Saturday, July 23, 2005

Lesson of the Day with The Boy

Truth: 3s a crowd
Myth: 1 boy + 4 girls = ‘fun’

I could not help think that I am getting old when I prefer to have a decent, intrinsic conversation rather than a brouhaha, laugh-out-loud menagerie. A few laydowns…

1 boy and 1 girl
Typical. As common as a date can ever be. Simple, straightforward, can only be ruined if any of the party chooses to be it so. Apart from that, nothing unusual.

1 boy and 2 girl

Or more popularly known as the ‘threesome’. Every boy and man’s fantasy. Being so, when a man is actually presented with such a giftous circumstance (should he be lucky enough), it is likely he is able to handle it. Enjoying twice as much and equivocally, double the efforts, of course.

1 boy and 3 girls
Borderline. Fine line between momentous and disastrous. Luckily, I managed it but barely. Gaining constant attention is virtually impossible. When you do, use it well. Manageable but difficult to balance. A piece of advice, be wary of who your three ladies are. Pick the wrong combination and you lost the battle even before it starts. But can be very impressive from crowd’s point of view. 1 boy, 3 girls, what’s not to be impressed?

1 boy and 4 girls

Bad idea. Plain and simple. No matter how beautiful they are it will not be worth it for one good reason, you will be voiced out. Literally. It would take one very brave and articulate man to even mould into the group. If you’re not, don’t even dare. And it won’t make a good impression because people will know you’re just tagging along for the ride.

Lesson for the day: Perception can be very deceiving. Be careful for what you wish for. And always have a backup plan (for self-morale and optimism). Don't follow me because I learnt it the hard and hurtful way.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

An Evening with Ning

To answer your question, yes, I am referring to Ning Baizura. Come on, how many Nings do you know in your life anyway? And no, I am not lying. I DID have an evening with her yesterday. Just not in the same manner I had with the adorable Ity and the fashionista, Ara. She was on stage, doing what she does best – singing, and I had to share her, with a hundred or so other people in the auditorium. But, it was not the less endearing, to say the least. Did I enjoy it? Pretty much so, yes. If not, then I wouldn’t be writing about it, wouldn’t I?

Strange thing is, it was the first live performance by a local artist that I have attended to, since a very long time. The last time, now it took me quite some time to recall this but the last time I went to see a local artist performed live was Too Phat. When they were opening for Linkin Park a while back. Now when was that exactly? Probably more than a year ago. God, that’s bloody long.

So, anyway, like I said, I really enjoyed it. Powerful, captivating, enchanting. Not that I expected anything less. Well, even so, let’s not take any credit away from Zainal Abidin. He was performing too last night and he still got that magnificent voice of his.

Apart from the burnt out candle and a yellow, heart-shaped placard bearing the words ‘I love (in the shape of a heart) Zainal’, I find myself being quite fond of Ning. But I cannot say the same about Zainal though, unfortunately. 13 years ago then yes but now, let’s just say that my musical taste had evolved. However I do like Puteri and was completely blown away on how he rendered Suraya. But, Ning, oh God, she’s just fantastic. Though I must say she does look a bit thinner I would’ve imagined. I certainly like her coming-of-age look, nowadays. Elegant, sophisticated, long gone the bad girl image of the industry she once portrayed. And not to mention the big 3-0. Yes, she is. Last June. 28th. She’s been around that long. Quite amazing. One wouldn’t expect if you’re thrown away be her 17-year-old schoolgirl like comments such as, “OK, tak?” and “Suka tak lagu tu?” after some songs, as if to please her first ever audience. But we all know what an established singer she is.

