the commentary of my life

hello, how are you?

2008-09-16T23:53:00.002+08:00

i spent the last hour reading through my posts from 2005 to 2007... remembered alot, relived some and chuckled over others.

almost a year and a half later , here i am again.

the urge to blog has returned.

this blog has always been me speaking to myself (and my imaginary audience) and it will remain that way. people don't know who i am and i prefer the anonymity. it frees me to type my mind's thoughts without restraint, without judgement. cowardice, perhaps but at least i feel free. absolutely free.

here, it doesn't matter if my opinions are biased, my language is flawed or if the topics i want to talk about are irrelevant to others. this is me, speaking to myself.

hello, how are you?

the thing about paper and pen

2006-01-13T02:54:00.000+08:00

Carelessly pondering over my hesitation about beginning my travel journal, it struck me. Perhaps I am being cautious simply because this journal is a paper and pen adventure.

It's nothing like this blog. Here, like I have dozens of times, I can type and backspace, type and delete, and eventually delete an entire entry without leaving a trace of it ever existing. My writing in this space is transient; it lives as I fancy, and dies at my whim.

But paper and pen is a totally different story. After the tip touches the paper, a mark will forever be there - as a stain or a masterpiece. Sure I can cancel it out with a stroke, I can sweep over it with corrective liquid paper, but in a way, it will forever remain - as a mess or white-washed.

And I suppose that scares me. Partially because I crave perfection in my creations. To begin something this permanent - like getting a tattoo - I feel that I must think and rethink what I am about to put down on paper, before I am actually allowed to do so.

I once had a fleeting thought that I should type out my entries on my computer first. To have the time to mull over my draft; to change a noun here and there; to add an adjective or verb.

Yet, creativity in its purest form may not be semantically perfect, and it may not be poetry in motion. But in any case, the expression of creativity in itself is courage personified.

And I am still hiding in the safety net of the backspace button.

******

posted by the commentator @ 11.00am, Thursday 12 Jan 2006 from Los Angeles, CA

back from the dead

2006-01-12T05:30:00.000+08:00

Even I was surprised. Even though I know the reason why.

It's been more than two months since I've written. My last foray into the corporate world left me beaten, emotionally. Sapped, mentally. So much so I evidently lost any penchant for writing; for even trying.

So I fixed things. Difficult as it was, I did. And while I was scared, I know it's a decision that I will not regret.

I quit. And two weeks later, boarded a plane and flew 14,000km to the City of Angels.

I've been in Los Angeles for about a month and a half now. It is a period of quiet rejuvenation. And I have taken that to mean chillin', loungin' and not doing much of anything. It's been a blast.

But now. Now I feel stronger, healthier and refreshed. Ready to take baby steps toward finding my self and strength. And I know it will be a turbulent journey, but through which I will definitely find what I seek, deep within me.

Shortly after I arrived, we visited the Getty Centre - an art museum and research facility perched on a hill. While browsing the souvenir store, I came across a beautiful journal bound with what is claimed to be Shakespeare's handwriting. I saw, I stopped, I picked it up, and without much deliberation, I placed it back upon the shelf.

The boyfriend asked why I didn't want to buy it; my reply was, I have nothing to fill it with.

A month or so later, I chanced upon the very same journal in Barnes & Noble. I saw, I stopped, I picked it up, and after some deliberation, I placed it back upon the shelf.

I asked myself why I still didn't want to buy it; my reply was, I'm not sure if I have anything to fill it with.

A week or so past. I'm not certain when it was that I started thinking of starting a travel journal. A chronicles of my experiences and thoughts these three months in a strange city, in an unfamiliar country.

So I returned to Barnes & Noble, and this time I went straight for it. I saw, I stopped, I picked it up, and after much deliberation, I headed for the check out counter.

Since then, I've taken care to retain little keepsakes of experiences: a movie ticket stub, the hotel bill from Palm Springs, a map of Las Vegas. While far from a camera whore, I've become more enthusiastic about snapping shots. The little things I can do to immortalise my memories here.

It's been a few weeks since. The Shakespearean journal I bought lays quietly in the Barnes & Noble bag it came in. I glance at it everyday, unsure of my feelings toward it.

Til now I am still a little wary, a little inert, of beginning where I left off. Of starting over.

But I will. And I shall. And it will be a damn good journal.

***

posted by the commentator @ 2.00pm on Wednesday, Jan 11 2006 from Los Angeles, CA

not such a fun place after all

2005-10-26T22:40:00.000+08:00

For a place which (claims to) exude fun, I'm having none at all.

Referencing my gripes last week about eating alone, an update: I still eat alone. But I got smarter. I started making lunch dates with ex-colleagues and galfriends in the vicinity. Makes it all so much better.

So end of last week, boss had a quick chat with me (read: 2-week assessment) and in summary:
1. I'm not outgoing enough because not all of the 250 staff in the building know I exist;
2. I still don't know the everything about everything after two weeks.

Of course point 2 above is still valid inspite of me being blatantly honest with her during my interview a month back that what motivated me (official excuse) to leave my old place is that I wasn't doing what I really wanted to be doing. And this new job offers that. So lets see, if I've never directly done work like this before, how can I be expected to know everything?

But she loves tossing questions like "Blah blah blah. Did you know that?" and like a fool, I have to admit that I don't.

Tsk tsk, you've got to know these things, she says.

I know I need to know. But I don't appreciate being put down because I don't at the moment.

It's things like these which explain the radical thoughts racing through my head the last two days. Radical thoughts that are crystallising. Radical thoughts that, with each passing hour, seem less and less radical. And more and more tempting.

And no, I'm not about to commit a felony.

i eat alone

2005-10-18T14:17:00.000+08:00

Week 2 started on quite a sad note, and this has continued to today.

I eat alone.

Last week was full of socialising lunches - a few with the boss, one with the colleagues, etc. And on Monday, I realise working here by no means gives me automatic membership into the exclusive lunch cliques.

So yesterday I ate alone. And today I ate alone.

I'm not too certain if eating alone is the reason, but I haven't had much of a lunch appetite these 2 days. Which is quite amazing given my ferocious appetite of late.

Oh well.

end of week 1

2005-10-14T09:00:00.000+08:00

God it's finally Friday. The 5th day of work and the last day of the week. I've been craving for this day to come because I NEED SLEEP.

Like I said, the early hours are totally bitchin'.

Plus there was only one of the four days that have past that I went home straight from work. I don't usually gallivant on weekday nights so for me, this week's social activity scale went through the roof.

Last night was by far the latest - I got home at 11pm. And okkkk, I know that seems early to many people. And it did for me when I was in my old job. But I will have you know, four consecutive days of (freaking) 7am takes its toll on a girl, alright!

And there was the other night when I went out for a simple dinner, got home at 9pm and lo and behold, was dead to the world by 1015pm. That is how tired I am.

But tonight, yet again, I'm having dinner with an ex-colleague so it's likely going to be a relatively late one again.

It is now 9am and I have already finished my first of many cups of drainwater-they-claim-to-be coffee.

Yawn.

third day on the job

2005-10-12T09:45:00.000+08:00

Overall assessment: Not too bad.

New place is quite nice and cosy; boss is nice; colleagues are friendly. A shallow assessment of my portfolio tells me there's heaps to learn!

2 main gripes about this place:-

1. Early hours
God-forbid, I officially start work at freaking 830am. This wouldn't be that bad if it were flexible but apparently everyone comes in early/ on time. Even the last person to come in is at his desk by 845am.

This is a rude culture shock from my flexible 9.30am - 9.45am starting time. And even that was relaxed because ex-boss only saunters in at around 10.30am. Plus this new place is further (distance-wise) and more troublesome (public-transport-wise), so therein lies the longer-travelling time reason.

2. Caffeine!
One of the saving graces of my ex-place was an industrial-sized coffee-maker: press one button for a double shot expresso. Milk is fresh and at the side.

This place.. I cringe to even refer to that dispenser as a coffee-anything. The coffee is sour - and not in that American freshly brewed way. Plus I abhor powdered creamer. I mean, milk should be milk already.

So I guess there are adjustments to be made. Rude ones and fast.

so here i am

2005-10-06T12:30:00.000+08:00

So here I am, dwindling my thumbs. What an odd feeling.

I'm clearing the remaining of my leave these few days before I hop, skip and jump to a new job, new environment, new world.

I was looking forward to this break. Although it sucks that everyone else is busy working on weekday afternoons. Alone time sounded great, anyhow.

So Day 1 afternoon was spent sipping an iced latte in Holland Village with equally bored galfriend who abandoned work. To fill the 2-hour lapse before my dinner appointment was due, I went a-shopping, of course. By the time dinner ended, it was 10ish and I was tired. So it was a straight cab home to my bed.

Day 2 started with lunch with the Boyfriend. Then I had the entire afternoon to kill before attending a dinner meeting (yes, even though I was on leave). From 1pm to 6pm, I loitered. From Raffles Place to Orchard Road, up to Somerest and back down to City Hall.

I walked until I couldn't feel my feet; shopped until my arms ached from carrying an assortment of bags; and splurged until I realised I might be eating grass for the rest of the month.

Resolutely, I went to the meeting venue an hour earlier and just sat there. Said my hellos and bade my farewells to a couple of staff there who knew I was leaving. Crap meeting lasted a good 4-odd hours and as usual, it was a straight cab back to my bed again.

Today is Day 3. I have absolutely no plans whatsoever, which is a refreshing change, really. I'm even having dinner home.

The only problem is... I have nothing to do.

Excuse me while I go count my toes.

because i'm so extra

2005-10-02T18:06:00.000+08:00

The 7-meme has really been making its rounds. I was rather amused reading Little Miss Drinkalot and Tym trying to tackle it while both claiming it's a tough one. So even though I'm not tagged, I decided to try it out.

Here's my take in no particular order:-

7 things that scare me:
1. my own (overactive) imagination
2. the unknown
3. the dark
4. points 1, 2 and 3 combined in one scenario
5. creepy crawlies (all of them)
6. dying (mainly because of point 2 above)
7. not being able to be with the people I love

7 things I like the most:
1. satisfying a food craving immediately after it hits me
2. cuddling and being cuddled
3. lazing on a lounge chair on a dusky Saturday evening with a drink in hand, staring out at the great big world
4. luxurious hotel rooms
5. a shopping spree on a weekday afternoon
6. specifically, lingerie shopping
7. travelling

7 important things in my room:
(this would be easier to answer if my TV, cable box and DVD player were still around)
1. my cranky 3-year old fujitsu notebook (without which blogging, emailing and websudoku-ing wouldn’t be as comfortable)
2. my bed
3. my handphone charger (because the only other charger I have is in the office)
4. my dusty old books spread over two shelves
5. my vanity table, because I am so vain
6. my wardrobe (it stashes the loot from shopping sprees)
7. an old fan and a mounted air-con unit (all the better to control room temperature)

7 random facts about me:
1. I can’t cycle.
2. But I can swim.
3. I love my dog and though he’s dead, I keep his ashes in an urn.
4. When eating at a hawker centre/ coffeeshop, I’ll prop my legs up on the bar under the foldable table so that cockroaches don’t scuttle pass my feet.
5. I use my teeth to gingerly peel the skin off grapes before actually eating them. Which is why I don’t eat grapes outside home.
6. I have a total of 11 earholes from my misspent youth. But only two have survived ‘til today.
7. I usually prop myself up on the bed and type with my notebook balancing precariously on my lap. For hours. (explains points 1 and 2 of ‘important things in my room’)

7 things I plan to do before I die:
1. Draw a decent wage
2. Stay in an old English manor, butler and all, at least for a week
3. Learn another language (I’d say French or Spanish, but Malay is so much more functional)
4. Host a dinner party and not have to buy takeouts
5. Take a trip through Europe in the Orient Express
6. Move out of my parents’ house
7. Not suffer a long and painful death

7 things I can do:
1. Curl my tongue, sideways too
2. Stretch my thumb so far back that it touches my forearm
3. Cook a smokin’ meal of instant noodles with the microwave
4. Multi-task – sing along to my mp3s, watch TV, blog and MSN at the same time
5. Yak on my cordless home phone ‘til the battery conks out.
6. Be a bitch.
7. Write.

7 things I can’t do:
1. Deal patiently with fickle-minded people, boss or otherwise.
2. Nothing.
3. Smoke a cigarette infront of my mother
4. Play a decent song on the piano (I didn’t have that many lessons)
5. Touch my toes (exercise is an alien concept these days)
6. Watch TV in complete darkness.
7. Drink. Doctor’s advice.

7 things I say the most:
1. Whatever.
2. Alright.
3. Freaking.
4. Sheesh! (followed by dramatic rolling of the eyes)
5. You’re not serious! (my version of disbelief-cross-exclamation)
6. You are so shitting me. (disbelief tinged with suspicion)
7. Bye (i need to end a telephone conversation with a bye. I can’t just hang up)

7 celebrity crushes:
1. Me
2. Me
3. Me
4. Me
5. Me
6. Me
7. What do you mean I’m not a celebrity? ME!

(As you can tell, at this point in time the meme is taking its toll on me)

7 people who could do this:
they’ve all already did.

Sometimes I ask for trouble.

damn Blogger

2005-09-30T17:38:00.000+08:00

Not anyone in particular, but the Blogger site.

I just wrote an extremely long post chronicling the 20 days which have past since I last updated. And Blogger decided to thrash it all.

So now, I shall just say:

Went Sydney. Had Fun. Came back. Had Interview. QUIT!

Life is good.

the sydney low-down part 1

2005-09-11T13:26:00.000+08:00

I'm back!

Summary: 6 days in Sydney is way too short!

Mental (dreamy) note to self: Vacations are meant to exceed 10 days.

Mental (reality) note to self: Ain't gonna happen, gal.

So anyway, I digress. 3 fabulous days in Hunter Valley and another 3 fantastic ones in Sydney city. You cannot imagine how reluctant I was to board the homebound plane.

Speaking of planes, it was a pleasant journey to Sydney. Flew through the night (slept for the most part) and landed at an unearthly 5-something am. The ride home, however, was alot more interesting.

We got front-row seats both ways, partly because we checked in early and partly because we unbashedly asked for them. heh. I'm no jet-setting gal so I don't really know if those are really called "front-row seats" but they were the first row of the cabin. Lots more leg room and no oversized passenger crushing your kneecaps with his seat.

The thing with these front-row seats is that the "baby seat" is located there. A pull-out latch where a baby cot can be temporarily placed for infants to sleep in. Now that didn't bother us en route to Sydney mainly because there were no infants or children in our cabin.

On the way home, however, I nearly died.

We were seated by the aisle in the centre row. Immediately on my left was a Singaporean Chinese family with 2 children. The elder of the 2 gals, no more than 6 years of age I figure, was relatively silent the entire time. The younger 2-year old girl, however, is likely to grow up to be a soprano singer.

She was screaming and crying and throwing baby fits over the littlest of matters. The disturbance was intermitten though because I figure crying tires one out and she slept a fair bit.

The irritate-everyone-with-crying excellence award goes to the kid on the right row. I thank god that there were 4 seats and an aisle between me and the little rascal, else I would probably be awaiting trial for first-degree murder right now.

It was a Singaporean Indian lady with two little boys. Similar to the Chinese family, the elder boy was quiet and all - perhaps intimidated by the disapproving glares the rest of the cabin was shooting in his little brother's direction. Also around 2 years of age, that little brat was hysterical for most part of the 7-hour flight.

Really. Hysterical.

He was throwing tantrums and fits and jumping up and down and thumping his little clenched fists on his mother's knees. He was screeching and crying and wailing. And he didn't stop.

His mother was surprisingly nonchanlant about the entire matter. She was reclined in her seat and largely ignoring the mini drama unfolding by her knees. That probably agitated the attention-seeking boy even more because he started stomping his feet. Note that the entire time he was still screeching.

