Factory Outlet Mall

It's true my first pay cheque was pathetic, but just having to see the figures go up in the bank account brought about such euphoria! It's been soooo long since I had money in my bank. My ATM card, due to prolonged periods of un-usage, is warped and cracked. You know how plastics degenerate if you leave them untouched for a long time, right?

Despite the pathetic pay, I still went shopping. I was dying to get a new pair of black shoes for work. And of course, I got a fantabulous pair of shoes from Pedro at Anchorpoint.

Anchorpoint is the obscure, unnoticed(though huge) outlet mall that is opposite Ikea at Alexandra Road. I've been to Ikea like a gazillion times, but failed to notice the existence of Anchorpoint Shopping Centre. I think it is safe to say that it's the only factory outlet mall in Singapore.

21 Dollars

Following the unfortunate shortage of 30 bucks on Saturday night, I went on to bring forth another shortage of 21 dollars on Wednesday night. Dammit lah..

The thing was, I delightfully helped a customer change her tickets, without checking properly where she got her tickets. So fast forward, fast forward, it turns out that her tickets belonged to some corporate event. I was NOT SUPPOSED to change the tickets for her.

Therefore, I had to fork out S$21(under credit, since I requested for it to be docked from my pay) to cover the cost of the new tickets that I churned out for the customer. The whole thing made me damned pissed, really.

I now have 2 tickets to Indiana Jones for tonight. So I basically paid the irritating customer 21 bucks for HER lousy seats, and she in turn used MY money to get GOOD seats for an alternate timeslot. 

Fuck lah, seriously. That's what I get for being nice to a customer?! It doesn't make sense ar, which really left me pissed beyond words.

But at least now I see the good in things, I'm much better. I'm coincidentally off today, and had made plans to go out at night, so the movie puts 2 hours of the night into good use, really.

The Heart-Shaped-Paper-Clip Gang

Seriously, what is up with the Paper Clip Gang?! (Let's just abbreviate and call them PCG, okay?)

The same teenage boy stopped me the first time outside Bugis Junction and another time at Bedok Interchange. Nabeh, they damned comprehensive ar...

The third time a PCG member stopped me was outside TheCathay.

The very first time I kena the PCG, I was patient, partly 'cause I was curious. From what I gather, the PCG is a group of students doing entrepreneurship, and the street-selling is supposed to train them in being persuasive salespeople with good communication skills. Riiiiiiiight. 

I guess they really have to pull all the stops in being persuasive, since what they're selling are paper clips. But those aren't just normal paper clips, okay. The PCG, so to quote, “put in effort to fold the paper clips into heart shapes”. Paper clips are mundane whereas heart-shaped paper clips are novelties.

The most ridiculous thing the PCG member told me was: “If we dun sell finish then cannot graduate,”

Hmmmmmmmm...

Actually, if I were him, then I'd just fork out 100 bucks, chuck the paper clips, return to 'entrepreneur school' with the money, and fucking graduate. Correct, anot?

I replied my subsequent PCG encounters with disinterested but polite waves of hand.

Birthday Recap: Secret Recipe Cakes

Because it was my birthday, and largely because I was broke, I just made people foot my share of the bill for me.

Kalis, Hairianto, Hui Yi and I met up on Sunday evening to dine at Secret Recipe. The food was such a bummer. But the cakes lived up to their name lah.

A slice of chocolate mud cake got served up to me with a lighted candle on it. So sweet... Both the cake and the gesture.

We fast forward to Monday evening, where I met Farid and Idil, who both just got back from JB. They were carrying 2 slices of Secret Recipe cakes as well, but all the way from across the Causeway, okay! Haha! Secret Recipe cakes still remain great even after you cross borders. And the best thing about crossing over to JB, the cakes cost only half as much. Half as much but still as good. Man, I love chocolate cakes...

But I didn't bloody suspect that the cakes were FOR ME. We were hanging around town for a bit, then we finally settled down at Spinelli's, as usual. And then I realised that the cakes were for me!