The point is, I really enjoyed myself last night. I have to thank my darling Sasa for that. Always comes up with the loveliest surprises. In a totally unrelated news, my blog has reached 1000 hits! Hooray! Still, that is a long way to match the controversial Sarong Party Girl Blog which, last time I checked, recorded more than a million hits. A million I tell you. That is like CNN or Bloomberg websites. You should try giving that blog a look you know. I think it’s pretty good. Yes, I know she posted naked pictures of herself on it but I am not as daft to promote based on that factor alone. Unless you are a ‘kolot’ minded Malaysian, you will realize there is an artistic value behind those pictures. And chances are those pictures are not readily viewable on the site (gotten banned or something) but if you know how to fiddle around with that mouse of yours, then you wouldn’t have trouble navigating your way around those minor obstacles. Oh, I seemed to have made a mistake, it is now 2 million hits. 2 bloody million hits. What on Earth’s name…

Oh, here’s the link, if you may.

Change of topic. Remember that movie counter girl I was talking about? Of course you remember. Well, I think it will be irrational to pursue that dream at the moment. The sole reason being I am on study leave currently for my coming do-or-die exam next week. I already wasted enough time watching Ning last night and War of the Worlds last Monday. I couldn’t afford to waste any more. Not at the price of losing flunking my exam. Even at the expense of potentially lovely date with a gorgeous girl, who I would die to caress her soft, raspberry-colored lips my fingertips with.
Words. For now, they are merely just words. In two weeks time, maybe something more meaningful. In the meantime, nothing more.
For a person whom I do not know the name of, and the only words I uttered to her were just “War of the Worlds” and “11.30”, I am becoming rather obsessive. Oh I need to get out more. Meet more people. Meet more women. Then I wouldn’t be having these disturbing thoughts. Sadly though, beautiful women are hard to come by these days. And more sadly, most of them ended up with men who don’t deserve them. It’s quite tragic. All those splendour left unappreciated. Oh how would I love to call someone right now and ask for a drink across town. But time is all too envy. Decisions, decisions…

Monday, July 18, 2005


It’s nice to know there are people out there who are actually concerned about my well-being. I could do no more than express my heartfelt gratitude. I just hope it suffices. Well, my blood test result came back and, unsurprisingly, I had high concentration of uric acid in my blood stream. And on top of that my cholesterol level was also high. I guess that would daftly confirm that I was a victim of gout and not to mention obesity. Heh, ‘victim’, as if it was not self inflicted. But anyway, all this is just a dose of reality check, I suppose. Well, hello, it’s not as if I have LL Cool J’s physique. More like Kevin James’, as you may. All this while it’s more like the concept of ‘innocent-until-proven-guilty’ for me. Now, with those sheets of paper listing the break down of my blood particles, it’s hard evidence of how unhealthy I am. Well, there’s no escaping it now. I have to watch what I consume now, en forth. Darn.

And because of my immobility, I missed two very interesting shows this past weekend. Jit Happens and Shelley Leong. Two talented artists in their own right. One, a cult figure in the stage-performing world when it comes to comedy and the other, a brilliant songstress. Both ended their respective performances yesterday and who knows when their next show will come. Maybe next month, or maybe next year. Whenever it is, all the aggravating thought left me pretty bitter this morning.

But fret not, fellow friends, as I am not all full of disappointments and agony. For the good news is that, as of today, I am almost cured of the wretched illness of gout. And for that, I no longer walk in a funny way. My rhythm has become less funnier by the day. No more pain. No more throbbing. And certainly, no more cruel jokes.

And what better way to celebrate than to grab those car keys and abscond from my solace. Sounds a bit too dramatic, doesn’t it? In truth I just went to see a movie. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to say that I have seen the movie War of the Worlds! And it scared the living wits out of me. How could people say Ju-On was scary? That was comedy to me. But this, oh my, this actually made my heart pounding and my hands gripping the armrests. Some people, and even my friends, thinks it’s absurd but hostile alien-beings trying to take over the world seems a very frightening thought to me. However, it’s not much about the three-legged creatures that I most want to talk about. It’s about a girl. Much prettier than those tripods and, would you believe it, much more understandable.