I cannot find the precise words to describe that loud, eerie sound he was constantly emitting. It was like he was screaming murder. Made me briefly think that it was a scene out of The Exorcist.

People passing him by to get to the toilet were tossing looks in his mother's direction; other more maternal ones would stop and try to coax him alittle. Nothing worked. Finally it got so bad that a couple of stewardess approached the lady and requested that she bring him to the back and calm him down. They probably noticed how uncomfortable everyone was becoming.

With much reluctance, the mother carried him in her arms and walked off. Silence - oh that golden silence - was restored. For all of 30 seconds. Then that familiar screeching sound gently wafted into the cabin. Thankfully it was alot softer and generally muffled.

The boy calmed down alittle I suppose, and the stewardess escorted both mother and child back to the seat. And all hell broke loose yet again.

The entire time I was struggling to fight visions of me grabbing his little face and serving a nice firm backhand across it. That, and dangling him upside down till he gagged. I was tired. Bite me.

The person I really pitied however was the innocent ang moh seated beside them. He seemed to have quite a grip on himself and was intently watching his screen. I figure the volume on his headphones was at maximum. There came a time, however, when even he couldn't take it. He tried to pick the boy up - lets be nice and assume that he wanted to comfort the screaming brat. The little rascal avoided his grip, obviously, and proceeded to continue throwing his tantrum while seated on the cabin floor.

The ang moh turned to the mother and said something to the effect of: "You have to get him to stop crying or we all won't get any sleep tonight."

This evidently embarrassed the lady because she prompted picked up her son and went to the back again. Of course that olympic-screamer of a kid never once shut up. Not once.

Until now I am wondering where he got the strength from. And more so, what on earth made him cry like that.

the chimes of wedding bells

2005-08-31T10:56:00.000+08:00

Not mine, to clarify before anyone gets unduly excited.

I've been hearing all about weddings and diamond rings and gowns and hotel banquet dinners so much the last two weeks that I decided it's a scary trend.

There was a mini secondary-school class gathering the other week that I skipped. I had to work, and honestly, I didn't really feel like going. The people on the RSVP list were just, well, not very close to me and I don't figure I would have much in common. Especially after ten years apart.

But anyway my social butterfly of a galfriend went and the next morning, sent me a gossipy email about everyone.

One gal's married. Yes, past tense. Married. To a doctor and living in the opulent Bukit Timah area. Apparently she's a child psychologist now at a non-profit organisation. Sounds just like her. My galfriend insisted that we should start subscribing to The Peak and Tatler because it won't be long before we see this ideal couple featured at some charity gala ball. You know, the type where you donate $5,000 for a seat.

Another gal's engaged and lugging a mother-sized diamond ring on her finger now.

And last night I met with a close galfriend of mine and she and her boyfriend are talking marriage lately too.

What on earth!

We (me and the abovementioned and all my galfriends, actually) are barely a quarter of a century old! I still find that really way to young to be getting married, or engaged for that matter.

I don't buy the they-found-the-one romanticism. Because even if you have, you can't get married unless you want to.

But we're so young (yes I know I'm repeating myself; it's for emphasis)! There's still so much to do: so much reckless partying, impulse shopping, late-night suppering, cute-guy ogling! All the irresponsible fun that only the unburdened can indulge in. I definitely cannot see myself getting married in the near future.

But of course I'm certain that they're happy where they are in life too. It's a different sort of happiness that a happy marriage brings. Different from my misspent youth.

Well, I guess I'll just have to start saving up for all the dinner ang baos. If I'm invited.

i went hungry last night

2005-08-24T10:56:00.000+08:00

And I am deliriously happy about that. Ha! Don't look at me like I'm some deranged anorectic teenager. I'm not.

I didn't skip dinner on purpose, to begin with. I had a 7pm meeting. At 6.30pm I was convinced to join a couple of colleagues for dinner. I wasn't even hungry! Way too early for dinner. But still I had half a club sandwich.

Which in all honesty is already dinner. But noooo.. by 11pm my tummy was growling. I swear it's a psychological thing. So in a rare show of self-discipline, I refused to eat. Had meself a cuppa milo and went to bed.

As I was lying in bed I had gastric pains. Sharp and pulling and oh-so-familiar. I like.

You see, I'm not trying to starve myself. I'm just trying to tame my overly-pampered (and soon to be bulging) tummy. Really. I believe that one's stomach can be stretched to accomodate different amounts of food. And unfortunately, when the stomach is too used to a certain (large) amount, it gets difficult to the my appetite in.

So see, successful step one in taming of the tummy!

Me - 1; Tummy - 0.

Yay!

there's no looking back

2005-08-22T18:29:00.000+08:00

I know. But after you've worked with the best, it's a really painful process to work with second best.

Chucking my dissent with present organisation aside, I must admit that I've worked with some of the finest professionals around.

They're motivated (due to work pride; nothing to do with the organisation), they have initiative and most importantly they have brains and aren't afraid to use it. They also have a good dose of common sense (which helps immensely) and are so confident that they are not afraid to seek clarification when unsure and not afraid to point out inadequacies where necessary. And of course, they have an innate respect for other people's deadlines and do provide input on time.

And then they leave. Well, some of them have and their replacements - to be kind - are nothing to rave about.

It's not that I want to be harsh but some things that they can bring themselves to do... simply amaze me. Really. At that split second, I'm not angry, not pissed off, not frustrated. I just find it amusing.

The most classic example happened quite recently when I conceptualised a mini website within our official website for a programme that was to be launched. And in the tradition of when you want something done right do it yourself, I mindmapped the entire concept onto a sheet of paper, typed out the content as it should be, even named all the secondary webpages and listed all the items in the menu. Hell, I even added in comments (the coding way: /*) to guide workflow.

Because of my wonderful career choice, I didn't have to actually create the webpage. So I passed it on for processing. Five days later I get a live link, saying it's completed.

I click on the URL and looked.

And froze. And was caught between an intense desire to laugh and cry.

Brilliant is as brilliant does. The person copied and pasted the entire content of that Word document I sent over into one html page and lived it. Imagine my horror.

A live webpage on the official website that had content like:

Photos (link to Gallery - the exact page you determine after you've uploaded the photos)

What if I had been in a dark-humour mood and gone:

Photos (link to Hellery - the cemetry of photos stripped of dignity and resolution)

I immediately replied the email with a "please remove from website. need to make adjustments", went out for a fag and after calming myself, sent the link to said person's boss with the caustic question: Anything in this page look wrong to you?

In under a minute my phone rang. Said boss demanded to know if the page was live or just a mock-up. I assured that my instructions are to remove. An audible sigh of relief floats through the receiver. I snigger yet again. Said boss in rather dejected manner promises to explain to his subordinate.

I've never seen that webpage again.

a tad technie

2005-08-22T14:34:00.000+08:00

I know I pronounced myself "so not a technie" recently, but I did the techniest, computer-geekest thing just now.

I was trying to enter myself into some NETS contest to win premiere tickets to Cirque du Soleil's Quidam (because I'm a cheapskate with desires).

The online contest form was straightforward (although it did request for my NRIC number) so I filled it in with no problem at all. Then I clicked submit and got javascript-prompted to enter a "valid name".

How odd is that. What's so invalid about my name!

Insulted but undeterred, I tried again this time with my full name as in NRIC (the way all government bodies like it). Still "invalid".

At this point I started thinking I must be an illegal immigrant with a fake BC and fake NRIC and fake CPF account.

I try a few more times.

First Name Last Name
Last Name First Name
Last Name First Name Middle Name (!)

(Yes, I really do want those tickets. And no, none of those combinations worked.)

When finally I could take it no longer, four years of tertiary education kicked in and I decided to view the source code of this lousy contest form.

In 30 seconds, I realised why javascript found my name invalid. It has a hyphen in it. Which the script believes to be an invalid character for a name.

Well, excuse me!

So anyhow, because I have little conviction and a growing desire to watch Quidam, I entered my full name minus the hyphen. Which actually is the lazy way I've been spelling my name.

It still freaks me alittle the way I decided to get round this problem - viewing the source code, not dropping the hyphen. So I guess in little ways, I'm still a tad technie.

of pigeons

2005-08-22T11:53:00.000+08:00

A pigeon perched on my windowstill today
It looked at me as if to say,
Home is where your heart stays

I sat on my chair
And at the pigeon I stared
Where is my home, where oh where?

I'm not a homing pigeon
I cannot find my way

My instincts do not guide me home
They have led me astray

***
I watched Valiant, the pigeon movie, over the weekend. What can I say?

such is life

2005-08-22T11:36:00.000+08:00

People come. People go.

It's a particularly quiet morning in the office today. My neighbour's gone away.

a year and a week old

2005-08-16T15:49:00.000+08:00

I procrastinated writing this entry for a week. 9 August 2005 (ironically National Day) was my first year anniversary of working life, and of working in this organisation.

It's a freaky feeling, truth be told, to have reached the one year mark here.

I remember the first time I felt like resigning. It was November last year and being the rookie in the Department, I was tasked with the crappiest job. Lets just say it involved getting yelled, screamed, censured and threatened by people every single day.

But that wasn't the last straw. The last straw broke the camel's back that fateful November day when a Higher-Up insuinated that I mishandled the situation (that I was so rudely thrust into, I might add) and hence indirectly contributed to the mega-proportion that the mini crisis had exploded to.

Now was I indignant! I believe, till this day, that I handled it to the best of my abilities. Even my crappy ex-boss agreed. The matter was flawed at a fundamental level, so there is little that may be done to alleviate the situation. But anyway, I digress.

So I went home that day after the daily dose bombardment and topped off with that insult (I have strong work pride - don't mess with that). And I cried. As much as I hate to admit it, I cried. Shed tears of indignance, of rage and of self-pity.

Lets put the whole situation in context. There I was, fresh out of Uni and 4 months into the job, and I was getting slammed for a far-from-wise decision that the Higher-Ups made eons ago?

And in the first place, I didn't (and still don't) fancy the job or the organisation much. It just happened, I guess - me working here. Plus I am much convinced that I am severly underpaid. So how's that for staff morale to begin with?

So I sobbed. My mum was really traumatised by this and all her maternal instincts screamed for action. As she comforted me, she told me it's alright if I want to quit and that perhaps this just isn't the job for me. I nearly smiled. She was so sweet. Until she said:

"Tomorrow you go tell your boss that your mother doesn't think this job suits you and you want to quit."

How embarrassing is that! It was at that very instant that I decided not to quit.

I did however start actively looking for greener pastures. For the last 8 months I've been flipping ST Recruit every Saturday. I'm a tad picky, I confess (no point jumping outta the frying pan and into the fire, I say) and I've had a few near hits, but still no homerun.

But I'll keep looking. That much I can promise myself.

SQ150 preparing for departure

2005-08-15T14:33:00.000+08:00

SQ150 heading for greener pastures is leaving from KR Domestic Airport on 19 August 2005 at 6pm. This is the third departing SQ flight since June 2005.

Bon voyage, my friend.

i am so not a technie

2005-08-02T17:19:00.000+08:00

That's right. I should have known, really, from a long time ago. But I'm evidently not too good at taking hints.

***

Four years in University and I barely got IT lingo down. My peers would be in the midst of an animated conversation about the (blackbox) inner workings of some network or system or programme, and I'd be thinking to myself: I know they're speaking English so why don't I understand them?

At that time, I cut myself some slack because after all I was a Communications major (just stuck in the wrong faculty).

***

Today, just a week shy of the first year anniversary in my first job and I have to admit to myself that I'm not getting the publishing lingo down. At all.

Sure I can ramble off the trim size and bleed size requirements for the magazine; sure I can list out the printing specifications off the top of my head; and I sure can relay all the artwork jargon that my Creative guy mumbles off to the advertiser.

The only problem is that I sure can't tell one from the other.

Well (to cut myself more slack) I haven't been in the industry long, right? Feeling a piece of paper, I can probably tell you it's 105 or 128 gsm matt art paper.. or maybe a 270gsm art card. But that's it. I've only leafed through the magazine sufficient times to be able to identify those particular grammage.

Don't even get me started on finishes. And don't look at me funny like my vendors/ printing house reps do. Fine. I admit. I can't tell hotstamping from embossing and debossing (debossing?! I mean, it doesn't even exist in my trusty Colin's Cobuild!) and I can't tell a UV varnish from a gloss laminate.

I guess my next book isn't going to be Harry Potter. It'll be the Dummies' Guide to Printing & Publishing.

how to play the office game

2005-08-01T00:30:00.000+08:00

The rules of engagement by learning from (my boss's) hits and (my) misses.

1. Always make small talk
With the direct boss, the boss's boss and everyone is who is anyone who matters. Even if you are sneaking off from a late night event and you meet a Higher-Up on your way out, stop and chat. As long as the event was successful, these Higher-Ups should be in a good mood. Seeing you working late will leave them with a good impression of your work attitude. Apparently it doesn't matter if your bag is slung over your shoulder and you have one foot out the door.

Also, small talk is a brilliant way to impress people with your wit and insightful insights. Beware however of coming across as a dimwit. When in doubt, just nod, smile and laugh.

2. Always grab the chance to lunch together
Now this is one of my biggest misses. I really - just really - can't bring myself to lunch with the boss, or the boss's boss. But you should. As with small talk, lunch is a fabulous opportunity to get yourself noticed, and to fill in the Higher-Ups with information that you can't really share in the office environment.

For example, you can subtlely share with the boss that your oh-so-important work (particularly the ones that he's waiting to see) is being impeded by your retarded computer. It is likely that the boss will be appalled, and ask why the IT department isn't giving you a new machine. At this point, refrain with all your might from bitching. Just shrug helplessly and look pathetic. Apparently this will earn you a new computer within your first week on the job.

Sidenote: Playing the office game is likely to alienate you from the groundstaff. Said computer, for example, may have been meant for an assistant whose computer has been down for 2 days. Seeing said computer in your office will not do much for interpersonal relations. But these don't matter much if you don't intend to forge true friendships in the office.

3. Always work doubly hard for people who matter
There is no such thing as equal effort in all work. There is no such thing as equality in output.

Take, for example, a facing-page interview spread with 1) Higher-Up and 2) important person in Singapore's finance industry. Now, where does your priority lie?

If you said both are equally important, you are as silly as I am. Apparently (1) is about 400% more important than (2), simply because interviewee (1) can directly screw up/ expedite your career development opportunities. Please note however that I am using this example because my work now and in the foreseeable future will have nothing to do with the finance sector.

But in any case, this point seeks to illustrate direct cause and effect. In layman's terms, this refers to: suck-up => promotion.

4. Always build alliances within the office
Alliances being alliances, the crux of the matter is to build one with power, of course. I cannot emphasise more how this has nothing to do with whether you like a person or despise him/her from the bottom of your heart. If a peer wields power in some ways, particularly those in which you lack, you build a complementary alliance.

It helps to be chummy with the boss's pet/ PA, especially if you're a newbie in the environment. These people have access to firsthand work information and can also give you inside information about the big boss.

For example, you learn that the big boss once lived in America for 3 years and that both his kids are currently studying in American universities. At the next small talk (see point 1) or lunch opportunity (see point 2), you casually remark that you once lived in America for 5 years. The big boss will likely be elated to discover that both of you have many things in common. You can then start an extended conversation about living in America - a conversation which is likely to exclude most other people.

5. Keep your friends close and enemies closer
As Confucius, that wise wise man, once said. The working environment is akin to the battlefield. Amble around blissfully unaware of this theory and be prepared to pick daggers and arrows from your back by the end of the day.

