So Happy Together.

No. This is not a smug proclamation of my blissful first relationship with Moob.

No. It is a mockery of that very thing.

In fact, I wish to scorn it.

You are dirty, dusty and other disgusting things.

You leave poo stains on the porcelain throne.

You've got concentrated piles of toys, cables, clothes, books, discs lying around the room.

There's dandruff on the carpet, under the carpet, on the mattress and under the mattress.

Your nose hair sticks out.
.

Mister, if you don't clean up your act soon I'm washing your stinky pillow case.

But other than that, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

(That means I love you anyway for a certain bugger who didn't understand it.)

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

My parents, and the parents of two of my best friends have all said the same thing about my KL living arrangements (room sharing with Moobs).

According to them, I'm Living In Sin.

*shrugs*

Aren't we all?

S is for Something.

Something uncertain.

I think one of the things that pain me the most about being here, is being here.

There've been so many nights when I've woken up from dreaming about happy times with my family back home, that I just start crying and crying and the only thing that stops me is watching an episode of Scrubs.

There are days when I ask myself,

"What the HECK am I doing here?"

And after sitting in moments of silence staring at my own reflection on the blank tv screen, I realise that I don't really know.

I don't know. Can you believe it?

I quit my safe albeit boring job. I packed a suitcase and left 2/3 of my wardrobe behind. I flew here (I hate planes). I'm bunking with my boyfriend in a room-sized oven. I commute in a speeding sardin can.

Life could've been so much easier. So much more air-conditioned.

.

I guess people are just like that.

We trip ourselves up on purpose. We make life difficult for us on purpose. We don't want to be contented. Not entirely.

We want to struggle for no rhyme nor reason. (Some say it's for a better tomorrow. Heh.)

I think I'm just one of those people who does something because something about it, feels right.

Being needed.

Is such a wonderful feeling. Truly.

So after a total of 2 interviews, which isn't much, and the second one entirely unnecessary, I've picked.

The first interview with a local newspaper went well. Was given a press release to process and the result of it: the editors loved me.

*beams*

The second interview with one of Klang Valley's biggest shopping complexes went pretty good too. Exam was to write a PR Plan (no idea how to so I cincai write), a press release and to reply potential complaint letters. Though the interviewers weren't amused with the plan I drafted (I had a total of 8 lines in point form), they were keen on recruiting me, and were willing to raise the salary just to beat the first interview.

*i-thought-i-was-beaming*

I picked the latter as I thought well, better pay, bigger company, more impressive resume. Besides, it takes more than 10 years of editorial work before anyone gets to be an editor.

So PR job at shopping complex it is.

But.

But.

I just couldn't. Couldn't make a decision to take a job that I'm not sure that I will enjoy because I am not appreciated the way I would like to be appreciated. I want to be appreciated for my nonsensical banters (shut up, Moob). I need a byline. PROs don't have bylines.

And when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter if the pay is better. Neither does getting my own room with a pc and internet (well it does quite a bit actually).

It comes down to this.

I want to be happy doing what I do.

And PR is just not it.


And so, this April, this is <-insert name->, writing for <-insert place->.

Championess

*victory pose*

So. Bunked over at Em's last night so that I could hitch a ride to go for the interview.

Brought my folder with all my documents.

Left my folder with all my documents with Moobs.

Moobs travelled over traffic jams through smog and confusing lorongs (streets) to deliver it to Em's place.

Got my folder.

The end.

Actually, no. Not really REALLY the end.

Cause they offered me the job.

But I didn't take it.

Not yet anyway.

Got interview on Monday for another job.

Both this one and the coming one seem equally promising and I pray pray PRAY that I pick something that's just right for me and not something that other people feel I should be doing.

That aside, the editor people love me.

Gleeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Tee hee hee.

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

This birthday has got to be the bestest ever ever.

Gorgeous presents, thoughtful texts and SO MANY PEOPLE TO CELEBRATE WITH.

There's Moob and my sis on Friday.

Em, Lisa and Jay on Saturday.

Merv and MishMash are coming down on Sunday from Singapore.

Life is good. I am blessed. There is a God.

Mucho sweltering hot luvo from KL.

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

P/S No internet so am at cybercafe so can't update much.

I miss you guys so much.

A Game Called Lets Not.

Lets not get all emo while singing the last hymn for the last mass you'll be attending in your church for awhile.

Lets not get all emo when friends hug and wish you luck.

Lets not be sad that your little brother probably wouldn't be as little anymore when you see him next.

Lets not be sad that your parents are growing old, and that they're probably sadder than you are, but are better at putting on a brave front (heck, I'm getting all teary-eyed just typing out this blog).

Lets not count the days til you will be coming back again.

Lets not count the changes you will miss.

Not charmed.

I have this problem. It's called Cannot-Deal-With-Stupidity.

Symptoms are road rage, amplified speaking tone, and waggling my brows.

Kes Jenayah

I sent my charm bracelet that's hung with all sorts of memories to the goldsmith's shop to attach new charms. My sister collected it for me while she was out.

Stupid act 1: They changed the silver rings of the charms that DIDN'T NEED TO BE CHANGED and charged me RM5 apiece for it, totalling up to RM25 - which is more than what a whole bracelet costs.

Stupid act 2: I bought my friend and I the same blue glass butterfly charm for our graduation last year. Fuckwits dipped it in some chemical and now I have a green-yellow glass butterfly.

So I stomped off back down to the shop in Kenyalang (mom drove me actually but lets not get into details), and turns out they charged me RM5 extra (big fucking deal) so they refunded me that.

For ruining my once blue butterfly I demanded compensation, which they agreed to give.

After a few seconds of imagining some poor worker's pay being deducted and his kid having to go without milk for the week, I asked for RM5.

All in all. I got RM10 back.

The drive there might've cost us more.

Now this is what I need you guys to do.

Say, "Kim, you did the right thing.

It was awefully generous of you."

"And Kim, no you weren't stupid."