The Wrath of My Other Mother

This year started with a BANG! That's mother nature pointing her gun at our sorry asses.

We're only 4 months into the new year and it has been nothing but tumultuous. I swear, it's like the end of the world is just hiding around the corner, waiting for the right moment to stick a leg out and fuck us over.

First, Haiti was hit by an earthquake. So bad that they had to remake Michael Jackson's "We Are The World". Then came China, Chile and recent news, California. What's with all the Cs? Catastrophic Calling, perhaps?

Then, the east was hit by a massive snow storm. It snowed for 2 nights in a row, gathering snow up to 8-14 inches high. We were running out of places to stow the snow. The weather was so cold the snow refused to melt. Even if it did, it caused slush, ruining my shoes and causing people to slip and fall. Not to mention if your car is not running on snow tires, it might be pretty dangerous.

Just when you think the storm is over and it's time for the calm, it's the storm before the calm before the storm. Even I'm lost. Once again, New Jersey and New York was hit by a rain storm. I could hear the apartment building creaking from gusts of wind. Trees were slapping windows like a dominatrix. Soon after, I find out from the news that many towns were flooded. What's worse, trees were all uprooted. I'm talking about old, gigantic trees, smashing onto houses, cars and electric cables. Electric poles snapped. Metal signboards bent. Wind was reported to be 40 mph. I guess The Boyf just lost his crown.

Apart from the floods, most towns lost power too. Some even suffered both. The power wasn't up until 4 days later. Imagine living 4 days with no electricity in this cold weather? Oh wait, that is not all. Some people suffered the flood, lost of power and lost of water. For those who had access to water, it was contaminated and we were advised to boil everything before consuming. All water fountains in my school were taped off with bright yellow biohazard warnings. Oh, such drama.

If that's not bad enough, watching the news yesterday, Mr.  TV Weatherman said that the flooding might worsen from the melting of remaining snow.

So, if this is not mother nature throwing a bitch fit, I don't know what is. Step it up. Go green!

Facebook Don'ts

We have social etiquette, table manners and of course, not forgetting bedside manners, in the literal sense. However, with the birth of Facebook and its exponential growth in the past years, a new kind of etiquette is born, introduced and applied.

For example, thou shalt not add friends of your friend unless you know them. Listen, your collection of imaginary friends might have been acceptable, or even cute to some at some point in your life when you were 5 but when you're 27, it's just mad creepy. Of course, you might argue that these are real people, not Princess Jayshona from Tikawikishalala  but if you have never met or spoken to these people, honey, trust me, it is the same thing. You're imagining it. Secondly, apart from you reeking of desperation, you're not doing much for my reputation. It's awkward when a friend comes up to me and asks who is so and so and when asked why, you get an answer like "he or she tried adding me the other day". I do not like to be associated with a sketchball or a hornball. Or, like mentioned above, a delusional psychopath. Count Bartholomew VI might not approve. He even warned me about people like you.

Next, thou shalt not add one's boyfriend or girlfriend without first acknowledging the partner. This could just be me but I think it's proper etiquette to announce your desire and intention to add one's partner. You're not asking for permission, just give a heads up. That's almost like the new cyber backstabbing boyfriend/girlfriend stealing move of today. Calling your friend's boyfriend or girlfriend behind his or her back and not bring it up some time during drinks used to be inappropriate. Unless you're planning a surprise birthday party or buying a gift. But you have to come clean after said surprise or gift is presented. Oh, no poking boyfriends/girlfriends too, please. That's sexual harassment.

And then, there's this thing called over sharing on your Facebook status. To be honest, no one gives rats ass about what you did or will be doing the whole day, what you bought for your mother, your emotional baggage from your ex boyfriend/girlfriend, and lastly, we don't care if you have a hangover from drinking 56 shots from last night. This is equivalent to today's version of talking about your 5.6 million dollar deal out loud on your mobile phone for the whole restaurant to know. We don't care.

Moving on. Two of your friends who decide to 'catch up' on your wall. Look, if I dedicated 8, 374, 981 hours of my life on this social network uploading pictures of me that I think are hot and would like people to see, this account better hell be about me. If it does not concern me, take it elsewhere - like a forum or a chatroom. Or if you are less of a geek, try the telephone. This is no different than you wearing white on my wedding day.

So, practice proper etiquette. Oh yeah, please. Thank you.