To perfectly execute this point, you first need good judgment. Now this is largely a God-given ability but it can also be honed with sufficient (excruciating) experience. I don't intend to stereotype the evil ones amongst us but the most telling sign I've come across is that of all smiles. As the Chinese will tell you, this is called "hiding knives in one's smiles". This is a very two-faced thing to do but also very effective in disarming people.

Now of course I am not saying that those really nice people who are smiley all day as if they're on prozac are vindictive bitches/ bastards. This is where said judgment comes into play. I'm just pointing out that of the varieties of evils amongst us, the All Smiles type is the worst simply because s/he will catch you unawares and may inflict upon you a horrendous death without you even knowing it.

Keep such people close. Make them think that you're on his/her side. While this will not delete the possibility of backstabbing in its entirety, at least you're safer than most other innocents.

yes baby, no tax

2005-07-31T20:52:00.000+08:00

On the way home today from holiday-shopping, the Boyfriend mentioned that a colleague of his told him that women who have 4 children before the age of 28 will be exempt from income tax for the rest of their lives!

[Note: I don't know how accurate this information is, although said colleague purportedly has a friend who qualifies for this exempt. I found the baby bonus (dedicated) website but was too lazy to sieve through for the relevant information.]

Can you believe it?! 4 babies before 28?!

This probably means that you'd have get married at 23, first baby at 24, second at 25, third at 26 and fourth at 27! Which means I have disqualified myself from the running; unless I get married now and have twins on my first go. Right.

Besides spending the best part of your career (the foundation-forming part of it, no less) living with morning sickness, craving for the oddest food at 3am and feeling like a baby-factory, there'll also be hell to pay just living with 4 babies.

Can you imagine... Your firstborn will be in arms when you're carrying Number Two; Number One will be crawling and Number Two will be in arms when you're carrying Number Three; Number One will be walking, Number Two crawling and Number Three in arms when you're carrying Number Four; Number One talking, Number Two walking, Number Three crawling and Number Four in arms when you're finally done.

And with such a young family, it'll probably be years until you can go back to the workforce (if ever). Your limited work experience and heavy family commitments are likely to impede any significant career development. I mean, after 4 kids, I'm certain it's only natural that a woman's focus is more her family and less her work.

So actually, the lifetime income tax exemption doesn't mean much (in terms of money saved), does it?

Sneaky sneaky Government.

what do you do

2005-07-28T22:24:00.000+08:00

... with an assistant who accuses you of taking over all the work. So much so she has nothing to do and that's why she idles. And of course she didn't question this arrangement because I'm the higher power.

Now this is beyond ridiculous.

1. I took over my over-worked predecessor's portfolio as-is.
2. I don't figure that I'm hording all the work just so I can work all day, all night and all weekend.
3. I don't dare to hand over work to her simply because she hasn't given me a reason to trust that she will get it done promptly and accurately.
4. Who am I to tell her what to do? I'm only a small fry.

And the icing on the cake is...

... a boss who makes comments like: "I wish I could bring my maid to work." Need I say more?

over msn today

2005-07-27T17:54:00.000+08:00

Friend: What are you doing after work?
Me: Work.

new day, new look

2005-07-27T11:29:00.000+08:00

Clean and fresh. Simple and uncluttered.

re: observations

2005-07-26T11:24:00.000+08:00

I was inspired to write this post from The Princess' observations entry. And in a sense, this is also an extension of yesterday's ranting about obligations.

So when was the last time you gave up your seat in a train/ bus to "someone who needs it more than you"? I shan't digress into the omnipresent propaganda in our lives. I shan't.

But really. I mean, why should people pass moral judgment on those who don't jump out of their seats at the sight of a pregnant lady or elderly folks?

Everyone pays (more or less) the same fare for said public transport. A teenager thus has the same right to a seat as a pregnant lady. A simple matter of equality, isn't it?

Sure, it's a nice gesture to offer your seat to someone else. But shouldn't such moves be purely voluntary?

In the first place, who is to say that a pregnant lady or elder needs the seat more than say, a young man or teenager? It is a generalisation to assume so.

What if the pregnant lady has been resting at home all day (or all six months) while the young man has been working his ass off? Who would know if said young man has had all of four hours of sleep everyday for the past two weeks? Who would know if said young man again is in the service line and stands on his feet for eight hours at a go? Who would know if said young man is ill? Or if he is suffering from an ankle injury?

No one.

It's so easy to pass judgment on other people - that man is young and strong he should stand, otherwise he's just a selfish bastard. But what happened to giving other people the benefit of the doubt?

I once read a contribution to ST Forum by a married woman. She related an incident where a pregnant lady literally demanded that she forsake her seat. Based on what, I ask?

There are even times when these "needy" (as propaganda will tell you) will refuse an offered seat out of sheer pride. When I was still a schoolgirl, I was once berated by an old Chinese man who felt slighted that I even thought that he needed a seat more than I did. The whole incident was so bloody embarrassing - he yelled at me and told me he didn't need pity.

So you see, who is to say who "needs" a seat more than whom?

Why must we be morally obliged to sacrifice a paid seat to someone else?

i am much obliged

2005-07-25T15:02:00.000+08:00

I once knew someone who always espoused that friendship (or any relationship for that matter) should be free of obligation. I surmise that he feels this way because obligation often puts strain on the giving party.

I witnessed, not too long ago, an episode that left me bewildered, really. Perhaps it's because I'm a third party looking in at the situation. A beloved colleague who left for greener pastures agreed to help her (ex-) boss with some work because her replacement had yet to report for duty. Now this sounds all fine and dandy until you realise that this "helping out" involved coming back to our office after a 9-6 day in her new one, and working til 11ish each time.

Of course you need a relationship with your boss - one that transcends the office and into true friendship - before an ex-subordinate would go the whole nine yards for him/her. I still say until today that this was a debt of friendship.

Admittedly, her boss was and still is very nice to her. When she came back to work, he made sure she was paid her regular hourly pay, drove to the nearest MRT station to pick her up, bought her dinner and drove her home again. It's a two-way thing, then, obligation crap.

Also an interesting demonstration of obligation happened to me two weeks back. Now I know, and you know and everyone knows, that I am no longer in Events. But my three month stint in the department did grow 'friendship', for the lack of a better term. I'm not saying that I'm not friends with my Events colleagues; comparative to other colleagues, I am. But I wouldn't go as far as to say we're really friends, you know? Friends are so much more than that. I know, because I have a bunch of them and we've lasted ten years and counting. So anyway, I concede that I am chummy with them and I enjoy my long lunches with them.

It happened one day that one of them came up to me with a desperate look on his face and said that he was short on manpower for an evening event coming up. I obliged. So that Wednesday, I worked til 11ish helping out. Fine.

Then it got worse.

Another guy came along (with a we're-friends-so-you-won't-say-no look on his face) and told me point blank that I have been deployed for another event. On a Sunday. From 9-5pm. I was flabbergasted to say the least. But apparently that was that and before I could react, my name turned up on the admin programme. Til today I still wonder, at which moment in my life did I agree?

You see, it's not that I'm drawing a line between my jobscope and theirs. But try to understand that encroaching on my weekends is a different issue all together. Work, as it is, is torturous and my only respite is the weekend. Searching my heart, I realise that what I really take issue with is that he didn't ask. He assumed. That I was obliged to help out a friend.

After going through the duty list for Sunday's event, I find out that my "duty" isn't even that crucial! I mean, anyone could do it. His no-good boss, for example, could easily do it. So tell me why I need to work on a Sunday for that?

I guess I'm coming across very selfish - admittedly so. But once again, try to understand. I've had 2 weekends burnt this month because of events. Together with that Sunday event, my first 2 weekends next month are effectively gone with the wind as well. Tell me how that doesn't suck. Especially for someone who isn't even in Events no more.

Even more ridiculous was a "favour" asked from me a few weeks back. But I shan't elaborate. Enough is enough already.

All this post serves to tell is that I've finally - truly - understood what that old friend of mine meant about obligations.

I am much obliged; whether I like it or not.

the island - a review

2005-07-25T00:09:00.000+08:00

So I watched Ewan McGregor and Scarlet Johansson's The Island despite prior claims that I wouldn't catch such a silly show. Admittedly, the film was better than I had given it credit for - blame the trailer, I say.

Warning: this review includes spoilers.

I guess everyone's clear on the gist of the show: McGregor and Johansson are clones living in a facility, cordoned off from the real world. Along with the thousands of residents there, they are clones made-to-order by people dripping with moolah. A whooping 5mil each! So these clones live in the facility until their sponsors require their parts - skin, organs, that sort of thing. Well, evidently the clones are none the wiser about this gruesome fact of life. They have been programmed to believe that the world was inflicted with "contamination" that killed all life. They are special. They are the survivors. Talk about brain-washing. Geez.

Running to.. or Running from?

So anyway, the film really was about running.

I mean, hell, the duo really ran alot. They ran around the facility, ran out of the facility, ran through the desert, ran around the train station, ran onboard the train - *breathe* - they ran around the streets of LA, ran from baddies, ran from good guys.

The most common line in the film was - you guessed it - "RUN!"

Sponsored by...

What also struck me about the film was the tad-too-conspicious product placements. From one of the first scenes, we learn that residents of the facility deck themselves head-to-toe in Puma-sponsored apparel.

Other noticable brand presence - MSN Search, Ben & Jerry's, Nokia, American Express, Chrysler and Calvin Kelvin.

And I probably didn't catch everything, unobservant me.

I am God

The subject matter at hand - creating life; destroying life; one wacko scientist's God-complex - deserves more than a fleeting glance. I noticed however, that the film very conveniently glazed over the matter.

Johansson's sponsor was supposedly mutilated in a car wreck. She needed lung, kidney and heart transplants, and that's why Johansson was 'chosen' to go to The Island (a euphemism for Heaven, if you ask me). But McGregor (aka Sherlock Holmes) found out that reality bites and ran off (see above) with her.

Johansson knew that her sponsor was dying unless she received the necessary transplants. But Johansson the clone wanted to live. Knowing that this would be at the expense of her sponsor. The film left this moral dilemna dangling and only near the end, revealed that because of the delay, Johansson's sponsor was likely to suffer brain damage, with or without the parts. But of course, if Johansson had made the decision to save one life with hers, her sponsor wouldn't be in this state now would she?

So in this convenient manner, the film touches upon a controversial subject matter but refrains from delving too deep into it lest it opens up another can of worms.

To a certain extent then, the flick focuses more on extended mind-boggling (headache-inducing) action sequences and stylised closeups of Johansson and McGregory than it does the morally-debatable issue of human cloning.

Well like people say, that's Hollywood for you.

too

2005-07-20T15:10:00.000+08:00

I've never noticed til today how noisy the office can get.

Too many people, in too small a space, talking too loudly to too many people on too many telephones.

Makes it too noisy to listen to a too-soft recording with a player too old.

Tonight's going to be a long one. Too long. Too long.

the greatest insult

2005-07-18T17:40:00.000+08:00

You merrily go for an interview.
You think it went well.
You wait 3 weeks but get no response.
You send a polite but probing email.
They reply.
They tell you the position has just been filled.
They wish you all the best.

Another 3 weeks pass.
You surf JobsDB.com.
You see an advertisement
For the same position
In the same company.

Woe is me.

monday reds

2005-07-18T10:39:00.000+08:00

No Monday blues for me today. No siree. I've morphed past blue, now I'm seeing red.

I'm seeing red (half at myself, half at someone else) because:

1) I kinda forgot about the timeline for several papers I need to put up,
2) I was away from office on Friday, and return to find that someone didn't bother to help me vet any of the stuff that came in,
3) Barely any stuff came in (5 days away from print and I've yet to lay eyes on the remaining 62 pages),
4) Loads of ad-hoc crap are piling up on my tray
5) Help is out for a fag when I need help

What a wonderful week this is going to be.

they're all different.. but similar

2005-07-13T17:36:00.000+08:00

From the first one to that one, and now this one. Three different women bosses in 11 months. And my oh my, what a ride it has been.

And still is.

you're just jealous

2005-07-12T15:46:00.000+08:00

SPH pulls no punches as it forces NKF's CEO to admit that he earns $25,000 a month and enjoys bonuses of 10-12 months each year. It's claimed that gasps filled the courtroom when this was revealed.

Singapore is abuzz with murmurs of dissent, disgust and rage about this. A non-profit organisation that relies solely on public funds pays their CEO that amount? To think my colleague said working in NGOs doesn't pay. I guess it depends which NGO eh?

I do agree that that sort of annual income is rather obscene for an organisation that pledges to serve the ill and under-privileged/ needy. But I'm not taking too nicely to anyone who grouses about feeling cheated aka "my donations went to his gold tap/ first-class flight?!".

To be brutually honest, I think a majority of contributors to the NKF Charity Shows are enticed by the huge-ass prizes and indecent amounts of money. It's like buying lottery, ya? This was quite evident from the barrage of NKF Charity Show advertisements that you can run but cannot hide from on TV recently. The pitch is blatantly 'donate and win this' or 'donate and win that', followed by a 'oh yah and you get to help someone too'.

I'm certain that there are kind-hearted souls who look at the NKF hoohah and think, Gosh I should help cancer/ kidney patients. There surely are.

But for majority of us - having never experienced the pain of perhaps losing a loved one to cancer/ kidney failure; or having never witnessed the miracle of having a loved one fight and win the battle against disease - we don't necessary relate to the (melodramatic) reality snippets that they broadcast. Sure, you feel sorry for the patients. But how can you say you really understand if you've never been in, or near, that sort of situation before?

So if your foremost thought while you dialled the hotline/ sent that SMS was wonder-if-I'll-win-the-condo/car/cash, then please save me the I-feel-so-cheated crap. You're just jealous.

::

I remember once having a conversation about karma and the question I posed, which remains painfully unanswered to date is: if you do something good with the wrong intentions, do you still get 'credit' (for the lack of a better term) for it? And vice versa, of course.

I still don't know. Do you?

newton's first law

2005-07-11T16:13:00.000+08:00

Isn't ironic that Newton's first law of motion is the lack of motion? Inert is exactly what I am now.

I'm so horrid; I've been procrastinating working on the copies for the next issue of the mag. And today I realise with a rather rude jolt that we're due to print in 2 weeks' time. 2 freaking weeks!

I guess part of the reason for my laziness is because my new boss is onboard and I kinda expected her to be the super hands-on type. Doesn't really seem to be happening though. I've to think of some sneaky way to make her work on at least some of the stories/ copies.

After 1 week now, my initial impression of her is wearing off some. I know she's experienced in the magazine publishing side of this job, but her media relations methods seem lacking. Plus she has some deep-seated grudge with one of my publishers. No good for work, I tell you. No good at all.

I guess to a certain extent I can't really blame her. She had a nasty experience with him (though he tells me that he had a nasty experience with her) so I guess she's already formed some kind of opinion about him. I don't appreciate, however, her going after the sub-contracted photographer; he's never been rude or snide or caustic to any one of us these 6 months, and in 1 hour of meeting her, she claims he bit her head off? Like, huh?

I'm not too certain myself if this is a reflection of her disdain towards the publishing house: she hates them; they sub-conned him; she hates him?

I've told my publishing house, in all brutual honesty, that things are probably headed for the worst. And it's not that I want to be callous, but I'm striving not to get embroiled into things. Since she's so into the magazine, I'd be delighted to hand it over to her and just be the "assistant". It'll free me up to do other stuff anyway.

But first, I have to speak with my publishing house about reworking the pagination. She isn't happy with me. Goodness. Someone save me.

It's going to be a really long week.

london bomb blasts

2005-07-08T09:41:00.000+08:00

Tony Blair's statement was brilliant, I find.

