A Soliloquy of Sorts

like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs in one go

2006-11-30T23:02:00.000+08:00

truman capote couldn't have said it more succinctly. indeed, venice is sweet as it is intoxicating. that kind which you can never get enough of.

in fact, the moment i set foot in this romantic city (nevermind that it is sinking), i knew there was no escaping its fatal charm. i was instantly enchanted -- so much so that i wouldn't really mind staying and going down in the murky waters with it.

proud symbols of venice: basilica di san marco and the winged lion

about 150 canals cut through the city, which is then connected by about 400 bridges,

the biggest being the rialto bridge along the grand canal (right).

(L-R) the silent gondoliers: they don't sing anymore (unless you pay them extra);

no boat racing please; feeding the birds at piazza san marco

feeling casanova? grab a mask and take me to the opera!

rome was not built (by michelangelo) in a day

2006-10-23T15:48:00.001+08:00

"lump the whole thing! say that the creator made italy from designs by
michelangelo!"

thus exclaimed the great american writer mark twain in exasperation following his visit to rome. he went on to launch a few more verbal assaults on the italian renaissance artist, bawling:

"i used to worship the mighty genius of michelangelo... but i do not want
michelangelo for breakfast, for luncheon, for dinner, for tea, for supper, for between meals... here, here, it is frightful! he designed saint peter's; he designed the pope... the eternal bore designed the eternal city, and unless all men and books do lie, he painted everything in it!

i never felt so fervently thankful, so soothed, so tranquil, so filled with the blessed peace, as i did yesterday when i learned that michelangelo was dead."

what had triggered this rabid emotional outburst by this fellow who had given us huckleberry finn and tom sayer?

for two days, i set out to find a satisfactory answer to this mind-boggling question.

i couldn't.

honestly, the only reason i could think of was he got blown away by rome's awesomeness that he went bonkers. i mean, pardon me mr twain -- i have great respect for you for sympathising with the filipino people and vehemently opposing american imperialism -- but it was beyond me why anyone would complain about a surfeit of these:

from left to right, top to bottom: the facade of saint peter's basilica; inside the basilica;

the dome overhead; the pieta; a replica of david's head outside the vatican museums;

and the legendary sistine chapel frescoes: the last judgment (over the altar)

and the creation of man (ceiling)

sure, all these had michelangelo written all over them.

even the papal swiss guard uniform had been mistakenly attributed to him.

but creating a city of impressive structures, the finest paintings, the most notable sculptures, and other priceless relics of man's glorious past and greatest artistic endeavours? certainly, signor buonarroti had a little help from bernini, raffaello and distinguished romans as ancient as julius caesar.

after all, as the old adage goes: (refer to the title above).

if the devil wears prada, she will be in milan

2006-10-18T21:50:00.000+08:00

milan lived up to its reputation as the fashion capital of the world. powerhouse designers lined up its streets like trees along yio chu kang road.

shopping seemed to be milanese’s favourite hobby.

actually, a national pastime was more like it.

even our friendly neighborhood clown went for a facelift to do the catwalk, trading its quintessential red-and-yellow logo for a more elegant gold on black.

all because the fashion police, in their matching cars and uniforms, were in constant patrol.

what? you mean those were real cops? misinformation, sorry.

anyway, because the scant parking space and the horrendous traffic jam did not allow us the convenience of driving around in a car, we explored milan mostly on foot or riding the tram.

notice the flag. i feel like singing lupang hinirang.

from the glitzy quadrilatero d'oro shopping district, we sauntered off to piazza del duomo -- the throbbing heart of milan where the city's huge and elaborate gothic cathedral was standing proud.

warning to tourists: dress modestly if you plan to take a peek inside. this means no sleeveless tops or mini skirts despite the sweltering summer heat. believe me, i was turned away when i tried to sneak in.

for the record, i wasn't naked.

another astonishing structure at the heart of milan was the castello sforzesco, a castle once home to milan's aristocracy and now an art gallery boasting of impressive pieces such as michelangelo's rondanini pieta and vincenzo foppa's madonna of the book.

but my greatest pleasure was having the chance to admire leonardo da vinci's masterpice, the last supper, in all its restored glory at the church of santa maria della grazie.

too bad the lady at the reception area was not very convinced that the innocuous gadget hanging around my neck was not a camera.

i could have told her it was my mobile respirator.

after all, a day of sashaying around milan had left me breathless. both because of the city's amazing sights and the metropolitan smog that beat being in a crowded bar on a saturday night.

you may have the universe, if i may have italy

2006-10-15T22:05:00.000+08:00

it’s been almost three months since i flew back from italy and i am still reeling from a bad case of inarticulacy.

i find myself unable to string words together to justly convey il belpaese's grandeur.

from its breath-taking landscapes, its exquisite food and wine, its wealth of artistic treasures, its luxurious sports cars, to its high fashion and its beautiful people – everything was overwhelmingly grand that i experienced what only dante could have imagined when he wrote: “ability failed my capacity to describe.”