Again, sweet cakes, sweet gestures. I so did not see that coming. But what we all did not see coming was the cakes melting.

Farid peeked at the chocolate cake. Idil peeked at the chocolate cake. They started bitching for a bit. I peeked at the chocolate cake. I laughed my balls off lah!

Bloody hell, the cream and fudge had melted! What sat in the box was a dead white chocolate mess. Then we moved on to the oreo cheesecake in the other box. Dang! Barfed my ass off too! It was one dead ugly grotesque cheesecake.

Birthday Rip Off

In case you don't already know, my birthday falls on 18 May, which was yesterday.

The very first 'surprise' I got for my birthday happened within the first hour after the clock struck 12 on Saturday night.

I was at work, doing my closing after an ultra long day at the box office. I had a shitload of receipts, vouchers and money. So, I tried to be as quick as possible in doing my closing procedures, so the manager could round up my counter sales.

It was obvious something was not right when the manager was closing my account. Dang, I knew for sure that it had been a bad day. I was short of S$30.60.

SHORT! KNNBCCB! Shortage leh! Of all my previous ticketing experience, I'm 99.99% of the time exact! And for two weeks on the new job, my account had been pretty much exact, up until my birthday night.

What a fucking nice surprise. That's 30 bucks off from my first pay check, which I haven't even received. Damned bastard lah... But I guess if I don't feel the pinch, I won't really value my pay check then, would I?

And come to think of it, it is hugely unfair that I have to fork out the shortage because I wasn't the only one who handled the counter. Yes, it was under my BIG name, but the fact that there were other people who handled the counter, I, rightfully, cannot be held fully responsible for the shortage, right?

But nah, I'm not gonna be petty and bitchy to the manager. I'm going to let this pass as well.

I guess it's just too bad for me that the shortage occurred. In black and white, the sales account is in my name. And because we love being square and love to do things by the book, we just gotta dock the birthday boy's pay, don't we?

Talking about doing things by the book, don't you just hate paperwork?!

Okay. Scenario: Guy comes up to counter. Guy leaves counter. He leaves behind cardholder. Another guy comes up to counter. He notices cardholder. He hands it over to me. I check the cardholder. I keep cardholder at the counter at hand.

My ideal follow-up scenario: Guy returns to counter. Guy asks for lost cardholder. Guy describes cardholder. I return cardholder to guy with a smile.

The actual follow-up scenario: Colleague takes cardholder. He files cardholder as lost item. He fills up a form. He passes cardholder to manager. Manager keeps cardholder in safe. Guy returns to counter. Guy asks for cardholder. Guy describes cardholder. I go into office asking for cardholder. Colleague happens to be out. I am clueless. I ask Guy to wait. Colleague returns. Colleague is clueless. Colleague finds manager. Manager happens to be out. I ask Guy to wait. Guy waits. And waits. And waits. Manager returns. Colleague lugs out huge file of papers. Colleague talks to guy. Colleague goes into office. Guy waits. And waits. And waits. Colleague flits about. Guy waits. Colleague returns. Colleague returns cardholder to Guy.

Thanks eh, for the paperwork.

She REALLY Doesn't Like My Hair

My mother hates my hair. Period.

Back when I had it short and spiky, sides all cropped off, she hated it for being too funky and abnormal.

Then I had my hair longer, did a 5-inch mohawk, she hated it for being, well, over the top.

All right, then the mohawk went away and for some time, kept short, spiky hair again. My mother still hated my hair since it didn't look normal.

Then my hair grew thicker and longer, I had maximum styling with soft spikes. Of course, she hated it as well, for being too 'styled' and for using too much hair spray.

Subsequently, I went on quite some time without cutting my hair, frequently in caps, bandanas and headbands. Still my mother hated my hair for being messy, unkempt and too long.

With the headbands, my mother simply thought I was crazy. Needless to say, she hated the headband-side-parted hair.

Now that I've permanently given up on spiky hairdos, you'd think that my mother would not hate my hair so much. But no!