I think we all know what they are trying to do, they are trying to use the slaughter of innocent people to cow us, to frighten us out of doing the things we want to do, of trying to stop us going about our business as normal as we are entitled to do and they should not and must not succeed.
When they try to intimidate us, we will not be intimidated, when they seek to change our country, our way of life by these methods, we will not be changed.

When they try to divide our people or weaken our resolve, we will not be divided and our resolve will hold firm.

We will show by our spirit and dignity and by a quiet and true strength that there is in the British people, that our values will long outlast theirs.
The purpose of terrorism is just that, it is to terrorise people and we will not be terrorised.

My condolences to all Londoners. Hang in there.

where not to eat in singapore

2005-07-07T18:17:00.000+08:00

I read with much bemusement tym's where not to eat in singapore entry. I've been silently reading tym's blog for quite some time now - as I do with mrbrown and missdrinkalot, to name my favs.

But anyway, tym's latest eat-at-cartel-at-your-own-risk entry was so hilarious I couldn't fight the urge to respond. I had wanted to leave a comment - one of my firsts, I must add - but decided that I had enough to say to warrant an entry of my own.

So. Cafe Cartel. The last time I ate there, I almost suffered a heart attack over the dismal service. First up though, I must say that although I am a tad prissy when it comes to customer service (or lack thereof), I was in a cheery mood when I went to the Plaza Sing outlet for lunch. The bosses were all away from the office for some reason or another, so we fled the office and ended up in town for a 2-hour lunch (heh heh).

Between my lunch party of 4, we ordered 1 sandwich, 1 set lunch and 2 lasagnas (1 chicken, 1 beef). No special requests, either. And then we waited. And waited. And ate bread. And waited.

Finally the food began to arrive, the set lunch heading the pack. Consensus around the table was that the kitchen must be mass churning those out.

Next up, a waitress came with a plate of beef lasagna, or so she claimed. My colleague dug into it, half wondering if it was chicken but unable to distinguish - the tomato sauce was that overwhelming. Nevertheless, we took the waitress' word for it and believed it was beef.

After the next ten minutes, all we were missing was the chicken lasagna. So we gestured (frantically) for someone's attention and reminded him of that. It was after that that the strangest thing happened...

A male waiter (god knows what his problem is/was) suddenly appeared by the side of our table. All 4 faces turned to look up at him, only to find that he was straining his neck to intently stare at my colleague's half-eaten lasagna. Now, that was downright rude, wasn't it? So I asked loudly and grossly ironically, Can I help you?

He turned to look at me with a perplexed look on his face and was silent for an awkward 5 seconds before he said, I think that's the chicken lasagna.

Now we were perplexed. My colleague (rather comically) stopped short of shovelling another spoonful into her mouth. I clarified, The waitress said it was beef.

He evidently had no reply to that, so I guess his next best response was to ignore me. He turned and walked away, actually. So that pissed me off. I told my colleagues that it was obviously a mistake on their end and the waiter should have the decency to at least apologise. Apparently that remark was loud enough to jolt the waiter back from whatever planet his mind wandered to. When he returned shortly with yet another plate of beef lasagna, he made it a point to mumble under his breath a "sincere" sorry about that.

(Sidenote: By this time, I had polished off an entire philly steak sandwich. The episode took that long.)

Given the half-eaten state of the chicken lasagne, my poor colleagues had to make do with each other's order. We decided against insisting that they fix up a new plate of chicken lasagna - by the time we returned to the office, we would probably have been fired already.

And just like that, a supposedly happy lunch outing deep in the heart of town turned into a rather unhappy gastronomical experience. So much so that only speed-shopping after lunch could have saved the day.

So yeah, cartel is up there on my where-not-to-eat-in-singapore list. Right below that now-infamous char kway teow stall.

lessons from Everest

2005-07-07T11:52:00.000+08:00

It. is. astounding.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to meet with the NUS Everest Team for an interview. Their 3-year journey in conquering the greatest height in the world was amazing, to say the least. They were such nice guys too; acceded to our request to view the Everest photos and brought a whole chunk. Even agreed to let us reproduce some breathtaking shots for the magazine spread.

I was burning these photos into a CD for my publishing house to take away but couldn't resist saving them on my harddisk to view at a later time. And the photos almost blew me away.

I remember one Everest team member saying that scaling Everest put alot of things into perspective for him. That you don't really cherish life until you find yourself in such a precarious situation where your life is literally hanging in the balance. He said he learnt, on Everest, that there is life and then there is death. So simple. So clear.

We often grouse about having a "bad day", but I figure he has found that we should be happy we even have a day.

Which is so true, don't you think? We so often get caught up in the wheels of life that we forget what we're even doing on this planet. We lose sight of the important things in life and it's quite sad that it takes the world's greatest mountain to remind you of this.

I figure that by fighting elements as harsh as those on Everest, you'd gain a new respect for Mother Nature and the power she wields. It puts us in our place, really, to understand that perhaps the human race doesn't "own" Earth even though we often act as if we do.

So many lessons I have learnt from Everest, without going to Everest. Thanks guys.

P/S I'm awfully tempted to upload the beautiful, beautiful photos, but I didn't exactly ask for permission from the team, so I shan't. (Who wants to get embroiled into an IP lawsuit nowadays?)

from famous.. to infamous

2005-07-06T12:26:00.000+08:00

My mom often raves about this particular char kway teow stall and one day we stumbled upon the stall (it had moved away from wherever my mom used to patronise it from) in a food centre.

So last night, the Boyfriend and I went there for dinner. We ordered two $4 portions. I usually take the $3-sized portion but boy, was I starving (it was past 8pm when we finally got there)! So I decided to indulge.

I dove straight into the steaming plate of char kway teow with a fervour for food my friends rarely get to witness. But barely 10 mouthfuls later, I spotted something in my noodles. I gingerly picked it up with my chopsticks and throw it on the table with disdain.

Initially I had thought it was a tangle of thin wire, or something to that effect. Upon taking a second look, however, I discovered that it was... a long, curly, coarse strand of hair glistening with what I hope was oil from the noodles. The horror!

My stomach turned. I almost threw up. Literally.

I know you think I'm over-reacting because the entire time I was telling myself that I was over-reacting. But you had to see it to know! It was so strangly and coarse that I sincerely believe it was pubic hair. I still can see it in my mind's eye! Gross!!!

And so I promptly gave up the originally-sumptuous plate of char kway teow and settled for 8 sticks of satay instead.

That char kway teow stall had, in that single moment, gone from famous to downright infamous.

Woe befall me if I ever patronise that stall again.

i can take a hint

2005-07-05T16:03:00.000+08:00

Dear Higher-up Power

Look, I can take a hint alright.

I was innocently filling up a long online job application form (damn those stat boards) - and I do mean long - when the power died. The entire building was out, along with all other buildings in the vicinity. So like, fine, I lost everything! No biggie right? I was only 90% done with it and it only took me a good 30 minutes.

*mutter mutter grumble grumble*

After an hour or so, the power came back on. So I decided doggedly to start on it all over again; patiently filling field after field about my personal particulars, education and career history, when lo and behold, the power went out again.

I threw my head on the table in despair. Yes, I hear that I should have just smacked my forehead with my hand - less painful that way - but I'd lose that dramatic effect that had my neighbour sniggering under her breath.

Anyway, I can take a hint. I shall not attempt to fill that form again.

I'll just do it when I'm home.

So please stop cutting our power supply! It's hot in here!

Thank you.

P/S As I type this, I am praying really hard that darkness does not abruptly descend upon me. For the third freaking time.

Afternote

The Higher-up Power is really good. Shortly after I posted the above, we lost our Internet connection (I understand it's the aftermath of the preceding power loss situation). It's just been revived. Phew!

the commentator @ 6.43pm

always have something to look forward to

2005-07-04T11:15:00.000+08:00

I am so wise. Those are my words of wisdom. Good, eh?

I realised today as I sat in my 4x4 that I am looking forward to blogging (not that I had anything specific I wanted to talk/write about). But anyway, I came up with this list:

Thursday - Look forward to self-declared dress-down Friday
Friday - Look forward to a night out and the weekend
Weekend - Self explanatory
Sunday - Look forward to a Monday of blogging through the workday

See! With that, life becomes abit more manageable, and abit less tiresome. If that doesn't work, try this:

Monday - Look forward to Tuesday
Tuesday - Look forward to Wednesday
Wednesday - Look forward to Thursday
Thursday - Look forward to Friday
Friday - Look forward to Weekend
Weekend - Hallelujah!

Sure it borders a (tiny) bit on delusion. But hey, if it gets you through the work-week, who's to say it's no good?

P/S: I already said I had nothing specific to blog about. So no complaining.

new boss in town

2005-07-01T16:41:00.000+08:00

Hottest office gossip of the month: my new boss is in!

It's pretty obvious that my last boss left quite an impression on everyone, because I was bombarded this morning with comments like, "she looks nice" or "friendly" or "approachable" or "presentable". This is of course in stark contrast to her short-lived predecessor.

That aside, it is way too soon for me to know what kinda person she is, how good her work (and work attitude) is, and most importantly, whether I'll really have a easier time coping in the future.

I have spoken to her for at most an hour and I do not own a crystal gazing ball. At least not one that works.

I was rather surprised, though, at her background and qualifications - born of the magazine publishing world. Which is really quite impressive (maybe cos that's I want to do). But I thought the Management wanted someone of corporate experience? Oh well. Maybe they changed their mind after the Blackfaced Bear.

So anyway, stay tuned for updates on the new boss! Will create a chapter for her in The Tale once I am inspired about her character.

getting to know me..

2005-06-30T12:19:00.000+08:00

.. via QuizBox.

Your view on yourself:
You are down-to-earth and people like you because you are so straightforward. You are an efficient problem solver because you will listen to both sides of an argument before making a decision that usually appeals to both parties.

The type of girlfriend/boyfriend you are looking for:
You are a true romantic. When you are in love, you will do anything and everything to keep your love true.

Your readiness to commit to a relationship:
You are ready to commit as soon as you meet the right person. And you believe you will pretty much know as soon as you might that person.

[comment: now now, lets not freak the Boyfriend out just yet.]

The seriousness of your love:
You are very serious about relationships and aren't interested in wasting time with people you don't really like. If you meet the right person, you will fall deeply and beautifully in love.

[comment: beautifully?! *faint*]

Your views on education:
Education is very important in life. You want to study hard and learn as much as you can.

[comment: the pursuit of paper credentials is a very vain thing. i'm not gonna pretend that i do it to enrich myself. to be brutually honest, i'll do an MBA or a Masters in Comms to flaunt the paper (not everyone got ok!), and to climb the corporate ladder.]

The right job for you:
You have plenty of dream jobs but have little chance of doing any of them if you don't focus on something in particular. You need to choose something and go for it to be happy and achieve success.

[comment: i object! i know what i wanna do. i just dun seem to have managed to snag a good one yet.]

How do you view success:
You are afraid of failure and scared to have a go at the career you would like to have in case you don't succeed. Don't give up when you haven't yet even started! Be courageous.

[comment: i am afraid of failure, and what it'll mean. but i'll still try. am trying now!]

What are you most afraid of:
You are afraid of having no one to rely on in times of trouble. You don't ever want to be unable to take care of yourself. Independence is important to you.

[comment: i'm fiercely independent, but i'm still a girl =P]

Who is your true self:
You are mature, reasonable, honest and give good advice. People ask for your comments on all sorts of different issues. Sometimes you might find yourself in a dilemma when trapped with a problem, which your heart rather than your head needs to solve.

[comment: not the commentator for nothing! heh.]

my shuffle is telepathic

2005-06-30T10:53:00.000+08:00

On the last two occasions that I used my iPod Shuffle, I have realised that the lovely thing is telepathic! In a way, because it reads my mood more than it does my mind.

Now everyone knows that the Shuffle, essentially, shuffles. It selects randomly from a 120 song list without my interference.

Two evenings ago, I was heading home from work in a particularly depressed state. Lets just say it was one of those days. In the 30-minute cab ride home, I began to notice that my Shuffle was only playing slow songs: love ballads of the i-love-you-so-much-i-want-to-die genre. And in doing so, accentuated my mood so much I was dangerously close to suicide.

Partially as a result of that Shuffle-induced ineluctable state of depression, I took urgent leave yesterday. Yes, urgent. Otherwise I might die at my desk. This mid-week rest surely had to involve a trip down town. So I upped my lazy ass and took a bus towards shopping haven. Throughout that 45-minute bus ride, my Shuffle decided to play upbeat, uptempo, happy songs! So much so, I finally alighted infront of Tangs with a hop in my step and a (rather silly looking) smile on my face.

My Shuffle is telepathic. I shite you not.

i have not blogged since last wednesday

2005-06-27T15:29:00.000+08:00

Not because I didn't have time; I always manage to make time.

Not because I didn't have anything to say.

But because I didn't want to labour on and on about my work-related woes. Which, unfortunately, cause me the most grief and take up most of my energy.

Met up very briefly with an old uni classmate last Friday at Corduroy & Finch. Giving up on wine halfway through the session, I ordered a glass of iced lemon tea. Next thing I knew, the wine was gone and we were ready to leave. So we called for the bill and requested to cancel the order. That was promptly attended to, surprisingly, and the shy waitress apologised to one of the guys about the tardy glass of iced tea.

Me, being in one of my moods, sharply retorted as she walked off, "That was my glass of iced tea. She should have apologised to me."

Old uni classmate who had not seen me for awhile, was evidently rather taken aback at that comment. I began to explain, with a slight shrug and a soft frown, "Sorry, I'm rather edgy..."

And before I could finish, Boyfriend jumps in to say, "Yeah, she's been really edgy since she started work."

I was really surprised at that. Especially given that I was only going to say that because I work in a service-oriented environment now, I'm oh-so-slightly more finicky about service standards. But I kept mum. And started thinking about what he said. I guess it's true, you know. I have lost alittle of the quirky and insane me; in its place, is solemn and cranky me.

I guess he, more than anyone (including myself), is aware of this change. He's the one who has to live through my ranting, the (more than occasional) tantrums and periodic sulking.

I really don't want to be this way. I want to be the happy, cheerful me that I was not too long ago.

Is it really mind over matter? If I don't mind, this place won't matter?

re: conversation this morning

2005-06-22T21:07:00.000+08:00

Dear Deranged Bitch

I refer to your conversation with your subordinate, Miss A, this morning.

She has relayed to me the matter that you have discussed in relation to your inputs for my publication.

First and foremost, may I gently remind you that your request is in direct conflict with the standard operating procedure that you yourself drew up just a couple of months ago, for reasons apparent to everyone.

You have since relinquished all responsibility in this arena, and the portfolio is now mine. I thus have the obligation and corresponding authority to decline your request.

Miss A concurs with my decision on this matter, which is why she raised the matter with you earlier.

It has come to my attention, however, that when she attempted to explain this to you in all logical manner, you had the stroke of inspiration to accuse her of "ganging up" with me in refusing to complete the work you have delegated.

At this point in time, I find it redundant to reason with you, since you do not appear to be amendable to reason.

In any case, I believe you and I are mutually aware of our disdain for each other. I do find it rather disgusting however that you would let your own subordinate - one whom you particularly adore, no less - suffer the brunt of our personal vendetta.

I would like to state for the record that should you have a bone to pick with me, you may do so in a forthright manner by approaching me during office hours. I will be extremely happy to engage in such discourse with you.

I take extreme offence to the baseless accusation made against me behind my back. Should you have in your possession concrete and substantial evidence to support this claim, I will be pleased to cross-examine these. Please note that your own paranoia, suspicion and intense dislike towards me do not qualify as evidence. In the event that you do not have such evidence, I vehemently object to unknowingly becoming the victim of your crazed imagination.