or maybe it's just my limited vocabulary.

so, i reckon my succeeding posts should have enough photos to make up for my literary ineptitude.

hey, that's how magazines do.

having spam for breakfast

2006-08-29T20:06:00.000+08:00

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ahhh...the bane of modern-day existence.

seriously, i've just had about enough of these annoying spammers. already, i was forced to ditch the very first e-mail account i signed up for because it was filled to the brim with junk mails hard-selling merchandise from viagra to US home loans. wtf? whatever happened to the marketing mantra of properly identifying your target customers?

reporting spam or activating spam protection is of no use at all. i did both and got flooded with even more unwanted mails. technology is confusing like that.

so i am taking down the shoutbox from this blog. although having it here probably made me look like an overzealous teenage blogger (what with my generous use of smileys -- but hey, no blinkies!), i had kept it so that those who would find my writing too mediocre to merit any comment could at least use the damn box to just be nice and say hi. surprisingly, some people actually left me thoughtful notes there.

so to john, nicole, rex and all those fucking twats who ruined one of my simple joys in life by posting the unsolicited messages above, i wish you eternal diarrhoea.

and may you run out of toilet paper.

visa. all it takes.

2006-06-13T22:40:00.000+08:00

...to make me want to buy myself a bird.

because i'm going on a journey and i need good fortune.

yes, my dear friends, i finally got my passport stamped with a schengen visa -- and it's valid for two months and multiple entries, baby!

i am officially a quitter

2006-06-07T22:59:00.000+08:00

two weeks ago, i made a daring and possibly stupid decision on a whim. and yes, it involved giving up something as basic a necessity as my ciggies.

i quit my job.

This decision was fuelled by my desire to put an end to my everyday dilemma of calling in sick or telling my boss that i had been advised by relevant authorities to stay at home because a tyrannosaurus rex was running amok in our area. see, i had long lost my will to go to work. in fact, i only stuck around because my job still paid the bills and it somehow kept me occupied, preventing me from hatching evil plans to rule the world or doing crazy stuff like robbing a funeral parlour or joining the circus.

but then i got so burned out that i could no longer wait for a more exciting career to be delivered by the fedex guy right to my doorstep before i hand my boss that resignation letter. besides, i was really yearning for a break and the thought of spending a month tucked away in a glorious countryside somewhere in europe seemed very inviting.

so i did it. i turned my papers in notwithstanding the not-too-distant possibility that i would end up bumming around for a couple of months.

then i got a call this morning. an employment offer, actually. and a good one. now all i have to do is wait for my visa so i could go sip some leggy authentic italian wine before i start on my new job.

the gods of pizza, pasta and disgruntled corporate slaves are smiling down on me.

wearing the "no smoking" sign again

2006-05-15T23:20:00.000+08:00

i was in kuala lumpur last month with my goodfella when, after chain-smoking two sticks of cigarettes and feeling a mild stab of pain in my chest, it struck me that i had been lighting up and puffing away for the past 10 years.

i was not sure if that called for a celebration. i mean, 10 years was...well, a decade. a lot of things have happened since then.

1996 was a coming-of-age year for me. it was also the year tom jerry maguire cruise would lose the oscars to shine's geoffrey rush and eric clapton's change the world would be named record of the year by the grammys.

fast forward to the present. tom cruise remains a loser (last item he lost was a screw in his head), geoffrey rush no longer shines and the world has indeed undergone a transformation -- how major (or minor) or whether the change was for the better i can't really tell, but i'm positively sure it's not the work of eric clapton.

as for me, i wake up every morning to the feeling of an elephant sitting on my chest. not good. after my botched attempt to slay the beast two years ago, the monster that is my smoking habit is now exacting its revenge. and it's determined to undo me.

maybe it's my increasing paranoia, or me getting older, or one of those hallelujah moments where dr jekyll prevails over mr hyde.

yes, i once again made a vow to quit smoking.

so help me god.

lah-dee-dah!

2006-04-15T10:35:00.001+08:00

my application for permanent residency has been approved after some major explaining that saw me writing a letter exposing the wicked nurse's evil scheme.

so i am now officially a member of the singapore community, lah.

of quirks and foibles

2006-03-20T22:07:00.000+08:00

apologies to mike for this waaaay overdue post. see, i've been procrastinating to do this because it takes so much from me to pen down 20 random personal trivia when i can just easily give myself away in one word: demented.

but for the sake of those who have not seen me pole dance or stab someone in the face with a fork yet, i shall make a feeble attempt to introduce myself.

here goes:

1. hi, i am brenda and i am an alcoholic. that is, if being an alcoholic means defeating a male colleague in a beer-drinking contest, bagging the prestigious AA award at a corporate christmas party and receiving a flask for a trophy.

2. also, i once got so plastered that i locked myself up in the loo (it wasn't my house, by the way) and spent the night dreaming that people were furiously knocking on the door and yelling that their kidneys were about to burst. man, what a weird dream.