She was the, uh, oh I don’t know what her job title is but when you line up to buy movie tickets at the counter, they are the people who sell you those tickets. The people at the counters, or whatever you may call them. Anyway, she’s one of them and my goodness was she adorable. I couldn’t concentrate when I was purchasing those tickets from her because I was so busy admiring her beauty. As I watched her punching in keys on her keyboard, I noticed two things. One, she has puffy cheeks and two, how elegantly the way her hair fell across her forehead. As I walked away, I turned around to get one more look just to be certain. Yes, she is adorable. No mistake about that. So, what now? Well, I was planning to do a double-header and watch Fantastic Four soon after but after having that chance encounter, I’ll postpone it until tomorrow. For when I’ll come again, buy the tickets and ask her out for a drink. Yes, I’ve decided to skip that earlier step of asking my female friends on what they think of Frank Abignale Jr’s line and actually experimenting it myself. I just need to dress nicer come tomorrow and add a little bit of charm. Oh this should be exciting, wouldn’t it? I just hope she works tomorrow, among my other worries. If everything works according to plan, the next entry should be a rather interesting one, wouldn’t you think?

Friday, July 15, 2005

The Enigma of Pain

What is pain? Well, according to the fifth edition of Oxford’s Advanced Learner’s Dictionary it is the physical discomfort caused by injury or illness.
I would disagree. Mainly because you cannot explain pain by words. It’s nearly impossible. The only reason why any of us could understand pain is because we had had firsthand experience of it, one way or another. When someone asks you, “What is pain?”, then the only way I find to answer is to slap him across the face and tell him, “That’s pain”. But if you’re talking about pain caused by heartbreaks then that’s a whole different story.

Like everybody else, I have come to experience pain since as long as I can remember. During my adolescent years, the worst injuries I had always happened when I went out on a ride with my beloved bicycle. I would trotter all around the neighbourhood every evening to explore and naturally, mishaps would occasionally happen and I would came trudging home with blood trickling down my knees. But one sadistic tale that I remembered most was when I had this horrendous fall from my two-wheeled carriage, slid across the road and I charred up my left knee so bad that the wound was so deep that I was left in a state of shock initially. About a half an hour later, the pain set in and my goodness wasn't it excruciating. It still tingles my spine every time I think about it.

During my teen years it was a different story. My injuries were caused by others. Bad people, naturally. Enrolled in an all-boys residential school you cannot escape the possibility of getting “disciplined” once in a while during your junior years. I was no exception. I was slapped, punched, shoved, kicked and hit by every imaginable objects from pails to hockey sticks to spoons. But my worst injury during that ‘golden era’ was when I had a broken left clavicle, or more popularly known as the collar-bone. Broken. Not a fracture, because that would mean that the bone just cracked but this, oh no, it was split into two. The X-ray image showed the two edged ends were on top of one another. People have said that a broken clavicle is the worst of its kind because it is sort of a connector in the human skeletal and every time you move any part of your upper body, it will sting. And it was more than just a sting. I was lying on the hospital bed and it hurts every time I turn my head, scratch an itch, adjust my position and even yawn. The only thing I did do that did not cause any pain was when I move my pinky.

Even though the surgical mark is still there reminding me everyday the experience that I had to endure, I was glad it was over and I hope never to experience such painful tenacity ever again. Well, my hopes were dashed.

Talk about divine intervention, I was doing my Maghrib prayers last Tuesday and a sudden discomfort just jolted out of nowhere in my right toe. I didn’t give it much thought because that was just it, a discomfort. Not something very unusual.

But as time ticked away into the night the pain still persists. And after slugging a few hours in front of the computer finishing my assignment, I decided to get myself a drink. To my astonishment I find myself unable to walk properly because the pain had apparently grown. “I probably pulled something quite serious down there,” or so I thought. I tried to rub some ointment but it had little effect. I tried to sleep on it but I woke up the next morning with the same amount of pain. “Ah, I’m sure it’ll shake off by the end of the day,” that's my ignorance talking. Sure enough, by the end of the day, it was still there, and it was getting worse. My daily commute took longer than usual because I had to walk slower and eventfully, I was a few minutes late to class. Ever so, every time I apply the minimal amount of pressure to my right foot, pain will shoot up and I would be clenching my teeth.