It does worry me, however, that at the slightest knowledge that things are not going exactly your way, you pull out conspiracy theories and jump to ridiculous conclusions. Perhaps this is the doing of an uneasy conscience, or a nagging awareness that your incorrigible and unreasonable ways are apparent to more people than you had ever expected.

Personally, I find your behaviour this morning particularly unbecoming of a professional in your position. It reeks of pettiness and idiocy expected only of a fishmonger.

Should you wish to stab me in the back once again after reading this mailer, please feel free to do so. If the senior management of this organisation is unable to see through your smiling mask which hides your conniving, credit-hungry personality, then I am only even more confident that this is not a suitable work environment for me.

Yours sincerely

I-don't-give-a-shit

my greatest fear

2005-06-21T16:56:00.000+08:00

gone with the wind are my chances. Which sucks big time cos I really wanted this chance. It's been 1.5 weeks and still no news. I guess I already knew during the interview. But you can't blame a girl for hoping against hope, can you?

It's really scary because I promised myself that I won't be here on my "one year anniversary". And that's barely 1.5 months away.

This entire situation kinda reminds me of this cynic remark I always pass when friends start daydreaming/ fantasizing about how filthy rich they're gonna be in 10 years; about their lambos and ferraris; about retiring at 35.

My retort is always: for all you know, in 10 years, we'll still be sitting at this bar/cafe saying the exact same thing.

And that, my friends, is my greatest fear*.

* Aside from cockroaches, rats, G-force, etc.

petulant at 23

2005-06-21T12:31:00.000+08:00

Don't know why either. But I just am.

So shoot me.

which singaporean blogger are you?

2005-06-15T22:06:00.000+08:00

I'm kinda certain which Singaporean blogger i am... myself. But nonetheless, decided to try this out for fun.

And...

Congratulations, you are...

Scarlett Ting of joewei.blogspot.com

You are independent, smart and beautiful. It's too bad you don't see that yourself because life's little difficulties brought down a lot of your self confidence. As a result, you talk cryptic and you don't trust people easily. You care a lot for your friends and your loved ones, sometimes even more than you care for yourself, although they don't always seem to appreciate it. Don't let that affect you. As the saying goes, you don't miss the water till the well runs dry. So hang in there, you're a star in the making.

Which Singaporean Blogger Are You?

touchy touchy

2005-06-15T11:40:00.000+08:00

Don't know why I'm so darn irritable this morning.

Well, actually I do.

Because the Irritant bit me not too long ago. It's not that big a deal, really, but just the sound of her voice, the casual but apparent disregard for a fellow human being, and the small things that she do to win credit that she didn't earn, really really bugged me this morning.

Her dismissive demeanour and that condescending tone resulted me being atypically curt in my response. Once she nagged one sentence too much, I frowned and looked away. Why ask me questions you know I have no answer to?

And why, I wanted to return a question, are you so concerned about issues beyond the boundaries of your job scope? Especially when you don't seem to get your own work done.

It's exasperating, honestly, to have to listen to her shallow comments when the task at hand has absolutely nothing to do with her.

That and an unwritten editorial with a looming deadline is haunting me.

I hate mental blocks.

pissed off.. big time

2005-06-13T22:36:00.000+08:00

I am extremely pissed over an incident that happened late Friday night. And okkkkk, I know this post seems a little retarded, but it was late Friday night and I had better things to do over the weekend.

I was reminded of the incident as I walked home tonight: I hate security guards. Well, maybe not all security guards, but at least those whom "guard" my condo.

I had a good night out with colleagues and ex-colleagues last Friday. And managed to hitch a ride home from one rather reluctant colleague. heh.

So anyway, he dropped me off at the entrance of my condo and I walked in. I wasn't particularly aware that my one inch heels were clanking on the concrete pavement, and given the silence of the night, making a small racket.

That was until, as I sauntered past the guard house, I heard a loud, curt "ssshhhh!"

I literally stopped in my tracks at the sound of that and my half-asleep brain took more than a few seconds to recognise that I was being hushed. Hushed! By my own security guards! I snapped my neck back to glare at the entrance of the guard house but I could only make out a shadow on the floor.

Can you imagine how badly I was seething with anger?!

In the first place, I was probably hushed only because my clicking heels woke someone up from his deep slumber. It was after all, 2am. What on earth was I thinking?

And even if he felt that I was causing a late-night disturbance to the other residents, he should have stepped out and informed me of this in a courteous manner. Not hush me from the comfort of his inclined seat.

I would so complain.. feedback, I mean, this to the estate management and/or contracted security company. But me being true blue Singaporean... can't be bothered to. Well, it's not my fault that my condo has a website but no direct e-feedback facility.

I'm just pissed, really.

how to annoy people

2005-06-13T10:56:00.000+08:00

That was the (amazingly ironic) subject title of yet another junk email I received about 10 minutes ago.

And this is after I spent the morning deleting emails like Is Coke Good For You?, Amazing Summer Trends! and The Mummy Returns... all from the same sender. (Subject titles have been tweaked alittle to sound more interesting than they really are.)

So anyway, when I received How to Annoy People in my mailbox, I almost balked. The irony of life.

All such emails come courtesy of a (rather bored) galfriend. Now, I love her to bits. We've been buds for what, 10 years and counting? But for crying out loud! These are plain irritating and to make things worse, these are not directed to my gmail account but my office account.

Sheesh.

And for the record, I didn't read How to Annoy People; I've experienced it.

table vultures

2005-06-10T15:47:00.000+08:00

Today I made the grave mistake of being early for a lunch appointment. 15 minutes early; or so I thought.

Considerate lil' me trooped up to the perpetually-crowded Food Court where I was to meet my colleagues and proceeded to hunt for a large enough table. And as luck would have it, I snagged a table for 8 in less than a minute.

The next 30 minutes, however, were spent trying to read Malcolm Gladwell's Blink while fending off various forms of table vultures:

The Hovercraft
Stealth is the hallmark of this lifeform. He silently hovers around the table you are guarding, looking expectantly at you as if waiting for an invitation to sit down. Not particularly effective when you happen to be reading a particularly interesting bit in Blink and don't sense his presence.

The Space Invader
Now this is, by my standards, the most irritating one of all (I cherish my personal space alot). The Space Invader stands right beside where you are comfortably seated and stays here. Really. His nether regions barely 5 inches away from your face, he looks down at you with a look that means to say, May I? but comes across alot more invasive.

The Conqueror
The most obstrusive of all table vultures, the Conquerer selects a seat from the 7 that you are guarding and promptly proceeds to plonk himself down. So that when you look up from your book, you find that one of your colleagues has morphed into a 60-year old uncle in a cleaner's uniform. So you turn to him and pleasantly inform him, That's taken. And he ignores you. Hence you have to lean over, palm the table top between yourself and him, and yell, TAKEN! Only then he looks up with a jolt, shovels yet another mouthful of rice into his mouth, picks up his plate and scurries off.

Next time I'll carry one of those "reserved" signs. So much easier.

joke of the century

2005-06-08T16:49:00.000+08:00

Q: What's smaller than a small fry?
A: I am.

That's right. I must reign as the Joke of the Century. Inexperienced, wet-behind-the-ears me.

Perhaps it's because I don't carry myself in a "bossy" manner. Perhaps it's because I'm too much a newbie for Someone to respect as a superior. Perhaps it's just Her.

I'm not officially her boss but I've been burdened with the responsibility of ensuring that the Department functions while Jellyfish sources for a new boss for me. In slow motion, no less.

And it's getting downright exasperating.

Is it so wrong to ask for a report that is more than one month overdue? Especially when Jellyfish is breathing down my neck because They Who Shan't Be Mentioned are proding him with a stick for it.

Is it not basic courtesy to let someone finish her sentence before you cut it off with a dismissive wave of the hand and a "yah lah, yah lah. I'll get it done"? I concede that that was the 4th time in a few weeks that I've requested for said document. So guess why I'm still asking for it.

It's true that I haven't put down my foot with her. You know, really show her who's boss! But it's kinda difficult to find an opportunity to do so. She's always yakking on the phone.

Anyway, like I was saying, yes I haven't been all that firm/ strict/ commanding/ autocratic with her. And no I haven't threatened her with various forms of torture.

Because at the end of the day, I am not her boss. She knows it and is exploiting that. Further, she's been here long enough to be a wealth of information for us newbies; I turn to her often with 'how is this usually done' type of questions.

I'm not going to do anything about this. But the next time I get grilled over her inefficiency, I am so going to let it all out.

So bite me.

today i learnt...

2005-06-07T16:24:00.000+08:00

1. That my comprehensive staff benefit scheme involves inflicting upon me high blood pressure. This is a benefit, really, because I have low blood pressure. I'm pretty certain that it'll level out and I'll end up with perfect blood pressure. Or a nervous breakdown.

2. That some people don't complain/whine too much; they're just exceptional at identifying problems.

3. That some people aren't gossip-mongers; they're born with innate resourcefulness. That's why irrelevant people working across the island know about stuff that occurred 2 minutes ago.

4. That some people aren't tardy in their work; they're slow and steady.

5. That for every month I work in this hellhole, I'll age prematurely by 3.

6. That that which does not break you... will affect your bonus.

7. That the above does not apply when you have no bonus.

progress report

2005-06-06T21:44:00.000+08:00

2 itsy threads of hope!

Am keeping fingers crossed. Toes crossed. Hell, even my eyes are crossed.

Wish me luck!

day in, day out

2005-06-06T11:47:00.000+08:00

Life is so boring. Working life is even more boring.

Not too long ago, like a year back, it eluded me how Office Drones managed to live life as it is. Office Mondays to Fridays, home weekends and public holidays. Then it's back to the office. Talk about dreary.

One year later, sitting in my 4x4, I've finally found the answer. Yes, the answer to life's ultimate question (and without the help of a super computer too).

The trick to leading the lifestyle of the Office Drone is not to think about the apparent lack of a ifestyle. It gets to a point where you don't even think about what you're doing. Because thinking about it is 1) discouraging and 2) downright depressing.

So that's how I'll live out the rest of my working life??? Not thinking, barely feeling, just breathing.

Now that's a depressing thought for the week.

fantasies of the disgruntled

2005-06-03T12:21:00.000+08:00

I have a dream. It may be a fantasy too far flung from reality to come true, but hey, it lights up my darkest work hours with a devilish green glow.

I was kinda really hoping to strike Toto last night. A whooping $1.4 mil!

I guess the average John Doe would splurge on a car, treat relatives and friends you didn't know you had to delicacies after delicacies, after which, go shopping at the luxury boutiques of Paragon like a crazed Japanese tourist.

But me? I would march to work with the zeal and zest that my office has never seen, toss my perfumed letter of resignation on Jellyfish's desk with a dismissive flick of the wrist and follow through with a cheque of one month's pay.

It'll be more gratifying than you think. Really.

A look of unadultered shock. The gasp of horror. Possibly, his eyes will even glaze over and he'll be helplessly foaming at the mouth. But I overestimate myself.

They'll just rehire, won't they? Just like they're trying to get me a new manager. Doesn't take too long, minute stuff like this. It hasn't even been 3 months, after all.

Ok, fantasy over. Back to cruel reality.

Work beckons.

the no-conspiracy sgblogconspiracy

2005-06-02T16:15:00.000+08:00

And so it has happened. The largest (ok, maybe the only) local blogging event has been firmed up for 16 July 2005 at (get this) Woodlands Regional Library.

*smacks forehead*

The venue is... so... interesting. But I disgress. Here's my take on the great Blogger.SG conspiracy:

There is no conspiracy. At least not in terms of the colourful ideas like psychotropic-drug-laced refreshments and spy cameras that have emerged in the blogosphere.

The no-conspiracy conspiracy theory is thus: they want you to think it's a conspiracy and blog about the conspiracy. And when your posts make unsubstantiated claims involving the underground-police-unit-that-doesn't-exist, that's when they'll log your blog, trace your address through your government-controlled service provider, knock on your frontdoor and invite you for a latte at the underground-police-unit-that-doesn't-exist.

Be warned, my friends.

of all the things i've learnt

2005-05-31T12:25:00.000+08:00

These few days have been trying. And I've walked away from it all with a couple of lessons in life.

1. Inaction leads to regret. If you think it, do it. Before it's too late.

2. Mourning is a tiring and painful process. It's meant to be that way.

3. When faced with death in the family, relatives will put aside past indifferences - at least for a couple of days.

4. Sometimes for their own good and to protect their health, you need to withhold certain information from certain people.

5. A minimum sum gets you minimum service. Lump in a few hundred more, and you get the whole works. Everything is about money. Including temples.

Rest in peace, uncle. Rest in peace.

through the gripe-vine

2005-05-27T17:12:00.000+08:00

I was bombarded by gripes of all manner today. I know my office isn't the best working environment and hell will freeze over before we qualify for a People Development Award. There isn't even a remote chance of receiving a Humane Environment accolade.

Every single day, someone, anyone, everyone will have something to complain about (we are after all mostly Singaporeans).

I'm probably not in a position to criticise/ comment on any of their gripes, given that I confess to be a helluva bitch too. But good Lord, some of the stuff I hear is beyond ridiculous. It's not even logical (I believe in being a reasonable bitch) !

I'm really not at liberty to share the gripes people have unloaded on me, but I just need to say that at times, we just need to take a step back and reassess the situation we face. Threats are no way to go. And they don't work all that often, either. Even if you're prepared to toss this job out of the window, have some pride in your work.

At least you'll be able to leave with your head up high and no one littering your way out with rotten tomatoes.

You owe it to yourself to make your time here worthwhile.

with grit teeth...

2005-05-25T10:15:00.000+08:00

I came to work this morning. Despite the fact that the top of my head feels like it's going to split apart. I was none too worried about that given it's been throbbing and threatening to explode since last night.

My throat feels like sandpaper. Did you know if your throat feels like sandpaper, even swallowing saliva is a bitch? God.

A hint of illness plagued me all day yesterday. So with much resolve, I packed up and left the office by 615pm, hopped onto a cab and made for home. A slight detour to the Chinese Medical Hall was necessary, to pick up 4 bottles of liang cha.

Once home, I began my almost-ill ritual of dousing myself with generous amounts of liang cha. I don't know why I always do that... maybe I think I can drown the nasty virus with icky herbal tea. And just like that, I finished all 4 bottles. I kickass, man.

That also led to an unnaturally high number of toilet trips throughout the night. By the end of the evening, my pee was as clear as mountain dew.

Gratified by the success of this ritual, I went to bed. And slept. And slept. And was late for work this morning.

So now tell me why, my head still feels like it's going to split and my throat, like the roughest sandpaper.

Keep gritting teeth. It's only 10.15am.

my criminal mind

2005-05-24T00:28:00.000+08:00

A few days ago, I was effectively called a con artist (in more words than that).

It was clearly insuinated that I was aware of a certain HR screw-up in my previous pay cheques but kept mum about it with the sole intention to cheat the company of some measly amount.

Ah, my criminal mind.

Nevermind that I trusted the HR department to be professional and careful when handling payroll. Nevermind that I naively assumed that certain allowances were not to be pro-rated.

And now, with the advent of the new super HR Mole, my criminal ways have been exposed. I am so upset.

This is like a B grade super-cop versus super-villian Bollywood flop.

Haughty and arrogant, the Mole must be delirious with joy that she unveilled another of her ex-boss's bloopers. She made a frantic dash to report this joyful bit of information to the Jellyfish. I have never seen a Mole of those proportions move so fast.

Did I mention that I am so upset?

I am so upset. Upset that I'll never be able to pull a fast one like this anymore. Of course nevermind the minor detail that I don't ever get to touch payroll and wouldn't be able to do evil adjustments in my favour.

I am so upset. Upset that the Mole will now have a reason to deduct all the ill-gotten gains from my next pay cheque. I mourn for my loot.