Even with my hair all flat down, 'cause I like it sleek and minimalistic now, she's still complaining about my hair. Yes, my fringe is long-ish, but I like it that way.

My mother's saying that my hair now is way too long, and with everything done down like that, it looks fake, like I'm wearing a wig. She had said that my hair looks like a lid capped over my head.

I don't think my mother will ever appreciate my hair.

Right now, I'm just focused on getting my hair down to chin-length, like I've always wanted!

I Love House Music And I'm Sharing It

You see, it's kinda bullshit when you say you like R&B music, therefore you don't like house music. You don't like techno, fine. But how can you not like house music?!

“American Boy” by Estelle feat. Kanye West

I Love House Music And I'm Sharing It

“Dancin'” by Aaron Smith feat. Luvli

“Gonna Be Mine” by T2 feat. Addictive

“What Planet You're On” by Bodyrox feat. Luciana

So Much To Say

Yes, I complained about my first week at work to friends, but at the end of the day, I truly think that I enjoy working. I love my customers, and hypothetically speaking, my customers love me too!

Just yesterday, a couple of elderly ladies was commenting on how Cathay cinemas have the best service standard, comparable to that of, so to quote, 'the gracious New Zealanders'. So they did not directly say that I provide quality service, but I'll just take it that they indirectly praised me. A little positivity wouldn't hurt, you know.

It's been a really hectic week for me. Work AND play. We get 24 hours a day, so why not maximise the hours to fit in work and play? Sleeping hours in this case really isn't an issue. I love sleeping, really. But now with work commitment, I think I can afford to forgo some of my sleeping hours, don't you think?

Last Thursday, I attended my first ever girl party. My philosophy is that you should NEVER have to pay to partay, but for that night, I forked out the cover charge despite being under a really tight budget. So I made sure I enjoyed myself, which I did, of course. Plus, I was basically energy-sapped from work, so it was a fabulous outlet to unwind.

Then for the weekends, I just worked into the late night. Thank goodness the company provided late night transportation home, but no thanks since I missed the transport for BOTH my midnight shifts.

I voluntarily made my own way home on Friday night, that was fine. But on Saturday, despite rushing my closing procedures so I wouldn't miss the transport, I still missed it anyways. Apparently, the manager had left me out in the transport list. I had no apology, no empathy, not even sympathy from the manager(s). All right, fine by me, I'm not petty, so I'm just gonna let it go.

You see, the thing about the management, they impose strict standards, but fail to be helpful and compassionate. My previous cinema employment saw more lax standards, but expressed much more compassion towards the staff. You gain some and you lose some; as always.

I've had over 2 years of experience working at a cinema, so I more or less get the hang of things. Occasionally, in total desperation, I will ask for help, only to receive half-hearted, impatient, sometimes ambiguous replies. Riiiight, leave to me my own, is it? Fine by me, really, I run one-man-shows to a tee, okay.

Yesterday was one such desperate moment. A couple came up to me, asking for an obscure promotion package. I was COMPLETELY clueless about the transaction mechanics, so I asked the managers for help since the only other colleague was busy. The queue was crazy long, I was stuck. Sure enough, I got quick and impatient verbal instructions from the managers.

The thing about me is, I work well with practical and actual examples, not theoretical ones. So by verbally telling me what I should do is equivalent to giving me a theoretical example. Henceforth, I was still clueless.

In a final act of desperation, I anxiously requested for one of the THREE managers to SHOW me what to key into the system. Then reluctantly, one of them came to the counters, pointed to me what I should key, then retreated back into the office promptly. Riiiight, that's much help, all right.

Eventually, I managed to figure out the rest of the transaction BY MYSELF. The manager only showed me half of what I needed to know. Don't you find that irritating? There's a queue full of fast-becoming disgruntled customers, and there I was, trying my best to be quick, but totally clueless at the same time, yet unable to get proper assistance!

Tsk...