3. but before you pass any judgment and start thinking that i spend most of my waking hours getting smashed, let me set the record straight by stressing that i am merely an occasional drinker with high tolerance for alcohol. no, that bottle of tequila beside my bed proves nothing.

4. ironically, i once glugged down a grande frapuccino and almost hyperventilated myself to sleep. and by sleep, i mean that kind which you never wake up.

5. i have long given up drinking soda. unless it's mixed with vodka.

6. i managed to graduate from the university without memorising the multiplication table. so if you have a mathematical problem, i am not the right person to ask. unless you want me to ~~make fun of~~ correct your grammar.

7. the longest i've gone without a minute of sleep is four days. i kid you not.

8. i celebrated my birthday on the wrong date for 24 freaking years. don't call me stupid, or i'll whack your brains out with my stilettos, you smartass.

9. i have eight body piercings. three on each ear (two of which are almost non-existent), one on my nose and a tongue stud. don't ask me what a tongue stud is for.

10. no, i do not have a tattoo. yet.

11. should i decide to get inked, i want an ankh on my lower back. the ankh represents life for the egyptians, while gaiman fans associate it with death. lovely. the end is the beginning is the end.

12. slobbing about in front of the telly and popping in movies are among my favourite pastimes. and so is gunning down boyband members and collecting their heads for taxidermy.

13. i appreciate music with well-written lyrics and marvel at how any individual with a mental age above three years old can shamelessly sing along to ashlee simpson.

14. i love the smell of burning matchsticks. i don't play with fire, though. unless it involves setting britney spears' hair ablaze, then you can count me in.

15. i have crooked teeth.

16. i lurve dancing. street dancing, ballroom dancing, dirty dancing (think mud), rain dancing, dancing babies, dancing shoes, dancing lights, dancing buttered chickens with corn kernels...

17. i don't do drugs.

18. those waving fortune cat figurines disturb me. whenever i come face to face with one, a voice inside my head keeps nagging me to whip out a sledgehammer and smash that feline monstrosity to bits while chanting die evil putty tat! die!

19. worms, slugs, snakes and anything that slithers make my skin crawl.

20. for six months, i had been able to refrain from smoking. but, as with all my endeavours to walk the path of goodness, i eventually succumbed to temptations. i think it's only a matter of time before i start sipping coke and downing rapid-fire tequila shots again.

alrighty. so i have to tag others, right? how about madel, twinkle, gladyz, adolfo and oliver? forgive me guys.

don't believe the truth

2006-02-24T13:43:00.000+08:00

so i watched an oasis concert.

oasis who?, i hear you say.

oh yeah, those bloody brits with a song about a superwall.

that's wonderwall, dummy!

whatever.

it wasn't anything close to stellar. in fact, the performance was sub-par and the sound system was curse-worthy. the crowd was, as expected, morbidly prim and proper. no moshing, no mass hysteria, only occasional screams and a helluva lot of posers wearing oasis shirts. liam was even not himself -- judging by how amicable he was, clapping along with the crowd after his every performance. though there was no way for me to know if it was really him because my butt was planted at least 1,000 miles away from the stage and there was no screen anywhere in the stadium for people with severe myopia like me. what a pity.

also, whoever warned you that a rock concert in singapore would be like a date with your grandmother was absolutely right. old people were everywhere. not that i have anything against the elderly. if you are 60 years old and you still pogo, then i have no problems with that. but there was this overdressed granny couple, seated in front of us, who were expecting us to refrain from making any kind of noise all throughout the concert.

wtf?

still, i'm cracking my brains trying to find an acceptable explanation of why i can't bring myself to label the concert as shite.

fine. i was an oasis fan. i used to know the lyrics of all the tracks in their (what's the story) morning glory? album by heart. i also used to believe that having an ego the size of the buckingham palace was acceptable if you had gallagher as your surname. i even used to get amused by the constant bickering between liam and noel.

liam: well, i'm supposed to be the singer.
noel: well, i'm supposed to be the songwriter.
liam: well, i should be singing more.
noel: well, i should be writing more songs
liam: so are you saying that if i stop writing more songs, i can start singing more songs?
noel: well, that's pretty much what it fucking boils down to, yeah.
i mean, isn't it sweet when squabbling siblings involve a cricket bat in their fight or throw chairs at each other and nobody ends up dead. chair-throwing is a dangerous sport, i tell yah.

anyway, my love affair with the gallagher brothers just fizzled out and i stopped listening to them post be here now. noel's song-writing skills ceased to impress me and i was no longer bowled over by liam's arrogant swagger.

yet there i was at the singapore stadium last night, screaming my gut out.

maybe it was liam's unexpected cordiality (he went back onstage and did two extra songs on audience request, can you fucking believe that?) or noel singing the anthemic don't look back in anger that once again endeared the band to me. i don't know. i just felt a warm, familiar feeling well up inside me the moment the band began playing their music.

it was like a rekindled high school crush.