When I find myself bracing for the journey from the LRT station to my parked car, I knew something was terribly wrong and I need to consult a physician. When I got home, my father couldn’t agree more. But when my mother got home, she got this to say,
“It could be gout,”
“Wha-?” was all I could reply.
You see, gout is, well let me paste something…

What Is Gout?
Gout is one of the most painful forms of arthritis. It occurs when too much uric acid builds up in the body. The buildup of uric acid can lead to:
· Sharp uric acid crystal deposits in joints, often in the big toe (sounds familiar?)
· Deposits of uric acid (called tophi) that look like lumps under the skin
· Kidney stones from uric acid crystals in the kidneys.
For many people, the first attack of gout occurs in the big toe. Often, the attack wakes a person from sleep. The toe is very sore, red, warm, and swollen (you can say that again).
Gout can cause:
· Pain
· Swelling
· Redness
· Heat
· Stiffness in joints.
In addition to the big toe, gout can affect the:
· Instep
· Ankles
· Heels
· Knees
· Wrists
· Fingers
· Elbows.
A gout attack can be brought on by stressful events, alcohol or drugs, or another illness. Early attacks usually get better within 3 to 10 days, even without treatment. The next attack may not occur for months or even years.

So, chances are I got gout. It’s serious and it’s downright painful. Even after visiting the doctor, it still couldn’t be 100% confirmed because I needed a blood test to be definite. And the results are due tomorrow. In the meantime, however, I did receive some medication but until the effect of those drugs set in, I was still in pain. At one point I even found it amusing because the amount of pain was truly tremendous and unbearable. My toe was throbbing, and in the physical sense too. Even when stationary, I could see my toe twitch, in rhythmic motion in line with my heartbeat and it the pain moves up a notch every time it does so. It was not only grimacing but also annoying, particularly because I had been enduring it for the whole day. Try holding out for constant pain for nearly 12 hours. It’s devastating I tell you. The only thing that could be worse than this would be giving birth.

As a result of this I am conditionally under ‘house-arrest’. All because of my toe. Funny isn’t it? Well, not as funny when one of the elderly nurses at the clinic made a cruel joke out of me. “Ni kena pakai tongkat ni,” after noting my inability to walk properly. Haha very funny you little prune faced twat! If I had been slightly more mobile then I would have smacked her face and flung her across the room.

All I can do now is wait to recover. Strange thing is my daily classes are over and so my days are practically free. I was planning to see War of the Worlds but no, that’s not even possible. Because of the painkillers which I now couldn’t possibly live out with, nearly half of my right foot is constantly numb. I’m not sure if I could press the brake pedal fast enough should I choose to drive myself anywhere.

Not only that, I know have to precautionary steps concerning my food intake. Basically no stuff containing purines such as liver, beans, anchovies and, oh, the occasional seafood. I still could eat fish though not the canned ones like sardine. But a definite no-no for prawns, squids (or calamari as some fashionable people tend to call it) and particularly oysters. That’s right people, it’s heartbreaking. Taking seafood away from me is like taking away chocolates from a 5 year old. I wouldn’t eat it nor desire it every day but when I do get a chance, I’ll make pretty damn sure that I enjoy myself.

So, now I couldn’t get out of the house and I have to go on a diet. That sounds so crappy doesn’t it? It is so crappy that I had the spent the entire day today watching Desperate Housewives. A puddle was actually developing when I learnt that Bree had lost her husband. I was that pathetic. I even had to say ‘no’ to the usual Friday night hang out with the boys. I am so displeased. This might be what Aritha must’ve felt when she hurt her foot a while ago. It feels so rotten. Maybe I’ll write a sonnet about it one day. It will be grief, dark and titled, ‘Le Toe’.

Well, well, good news after all. I am going out this Friday night after all. Cheerio…

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Metro, or Retro, Sir?

