s the longest road in Penang,” James proclaims, even though it doesn’t have the Jalan Perak feel, at all. Anyway, we were running late for a presentation over there, the T- junction with the police station over looking the T-junction and some field nearby. The streets were busy, of course, the one where the police station on your right and shop lots on your left. We parked our car on the FREE PARKING area (yes, it exists and it's really free) where there’s a hawker centre and the field. We were watching people playing tennis with implausible envy. “Man, I want to play tennis lah, Meng, wanna play ah?” the boss questions after coming out from his envious state. I told him alright, I’ll play though I suck at it, “I usually serve the ball out of court and probably over the fence as well,” I state my point, “But I’ll need a racket as well,”

As we approach the bustling street and wait for the cars to clear before we cross, I suggested we should try squash, “Everybody else seems to be in it at the moment with Nicol being World No. 1,”

He says squash is nastier and will hurt real bad if you get hit by the rubber ball at full speed, “I’m not suicidal,” he says and crosses the busy street without even looking and somehow, just like in the movie, cars seems to pass him by as he simply stroll thru the killer Penang traffic, without stopping.

After 5 minutes, I made it to the other side of the road, “So, you’re not suicidal, huh?”

Wishful Thinking

Enduring a 12 hour van ride to finally visit a modest island off the east coast of Thailand, described, sometimes as a piece of heaven that has fallen onto Earth, seemed a fair deal. I imagined being in the most tired state-of-mind (being tall and cramped inside a small van with minimal legroom and an exhausted iPod) and having a bunch of Thais coming up to me offering loads of substance to make my whole experience a wee bit more potent and surreal. Probably the best sales people offering the best products on Earth who shrieks out the worst English ever, “Grass? Want? Mushroom? Will make you high long, long time!” would be fitting. After all, it would be weird if they have mutter out, “Good evening, Sir. Would you like to sample Koh Samui’s finest and freshest of Greens?” wearing a tux with shiny polished black shoes. You would sense that there’s a huge price tag wedged onto it. “No thank you, Sir. I’m fine. I’ll rather try luck with the beach boys and risk having them selling me leafs instead,”

I envision a land of everlasting possibilities, the only limit would be your will to explore and enjoy. After all, the unofficial tagline is “Whatever Happens in Samui Stays in Samui”. So why worry?

Crystal clear waters teeming with hot babes (both literally and figuratively) with the occasional topless few (or more?) to spoil your eyes with, long stretch of powdery white sand awaits, but there’s an entry requirement. If you don’t hold a big bottle of Chang or at least some sort of alcohol or substance, you’re not welcomed. You might even be jailed for breach of the Chill Law 1970 Relaxation Act (B) Section 2, which states, He must be under the influence to be entitled walk on the sands of this island. Severe consequences for those who fail to act in accordance with. Girls however, have a wild card to play. “Can we go there sober but topless?”

Sure.

I would wear shades at all times. Maybe not those typical ones that is black. But those lightly tinted ones that really doesn’t make any difference in the sense of eye-protection but at least it’ll reflect the sun off the lens which produces a glare that hides my curious eye-balls from them noticing me blatantly glaring at their perfect-Hollywood shaped boobies, perpetually. Then I will constantly have a T-Shirt on, nothing for me to show-off anyway. But nothing Hawaiian, ever.

Without doubt, I’ll visit that club with the ping pong balls and probably buy some outside and maybe a bat as well, to chase away the Lady-Boys. They’re very direct and always horny. They’ll usually catch up with your toot toot ride on their motorcycle and howl out “Boy ah, you want?” followed by the classic shameless flashing of their surgically implanted breast, “Nahhhh, you like? You like?” Eeee. I’ll smack you with my Made in China ping pong bat and shove the remaining of the ping pongs up your mouth, fling an empty big bottle of Chang at it and hurl that bat as well, since I won’t need it when I go back to Penang. They won’t beat me up because I used a Chang bottle as opposed to Tiger. They respect people who support their economy, in someway.

But the real worry isn’t about finding what to do in the island, but dealing with departure when the time comes. All that’s to live for somehow seem to have found it way to this land mass and leaving it seems wrong. Post-Samui depression can be very cataclysmic if not dealt with care.

But before all this could happen, I need to be there first. And yes, it would be my first time. Also, I’m aware that almost everyone else has been there, at least once. Koh Samui in June, anyone? Come lah. I damn scared to go alone! Please?