It Wasn't Me

I have an hour or two between classes daily and I like to sit alone in the waiting area with my home made sandwich in one hand, cellphone in the other while listening to rappers grinding their behinds up some hot shawwwty's fine ass on my iPod.

I have this thing about eating alone in public. I mean yes, I hate eating without company but what I mean is, I'm the only one eating away in a waiting room. I find the need to offer everyone else a bite of my sandwich. So, I try to be discreet when I'm munching away on my sandwich. But do you know what fucks it all up? Plastic bags and aluminum foils. The scrunching sound of the plastic bag just wakes up the whole neighborhood. Now everyone in that room knows I'm having a sandwich. Awkward! Once that's done, I have to unwrap my sandwich and the reflection of the aluminum foil just landed Air Force One. So now I just use a sandwich bag.

Next, I need to take a piss before my class. This is another pet peeve of mine. I do not like the idea of someone listening to me taking a leak. It bugs me that they know how much piss I have been holding in. What if they came in later and finishes off before me? So I usually flush to mask the sound of nature's waterfalls with man made whirlpools. This is why I love public restrooms with music playing in the background. Or, toilets in clubs, where no one is sober enough to hear you.

Okay, what about doing a number two? I avoid that all together because I love taking my own sweet time and I release better when not under stress. However, I know I speak for many of you out there when I say you wait for someone to turn the hand dryer on before releasing a load. Or, you flush while dropping a bomb. Next, you pretend and wait five minutes hoping the ventilation fan above sucks all that foul stench you created so the next person who walks in won't know what you did. Because she or he's seen what you look and you might have to kill her. 

Lastly, is it just me or do you get offended when someone walks into the cubicle you just walked out off and leaves right after two seconds to the next stall? AND you didn't even take a dump in that one! That bitch! 

Ra Ra Ga Ga Roma Roma MoMa MoMa

I hate horror but I love twisted plots. I too, have a strange strong and 'depp' connection with Johnny Depp so it goes without surprise that I like the works of Tim Burton.

The moment I heard the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) was having an exhibition on his works, I jumped at that opportunity like a 40 year old virgin on a drunken chick. 

I paid for my tickets online and headed to the MoMa, giddy with glee. Nothing excites me more than to see original artworks and sketches from Tim Burton himself. Not to mention props from his movies. So imagine my disappointment when I arrived at the entrance with a big slap on my face.

No Photography

Those words are just as bad as fuck you. 

So I walked around and immersed myself in his mind and works. Though it was only a small section, it was still mind blowing. But do you know what would have been more mind blowing? Photos.

Once that was done, I proceeded to other exhibitions. Most 'collections' prohibited photography while the regular items on display were fine. So here I am, walking into another series of the MoMA's collection of the month, enjoying what I do not fathom but feign intelligence when a security guard walks up to me and says 

No Photography

He might as well have just said fuck you.

For there I was, walking alone, minding my own business. Yes, I might have a camera in one hand but that's because my camera is too big to fit into my dainty purse that goes with my short arms. Of course I had to lug it around with me, what the fuck do you expect me to do when half your gallery allows photography and the other does not? Fact is, I was not taking a picture. I know better because I know how to read. Even if I didn't, there are pictures. Unless you catch me in the act, I do not expect you to reprimand me. Why, just because I own a device that automatically means I will use it? It's just like if I were to go up to him and say

Please don't rape me.

Getting Carded

Does not necessarily mean you look young and illegal.

What does a Roman man and the Chinese have in common? Feb 14th 2010. This year, Chinese New Year and Valentine's Day are sharing the spotlight. If you're a hopeless romantic, you will most likely be torn between all that love in the air and duties as a filial child. If you're an El Cheapo, you are more than happy to dodge this 'Valen-hai' day and receive money instead of spending.

However, this made me reminisce about the times when we were in primary school and every time a festival is near, we make our parents drive us to the closest stationery store and stack up on Chinese New Year cards. RM5 for a pack of 12. I, on the other hand, am smarter than that. I had my father bring home a stack of cards from his company for free. I had so many in hand that I distributed to every Chinese I knew in school. Yes, I was well liked by everyone in school. Both me and Asia Insurance Sdn Bhd.