When the Murcielago was newly launched, a European based car magazine did a review on it and said that seeing and touching the actual thing is more breathtaking than any published picture of the vehicle can do justice for. Yesterday, at the Dreamcars auto show at the KLCC Convention Centre I did get to touch a Murcielago, but a bit disappointingly the race version of it. It was totally bare with a complete carbon fibre chassis and undoubtedly a faster and meaner machine but I really would’ve preferred to meet the retail version. A ‘dream’ that is still yet to be fulfilled. But, I DID however, realized another part of that ‘dream’ by coming in close contact with its other 3 ‘friends’. The Carrera GT, the Enzo and the Zonda C12. And my, were they gorgeous. Just as the British writer wrote, it surely was more breathtaking seeing those marvelous machines in real life as opposed to any ‘relayed’ form of any media. Just the sheer presence of them was a soul stirrer itself. The only shame was I wasn’t permitted to ignite the engine and take it out for a test drive. But the highlight of the day has to be the driver’s seat of the new Golf GTI which I was able to put my ass in and the whizzing electric side doors of the gigantic Alphard. Whew, those were fun.

Anyway, let’s move on to better things shall we? Yes, beautiful cars are exciting and add in a few scantily clad girls beside them, they would make any boy’s day. But looking at myself standing in the middle of the carshow, a question popped up in my head which I had came upon in a not too distant past. A question not related to high-speed cars but more on a personal level. A question which focuses on the issue of, dare I say it, sexuality. A question bound to be confronted by every man, sooner or later, living in the new millennia.

“Am I a metrosexual or a retrosexual?”

Naturally, I am pretty much infuriated by the person who came up with this argument in the first place. As if I don’t have enough things to think about in my life.

Let me enlighten the situation…let’s start with the definitions….

Now, unless you have a version that was published yesterday, you wouldn’t find any of the definitions in your modern dictionary. I had to scour the web to find a proper explanation. And here’s what I’ve found:

An urban male with a heterosexual orientation who rejects many macho attributes often linked to masculinity. He adopts many traits often associated with heterosexual females and gay males -- eg expensive hair care, stylish clothes.

Or, another way to put it,

A portmanteau combining "metropolitan" and "sexual", was first used in 1994 by British journalist Mark Simpson, who coined metrosexual (and its noun, metrosexuality) to refer to an urban male of any sexual orientation who has a strong aesthetic sense and spends a great deal of time and money on his appearance and lifestyle. He is the fashion-conscious target audience of men's magazines: Outside Britain, in its soundbite diffusion through the popular media, metrosexual has congealed

Mark Simpson. Now I have a name to hate. Isn’t it funny that journalists are always the focal point when it comes to starting a fiasco?

Now, a retrosexual…

A retrosexual is a man with a generally poor sense of style. It does not refer, necessarily, to boorish men but rather, refers to those who reject the notion of being finicky about one's physical appearance. It is the opposite of a metrosexual.

In layman’s terms, I prefer to use a newspaper article’s definition of the two words (or worlds, I might add). In it, the writer defined a metrosexual as a man who is more of a caring and delicate nature who is comfortable with pink.

Pink? Seriously, pink? How could I even begin to comprehend with… haih…pink?

Anyway, retrosexual, which is now viewed as the opposite of metrosexuality, is defined as the common man who are very much emotionally involved with sports and enjoys obscene sex jokes. Now, that I can relate to.

The burning question is right now is what am I? And better still, what do I inspire to be?

It raises a whole new level of dilemma for me personally. I would like to think that I am a retrosexual. I mean, I’d rather be watching Sportscenter than Buletin Utama. And I’ve spent countless mornings looking like a zombie from Resident Evil because I had spent the whole of last night catching the live telecast of a ‘big’ match. Furthermore, having an all boys night out again yesterday reassures me more of my inner self. Playing pool and foosball long into the wee hours of the morning while oogling at women and making obscene sex jokes are just way fun.
But then again, I love dressing up in fine clothes and looking good (despite some of my friends believing otherwise) and nowadays I have a dedicated hairstylist who I spend more than RM100 every time I see him. But no, I am NOT comfortable with pink.