Another thing that peeves me is when people want to correct me, but don't tell it to me face, choosing to send someone else to relay the message. The administrator wanted to warn me about keying in the wrong class of complimentary tickets, but sent an icky colleague to relay her message. All right, that's fine, I'm magnanimous and gracious like the New Zealanders, aren't I? So I can totally let that go too.

It just irks me to the core that the administrator, managers and colleagues especially, frequently drop the Oh-Then-You-Need-To-Pay bomb. FOR EVERY LITTLE THING! Like forgetting to print or retain receipts, forgetting to retain flyers, forgetting to get customers signatures, forgetting to record credit card details, etc.

Dang, the OTYNTP bomb sooooooooo does not work on me. I know for a fact that monetary wise, if anything's missing, I pay. If nothing's missing, then I'm safe. For all the aforementioned forgets, does any of them involve missing out on charging the customer?

No.

An ex-manager from my ex-cinema came by yesterday. It was a nice surprise, though it felt really weird. He made me feel much better by saying that I've kinda 'been there, done that', so the strict standards shouldn't really be an issue for me.

A few days back, a secondary schoolmate came up to my counter as well. And the funny thing was, she had met me while I was working back in Eng Wah too! Jumping from one cinema company to another seems to raise brows for some unknown reason.

Talking about brow-raising issues...my high waist line. Wearing pants on my waist is a new thing to me, newer thing to my friends. So I really couldn't help but look kinda weird at first. But you know what? I'm really getting used to the high-waistedness of the dress pants!

I just cannot stand when people ask me why I wear my pants so high. You should wear it lower, they say. The general stigma about wearing pants high on the waist: you look like a noob/geek/nerd/fugly/un-cool/un-fab.

Too bad I COMPLETELY disprove the stigma.

I Love Second Days At Work

It was a great second day of work. It just goes to show that first impressions are not necessarily wholly true.

But my first impression of them expecting a lot is true, though. The managers do expect a high standard of service. There is almost no room for error and you have to be lightning fast, highly efficient and still maintain superior accuracy.

I handled a box office counter today. I was friendly, as always, but couldn't help but become slightly retarded when it came to transacting. It took me a while to get used to the system interface, while trying to remember the different ticket types. I'm glad to say I banished my fears and decided to be gung-ho instead. Nothing pumps me up better than a confidence boost.

I know the managers expect a lot because I made a SINGLE, MINOR boo-boo earlier on and it was as though the world had come crashing down. It really seemed like there was NO room for error. My 'buddy' went few metres away, speaking in hushed tones with the manager regarding my minor boo-boo. And I just looked on, puzzled at what the big hoo-ha was about.

A while later, my 'buddy' told me that things were fixed. Moments after that, the manager came up to me, advising me on what to do so as not to commit the same mistake again. Riiiiiiiiight...

So the afternoon went on and I began to enjoy myself. I surprise myself by adapting rather quickly. I could REALLY get used to working at the box office now!

The pants are killing me, though. With gravity, the leather belt digs downwards into my flesh, against the pelvis. I have good reason to expect bruises on the sides of my hips very soon. Plus, in the words of Michael Kors, 'the crotch of the pants is just insane'.

I Hate First Days At Work

First day at work today. I would say that it kinda sucked because I can't really said that it was good.

Based on first impressions, the staff aren't all that friendly, they don't really value good customer service, they expect too much from me and they don't help me enough.

I felt like an outcast on two accounts, both of which I will not speak of, since it's kinda sensitive and personal. I really do not enjoy the whole trying-to-gain-acceptance game. It's childish and pointless. So I'm just going to be the friendly and outgoing me, whether they like it or not. I'm here, I'm here, get used to it.

I was assigned to the box office, which I feel is an apt allocation. I have the face, I have the hair, I have my hot buns, and I have the attitude. Sorry I had to put myself on such a high pedestal, but just take it with a pinch of salt, yeah?

I seemed exceptionally high up because I had my freaking pants high up on my waist, giving the illusion of never-ending legs. I seriously could get used to the high-waisted-ness of the pants though. I don't mind having long legs 'cause, like a certain appendage, there is no such thing as 'too long'.