Then technology took place. We traded our independency and sanity for a piece of plastic called: The Cellphone. I remember the times I will be on the mahjong table and my cell would beep incessantly with "Happy Chinese New Year to you and your family!" The following year, people just got lazier. Typing became a hassle and they sent forwarded ASCII art text messages with bears holding lanterns saying Gong Xi. Nokia was 'The Shitz' back then because, unless you owned a Nokia, these ASCII art wouldn't work and that bear would somehow look like a cipan on a Samsung or Motorola.

It ups the ante the following year. People just sent emails with a pair of oranges and some red packets positioned next to it on a table with some red tablecloth, taken with a fancy high res camera with a photoshopped "Gong Xi Fa Chai" on it. Look up into the sent list, at least 40 names are on it. In alphabetical order at it. Doesn't take a genius to know that it was from his or her contact list and you were just another Chinese name on that list.

Then came Facebook. Oh, Facebook. How you make the world a happier place to live in. And by happier, I mean stalking and bitching. But, apart from that, people now google images of a tiger/boar/rat/chicken/dog/rabbit/ox/snake/dragon/sheep/monkey/rooster, depending on the zodiac year, and TAG every Ong, Lai, Lee, Chan, Cheng, Chong, etc on their friends list. Yes, all fiv.. I mean 600 of them.

If that's too much work, just update your status to GONG XI FA CHAI EVERYONE that constitutes to having greeted all your friends.

I personally dislike how impersonal the world has become because I still appreciate a card or two (for every and any occasion). I'm sorry that somewhere out there, a little tree had to suffer because of it. I make it up by recycling and wrapping presents with pages from a magazine.

Love Is In The Air

You know that saying "Don't shit where you eat"? Who would have thought it applies to dogs as well. But I'm going in a different direction here. By direction, I mean wind direction. Also known as flatulence.

Because of my petite height, Chewie prefers sleeping on my side at the foot of the bed for my feet and body combined only takes up half the bed. However, no matter how much room I may provide for Chewie at the foot of the bed, there is no way he can hide from the tall friendly giant. The Boyf's feet will somehow turn into a champion shuffler causing Chewie to once fall off the bed. He has learned his lesson since. He being Chewie, The Boyf still goes into a mini foot seizure occasionally when unconscious.

Today, he only sleeps on the pillows we rest our heads on, but positions himself behind us, knowing we're not going to be dancing cheek to cheek with the wall anytime soon. Or if it suits his fancy, in that little nook between our pillows. Once again, I am a better candidate as my head is smaller too. Or, probably cause my hair smells good and my head looks pretty from a higher angle.

One night, Chewie decides to park his cute lil' booty on my pillow, behind me. Five minutes later, he gets up, stretches and traipses over to The Boyf's pillow. Two minutes later, he walks back to my pillow, cuddles up and sleeps.

Just like me on weed, there was a 2 minute lag. That's when I heard The Boyf yelling

"Chewie you motherfucker! You farted in my face!"

Yes, Chewie walked over to new lands to fart and came home to familiar grounds to rest. I swear, he's just like his mother.

Now Aren't You Doggone Brillz

I am a proud mother. Proud but sad, for this week marks the day my baby is all grown up. I wish I could say that Chewie has spread his wings but all I can say is he spread his legs. I'm glad I'm a mother of a puppy and not a daughter in such circumstances.

Chewie turned 6 months on the 4th of January 2010. I guess that's like your son growing his first facial hair/armpit hair/pubes because 6 months seem to be when puppies hit puberty. Vets usually advise owners to spay or neuter their puppies when they hit 6 months old.

I was washing the dishes when I saw Chewie casually walked into his pen from the corner of my eye. He's shy. He doesn't like people watching him piss or take a dump. I mean, would you? So I feigned ignorance while secretly keeping an eye on him to be sure he leaks on his weeweepad. To my surprise, I see him lifting his left leg and sprayed urine all over the pad like a hose on a warm summer's day.

Pride shifted to woe. It dawned on me that he is no longer a baby. However, because of his size and permanent adorability plastered on his face, that thought didn't linger on my mind very long.

Here's where things get exciting and creative. Two days later, I catch Chewie walking into his pen again. Because this peeing with one leg up is all still new to him, he has trouble balancing as a tripod. So his pisses alternates between squats and something in between a squat and a leg lift - like me when my mom tells me to get off my fat ass and bring the laundry downstairs.

He walks into his pen. Stops mid entrance. Half body in, half body out the door. Lifts his leg 45 degrees in the air and I was telling myself with glee "This is it!".

He rests his foot at the door of his pen and showered away. This is the same brilliant dog who did this.