So, what am I? A retro-metro-sexual hybrid? Sounds more like a freak to me. To tell you the truth, I have no bloody idea. And I think most people don’t either when it comes to themselves. As far as Malaysians are concerned I suppose. Ask different people and you’ll get different answers. It is fair to say those ‘lepaking’ at mamak stalls at 3 in the morning wearing their shorts doesn’t own a BMW and wear designer clothes to work? It’s the same as saying those yuppies at Starbucks as not having a favorite sports team. There is no way of telling, is there? As I am putting this together, I was hoping to come something close to an answer but, sorry to say, I’m just as stuck as I had started.

I just realized my profile photo is of Jude Law and, surprise surprise, he’s wearing a suit with a pink shirt. But I just have to say that gross sex jokes are just that funnier…

Friday, July 08, 2005

Transcendence of Inspiration

I have two words for you - writer’s block.
That is what I have been experiencing for the past, oh, about a month or so. It’s been quite a while since I had the urge to update my blog. You see, my updates usually happen after I’ve experienced an epiphany and that was what has been missing recently – a revelation, a stroke of an idea, an inspiration. And for the past two days, I have been getting them by the bucket loads. Not generally huge independently but more of a scatter of intrinsic ingenuities. That’s why when Acai coined the idea of me applying for a freelance columnist for any leading newspaper in the country I was a little less confided in myself because of moments like these. When you have writer’s block, hey, you have writer’s block. It’s not something you can whisk away with a Panadol or a brief drive around town. To conjure up something in writing which was evoked by a certain event that inspires the writer so much that he wishes to share those memoirs with the people around him and to enjoy that solitude in the purest essence as he had felt it, I believe, is an art form. And, as one distinct character from Toy Story 2 once said, “You can’t rush art,”

Sadly, though, I just came back from watching my next of kin in terms of electronic devices, the idiot box which is TV, and the most horrid thing had happened. Only a day after celebrating its victorious bid for the 2012 Summer Olympics, London was rocked by a series of explosions throughout its public transport system. Well, the ones that mattered actually. The main stations of the tube (the underground railway system) and a double-decker. Those poor people. Even though they are thousands of miles away, one cannot feel anything but sorry for them. I wonder if I know anybody in London right now. Most likely my high school friends but so far I couldn’t recall any of them going there to further their studies. Either that or the ones who DID go was so unpopular that I didn’t even bother to make a mental note of their educational excursions. Well, let’s move on to more important matters – my life.

Well, I must say my inspiring moment came yesterday at, what better place, Chili’s KLCC. Actually, that’s not true. There is a better place than Chili’s KLCC. To me, the definitive Chili’s outlet in the whole of Kuala Lumpur has to be the one at Bangsar Shopping Centre. I have fun memories at KLCC but I have fond ones at BSC. Will you look at that. Now, where does all that come from? I tell you, at certain moments, out of the blue, I can come up with some ingenious one-liners that could snuggly fit into those Hallmark greeting cards. However, my best has to be “You are my blue moon – rare and beautiful”. I was so amazed by myself then that I was gaping in awe. It was about late at night and I was standing on the driver’s side of Valerie and, equivocally, I was penning a birthday card. I didn’t know what to write so I looked up into the sky and there it was, this smeared giant cotton ball which is the moon. It was in its usual white-like manner but out of nowhere did that blue moon phrase just pops out of my mouth. And for that instant I knew it was the perfect line, so I engraved it in black ink onto the card, in my lamest attempt at impressive handwriting.