The waistband of my pants went up my body 3-fucking-inches, all right?! That's how much length I added to my legs and how much length I freaking deducted from my body!

When I met up with the lepak group of friends later, there was a soft wave of chuckles and sniggers. But I couldn't help it, the pants either went on the waist or the hips. No pants can ever sit within that 3-inch space between the waist and hip. It was either or. And I absolutely had NO CHOICE but to wear my pants high-waisted, all right?

The pants thing became a non-issue after that because they were all busy checking out my ass, which made me self-conscious! But what harm could a little attention to the gluteus do?

So at the box office, I was attached to this other girl, whom the other counter staff said was the best employee or something, somewhat the managers' pet. One word: Questionable.

I do not respond well to lectures. I do not absorb information by verbal delivery. I absorb information really well if I experience it first-hand. I'm just a hands-on person. I need to learn on the job. And I can't help but feel apologetic for appearing uninterested and distant when my trainer was giving me her so-they-say wise words.

She had asked, “Eh, I talk so much you never write down, you sure can remember or not?”

Hmm... Wrong approach on me. And from what I hear, the managers are expecting a lot. Maybe a little too much. I may have cinema ops experience, but it doesn't mean I don't need time to adjust to the ticketing system, right?

I was specifically instructed 'not to touch anything, just watch'. Oops, I can't touch, I can't feel, hence I can't learn. It's one thing to see, whole other thing to do. I'm very anal when it comes to these things. I like it my way.

And why can't people be more helpful and empathetic? Tsk...

It's okay, the first day will not bring me down. It may be kinda awkward while I get used to things, but at least I get to show off my ass in those high-waisted dress pants, don't I?

Hahahahahahahaha!...

Me, Myself and Dress Pants

I'm really looking forward to working come Monday. I really REALLY need the money coming in for myself. Talking about work, they require me to be donned in a black polo tee, black dress pants and black dress shoes.

Yes, I love black, but I don't think I love it so much that I'd dress myself in FULL black. I do not have a black polo tee and I do not, for nuts, own black dress pants. All right, to be fair, I do own those items; just that the polo tee's really worn out and the dress pants are hideous.

Dress pants are unquestionably inconsistent with my style. I've learnt that the one thing I should NOT wear is dress pants. But in this case, I don't think I have a choice, do I?

Dress pants sit on the waist and I NEVER wear pants on my waist. Frankly, I only do wear jeans and shorts. And they all sit on the hips, not the waist. Anything that sits on my waist makes me look bad. I'm more of a short-torso-long-legs body proportion(so to balance it out, create the illusion of longer torso by visually creating a lower waistline, therefore pants worn lower down the body on the hips, yeah?), so I found myself in a conundrum when I realised that I HAD TO wear dress pants.

I'm prone to deluding myself, so it is my belief that dress pants are gaudy because they're straight-legged and loose-fitting. I've gone skinny and I am bent on not going back to the straight legs. Fitted, fitted, fitted! ALWAYS wear fitted clothes, I tell myself.

So today, I went in search for slim-fit dress pants. Thank goodness they made dress pants slim. I hate for my legs to have to 'swim' in the pants. And I especially hate when the excess leg room fabric flops around.

I went to G2000 and immediately froze up in shock. Executive wear scares the shit out of me! It's the one thing that I will refrain from wearing as much as possible. [That's why art school is a fabulous idea. I wear what I want, what I like, how I like. And I simply dress sharper for presentations. You know how polytechnics require students to be in 'formal attire', which is essentially dress shirt, dress pants(O, M, G, I HATE THE DRESS PANT!) and dress shoes for presentations? *shudders*]

All right, so I hastily left G2000 and went into Topman. I remembered seeing slim-fit dress pants on the racks a looooooooong time ago. Since it was ancient, almost dead stock, the salesguy recommended I try the bootcut pants instead. I gasped out loud, exclaiming that I cannot even stand wearing straight-leg, much less bootcut! But I decided to have some fun and went to try the bootcut dress pants. OH MOMMY, THEY GAUDIER!