*photo shamelessly lifted from eyesee. just because i would need a camera with a zoom lens enough to inconvenience people three rows in front of me to take a decent photo of the band from where i was seated.

post-holiday post

2006-02-19T12:25:00.000+08:00

now that holidays are over, i think it's time for me to haul my ass out of my self-imposed hiatus from blogging. so here's a quick run-down of how i spent the past three months:

christmas
- partied till dawn with friends from tokyo
- took a trip to sentosa
- experienced the night safari for the first time
- relearned what little spanish i knew

new year
- absconded to batam, indonesia with my goodfella
- missed the new year countdown
- fled to penang, malaysia
- frolicked on a beach brimming with jellyfish

lunar new year
- visited manila (finally!)
- reunited with family and friends
- toured corregidor
- went to laguna for a quick dip
- flew back to singapore

valentine's day
- had an anti-valentine dinner with two dateless male colleagues
- popped every heart-shaped balloon in sight
- gave cupid a little spanking

so, when is the next public holiday again?

la vita e bella

2006-01-25T10:36:00.000+08:00

my christmas break has been surreal. in a good way.

and the new year has so far been kind to me.

life is sometimes so fucking great.

wasting away

2005-12-11T14:46:00.000+08:00

i was randomly listening to my mp3 collection three nights ago when a not-so-recent incubus ditty caught my attention. i dropped what i was doing (which was nothing, actually) and just remained transfixed until brandon boyd's vocals faded into the familiar corners of my room and were replaced by jt woodruff yelling that he's outside of my window with his radio.

i clicked back and played that incubus song again.

and again.

until i could recite its words from memory.

there was nothing exceptionally profound in it. in fact, i could've written those lines myself. besides, my efforts to deconstruct incubus' lyrics to reveal complex mathematical equations that would provide a clue to the essence of man's existence proved futile years ago. and so did my obsession to abduct brandon dearie and force him to draw me wearing only their make yourself cd. so i could think of just one reason why i have since been od-ing on it.

it articulates what i am feeling.

no, it isn't megalomaniac.

the perfect getaway

2005-11-29T19:50:00.000+08:00

just got back from a well-deserved and easily the best vacation i've had in ages.

it was fleeting, but at least i had a ball of a time basking in phuket's early morning sun, elephant trekking in the verdant countryside, admiring the majestic view of karon beach, feeling the fine white sand sift between my toes and flirting with the innocuous waves that only a year ago devoured patong and took many lives with them back to the hungry sea.

just less than a year after the asian tsunami, phuket was back in business. wrecked properties had been rebuilt and refurbished and the shore was once again bustling with bikini-clad tourists obliviously sunbathing on what used to be a mass burial ground.

time heals all wounds and buries unpleasant memories.

and phuket was a convenient place to forget. even for a moment.

to not worry about work. to stop thinking about global problems and your own selfish predicaments. to lose your emotional baggages.

it was also an ideal place to start over. to slow down and take time to rediscover yourself. to let go of the past and move forward.

i hate to admit it, but somehow my brief sojourn in thailand tamed me. i went there mildly sceptical and came back fully satisfied and dangerously optimistic.

a desultory farewell to twenty-five

2005-10-26T22:35:00.000+08:00

until last year, i had been led to believe that my birthday was on the 25th instead of the 26th. so imagine how dumbfounded i was when i got my nso-certified birth certificate and discovered that i had actually been celebrating my birthdays in bed with a debilitating hangover or in the office half-missing my bed and half-remembering the embarrassing stunt that i did the night before.

not that i don't fancy being a day younger. anything that delays ageing or keeps me in my early twenties forever is a welcome birthday gift, thank you very much. however, when i think about the consequence of this little mix-up, my head begins to spin.

certainly, this has a butterfly effect.

my employment contracts, my school records, my bank and credit card accounts, my phone bills, my nbi clearance, my sss card and all other documents proving my existence before 2004 now belong to another person who interestingly has the same name but is a day older than me. which means that i never really officially existed until last year. so everytime i apply for a new job or any other application that requires suporting papers, i will have to explain my case. then, if i'm lucky enough, i will end up being politely turned away because nobody really trusts someone who fucks up his or her own date of birth.

so i set out to confront my mom. but she managed to excuse herself from the witch hunt by acting 25 times more baffled than me. she maintained that she, being my mother and despite her anaesthetic-induced high at that time, was absolutely sure that she heard me cry just before the clock struck midnight. why does my stupid birth certicate says october 26 then? well, she suggested that the sleep-deprived nurse who had filled in the form for her might've had snorted a few lines of cocaine and confused the dates.

okay, so i just added the cocaine bit. but it doesn't make any difference. because i would rather believe that the nurse was an evil spinster who, upon seeing how adorable a baby i was, cooked up an elaborate plan to screw my life 25 years later.

and the plot thickens...

this is where the story ends

2005-10-24T00:27:00.000+08:00

so no, of course, we can't be friends.
not while i still feel like this.
i want to ask where i went wrong.
but don't say anything at all.