Anyway, back to present times and there I was, viewing the KLCC Park fountains doing their ‘dance’ from the 3rd floor of Suria. It was probably the first time I ever went to Chili’s alone and I rather quite enjoyed it. I used to go to these fine dining outlets by myself, especially during my internship (oh those were the days) and entertain myself to a proper quite dinner where the waiters/waitresses are always pleasant and smiling, conveying which is known to be comprehensible English and not an inept version from a 3rd world country. Not so much for hunger but for the tranquility of the occasion. Sometimes it is, just about the food. Not the hot babe sitting across the table. I used to go to Lazaar but they have closed since then, in place now a middle-eastern themed restaurant which just isn’t my thing. Divulging myself in those heavenly mashed potatoes I thought, this wasn’t a bad idea after all. I already skipped lunch earlier that day because I just didn’t had the appetite but then at 5 pm, your belly is beginning to make strange noises. And being in the evening, the place was loose, not crowded as it would at 2 pm. It was quaint, subtle and the sun is setting. I have always thought that KL looks so much better at night. The city seems to make more sense. The other time is after a heavy downpour.
I was flipping through the latest KLue and just like the previous issue, it’s brilliant. Some bloke spoke highly of last month’s cover of a girl licking on a cone of ice-cream. He said, after spotting a cover like that, there’s no way he’s not getting a copy. To my astonishment, I didn’t even realize that licking crescendo. For someone who sometimes can be defined as ‘shallow’ I should give myself a pat on the back for overlooking cosmetics and was more interested in the depth of the magazine. Speaking of being shallow, oh before that, those of you who has the latest KLue (if you don’t, get one) check out Brian Yap’s article. This guy’s one brilliant of a writer. Very insightful and congenial. I hope I can write as good as him one day. Now, about that shallow thing, after my indulging romance with the sundae brownie, I came across this most captivating looking young lady I have seen in quite a while. She was with her girl friend (which, sorry to say, not as pretty as her) and she dressed as casual as you like. The usual T-shirt and jeans and a plopped-up hair do. Now, I’ve always found it sexy to be able to view the back of a woman’s neck. Some may call it fetish but that’s open to interpretation. One of the many reasons I lose my breath every time a woman decides to pull back her hair to readjust. Anyway, this girl was gorgeous okay, and I would do anything to get her name and number but the problem was, well, a few actually, one would be the guard-like stance her friend was taking as if to fend of any potential predators for her pretty friend. I can tell you, it was a bit intimidating. Reminds me of the ogres from Warcraft. The second problem was that I had no idea what to say. Usually my mind would conjure up something but not this time. I was numb. And finally, my worst fear is that she could be just 17 – or 18. And that would’ve been some embarrassment and believe me, I’ve made that kind of mistake before and I plan not to revisit that experience anytime soon. So, there she was all gorgeous and everything, and I did thought of going up to her and say, “Hi, I think you are absolutely lovely and I would like to take you out to dinner,” but I’m not sure it’ll work these days. It used to. Frank Abagnale Jr. made it look so easy when he’s trying to cash fake cheques with a bank teller. Maybe I’ll ask this intriguing question to some of the ladies I know. What does it take for a decent (yes, I rank myself as decent, with a charming personality) stranger to take her out for dinner, or even a drink perhaps. As for the girl, well, we exchanged glances for the last time as she queued for RotiBoy but at the end of the day, I didn’t catch her name, she didn’t catch mine, that was that, end of story.
Funny thing about Suria. There are always beautiful people there. Probably the primary reason I like to spend my time there in search for inspiration. People always dress up when they go to Suria. It’s like an event in itself. Whether you’re with your family, your friends, or out on a date or even heading up to your office in the Twin Towers, they always look good. My brother, who works at KLCC, is so used to this ambience (gorgeous people in designer labels) that when he was assigned to Putrajaya for a few days, he came back one night and said that people in Putrajaya do not dress that well. A notion he concluded after taking stroll around Alamanda during lunch hour. My mother had this to reply, “Well, most of them are government officers, what did you expect? You can’t compare them to the crowd at KLCC,”. I guess that’s true. Being a government officer herself, I don’t think you can really argue. Which brings me to another question. Why oh why do most “fashionable” women I came across these days have designer handbags the size of shopping carts slung over their shoulders? They’re massive! And they look so impractical. I know they are a kind of statement like, “oh look at me I have a Gucci/Fendi/Prada/LV handbag and I am the envy of every women despite my below than average looks,” but surely you can’t dispel practicality altogether. Wasn’t handbags are supposed to serve just that purpose? Practicality? Some of them could even fit dogs inside with enough room to play catch. And these ‘storage’ handbags never really looked properly used. I could bet that the most they have in there are their handphones and their purse, nothing more. A few cosmetics items, I suppose. I could put all of those in my trouser pockets for goodness sake. You don’t need giant designer handbags to carry those miniscule items. Looks upon reason? I guess so, sadly.