Personally, I don't patronise the Topshop chains, but I have to say that the salesguy at Suntec was the most approachable and most helpful of them lot. Most of the sales staff have some kinda of queer, repellant aura that turns me off.

Eventually, I ended up at Domanchi. It's really just these few places to get decent dress pants, you know. I feel like I've become too concise in my shopping. Maybe Singapore's just getting smaller. I've become rather site-specific as well. Like if I'm at Bugis Street, I'm really only looking for shades. If I'm at Far East Plaza, I'm really just thinking of getting bandanas or some other shits from Lips Enterprise, and of course my favourite American Apparel tees...

Domanchi stocked slim-fit dress pants, much to my delight. But I was served my a Chinese lady, so I basically had to uncomfortably flick-switch to speaking Mandarin. I get nervous when speaking to a native Chinese tongue since I'll become conscious about speaking good Mandarin. I don't have problems speaking Mandarin, but when I get nervous, I fumble for words.

Apparently, slim-fit dress pants are becoming ancient stock. I had to settle for something slightly smaller than I would be comfortable with. It was irritating how the saleslady insisted that I try the normal straight-legged pants, when I specifically mentioned that I wanted the slim-legged ones instead.

I couldn't contemplate any further and just got the pants anyhow. I didn't want to stress out over the no-choice-but-to-wear-gaudy-dress-pants situation. I'll make it work somehow...

P.S. The pants I got sits on my WAIST! I'll try to embrace the change, after years of having pants on the hips.

P.P.S. It's amazing how much I can rant about dress pants, eh?

P.P.P.S. Dress pants are NOT gaudy. Dress pants are gaudy only when they're ON MY BODY.

Back To The Cinema, People

So I've been jobless for over 6 months now. Sucks to be broke. Sucks even more to have to depend on my mother to give me money. But still I survive on pocket money.

Okay, a little confession here. I admit I've been making 'illegal' purchases electronically with my mother's card. Just a CD here and there, and pricey magazines every now and then. Call it self-delusional, but I can easily convince myself that my purchases are worthwhile and non-impulsive.

I mean, I heard Sia Furler's song, fell in love with her VOICE, found out she's gay, fell in love with HER; so it's only normal that I go down to HMV (almost) immediately to get her album, right?

So anyways, I've a guaranteed payroll at the end of May, that's for sure.

The haircut I got was almost like a burden lifted off me. I felt damned shiok after the cut! It's like all-the-boys-and-girls-on-the-streets-so-wanna-do-me kind of shiok. I just felt really good.

Strangely, I felt ready to go back working, having money coming in for myself. For the past few months. I've been complaining about how lazy I was to go back working. The haircut did wonders for me! Thank goodness Hairianto still kept in touch with the ultra fab stylist, Noreen.

On Monday, I spontaneously dropped by the cinema at Handy Road and asked for a job. I filled up the form, had a chat with the 'kak'['sister' in street-Malay(??); informal, but respectful manner of address], and bam! I'm reporting for work on the following Monday.

BAM! That's how it is! Easy, breezy! (Okay, this is my shout out to Ed. Alright Ed, this is where you do the Covergirl commercial lines, yeah?)

I brushed aside all my prejudices for cinema operations, didn't give two hoots about the some-say-meagre pay rates and with a burst of desperation, dived right back into working at a cinema.

I realised my prejudices for cinema ops stemmed from the previous company. I didn't have a problem with cinema operations. My real problems were with the company. So I was being really unfair to myself by refusing to go work for another cinema company.

I want to work-work and get paid and treated REASONABLY, not slack-work and get paid and treated MINIMALLY. Minimalism is the 'in' thing, but just not when we're talking about paychecks, yeah?

Extra Prata For The Dog

My mother returns home, with 2 packs of rice and an odd-one-out packet of prata.