- cup of coffee, garbage

the rise of the ubersexuals

2005-10-14T10:12:00.000+08:00

move your well-manicured arse over, david beckham! the reign of the metrosexuals is now officially over.

apparently, ladies finally came to their senses and are no longer tickled by the idea of sharing their perfume and nail polish with their male partners. it must be the skyrocketing prices of cosmetics or those increasingly annoying quarrels for ownership of the mirror that changed their minds. anyway, whatever it is, thank god.

i am all for a guy getting touchy-feely with his feminine side. i don't even mind him occasionally perming my hair or doing my pedicure. however, i find it a bit disquieting when he applies more facial cream and make-up than me. but then again, i rarely put anything on my face -- which is precisely the point -- because i wouldn't want to be seen strolling around town with a guy who looks like a geisha or, god forbid, prettier than me. i would just kill myself by drinking a bottle of acetone if anybody mistakes me for a boy.

so enter the ubersexual who, i gather, is similar to a metrosexual but displays traditional masculine qualities, thus leaving no doubt about his sexual orientation. unlike the metrosexual, he spends more time grooming his brain than his hair. he is stylish, cultured, macho (without the stereotypes that give the male species a bad name), politically aware and emotionally attuned.

i don't know about you, but seems like a stepford husband to me.

the great escape

2005-10-11T23:45:00.000+08:00

when my housemate casually asked me a fortnight ago if i wanted to join them in their trip to johor bahru, it occured to me that since i self-exiled to singapore, i haven't had the luxury of time to take a breather from the disturbing orderliness of this tranquil little island.

i knew i needed to get away from singapore even for just a day before i go completely bonkers. i desperately required a change of scenery and a journey to the southern tip of the malaysian peninsula on a weekend seemed somewhat convenient.

besides, i've already missed a couple of opportunities to flee this fine country. twice my colleagues have been to bangkok and both times i couldn't tag along because of work. i could've just boarded that plane with tiger prints and phoned my boss to inform him that i was recuperating from a sex-change surgery in thailand, but i doubt that he would've found that believable.

so there i was at the malaysian border, clutching my passport and exiting singapore just to buy cheap cigarettes and a pack of the much-coveted chewing gum.

turned out the trip was more than what i had bargained for. i was pleasantly surprised that i actually enjoyed it. it was fun. that i-feel-like-i-am-back-in-high-school kind. picture this: my friends and i going berserk, spewing out profanities that only we could understand, stuffing ourselves with all things edible and having our photos taken at a friendly neoprint stall.

it was fucking hilarious. we were like a bunch of prepubescent kids on crack.

fatal attraction

2005-10-04T23:56:00.000+08:00

i used to believe that a heterosexual male cannot possibly be raped by a heterosexual female simply because seduction would always certainly do the trick. unless of course she's a hideous witch. in which case, turning the lights off would be a good alternative. then again, she's a witch so she could definitely cast a nasty spell on him so he would be instantly smitten by her.

but under normal circumstances, it just isn't probable. blame it on testosterone. guys are either too polite to refuse or physiologically incapable of controlling their raging hormones to pass up any opportunity to enjoy a complimentary lay. even a forced one. because if we will buy their faultless reasoning, every sexual encounter they have outside their relationships falls under this category.

of course everytime i would let slip this comment, my guy friends would vehemently object and accuse me of a double standard. what would follow would be a protracted argument on the legal, political and social definition of rape and how i am a man-bashing feminist (a term of endearment they came up with after i started calling them male chauvinist pigs). still, i would always stand by my assertion that there's no way that a woman would jump on a man, drag him into the bushes and have sex with him completely against his will.

however, after receiving these very disturbing photographs, i am beginning to ponder on the idea of reconsidering my stand...

the ghost of hamlet

2005-10-02T05:11:00.000+08:00

excuse me while i deliver a borrowed soliloquy...

to be, or not to be: that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
and by opposing end them? to die: to sleep;
no more; and by a sleep to say we end
the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
devoutly to be wish'd. to die, to sleep;
to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
for in that sleep of death what dreams may come
when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
must give us pause: there's the respect
that makes calamity of so long life;
for who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
the pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
the insolence of office and the spurns
that patient merit of the unworthy takes,
when he himself might his quietus make
with a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
to grunt and sweat under a weary life,
but that the dread of something after death,
the undiscover'd country from whose bourn(e)
no traveller returns, puzzles the will
and makes us rather bear those ills we have
than fly to others that we know not of?
thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
and thus the native hue of resolution
is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
and enterprises of great pith and moment
with this regard their currents turn awry,
and lose the name of action. -- soft you now!
the fair ophelia! nymph, in thy orisons
be all my sins remember'd.

don't ask why. i had to do it to exorcise my demons.