It’s already Friday morning. Luckily, I have no classes today. A bit of a break as you may call it. Soon I’ll be finishing my course and hopefully pass the examinations. And to continue my adventures of becoming an auditor. Yeay~! I’m elated basically. Excited. Just it seems so strange that my life would be so dictated by numbers. A thought that never occurred to me when I was 17. Speaking of which, convocation is coming up, about bloody time too. Initially, I planned to get a job maybe a few months after ending the final semester and be employed until August, when my convocation will commence. I would save a few thousand quids and get myself a lean Hugo Boss suit. Or even an Armani. As you guessed it, things didn’t go quite as planned. I never got a job offer. Some of my engineering student friends have already ended their studies while I’m still contemplating about my coming final examination. And my earnings, more like allowances were only RM1000 for each month. That’s Rm3000 for the 3 month course and the only chance I have of getting a Hugo Boss suit is if I don’t spend any of those RM3000. Knowing me and living in the city, how could that even be possible? I saw 2 Weeks Notice recently and Hugh Grant had this lovely suit. Pinstripe. White shirt and this exquisite complementary purple-ish maroon tie. It looks good. Makes me want to follow suit. Although, I must admit the white shirt does look a tad cliché but I suppose that wouldn’t harm as much. And Donald Trump, urgh, what is wrong with that man? One of the most influential and powerful people in the business world and he is rarely caught without a pink tie. Would someone please advise him to wear something else? But that is the question isn’t it? Who would dare? Excuse Mr. Trump but I think you look rather silly with that tie. Boom, you’re fired. And so long aspiring ambitions to climb the corporate ladder. A concoction of sorts, ain’t it?

I’m going to indulge myself by going to a salon today. And maybe pester Ara for another drink. She blew me off a while ago, you know. It was last Friday, I think. She opted to go out with her sister to the Starbucks Music Series at uptown. Funny, I was planning to take her there too but I didn’t say of course. I could only reply, “Oh really? The Starbucks series?” and she went like, “eh, how’d you know?” duh, I’m not THAT lame. I may be the lesser creature in terms of popularity but there are a few things that I am well aware of. Well, I guess you can’t win them all. And yes, in real life, good guys sometimes lose. Funny how I am going to end this entre by downgrading myself. Oh check this out, I was just reminded by an email that I have a personalized website on my name. I totally forgot all about it. It ‘s at
I couldn’t remember the reason why I created such a site to begin with. And to start off, there’s nothing there actually. Just a proclaimer that it belongs to Swanky. Man I haven’t used that nickname for a long time.
Well, I think I better get going. Papers are already coming out, declaring 7/7. You know, as opposed to 9/11. Again, those poor people. Which makes me think, it wouldn’t be so hard for anybody to do the same here in KL. I commute almost everyday and I can say security at Putra LRT is almost non-existent. I could walk in with a bomb myself and leave it in a train and hitch myself off at the next station, getting away scot free. It’s a terrifying thought but a thought nonetheless. After this, I think it would be silly for Putra to not beef up security at their stations. It would be uncomfortable for the people but when it is about safety, well, you don’t have much of a choice, do you?
With that bombshell we have come to the end of today’s blog. Good day to all.