So I was in the kitchen with my mother, and she tells me that the prata is extra, either my brother or I could have it. It was not as though I was going to talk to my brother, much less negotiate with him who gets the prata! (My mother tends to put us in situations where we kinda have to negotiate. But of course, I really can't care less. I've met assholes in my life, my brother being the biggest one.)

A while later, the asshole enters the kitchen, and my mother asks him if he wants the prata.

The asshole farted, “才不要！那个是给狗吃的！” (I don't want the prata, that's for the dog!)

Well, ‘狗’ or 'dog' refers to me in a more affectionate way. I told you he's an asshole...

As usual, I ignore his snide remarks. I've been conditioned to shut him out of my system.

My mother then left the kitchen to take a snooze. I settled down on the dining table with my dinner. In front of me on the table were my brother's portion of dinner and the extra prata.

Just as I was working into my dinner, the asshole came back to the kitchen, grabbed his dinner, AND THE PACKET OF PRATA.

Is that an effing asshole or an effing huge-ass asshole?!

The Things I Record In My Journal

As creative entities, we take much pride in keeping journals. I, personally, put my journal on a pedestal. A creative journal is highly personal. We do not like people snooping through our journals. We record our thoughts, our observations, or inspirations, etc.

There can be extremely creative content in a journal, yet there can be downright stupid stuff too! I personally like to record stupid stuff. Especially during note-taking in lectures. Lecturers say the funniest things some times.

The excerpts from my journal that I'm sharing now date back to early 2006, when I was in Nanyang Polytechnic. I really only stayed a year there, doing Digital Media Design. Bleargh! I hated it.

So there's this Web Design lecturer, let's call her Pam, who I found to be particularly annoying at first, then became more endearing later on in the semester.

For some reason, she nagged a lot. And she wasn't exactly auntie-material, you know. I didn't know where her stamina to nag and deliver pep talks came from. I did a quick sketch of her from the back of the lecture theatre and it turned out looking pretty accurate.

And she cannot enunciate properly for nuts! It was kinda excruciating to listen to her bad enunciation, so to make myself feel better, I had to put it down on paper. The 'librarieees', 'prop-ly's, 'ex-peck's and 'suspen-dird's.

“...80% to think, think and think. Don't just do, do, do...”

The thing about lecturers in polytechnics, they think they're all that. [As opposed to students in art schools(see: me) who think they're all that.] So back in my NYP days, there was a bit of an ego clash, weren't there? With the lecturer(s) and me thinking we're all that.

So Pam gave her two cents worth on how we can produce good, quality work, by saying we should think more than we do. Riiiiiiight. I cannot necessarily agree with that.

OH MY EFFING GAWD! For the finale, the strangest, queerest, most eyebrow-raising 'advice' Pam ever gave:

“Do not be a chicken; neither be a cock,”

OMG, that is so classic, don't you think?

Deep Fried Hotdog Rolls, Marlboro Reds and Ginger

I spent the most of today in bed. Sleeping, lazing around, but on Facebook most of the time. I think I'm one of the many many people who live their lives on Facebook.

Anyways, in the afternoon, I was rummaging the fridge for food. I've to say, something smells funky in there. I found half a pack of sausages(5 pieces) at best and settled for it.

Hit by a brain wave, I flattened slices of bread with a rolling pin, rolled a hotdog in each slice, 'glued' the roll together with egg white and dunked the rolls into a pan of hot oil.

It was bad. But I was hungry and lazy.

So I had my snack in bed, watched a couple of episodes of How I Met Your Mother and took a nap.

The next thing I knew, I was feeling damned hot, yet freezingly cold at the same time. I fucking incubated a fever!

I only have myself to blame, really. On top of the 5 oily hotdog rolls, I was smoking reds. Seriously, I should just stick to menthol cigarettes.

Since I incubated the fever, I had all the rights to kill it, don't I? Not to sound like a braggart, but I make one helluva fever-killer. Popped a couple of Panadol Extra, downed water, smothered my forehead with aloe vera gel, warmed up my freezing toes and snuggled under the blanket for 30 minutes and I felt so much better.