I have such a criminal mind. Maybe next time I shall attempt to rob Finance of their petty cash.

In all indignance, I feel like telling Jellyfish and the Mole that they can take that puny allowance and stick it up their respectively skinny and fat asses. Cos I don't give a shit.

sim lim trooper for a day

2005-05-23T22:24:00.000+08:00

Joining the army of Sim Lim Troopers, I made a hesitant foray into Sim Lim Square this afternoon.

It technically wasn't my first trip there, but I made sure that previous experiences were brief (under 10 minutes) and distant (standing outside the building with a cold drink).

Today, however, was the real McCoy. We went there because the boyfriend needed a new harddisk for his cranky notebook.

The basement carpark was full, as it turned out. But it took less than 10 minutes for us to get in and find a lot. It reminds me of Plaza Singapura's perpetually-full parking facility and extremely high turnround rate.

Sim Lim Square on a Public Holiday afternoon was chaotic, to say the least. It overturned my prior impressions of Sim Lim Troopers - not only were there geeky technie guys, but also entire 3-generation extended families and young couples on awkward dates.

If Orchard Towers is known as 4 floors of whores, then Sim Lim Square must be 6 floors of hawking. The first vision I had of each floor was that of a flutter of paper. More specifically, a barrage of pamphlets - largely tacky A4-sized black-and-white photocopied pricelists - that were crudely chucked, stuffed and forced onto innocent victims.

Elbowing through this first line of offense, we came to an unitdy row of shop units, each hawking their similiar wares in similar fashion. As we ventured into shop after shop, I quickly came to realise the Golden Phrase of Sim Lim Square. Just as "sale" works on women, "best price" works on Sim Lim Troopers.

"Dis bland famous for dis ploduct one! I give you best price, boss! Best price!"

"Dis one $xxx. Cheap! Best price, best price!"

"$xxx best price already lah. Cannot lower, I lose money liao."

We finally managed to find the harddisk the boyfriend was looking for, and hastily made off.

It's tiring being a Sim Lim Trooper, I tell you.

::

Afternote: I realise the words are choppy and the paragraphs, disjointed. Take it was a pseudo-stream of consciousness entry then; I'm rather distracted watching the Cowherd and Fairy Weaver Hongkie drama on cable now. heh.

spoofed

2005-05-21T22:52:00.000+08:00

Talk this way henceforth, I shall. Watched Revenge of the Sith, indeed I have. Just like Master Yoda, I am.

Irritating, is it not?

The only Star Wars show that I watched was Episode 4. The original 1977 one. It was compulsory for a film class I took. heh.

So today, I gamely trooped off to watch Episode 3 - the story of Anikin Skywalker. Armed with (highly limited) knowledge from my previous Star-Wars experience, I was none too worried watching Obiwan Kenobi duel with whats-his-name. Cos I knew he wouldn't die.

Embarrassingly, for the first 3/4s of the show, I thought Anikin's wife (Padme? Panda? Something like that - he doesn't speak very clearly) was Princess Leia. You can imagine how terribly confused I got when "Princess Leia" got pregnant: I hadn't known that the Star Wars series involved 3 generations of Skywalkers.

When Anikin began wavering towards the Dark Side, I dismissed it as a plot ploy of twists. Until he swore allegiance to that ugly Chancellor bloke, I really got confused. Leaning over and tugging my boyfriend's sleeve, I had to ask...

"Anikin is Luke's son or father?"

But my most embarrassing cinematic experience thus far was watching AVP. I remember watching it with my boyfriend and several of our mutual uni mates. All guys. All yapping away about AVP-this and AVP-that. Losing by majority vote, I was coerced into watching AVP.

So I sat there concentrating with all my might, eyebrows furrowed as I desperately tried to follow the (largely absent) storyline. Then there was that scene where the Alien and the Predator came face-to-face for a bloodthirsty fight.

At that crucial point, I just had to ask...

"Which is the Alien and which, the Predator?"

Stick with gooey romance movies, I should.

washed out

2005-05-20T15:59:00.000+08:00

I'm still wondering. Pondering. Thinking. Replaying.

What went wrong?

Why! *throws accusing look upwards* Why didn't they want me!

I must admit it is taking some measure of courage to type this out in black and pink. It's less real if I just keep it in my mind. But no, I must have the confidence and the unfailing self esteem to announce this to the cyberworld. My job application was rejected.

And I really wanted to work there. Crap!

:::

As providence would have it, just as I finished typing the above, I found out that someone's leaving.

Bitter-sweet indeed.

Everyone's happy for her - at least I know I am. But at the same time, it means yet another Giant is leaving the Place. Two down, so many more of us to go... I wonder when it will be my turn.

Coming back to me (since yes, my universe does centre around me, myself and I), I don't know whether to feel encouraged that there is indeed hope or disheartened that my time hasn't come.

:::

Dear Mochi, don't be sad to leave us, and don't shed any more tears. We're not colleagues; we are friends. And friends don't need to work together. Life over there will definitely be tougher but take heart that your struggle will be worth your while. Grab the prospects before you. You will go far. And when you do, buy me dinner!

We'll miss you, gal.

strike mode

2005-05-20T11:31:00.000+08:00

I'm on strike mode.

I could walk around the office with a bandana round my forehead (reading DIE! or KILL! in Mandarin). I could carry a sign that screaming "Down with the Empire!" or "Die Jellyfish, DIE!". I could scribble demands on the pristine office walls in blood. I could inspire a sit-down protest at the lobby.

Or I could do what I'm doing now: stone at my desk.

Why am I on strike mode, you ask.

Why not? I think it's a periodical thing, you know. I get into these phases every once in awhile. Must be the shifting of the moons. My ruling moon could have shifted from the worker-ant sector to the lazy-grasshopper sector. God is wise.

As I sit here typing about nothing, random thoughts come to mind...

:::

Last night I had the oddest dream. Let me try to vaguely relate this from my thread-bare memory.

I was in a room. There were other people around. I remember the feeling of being oppressed. Bullied.

One guy was carrying a big long snake as if it were baby. The cretin had curled itself around his arms; its menacing head straining towards me. I remember backing off... one step at a time, my eyes fixated on the creature. I backed into a wall.

I stood there cringing. The man took a step forward. The snake was so close to me, I'm certain it could feel my ragged breathing on its scaly body. My entire being was focused on its forked tongue. Then oh so slowly, the snake reached forward, and I felt its tongue caress my neck.

I'm serious! I felt it! I was so damn startled that I was literally jolted awake. Even then, I could still feel that spine-chilling sensation. I reached out and checked the time. Barely 6am. Crap. Shite. Back to sleep.

The most interesting thing of all is that I remember that last bit so vividly. I'm usually the sort who at best can remember having a dream, but never the contents of it.

Creepy.

:::

Recently I keep thinking to myself that I should stop fighting the System. It seems like such a lose-lose situation. Plus it's really tiring.

And I think I have, to some extent.

The Place has numbed me: numbed all my ideals and visions; aspirations and goals. So much so that I just dismiss everything with a whatever.

Shite used to bother me on a personal level. And I mean really disturb. At a very fundamental level, I felt some stuff was downright wrong and I couldn't fathom why nobody was doing anything about it. Everyone just worked within the constraints of the System.

And even though I find myself doing the same, more and more often. I can't help but blame myself for perpetuating the wrong.

I was told that such Systems exist everywhere. They are inevitable so sometimes you just convince yourself that "things are just that way". I was surprised at the brutual honesty that came from this man. A man whom I felt was passionate and inspirational - a radical element of change and improvement.

Maybe things are really just meant to be that way.

I just need to persuade myself now.

Or leave.

sod off!

2005-05-17T16:28:00.000+08:00

It was a usual day at work. You know, hectic with emails pouring in, telephone ringing off the hook with irritants asking for stuff to be done, re-done and re-re-done just because they can't make up their minds or think things through before giving instructions.

But I digress.

So, like I was saying, a usual day at work. My office phone rings, and I answer with my professional, polite voice. A male voice comes through, stuttering and stammering and asking if I am who I am, despite the fact that I had mentioned my name in greeting.

I roll my eyes in irritation; my voice remains patient and polite. Official call, right?

So person starts asking if I am interested in some dunno-what financial workshop. I am puzzled. I ask in reply if his query is whether my organisation would be interested.

Official call, right? Maybe potential tie-up, I think. Or better yet, potential advertiser! I like.

Oh noooooooooo.. he clarifies. He's asking about me. Personal call. Now that's really weird.

I have to probe.

How did you get my number? I don't give out my office number.
Erm. Erm. This sort of information can be bought, he laughs awkwardly.

Man, did that piss me off!

In all indignance (and empowered by the knowledge that this is not an offical call), I lash out at said person.

Then I want to know where you bought my information from, I spat.

Person remains innocuous to my prying question, and replies in all earnest, I can't tell you that. It's confidential.

I almost did a perfect-score triple backflip.

That's confidential?! Wouldn't my personal particulars be more confidential?! This is beyond ridiculous! I almost yelled at the poor bugger.

He stuttered and stammered again and returned something incoherent. Then he tried that awkward laugh of his.

I wanted to tell him that a geeky ha-ha ain't gonna get him off the hook, but thinking to myself that he could be a poor student part-timing for food allowance, I decided not to. (Or perhaps the boss happened to walk by, thus impeding my ability to curse and swear.)

I decided to finish him off with a warning. My voice turned sugary sweet but thick with sarcasm and malice.

I would appreciate it so much if you could delete my personal information from your illicit database. And convey a message to whomever you bought this data from that he had better not let me find out who he is...

And with that said, I promptly slammed down the receiver.

He never called back.

Smirk.

you know your boss is deluded when...

2005-05-17T12:15:00.000+08:00

1. You're slogging 12-hour days/nights, and he says, "You know, you're lucky. You don't have much work to do. Unlike me."

Right. That's why he leaves earlier than I do. That's why I don't see him in the office on weekends and public holidays. Because he has so much to do.

2. You barely have time for friends, family and boyfriend, and he says, "People with family are the ones who need more time. I have kids!"

Uh-huh. It doesn't matter that I'll might never have a family of my own.

3. You work in a politicking, backstabbing organisation, and he says, "Life is so good here. I hope we don't pamper you too much."

What a cushy life! I'm sure I'm losing my survival instincts each time I dodge a arrow or pull out a dagger from my ass.

Note how I am not naming names here. I am not as smart as high-flying scholarship holder, so I cannot anyhow say.

a series of unfortunate events

2005-05-12T19:57:00.000+08:00

I've been meaning to write this post the whole day but everytime I got down to typing it out, an ominous feeling would overcome me and I would know - the day was only going to get worse.

Today was made up of a series of unfortunate events. Or more accurately, one disheartening piece of news and a couple of irritating happenings.

So at the strike of 6 o'clock, I made a mad dash home. And on the journey home, I composed a 45-minute blog entry in my head. And although the junk food that was dinner seems to have erased a substantial portion of it from my memory, I still remember disappointment, indignance, weariness and other generally unhappy emotions.

It's just as well I waited until the end of the work day and after I devoured my dinner to write this. Otherwise this entry would be a string of vulgarities and a whole load of unpleasant thoughts about certain people.. involving voodoo dolls, curses and their posterity.

But now, I'm undeniably calmer and less disturbed by Thursday the 12th. I just need a quiet evening at home - languishing on my bed, notebook on-hand and television turned on.

Lets just pray I don't fall down an elevator shaft tomorow.

you know someone's a nerd when..

2005-05-10T21:46:00.000+08:00

.. he compares statistics with bikinis:

"statistics are like bikinis: what they reveal is crucial; but what they conceal is vital".

***

*snigger snigger*

I'm such a biatch. Ya, I know.

of the big apple

2005-05-08T15:29:00.000+08:00

You Belong in New York City

You're an energetic, ambitious woman.

And only NYC is fast enough for you.

Maybe you'll set yourself up with a killer career

Or simply take in all the city has to offer

What City Do You Belong in?

i remember...

2005-04-27T15:04:00.000+08:00

I was nine and so was she. We were neighbours and best friends. Then she moved away. But not too far away.

It was her birthday. She invited me to her party. There were lots of other kids around; kids I didn't know. She left me sitting in a corner while she played with her newfound friends in her new big house.

She had her life and I had mine. Our friendship gradually slipped. Right through our fingers.

12 years later, she calls me. We talk. We promised to meet up but we never did.

I guess things can never be the same again.

the daily irrelevant

2005-04-25T21:14:00.000+08:00

I pointed to myself that this blog is named "the commentary of my life". An astute observation, indeed. And so, I have decided to begin a running commentary on my life, starting with today.

This will be an infinite-series of largely irrelevant entries. Such is the wonder of my life.

:::

Today, I woke up. I was tired. I stumbled to the bathroom, had a quick shower, washed my face and brushed my teeth.

I stumbled back to my room. I was still tired. I picked out my dreary office grab, patted on some powder, grabbed my bag and stumbled out of my room and into the car.

I dragged myself into the office. I sat at my desk and cleared millions of redundant emails. I had a smoke, a cup of coffee and a really satisfying yawn.

I went out for lunch.

I came back and did more work.

I had dinner downstairs. And now I should be going home.

:::

Tomorrow marks the second week. That's a long time.. isn't it?

I wish I knew.

my iffy life

2005-04-21T16:33:00.000+08:00

I wondered to myself, if...

Myself probed, if what?

I admit; I don't know.

***

If I had to be a bird, I'd be a dodo. I'm mildly acrophobic.

If I were a dog, I'd finally be able to understand the need to pee on every other lamp post.

If I could meet God and ask him one question, I'd be too dumbfounded to utter a word.

If I could meet the Devil and ask him one question, I'd ask what eternal damnation feels like, and whether my decadent lifestyle automatically qualifies me for it. And whether there are more people in Hell than in Heaven. And...
(Ok, make that a barrage of questions.)

If I could will something to happen now, my mobile will ring and good news will arrive.

***

If only I could.

quando quando quando

2005-04-21T15:42:00.000+08:00

Dedicated to a certain someone.

The one who owes me a phone call.

***

Tell me when will you call me

Tell me quando quando quando

We can share a work divine

Please don't make me wait again

***

I can't wait a moment more

Tell me quando quando quando

Say it's me that you must have

Then tell me when

Yea tell me when!

***

Like pins and needles, the torture of anticipation is not necessarily painful. But it certainly is a pain in the ass.

Such torture lies not in the waiting; but in the knowledge that I have to wait.

in the loo with nothing to do

2005-04-19T17:14:00.000+08:00

Not too long ago, I went to GV Grand to watch Sahara. Before entering the cinema, I decided to visit the loo (it was going to be a long show). The ladies' were clean and best of all, empty. Rejoice filled my heart.

I stood there facing the long row of unoccupied cubicles, enjoying the moment.

Then I ventured a step forward and peered into the first cubicle: wet mushy toilet paper lined the floor.

Next!

I cocked my head to glance into the second cubicle. It seemed clean and dry. But not even knowing why myself, I took a decisive stride towards the third cubicle and entered it without even so much as an backward glance.

It was alright, I suppose. But the seat cover was rather loose.

In any case, I plonked myself down to pee. While doing so, I had quite a philosophical debate with myself, in my head.

I figured that Cubicle 2 was superior to Cubicle 3. And if I had made an informed decision, I would have chosen Cubicle 2. But I didn't!

Why?

I frantically searched the back of my mind for that one particular thought that swept past as I glanced into Cubicle 2.

"This is fine. But I think the next one might be better."

That was it. Because of that, a perfectly pristine toilet cubicle was forsaken and I took a chance with the next one. Best of all, I didn't hesitate to enter Cubicle 3; resolute in the above (rather baseless) thought.

What on earth was that???