key and sympathy

2005-09-16T23:16:00.000+08:00

the painfully awkward situation in the office today finally came to a head. after months of relentless speculation about looming job losses, the new management has officially dropped the bomb. a counsellor was on standby, boxes were provided and a farewell lunch was served while the media waited eagerly at the gate to welcome a horde of emotional workers who had just joined the ranks of the unemployed.

the retrenchment exercise was merciless and sweeping -- cutting across all levels of the paycheck chain, from directors to managers to executives. it was a bloody messy corporate slaughter. heads were rolling all over the place you couldn't tell which one belonged to whom.

i wasn't part of the redundancy list.

but for some strange reason, that gives me the creeps.

nah, i am not bothered by the five-digit severance package that most of my ex-colleagues are getting. afterall, what's that worth compared to the nagging anxiety and eternal embarrassment that you will have to bear if you get sacked? i can tell you for a fact that it won't do anything to boost your deflated self-esteem. but then again, even with that measly amount, you can buy a little something to make yourself feel a bit better.

like an o2 xda mini.

or a sleek 17-inch powerbook g4.

maybe that sexy black 4gb ipod nano.

or an ultraslim canon digital ixus camera.

plus the sony 50 plasma wega hdtv with high-fidelity dav-lf1 dvd home theatre system.

or all of the above.

better yet, pay burberry, gucci and prada a visit...or tiffany's.

or go for a weekend getaway to a tiny villa somewhere in europe where you can just drink ~~coffee~~ wine, smoke and write poetry.

okay, i am an ungrateful and envious bitch so sue me. but that's not the real reason why i've got the heeby jeebies.

what freaks the hell out of me is that grim scenario of me working quintuply hard because, as five in our department have left, i and two of my fellow survivors will obviously have to absorb all the abandoned workload.

now, that's almost twice as scary as looking for a new job.

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

i did it again.

i locked myself out of my room for the umpteenth time and had to pay 50 bucks for locksmith services.

when will i ever learn?

maybe i should heed a friend's unsolicited advice and just wear my bedroom key around my neck.

old habits die hard

2005-09-11T20:15:00.000+08:00

right now, i'd kill for a stick of marlboro lights. i don't exactly recall when i started smoking again. but then again, i'm not the one who always remembers dates. heck, my piggy calendar even reads may 02 and i don't know if that's yesterday or tomorrow.

oh, wait...my all-knowing computer says today is september 11. holy excrement! it's exactly four years after the twin towers fell -- burying 2,749 people under the rubbles and giving that warmonger chipmunk in the white house a lame excuse to bomb iraq to bits in pursuit of a personal vendetta against a crazy arab ape with a moustache.

if only they had agreed to settle it through a celebrity deathmatch, thousands of innocent lives would've been spared. and it would've been a lot of fun. i would've gotten myself a front-row seat beside osama bin laden and a big bag of popcorn and watch bush and saddam take turns in dismembering each other.

but no, four years have passed and another disaster has wreaked havoc and that pea-brained chipmunk is still leading the world's most powerful nation. with america reeling from the wrath of hurricane katrina -- and the senseless killings, sexual violation of women and racial division that ensued -- all it needs now is someone who has a little more sense than bush.

i nominate kanye west.

although i don't particularly like him, at least he had the balls to diss the bastard on national television.

clap. clap. clap.

grammar of exculpation

2005-09-09T13:57:00.000+08:00

You are the grammar Fuhrer. All bow to your
authority. You will crush all the inferior
people under the soles of your jackboots, and
any who question your motives will be
eliminated. Your punishment is being the bane
of every other person's existence, because
you're constantly contradicting stupidity.
Everyone will be gunning for you. Your dreams
of a master race of spellers and grammarians
frighten the masses. You must always watch your
back. If only your power could be used for good
instead of evil.

What is your grammar aptitude?
brought to you by Quizilla

knocked out

2005-09-02T14:44:00.000+08:00

the swell thing about being in the writing business is that your clients pamper you with free invites to movie premieres and other exclusive events. today, my colleagues and i flocked to raffles hotel's jubilee hall to satisfy our curiosity over boxing cabaret, a one-woman show by parinya charoenphol (a.k.a. nong toom), a former male kickboxing champ from thailand.

yes, he is now a she.

man, i wonder how his/her doctors did it. but one thing's for sure, they were bribed -- probably by the disgraced wimps nong toom had beaten to a pulp in the ring -- to inconspicuously take him/her out of the game without the messy business of murder. and with how things are going, they may also succeed in driving unsuspecting nong toom out of his/her new-found job.

presented in five rounds of painfully unfunny comedy, pathetic attempts at drama and badly choreographed song and dance numbers, boxing cabaret knocked me off to sleep just a few minutes after it commenced. it was so awful it reminded me of elektra.

too bad thai laws prohibit transsexuals from returning to professional kickboxing. while i respect nong toom's choice, it was more entertaining to watch him/her punch male opponents in the face and plant a peace-offering kiss on their cheeks afterwards.

