Mad like my mother.

Hey mom,

I think besides our good looks (yes, I know, you're prettier), I've also inherited your *drum rolls* Cleaning Disorder (CD).

I thought the problem was with the OTHER people. You know, like when you got pissed at everyone in the house for making a mess (literally).

How we'd leave our things around, or not throw away nail clippings and tissue paper.

How we argue and protest that bathroom walls don't need to be scrubbed cause we don't bathe on them.

How we put off washing dishes because washing them later is not the end of the world.

How we explain that we don't need to sweep the floor because the windows are closed therefore no dust/bacteria/etc could possibly fly in.

It's not them, is it? It's US.

We're M.A.D. NOTHING has to be THAT clean. Right? And for us to throw a hissy fit when things don't go our way, damn. We're down right bitches.

After all, nobody dies from filth. The worst case scenario would only be asthma.

And as God's punishment for not understanding you better, He has created me in your image so that wherever I go I see dust on all floors, scum on all walls, grease on all pans and mushrooms in my bowl.



Your hobo daughter,
Me.


P/S Boss, help me change the things I cannot accept, and accept the things I cannot change. Please. Thank you.

Propagating Kuching

Hey all.

Now some might be wondering what has been going on with me career wise.

Basically, they tell me to do. I do.

And also, I coordinate a youth pullout every month: that means I boss the writers around, brainstorm with my shadow for story ideas, and everything else that nobody does for the pullout, I do.

For the past two months, I have been under the tutelage of my ruthless iron-tongued buddy, this woman.

The third month now, this is my very own baby - complete with bad printing, typos and bad puns.

(Click on picture to read)

On the cover is fellow Kuchingite, Belinda Chee.

B.i.t.c.h.

Here's a frequently forwarded mail that I've seen several times, and has irked me as many times as I have read it.

Text in " " is from the e-mail. Line after that are my thoughts.

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"When I stand up for myself and my beliefs, they call me a bitch."
What if my belief was it's every woman for herself, people and friends are just meant to be used.

"When I stand up for those I love, they call me a bitch."
What if we are stupidly blinded by the ones we love, and we scorn those who really do care?

"When I speak my mind, think my own thoughts or do things my own way, they call me a bitch."
What if I tell my best friend that she's a bitch, i think that she's a bitch and i do things my way disregarding and hurting the feelings of everyone around me?

"Being a bitch means I won't compromise what's in my heart."
Listening to your heart solely is pure compulsion, we so-called intelligent beings should know better than to follow pure passion.

"It means I live my life MY way.It means I won't allow anyone to step on me."
It also means that I am a stubborn twat who doesn't realise that I step on other people as much as they step on me.

"The same thing happens when I take time for myself instead of being everyone's maid, or when I act a little selfish."
For christians - but is it not true that Jesus himself wiped his followers' feet?
For non-christians - Quit being so whiny, some people would be grateful for a job as a maid.

"It means I have the courage and strength to allow myself to be who I truly am and won't become anyone else's idea of what they think I "should" be."
Well..why don't you just 'be', and should you have so much courage/ strength/ whatever it is you say you have... whatever whomever says should not matter, no?

"I am outspoken, opinionated and determined. I want what I want and there is nothing wrong with that!"
Could this be translated into loud, obnoxious, bossy and spoiled?

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I would like to believe that feminism is more dignified than this bout of 'it's all about me' ramble.

Beh. Tahan.

I hate fancy words.

Stressed.
To the bloody people at tourism: You commision us to write, you give us material instead of making me call every state in Malaysia and every single event management company in your long useless list.

To the bloody marketing guy in my company: If you're stupid enough to lie about having sold an ad to your client and to us when all the company's departments' are on ONE floor. Then I forgive you because stupidity is not a sin but a disease of which you will die of eventually because I am sure that if I don't, someone WILL run you over with a tractor several times then feed you to the crows in KL. After all, if poison can't get rid of them, surely you will.

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Blur.
Here's my line of though as I was tried to catch a cab to go to work a couple of days ago.

Sees cab. Thinks: What's my destination again? Oh yes, tell cabbie News Desk.

Gets into cab. Thinks: News Desk? Editorial Department? Eh no,, it's <-insert correct address->

Sees a sign in the cab that reads 'DOA Naik Kenderaan' (Naik Kenderaan = Get on transport a.k.a. Travelling) followed by a stream of jawi. Thinks: Why does this fella have a Death On Arrival sticker? Is he for real? Am I gonna die? Oh.. DOA.. Prayer... Travelling Prayer? Yeah.. I guess that does make more sense. Phew.

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What happened? It was Australia Vs. Japan.

Australia's first time in the World Cup, with Japan's record of getting into the semi-finals last World Cup.

Watches them play. Thinks: Damn the Australians play rough. Nakata damn yummy.

Japan scores goal. Thinks: Whoopee. Okay, this is getting boring, I shall take a nap.

Wakes up from nap and watches the last half an hour of match. Thinks: Ooh. Japan survived without me, score's still Jap 1, Oz 0.

Oz scores. Thinks: Shit. Well, maybe it'll be a draw.

Oz scores. Thinks: They got lucky.

Oz scores. Thinks: I hate soccer.