I can't decide which is scarier: not knowing why I did what I did; or not knowing why I'm still talking about it.

***

P/S I decided that waiting is not torture (refer previous post). It's anticipation that kills.

hope gives you wings

2005-04-15T14:21:00.000+08:00

And wings that are better than those Redbull promises too.

Hope gives me courage to live, and to dream.

Hope lets me float above it all; flirting with clouds, touching the sky and basking in the warmth of the sun...

... Before the sun melts my wings and I plummet to my death in the vast open sea, of course.

***

Waiting is such torture.

home!

2005-04-11T18:30:00.000+08:00

I'm home! After 5 days and 4 nights in beautiful Bali, I am home.

It's an odd sort of feeling right now, actually. Good to be home; but bad to pick up exactly where I left off. The daily grind, sucky job. That sort of thing.

What I needed out of Bali was time away to recharge, rethink and rebuild my sense of self. To assess where I am, where I'm headed, and whether where I am is leading me to where I want to be headed.

And I've come to the conclusion I've always felt was right, but have been - admittedly so - afraid to commit to.

I reach home now with a slightly enlarged sense of hope. Things are looking up, and if they head where I think they're headed, I'm home free.

My fingers are crossed.

***

So anyway, Bali was brilliant.

We stayed in Bali Hilton, located in Nusa Dua - a pretty, resorty estate on the island. Clean and lined with greenery and huge, exquisite Balinese sculptures. Quieter and nicer, in my opinion, than the hip Kuta area. If Kuta is Bali's Orchard Road (although it looks more like the Mohd Sultan stretch), then Nusa Dua is equivalent to Sentosa.

The initial weather was a slight letdown - it was drizzling when we landed. Drizzling when we woke up the next day. Just kept drizzling, no doubt. Washed out all water-sporting plans. And a certain someone's tanning hopes. Ha.

Lounging around the room, watching cable and more BCC than I have ever watched in my entire life was probably what I needed. Time off to do absolutely nothing. And god, it felt good.

The skies cleared out by Sunday and we popped down to the pool/ beach for a quick tan. Read: He was baking in the sun with the help of tanning oil, SPF 0; and I was hiding under the beach umbrella, protected by waterproof sunblock, SPF 30, and going through two scoops of chocolate ice cream. Good day, it was.

There was shopping, of course. Spent hours trolling the streets of Kuta and eventually bought a handful of stuff. He was rather surprised, really, and kept asking if I wanted to buy more. But there's really limited stuff to begin with. I had no intention of buying labels and labels galore it was. I was particularly fascinated to see a Paul Smith boutique. Alongside Gianni Versace, Burberry and Prada. And Polo Ralph Lauren. Oh yeah, Polo is big in Bali. I swear we saw at least 20 different Polo boutiques; I will reserve my comments on their authenticity, however.

We had a nice final-night dinner in Hilton, albeit disappointed that they didn't have any restaurant that resembled a semi fine-dining outfit. Even so, it was still nice.

***

I am now recharged and ready to fight the battle again.

And maybe, just maybe, it'll be a slightly better battle.

the ugly side of me

2005-03-28T21:36:00.000+08:00

I couldn't help thinking today, as I went about the hectic work day, that I'm an awful, awful person. I must be.

I really, rather intensely, dislike my boss. And I've yet to truthfully figure out why.

First thing first, we have different working styles. I'm the busy ant, she's the lazy - I mean, relaxed - grasshopper.

Next up, she's rather unfriendly. I mean, really. People pulling me aside on her second day of work and asking me why my new boss is perpetually frowning/ sulking/ growling, is a sign, I say. A sign.

Plus, she snaps at me.

As childish as that might sound, it's not very joyous to experience.

And today, today was the final straw. The one that broke the camel's back.

She laughed at my writing.

I mean, really laughed in that condescending gruff of hers. Now that I take personal offence to. Especially since it only boiled down to stylistic differences. I write my way, she writes hers. So what happened to I-respect-your-writing, you-respect-mine?

As if.

I was hopeful when she first joined us; hopeful for someone finally worth learning from. And I'm certain she has much to offer. She just doesn't offer it. Everything I write that she doesn't fancy, she just says "it doesn't read".

I mean, what in everything holy is that supposed to mean. At least give me something to work on. A hint of what you're looking for.

But nooooooo. All I get is a laugh and a it-doesn't-read.

I am personally offended. I am. And I don't care if that makes me sound childish or immature. Still beats her being so unprofessional.

***

Ok, see? It happened again. My ugly side. I'm such a petty person.

But at least I care to admit it.

So there.

oh my!

2005-03-24T17:47:00.000+08:00

I know it's been awhile since I've blogged. Even when I did, it was for The Tale (cos otherwise, a certain squeaky ice-cream-inspired colleague would not leave me alone).

But I only just realised exactly how long it's been. For a moment, I forgot the URL. The URL to my own blog!

That's tantamount to abandoning my firstborn!
Almost like forgetting how my mother looks!
Or where I live!

I deserve death.

I hadn't meant to write an entry. Just had a spare moment because I'm sitting around with a headache waiting for the mockup pages to come in from my publishing house. So I decided on a whim to read my previous posts. Only to realise I couldn't remember where to find them.

I'm rambling. Sorry. But this is traumatic, alright.

All's well now. I found my blog.

Thank goodness!

the bane of my existence

2005-03-14T21:51:00.000+08:00

Contrary to popular belief, the bane of my existence is not my ex-boss. Pardon my relish in saying that. EX. Boss.

*revels*

So anyway, the bane of my existence, as I have realised today, is bad customer service. But don't worry, I'm not pissed off. Rather, the ridiculousness of it is amusing me.

This morning I called a studio to make an appointment to take a resume shot. The conversation, on my mobile no less, went as follows:

***

Polite Me: Hi, I'll like to make an appointment for tomorrow evening. For a resume shot, please.

Courteous Dude 1: Sure, I'll have you down for 6.30pm. Thank you.

*Dude 1 threatens to hang up on me*

Anxious Me: Oh oh, hang on a sec. Could I get the price for the resume shot?

Dumbfounded Dude 1: Erm. Uh. Erm. Hang on please.

*muffle muffle - palm-on-receiver*

Dude 2: Hello? Yes? How can I help you?

*Thinks to self: Probably boss. Be nice, maybe got discount*

Sugary Me: Hi, yes. I was enquiring about the pricing for a resume shot. I've already made an appointment for tomorrow evening.

Hesitant Dude 2: Eh, it depends. We got two packages - the normal passport shot and the corporate package.

*awkward silence while I await more information. None is offered.*

Me: Erm. Okkkk. So what's the difference between the two?

Dude 2: Price.

Me: ... *faints*

Probing Me: Well, in terms of the photos? What's the difference?

Dude 2: Oh. The standard passport one is simpler. The corporate one more complex.

Me: ... *vomits blood*

Still-probing Me: Complex in what way?

Patient Dude 2: Oh. Corporate package involves XX number of passport size photos, YY number of 4R photos. The lighting of course more particular.

*Thinks to self: What, for the standard passport photo you don't usually use light, huh?!*

Questioning Me: I see. A 4R photo is rather large, right? So the corporate package also involves half-body shots? Not just face shots?

*Thinks to self: Why would I want a 4R-sized photo of just my face?!*

Confused Dude 2: Erm. Ah. Well, maybe slightly bigger than 4R.

Even-more-confused Me: HUH?!

*Thinks to self: What on earth is he talking about?!*

Dude 2: What?

Resigned Me: You know what, can I decide on the package tomorrow when I get to your studio?

Polite Dude 2: Sure, sure. Thank you.

*Hangs up with a huge sigh of relief*

***

Ok. Seriously, who thought that entire conversation was retarded? To think that transpired over my mobile. The radiation probably almost burnt a hole through my head.

Me being jolly ol' me laughed the silly incident off. And after work, I visited the doctor. En route home I decided to be smart and called the clinic (I mean, twice last week I attempted to go - twice the clinic was open but doctor was away).

Once again over my mobile, this silly conversation transpired:

***

Polite Me: Hi, just checking if Dr ZZZ is in tonight.

Curt Dudette: Yes. You got appointment?

Still-polite Me: Nope. Can I make one for 7.30pm tonight?

Still-curt Dudette: No.

Incredulous Me: Huh?

Condescending Dudette: He's fully booked with appointments tonight. From 7.30pm to 8.45pm. Full.

Disappointed Me: Oh, I see.

Weird Dudette: So you come at 7.30pm. Yah, ok.

Confused Me: Huh?

*Thinks to self: Woman standing beside me in train is now thinking I'm either 1) not very bright, or 2) not very eloquent.*

Attempting-clarification Me: I thought you said his schedule is full tonight?

Really-curt Dudette: Yah. But you come at 7.30pm.

*Me getting rather exasperated*

Trying-to-sound-calm Me: So you're gonna put me down as a 7.30 appointment, then?

*Dudette sounding rather exasperated as well*

Impatient Dudette: No. No point I give you appointment. Dr ZZZ full tonight!

*Me almost fainting from confusion*

Hyperventilating Me: Ok. So if I come down at 7.30pm, will I be able to see him?

Dudette: Can.

Me: ???!!!

Rude Dudette: But you must wait.

Near-fainting Me: Ok, whatever. 7.30pm. Thanks (I think).

*Hangs up with another huge sigh of relief*

***

Really. Is it just me???

glass half empty

2005-03-03T21:56:00.000+08:00

Reading back on my entries for the last month, I'm hit by the pervasive tone and overarching theme linking them all together.

It's all negative. Glass-half-empty sort of sentiment.

I'm tired of it. And I'm beginning to despise myself. I'm such a whiner, no?

I have to do something about it. I started with one small step today - imagine what I could achieve tomorrow!

***
Dear Jellyfish

I refer to my voluminous workload and your obsession with piling more stuff on it.

It's really too much for me to handle. So I won't do it anymore.

I request you relook my over-flexible job scope and do something humane to adjust the present injustice.

I will not accept procrastination or excuses to this request. I hesitate to take further action on my part, but will do so if the situation calls for it.

Yours sincerely
White-collar Slave

***

There.

Now I just need the guts to do just that.

And make my glass half full.

between the devil and the deep blue sea...

2005-03-03T21:27:00.000+08:00

... I made a choice. I took the plunge.

The issue has been bothering me for about a month now, and this morning it escalated to cause for concern.

I've always felt strongly about the lack of professionalism in the organisation. Perhaps it's because I'm still fresh to the corporate world, perhaps I'm too idealistic. I carry with me romantic notions of how professionals should carry themselves and how professional organisations should operate.

It's been a culture shock, to say the least.

It eludes me how managers can throw tantrums infront of subordinates - kicking, screaming and yelling, only stopping short at hurling expletives. Sure, everyone is entitled to their moods and everyone has different tolerance levels. But as someone of managerial level, certainly you'll be able to handle impromptu situations in a more matured manner?

Or so I thought.

It further eludes me how managers can scheme against their own subordinates. I'll concede that intelligence (and a large dose of perfume) is necessary to achieve such selfish ends, but it doesn't preclude said manager from being a conniving, undercutting, backstabbing lowlife.

And to do it with such flourish! Such blatance! Such arrogance.

So anyway, this morning I made a difficult decision (by my standards). The move seemed natural and apparent to all privy to the situation, but I must say it was still not easy for me. But I still did it.

Well I did train under the best - the lady whose credo is, if it's between your ass and mine on the line, I'll hang you in a flash.

Now I'll just have to wait and see if the deep blue sea was worth the plunge.

more by me

2005-02-25T23:49:00.000+08:00

I started something on a whim - a fantasy tale of real life.

And I like it.

It's helping me cope tonight. A night where half my mind is resenting the fact that I have been tasked to take on duties beyond my job scope, and where the other half is zonked out from weeks of hectic days and late nights.

A night where.. nevermind. It suffices to say it was far from a good one.

So I've moved The Tale to another blog.

Yet another blog. By me.

bound by red tape

2005-02-23T16:34:00.000+08:00

The Jellyfish has just successfully added another layer of redtape. Now not only are my hands bound, my feet are bound too.

After the incident with the last issue of the magazine, the Jellyfish has turned paranoid. It's written all over his face. Although admittedly, much crap has happened to the Place under his care. But I disgress.

So anyway, in an attempt to micro-manage and cover his ass, the royal mandate is that a mock-up of my magazine is to be passed through him for vetting. I am to rework the production schedule to reflect this in.

Ok lets think about that.

*stroke of inspiration*

Oh, I know! I can stick Jellyfish in right about 1am on the morning of Printing Day. That's conveniently after I've off-ed all the pages and right before our very-inflexible printing slot.

But you see, things were done that way at the Golden Standard. Of course he doesn't realise that with the Golden Standard's publication:

1) It was not 64 pages thick
2) There were no time issues stemming from 3000 levels of redtape to clear
3) It was not editorial-intensive; less time is required to vet through
4) Dedicated staff were on-hand. I'm a freaking one-man circus.

Fine. Whatever. Do as you please. I'll do my part to the best of my abilities.

We'll see how things turn out.

I promise to bite back the "I-told-you-so".

i'm done

2005-02-22T10:11:00.000+08:00

I'm done cursing and swearing at this place.

I'm done getting all fired up over the ridiculousness of this place.

After a spurt of frustration earlier this morning, I'm at a different place in my life now (however Zen that may sound). I refuse to get angry - it's not worth it.

I'm done with this place.

hanging on to hope

2005-02-21T19:50:00.000+08:00

It began a crappy morning. And ended an even crappier evening.

I took off at 6.09pm, the earliest since I took on this designation. It's not that I didn't have a mountain of work to clear, I just felt so disgusted with the place that I just wanted to get the hell outta there.

It started around 12 noon. After a hectic morning of rushing stuff, I took a breather. Then I started assessing what it was I was doing. One thing led to another and I started wondering why I am slogging so hard. I lost my appetite over lunch, much to the amusement of colleagues who found it funny that I seemed to be losing it a mere 3 weeks into this position.

My first reaction to that was indignance. What did they know! I have loads more than what my predecessor had to deal with. And she had 8 years of experience under her belt. Then I started to feel so small for thinking that way. So I kept mum.

I emailed out a strand of hope the moment I got home. Hope in the form of greener pastures. Honestly, I dun expect them to call me. From my research of the firm and their top-dog, they're not partial to freshies. They expect 2 years of experience from their people.

Like my mother always says, hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

I am.

Hanging on to hope.

dun ask. please.

2005-02-21T14:05:00.000+08:00

Maybe it's the Monday blues. More likely, reality bites.

Am in a godawful mood today thinking about work. I guess it shows in my stoic expressions and monosyllabic replies. And out of concern, I guess, colleagues are asking me what's wrong. Again and again. One by one.

Really. Dun ask.

Please.

I'm feeling unappreciated, like I'm being taken advantage of just because I'm inexperienced. I know for a fact that she left because they didn't want to upgrade her, title- and pay-wise, and at the same time wanted to add on more duties to her portfolio. Which is now mine. And which they are successfully increasing.

It hasn't sat well with me for quite awhile now that I have taken over a senior position, and a heavier load than she had, for my current title and pay. If she felt ripped off, imagine how I feel.

Not too long ago, Jellyfish broke the news to me about the additional work I should have to take on. I returned the favour with a blank look. He tried to mitigate the situation by offering me handphone allowance. What one has got to do with the other, I dunno. But I guess it was a futile attempt at a give-and-take relationship. Like, here do this shite and that shite. Oh, and to make you feel better, here's $30.

No, I mean, seriously. How ridiculous is that?

Actually, I dunno what I want. I would love a bump upwards but deep down inside I know I'm too inexperienced to accept that.

Ok I take that back - I do know what I want.