slipping into a sugar coma

2005-08-16T23:49:00.000+08:00

got a complimentary invite to an evening with italian crooner patrizio buanne at grand copthorne waterfront hotel. patrizio is a 26-year old charmer with a rich baritone voice, naughty boyish looks and a wicked grandfather who probably tortured him with paul anka and dean martin records when he was a kid. touted as italy's answer to canada's michael buble, he sings equally sappy songs that date back to the time when my great great grannies were still dreamy-eyed teenagers exchanging love letters.

not really my cup of tea. but since some of my colleagues were going, heck, i thought that for once i'd try something that does not require headbanging or getting trampled on in sweaty mosh pits. so i went.

the show started an hour late and i was dangerously close to taking over the microphone and asking people to strip naked and do the chicken dance when patrizio showed up and began belting out saccharine classics like a man without love, il mondo, amore scusami and an evening in roma.

i wanted to cry. not because i was deeply moved by his performance, but because it dawned on me that those would be the very songs i'd be forced to listen to when i reach sixty. unless my grandchildren would be agreeable to me pogoing to nirvana's smells like teen spirit. but that might also be physiologically impossible by then.

anyway, the show lasted for just about an hour. it would've been an easily forgettable performance if patrizio hadn't pulled out an ace at the last minute. towards the end of the show, he did a rendition of parla piu piano, the love theme from the godfather. he sang it with so much passion, intensity and that sexy italian accent that something inside me felt so wrong.

i was feeling it.

maybe i am a hopeless romantic after all.

read the signs

2005-08-14T00:02:00.000+08:00

to keep unwanted guests away from his room, my housemate had a stroke of genius and decided to put this sign up on his door.

not really amusing because the stupid bunny is pointing to my room.

so i fixed this sign outside my door to shun any of his potentially unwelcomed visitors who may be as amazingly dumb as alice to follow the bunny's direction.

i think i'm beginning to develop a special liking for bunnies.

buon appetito!

2005-08-09T22:12:00.000+08:00

one of my silly, sinful cravings is pasta. i am a sucker for italian cuisine and anything from that country that spawned michelangelo, leonardo da vinci, the renaissance and the mafia. a pasta dish that is authentically italian is sure to stimulate my salivary glands so much so that they will produce excessive amount of viscous fluid. then i'd be drooling like a mad dog and kissing my ~~after-sex~~ after-six diet goodbye.

i like my pasta al dente. no soggy, melts-in-your-mouth pasta please. that's just gross. and the shape should match the sauce. angel hair is best for light, thin sauces while ziti and penne are ideal for chunkier sauces. thicker pasta shapes, like fettuccine and rigatoni, work well with heavier sauces. but my all-time favourites are the spirals, whether fusilli or rotini, because they are versatile and their corkscrew shape tickles the tongue.

of course, how the pasta is served is also important. but food presentation becomes secondary once my olfactory nerves are gratified.

to satisfy my taste buds, i usually go for oil-based pasta as it perfectly brings out the flavours of the meat, herbs and spices. cream-based is just nauseatingly filling and tomato-based is sometimes too tomato-ey. besides, i find it orgasmic when the pasta just slithers uninhibitedly into my mouth, down to my throat and into my food-starved belly. i swear, this is one guilty pleasure i would unabashedly indulge myself in anytime.

and i won't mind a second serving.

outta my way, you punk!

2005-07-28T13:50:00.000+08:00

epilogue

2005-07-27T19:35:00.000+08:00

the dust is finally settling. all my pending projects are getting processed for approval and new ones are trickling in.

this should be a good sign.

i suppose i won't have to abduct a valentino mannequin for a $100 million ransom or do cartwheels for $1 on orchard road just to earn a living after all.

how now, brown cow?

2005-07-15T23:45:00.000+08:00

a new management is stepping in.

this followed the decision by the omnipotent lah lah government to intervene, forcing our ceo to bow out (dis)gracefully together with the entire board.

what will happen to us minions then?

good question. but nobody is entertaining that query at the moment. guess we have not much choice now but to wait for the axe to fall. and since we are essentially being taken over by the local health ministry, third-world expats, such as myself, can very well be the owners of the first batch of heads that will roll to conclude this it-all-started-with-a-bathroom-fixture saga.

boy, this could really get ugly.

the shit has finally hit the fan

2005-07-13T01:43:00.000+08:00

it was a catastrophe waiting to happen. a masterplan that was doomed to fail. but the great machiavellian leader that was our ceo didn't see it coming. he walked straight into the trap, unwittingly subjected himself to merciless public scrutiny and triggered a cataclysm that shook the very foundations of the empire he had so tirelessly built.

he, in his misinformed arrogance and persecution complex, thought he was invincible. he assumed he could take on the fourth state. he was dead wrong. the press dug up his stinkiest shit, repackaged it and sold it to the public as a national snack for less than a dollar. sillyporeans, of course, feasted on it like famished vultures.

he was vilified by the media as a monster of perverse ostentation and greed. the public reacted with much disgust and rage. with all the hullabaloo, his reputation went down the drain faster than his legal counsel could stand up and lodge an objection.