(Crap, you made me say please)

Le'Flyeur

I call it, Le'Flyeur

I, Whine

I’m deprived of time, I have to admit. For the past week or two, I’ve been technically doing 2 jobs. Servicing and of course design. Though now I’ll have to admit I hate servicing as it robs me of time at the office. I figured staying back won’t do much good anyways, so to heck with it. I hate doing design when I’m mentally and physically exhausted. Like what some people always say to me, “Don’t force it out, just let it flow,”

And what does that mean when I’m being chased and judge based on nothing or just the fact that I went back at 5.25 once? Does that mean I’m slacking off? No. Will it make a difference if I’d stayed a little longer forcing out junk instead? I don’t have to answer that. So I decided that I should go and brain-storm at home as an alternative. And I actually do that. Even though to no benefit, at least I tried, didn’t I?

Idiotic clients who can never seem to make up their own damn fucking minds are holding me back, I got other accounts to handle, other deadlines to meet, other client that actually pay-up and appreciate what I do. Fuck you with your obsessive compulsive with one single red-hairline splashed across your ugly ad which you force us to make, besides, it’s obviously a printing error (which they manage to fix and it only affected the first 1,500 copies out of 50,000) from the newspaper and hey guess what? Shit happens. Deal with it. Fuck you and your crappy company for always delaying payment when you are the cunts that keep delaying and postponing deadlines. Let’s not mention the bright ideas you guys come up with. Ohmygod!

The day was fine; I just needed to get that out of my system.
And maybe I need to plan a weekend vacation.
Because it seems that I might need one.
Badly.

Imagebank+Boredom

Tiok Jee?

My dad bought the lottery ticket the other day. It’s those Toto ones where you have to put in a series of numbers inside 6 boxes and if you get all correct, you’d be a millionaire. So he came back one day and said, “Meng ah, Papa tiok jee!” which translates to, “Meng ah, I won the lottery!”

Woa shit! Buy me an orange Mini! The one with the soft top and supercharged engine! Please?

“Siao ah! I only strike 4 out of 6 lah,”
Oh, maybe an iPod video? Seems like a good down-grade even though it’s not a car, assuming that he had won possibly a few thousand.

Dad whispers…
“The grand total is…”

Fuyoo, got suspense wan.









“...RM38,”


Pua pua puaaaaa…

Smart Mom, New Parents & Missed Chances

“There, Meng, I found the bloody remote,” as the pointed to the side cabinet next to her bed. Finally, I can retire from being the human-remote-control, no more stretching my arms to reach that puny TV.

Next to us was a soon-to-be-parents. They went in to the OR for a caesarean just 10 minutes after I left during my lunch-break visit. I whispered, “All the best,” to the soon-to-be-dad. He smiled and I can see it in his eyes, he was terrified, excited and scared all at the same time. The soon-to-be-mom looks terrified to be doing caesarean, and then in came my Supermom, she slides the curtains open that separates her bed from the couple’s and went, “No need to worry wan! It’s surely less painful that having to give birth without caesarean,” then she points at me, “Look at this tall fella, imagine what I have to go thru to get him out,” then they stared at me, in awe with my height. She continues, “Besides, caesarean these days will leave virtually no scar,” she comforts her. I can’t help but stare at my mom, how on earth did she knew all this out of a sudden. “Do you know how nasty the Ebola virus is? My god, puking blood and all, yucks,” she goes on.

“Mom, you’ve been watching way, way too much National Geographic,” I finally realize that’s how she knew all this. “What else you want me to watch? I still can’t walk and there are only 12 channels and no StarWorld,” she justifies.

----------------------------

When I entered the elevator on my second visit after work, I saw her again. At least I was quite sure it was her. She just literally popped out from nowhere. I was caught completely off-guard, I can’t even fake an “Excuse me” or some sort of one-liner to get her attention. I choked. I bloody choked. She’s a nurse now? Why is she wheeling an old lady? Or is that old lady her grandma and she’s only here for visits? I want to ask, do you use to work in McD’s but I could only conjure up a smile when the elevator went *Ting!* on the third-floor as she wheels away the old lady. My head and the elevator door were in perfect sync as I kept peeking on whatever that’s left to see before it shuts.

“You seemed like you’ve just saw a ghost,” my dad said to me in the room.

I would have rather see one than seeing her depart, again.