I want to do what I like without the ridiculous burden of taking on other people's work. Like it's my problem your secretary is near illiterate. I guess that didn't occur to you when you hired her because you were too busy peering down her blouse. And now I have to take on her work because her incompetence is, 1) making you look bad and 2) resulting in you having to do actual work.

I really like what I do. I'll gladly take the bureaucratic shite if only you'd take away the crap you've piled on.

It's like I've finally gotten my hands on a beautiful yummy cake with all the icing I want... and you throw shit on top of it.

What's a girl to do? Slowly clear the shit, all the while having my eye fixated on the beauty that lies beneath? Or toss the whole damn thing away because it ain't worth it and it ain't even edible anymore?

I really dunno.

So please, dun ask.

the talking headless chicken

2005-02-16T00:13:00.000+08:00

I am a headless chicken.

That occurred to me when I checked my web-based email to find a job alert from a PR-intensive executive search firm. Browsing through the opportunities before me, it finally hit me.

I am a headless chicken.

I quote one of the job descriptions, "The PR consulting market is rapidly growing and opportunities are present in the following areas: Information Technology and Financial Services/ Investor Relations". The alarm bell in my head went nuts. I have no "area".

No expertise. No niche market. No industry knowledge. No direction!

And Current Job ain't helping.

In all honesty, I've been aware of this issue for awhile now. Problem is, I can't just wake up one day and decide that I wanna do IT/PR or Financial PR. Wouldn't I have to try it to know? So this is where my (one of many) problem comes in.

Current Job at best gives me consumer PR experience. And that's stretching it. Publications production is interesting and it's valuable, and that's the reason why I'm sitting here.

But if I really wanna go into PR consulting, damn I gotta find my industry. I can leverage (if that's the word) on my B.Comp to get into Technology PR. Or, as intelligently suggested by Him, I could decide to do Financial PR and start reading his CFA books for leisure.

My personal issue is that I'm being idealistic. I wanna be able to make a clear, structured and informed decision as to the industry I'm interested in. But maybe Life doesn't work that way. Maybe I should take a chance, delve into something (if they'll hire me first, of course) and take it from there. Maybe I should have faith in myself that I can handle any industry.

Maybe I should try.

Because if I don't, I'll always be a talking headless chicken.

i'm taking a moment

2005-02-15T16:24:00.000+08:00

I've attempted to blog twice since my last post. But I either had to get back to work (heh) or fell asleep while logging in (sigh).

Those Above have all scampered off for some meeting with The Godfather, king of The Co-Producers, leaving me with a (much-deserved) breather.

I'm going to take a moment.

*sits in a corner and chills*

*looks over shoulder at lonely bouquet sitting quietly on my table*

*smiles to self*

*glances above monitor at sweetheart puppy looking on tenderly as my fingers waltz with the keyboard*

*smiles to self again*

That was a nice moment.

peter pan in neverland

2005-02-12T01:35:00.000+08:00

The classic story of Peter Pan spun an engaging tale of a fantasy island where children ran free and barefooted, where adults and their world of restraints were kept out, and where imagination reigned.

Peter Pan found Neverland. He led Wendy and her brothers into his world, which they initially embraced as their own. And while they revelled in the novelty of his universe, they silently craved the life they left behind.

Everyone needs to find their own way.

The warmest of souls cannot hold your hand and lead you down the path that is your life. The kindest intentions and sweetest words of others will not point you in the right direction.

You have to find your own world; whether you're lucky enough to chance upon a path paved and ready, or if you need to hack your way through bushes and shrubs to find the road less travelled.

I haven't found mine. Just like mayhem, I'm searching for my own Neverland.

A world of my own.

***

To understand oneself is probably the most difficult thing to achieve. Taking mayhem's who-am-I quiz, this is what I get:

1. Age?
Old enough to hold my own, but too young to know if it's worthwhile doing so.

2. Accomplishment in life?
Life is a process. I did not start it and I will not end it. I can change it, rethink it, pause it, but I cannot stop it. So my accomplishment in life is living each day as it is, and ocassionally taking the time to treasure life itself.

3. Job?
A job feeds my body. A career feeds my soul. My soul now cries out in agony of starvation.

4. Friends?
Less is more. The inner circle of trust is a small one, as it rightfully should. I am blessed with friends who have come a long way with me and who are prepared to continue walking with me.

5. Love..?
.. Is a many splendoured thing. Well, not really a thing. You can't grasp it, can't see it, can't hear it. But you know it is all around you when you breathe it, feel it, and know you're living when you smile and cry because of it.

***

Peter Pan found his Neverland.

Slowly but surely, I will uncover mine.

This post was originally written for Finding My Own Neverland, and reproduced here with the blessing of the author (read: me).

the package deal known as Life

2005-02-11T17:16:00.000+08:00

Am gradually feeling the apprehension that comes with taking over someone else's nice new winXP computer.

Am gradually understanding the load that comes with taking over someone else's cosy 4 by 4.

Am gradually learning that nothing comes free - good things are bundled with bad things to give you the package deal known as Life.

I'm filling in shoes that seem too big for my feet.

Of the little I know, I know she did a brilliant job for like 4 years. She did it tirelessly and without complaints. She accepted the ridiculous workload and executed it perfectly.

I have alot to live up to.

For starters maybe I should stop blogging and get down to work.

Good idea.

reunited over a pot. twice.

2005-02-11T00:26:00.000+08:00

Reunion Dinner is really a routine affair.

Year in and year out, I go through the motions of travelling to my cousin's place, sitting around small-talking with relatives I see once a year, hundling over a huge steamboat, nibbling on tiny morsels of food (steamboat food isn't my thing), making a dramatic effort to participate in the cleaning-up efforts and indulge in one round of mahjong with cousins and/or aunts before finally calling it quits and heading home.

In between, of course, there's much effort in fielding awkward questions like, how much do you earn? Do you have a boyfriend? How much does he earn? *Deadpan*

***

This year there was a slight variant in the routine. A glitch in the system.

My mother decided that my relatives had to visit us on Day One for Dinner. The same people over the same steamboat (literally, she borrowed the pot from my aunt) eating the same type of food.

Agony x 2.

Of course Day One Dinner couldn't fall short of the Reunion standard, so my mother busied herself in the kitchen from morning. In fact, she was so busy preparing Day One Dinner that Day One Lunch involved a pack of instant noodles and my trusty microwave.

So as to differentiate her Day One Dinner from aunt's Reunion one, my mother was opening cans of abalone with a vengeance. There was abalone stock in the steamboat, cooked abalone to munch on while waiting for food to cook and even abalone in our yu sheng!

What the...

Another variant in the CNY routine was the unannounced appearance of my cousin's girlfriend. Said girlfriend has been a mystery to my extended family for about 3 or 4 years now. We've heard rumours of said girlfriend, but never had the honour of meeting her. And she showed up at Day One Dinner.

My mother was elated.

My dad was over the moon with this new found listener. He bombarded her with stories of the days long gone, of little known facts of the recent tsunami tradegy, of anecdotes of family history.

The poor girl just sat there.

I was rather indifferent to her presence. To which I received much grief.

My bad.

Other than the above, Day One Dinner was an exact replica of Reunion Dinner with the exception of location. How fun.

***

Til next year.

whiling my life away

2005-02-07T17:41:00.000+08:00

I'm bored. I'm sitting in my new 4 by 4, pretending to be hard at work.

It's not that the festive bug has taken a huge bite outta me. I'm barely psyched about the upcoming CNY. The good thing is 2 days off work. And new clothes. Heh.

I'm just.. mentally tired? lacking in motivation? Both, I believe.

I was pondering over the new supplement I'm supposed to be spearheading. It's my "baby" they say. Yeah, right. I can't even think of a name for my baby. Much less its first editorial. Slacking off this is gonna come back to haunt me next week, I know. But hey, I'm a writer, not a word processor.

Art takes time. Inspiration is elusive.

That's right. I'm not whiling my life away. I'm searching for inspiration.

So bite me.

writing for the sake of writing

2005-02-06T19:59:00.000+08:00

I wanted to write, but didn't know what to write about. So I've decided to write for the sake of writing.

I could have spun something from nothing and make this entry so much more intellectual. But I shan't.

I shall write about writing for the sake of writing.

I have strong work pride. I expect only the best from myself, especially in the form of the written word. I can't say that my work in the office satisfies that need in me. I guess when it comes down to it, it's more important to complete 100 tasks than ace one and neglect the rest. That's productivity, efficiency and effectiveness for you.

But it bugs me and I have been as vocal as I can about work load versus work quality. Not that I'm being heard. Nevermind.

So you would think that I have stringent demands on my leisure writing (or blogging, in this case). And I do. So why am I rambling on about nothing?

Because it makes me feel good.

Not the rambling. The writing.

It is this form of writing that is meant to relax me. That I'm supposed to do for fun. For myself. And not anyone else reading it. I should be comfortable penning (keyboarding?) my thoughts down without having to think reader-style. Which is all I do at work.

After all, writers write what people read. It is my readers' perception that I strive to influence through my work, be it a corporate collateral or marketing material. But here, in blogosphere, I am free from that.

Maybe that's why I'm not publicising my blog. Because I don't want to be conscious of my readers. I don't want to write for them. In this dimension, I write for me.

And that's what I call writing for the sake of writing.

Simply because it makes me happy.

the dark

2005-02-05T09:11:00.000+08:00

I open my eyes and see the Dark
I see it, feel it, taste it
In my empty mind

The Dark is always around
All around
In the quiet of night
And the light of day

Just like the rising of the sun
The dawn of the Dark is sure
Feeding on the certainty of its existence

And when the time is come
To nullify its being
I will be free
I will see Light

if my working life were a movie...

2005-02-05T05:43:00.000+08:00

It would be a B-grade Taiwanese melodrama, complete with a second-grade cast.

The director is full of himself and only casts starlets who will sleep with him, or at least flash their breasts for his viewing pleasure.

Instead of an executive producer, we have in place a 16-man team of co-producers. Evidently we do not understand that too many cooks doth spoil the broth.

Rather than relating with our 12,000-strong audience, we go to extremes to alienate, annoy and anger them.

Not exactly blockbuster-material.

But surely a tear-jerker from where I stand.

high up and down there

2005-02-03T16:39:00.000+08:00

There are highs in life. And there are lows.

It's the package deal of life, I guess. I'm sure everyone experiences them - life is a rollercoaster ride?

I can't help but feel, though, that this job in this organisation at this point in time... is, to say the least, rocky.

One moment I'm on a high - thinking of the opportunities my new position will bring me, the amazing load of stuff I'm gonna learn, the subtle hint of possibly upgrading my position. And immediately, I'm thrown off the cliff. I land in the valley of valleys, the lowest of low.

Given that I've been having an uncomfortable amount of apprehension over staying or leaving, I have decided (at an unfortunately unopportune moment, I admit) to weigh the pros and cons of this job. (Unopportune because I just wrapped up a 14-hour day at work. But see what's fuelling this debate?)

Lets see now..

Pros ala What I'll miss if I leave

1. Learning - mainly from managing a magazine, but also in terms of handling Annual Reports and other publications like commemorative books and journals

2. Career progression - now any of my colleagues reading this will gag at this term being grossly inappropriate for the hellhole we now work in. Yet I've had two hints from two members of Management that pointed in the direction of my position being upgraded after my probation period. Not that it'll count for much, especially in comparison with the real world out there, but I think it'll speak well of me getting booted upwards so quickly and inspite of my evident lack of experience.

3. People! God, I'll really miss the people. I don't suppose I'll be able to find, in any other organisation, 10 lunch kakis whom I am absolutely comfortable with and whom share the same frequency. Plus they're all brilliant workers who do their job, individually and as a team. Fabulous.

But before I get too carried away... let's think about the uglier side of this

Cons ala What I sure won't miss if I leave

1. The workload of three superhumans - It's crazy, really, to effectively have one person running the entire department (if it still qualifies as one). Especially when it's a department that is expected to serve the needs of all other departments. I mean, I look like what to you? A creative team huh? Like I can copywrite 4 different collaterals, business-write (and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite) 2 corporate letters, manage the paperwork for 2 committees and plan for the next issue of my magazine... all in one day! Of course I end up putting in 14, 16 hour days, working from home, working over the weekends and working on public holidays. Does not that sound alarm bells to anyone but me?

2. Fundamentally flawed organisation - My sentiment since Day One. Something I haven't been afraid to articulate but something I am well aware is beyond my control. The entire organisational mindset is flawed (and retarded, but I digress). The management style, the levels of clearance, the hierarchy, the wrongfully vested authority... all that affects employee morale and motivation. But I accede that it'll take more than the gripings of a newbie to turn things around. Especially when Those Above are obviously enjoying themselves. There is no appreciation to staff. No bonus, no increment, no freaking word of thanks. And yet they can sit around a boardroom wondering why turnover is so high. Gee, not exactly rocket science, you think?

3. Management - Or rather, mismanagement. Today I learnt some wise words from a not-so-wise dude, but that's beside the point. He told me that the higher one's position, the more value-add one is expected to contribute. But 6 months in this hellhole and I have learnt that one's position is directly proportional to one's ability to tai-chi (or deflect) any work, responsibility or problem. Those who reside in cubicles and fishtanks do not manage us lowly peasants - they deflect work to us. They shift blame to us. This afternoon's incident particularly disturbed me. That when the shit hits the fan, my oh-so-PR boss is more than willing to put someone else's ass on the line even if Those Above are not looking for a target board. She preempts them. How forward-looking.

All that, and I'm still undecided.

Maybe life, and working life indeed, is all about striking a balance between the ups and downs.

Accepting the downs in anticipation of the ups.

silence

2005-02-02T12:55:00.000+08:00

Usually, I can't shut up.

Often, you couldn't make me even if you tried.

Today, I have nothing to say.

I'll let the silence speak for itself.

my way or the highway.. no more

2005-01-30T16:05:00.000+08:00

When I was younger (that's not to say I'm an old fart now), I clung tightly to the romantic notion of 'my way or the highway'. How is that romantic, you question. Well it was to me. The connotation of freedom. Of individualism. Of autonomy. And most importantly, that it didn't matter what other people thought/ felt/ said.

But it does.

Especially when it's your loved ones. I learnt that today.

To put myself in someone else's shoes. To think from their perspective. To understand. I always knew I was able to do that. What I didn't realise was how often I actually did.

This comes as quite a rude shock to me because I'm one to often say that I despise the womanly ways. By this I refer only to the pettiness, jealousy and selfishness of many women. Unreasonable, in a nutshell.

I've prided myself on being conscious of these innate flaws in the feminine psyche. I actively sought to behave in a manner over and beyond what I saw was pure childishness.

Imagine my horror at my own behaviour today.

Caught up in the moment, feeling indignant, I was all about me. That I felt disappointed. That I was slighted. And how I tried so hard only to be treated this way. Of course I justified the silent treatment and occasional sulks as acceptable because I was put through such trauma by the careless words of the masculine type.

Only a few hours and a large Latte later am I objective enough to rethink the incident clearly. I am ashamed to admit that I was rightfully reprimanded for not being as honest and straight as I should. That I didn't (wouldn't?) just tell him what was wrong.

For a split second there, I had the most horrid womanly thought - that he should know what's wrong without me having to spell things out!

Woman, O woman. How foolish you be. We all know for quite a fact that men are simple-minded creatures when it comes down to it. Their analytical minds and problem-solving skills are all brought into play when they are unfortunately caught in a she-is-upset situation.

Well what I'm simply trying to say (before I get all caught up in the Mars-Venus discussion), is that we are fundamentally different creatures. I best say we are separate species born with largely similar anatomical structures.

And when Specimen Woman and Specimen Man wish to get along, they will have to adjust.

So for me at least, it will no longer be my way or the highway.

It's our way on the highway.