Just as I felt ready to step out of bed, my mother returns home with fish porridge. I suddenly got my appetite back and had a mad craving for, well, ginger. I don't know where I've heard it from, but ginger is supposed to be one of the many traditional fever-reducing remedies, right?

So despite being slightly feverish and groggy, the first thing I did after getting out of bed was doing the dishes. I made an oily mess earlier in the afternoon with the hotdog rolls. After which, I managed to patiently and leisurely julienne a small piece of ginger.

I mixed the ginger strips into the fish porridge, ate it and poof! I'm fruity and up and about and good as new!

I Love House Music And I'm Sharing It

“Mercy” by Duffy. Just a really infectious track.

(Duffy's Welsh! The Welsh accent is incredibly sexy. Ever watched Little Britain, where Dafydd Thomas is the 'only gay in the village'?

)

Okay, back to the music video:

The next 2 songs are covers of older classics.

“Buffalo Stance” originally performed by Neneh Cherry back in, OMFG, the 80's. Look at the style of the video. It's cheesy, it's tacky, but the old school vintage vibe to it is very cool.

This is the Electric Allstars Club mix by DC Roc.

“If You Love Me” by Brownstone in 1994. The old school R&B still sounds the best. Before I got hooked on house music, I was an R&B kinda person. And I have no idea why people think that exclusively R&B-listening people will NOT enjoy house music.

I've a friend who 'only listens to R&B'. When I let him sample like 10 seconds of funky house, he claims the beat gives him a headache.

I specifically love funky house music, so I suppose if you like strong rhythm and beat, then R&B and house will both sound great.

And O M F G, house music is NOT AH-BENG TYPE OF MUSIC. (That's techno, okay! Hahaha!... Ok, ok, let's not stereotype people based on their music preference.)

“If You Love Me” the Thomas Gold remix, now by Buzz Junkies (Buzz Junkies on Facebook here.) featuring Elesha.

Alright, frankly, this song makes me cry. I hear it in the club, and it's awesome 'cause it gets me high and all, but IT JUST MAKES ME CRY!

Jump Shots

I spent the night yesterday chilling in Little India and Lasalle College.

I met Jana and Nadia to help them with their textile studies, doing what I do best, screenprinting and all. (The screenprinting bit on Wordpress, please.)

It was past midnight.

We were done printing.

I was bored.

The studio was huge.

Hence, I cam-whored.

But I've to say I cam-whore with zeal and enthusiasm, okay!

And the best shot, in my opinion, is:

I realised that if you long enough at the pictures, I actually look really stupid. I mean, I'm sure you already think I'm pretty insane 1)taking jump shots; 2)in the middle of the night; 3)in the school studio. But when you see the photos, I just look REALLY insane.

But what can I say, I'm a zany person. And I wasn't even acting under the influence of alcohol. I suppose screenprinting gets me high..

Wet Market

Remember how I was griping about rubbing shoulders with fishy-smelling aunties at the wet market?

Well, I finally shopped for groceries at the wet market! Well, strictly speaking, I cheated because I only went shopping around noon. You know how aunties NEVER go wet-marketing after 8 or 9AM, right?! So at noon, there was basically no one else to rub shoulders with me. Haha!

But at least I made an effort to show up at the wet market to get groceries, right?

It was a lazy morning, as usual, and I was exceptionally hungry and horny.

You know, I'm really the kind of people that can substitute sex with food. I know I have to stop harping on the fact because it is neither glamourous nor polite. But what the heck.

So I decided to whip up a storm in my kitchen. I NEED FOOD.

I looked at the rice cooker, sitting idly for some time now, and thought to myself, “OMG, I'll cook the perfect rice today,” Which of course, I didn't. It was almost perfect, just a tad too soggy when I fried it later.

Hmm, I'm sorry if were waiting for the moral of the story, 'cause there isn't any.

Happy 20th, Hairianto!

All right, Hairianto's birthday was last Friday, so to wish him here seems a bit belated, but what the heck.