game over. objection overruled.

a cold-blooded murder

2005-07-10T00:43:00.000+08:00

a lizard was lying dead on my bedroom floor.

strange. the first time i saw it, it seemed ready to leap i freaked out and almost locked myself out of my own room (a ridiculously costly habit i have recently developed). but anyway, the better half of me prevailed and i sprinted to the kitchen and got myself a weapon. armed with a broom, i tried to shoo the creature away. only when it refused to budge did i realise that the poor gecko on my carpet was, in fact, lifeless.

i don't really like lizards. truth is, i abhor them like anything. i hate it when they get bored of sticking to the ceiling and just decide to bungee jump. i swear you won't find it funny when you are just directly and obliviously below them.

but what baffles me until now is how that stupid lizard got into my room and ended up dead.

whatever.

i spent the whole afternoon cleaning and disinfecting my room like a maniac.

enter sandman

2005-07-06T02:49:00.000+08:00

i patiently endured six hours of water, food, seat and self-esteem deprivation just so i could personally meet the sandman's maker. nevermind that i looked like a groupie queueing for a free ticket to a sold-out rock concert. i stayed put. even if it meant holding my piss for what seemed like eternity.

finally, i came face to face with the god who breathed the dream king into life from a handful of dust. his dishevelled hair, his pale skin, his apparent fascination with everything black, his sombre voice -- all conspired to give him a distinct charm i had come to associate with his creation.

just like the sandman, death and all the endless, he commanded a dark and mysterious presence. he, too, was likeable. in fact, he was extremely accommodating i developed a mild resentment towards him.

how could he be so unassuming?

he's neil gaiman for chrissake!

neil fuckin' gaiman!

he ought to live up to his kick-ass novels.

maybe even do something fashionably rude like beating the hell out of the excruciatingly annoying loud-mouthed kid four people ahead of me in the line.

that would be cool.

everybody in the bookstore would be throwing confetti in gratitude.

my mental monologue was abruptly interrupted when i heard him muttered something that resembled my name.

he was, in fact.

i reckoned he was asking if i was the rightful owner of the name he had read -- and therefore of the book he was about to sign. but i cut him off and readily volunteered the information before he could even properly finish his question. i guess he mistook my impatience for fanatical excitement so he threw me an amused glance.

then he flashed his enigmatic smile.

looked down.

and scribbled my name with these words:

just like that, he became my god again.

i am my own worst enemy

2005-06-08T23:52:00.000+08:00

these are the results of two independent personality assessments i did. no wonder i'm all fucked up. imagine me having to chase and hide from myself at the same time.

me: hold it right there! you're not gonna get away this time, you psycho!

myself: you will have to arrest me.

me: don't move. i'm warning you...

myself: whatcha gonna do, huh? shoot me? you are a complete mess. you seem to forget that you and i, we are the same. you kill me, you kill yourself.

me: SHUT UP! JUST PUT YOUR GODDAMNED HANDS BEHIND YOUR STUPID HEAD OR I'LL FUCKIN' EAT FIVE MEALS A DAY AND REFUSE TO EXERCISE!

myself: alright, alright! you don't have to scream. geez...

viva la revolucion!

2005-05-28T23:37:00.000+08:00

Which Battle Royale character are you? by liz

ah, the idealist in me...

no matter how hard i try to mask it with powder and lipstick, it always finds a way to manifest itself.

social inequalities never fail to depress me. my heart bleeds for the poor, the oppressed and the ugly. i go ballistic everytime i hear testosterone-fuelled comments from male chauvinist pigs. i cry at the sight of starving children in ethiopia and weep harder for obese teens in britain. and i still believe that america is the enemy and that i could change the world by not going there as a sign of protest.

no shite?!

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

Which Trainspotting Character Are You?

rent-boy: excuse me, excuse me. i don't mean to harass you, but i was very impressed with the capable and stylish manner in which you dealt with that situation. and i was thinking to myself, now this girl's special.

diane: thanks.

rent-boy: what's your name?

diane: diane.

rent-boy: and where are you going, diane?

diane: i'm going home.

rent-boy: well, where's that?

diane: it's where i live.

rent-boy: great.

diane: what?

rent-boy: well, i'll come back with you if you like, but like, i'm not promising anything, you know.

diane: do you find that this approach usually works? or let me guess, you've never tried it before. in fact, you don't normally approach girls - am i right? the truth is that you're a quiet, sensitive type but if i'm prepared to take a chance, i might just get to know the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate, loving, loyal... taxi! ...a little bit crazy, a little bit bad. but hey, don't us girls just love that?

rent-boy: eh?

diane: well, what's wrong boy? cat got your tongue?

about that stud in my tongue...

2005-05-12T11:50:00.000+08:00

There's no doubt about it: you're eccentric. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You don't hesistate one bit when it comes to talking about squeamish topics. Although you like to have peace and quiet, you often find excitement in a random crisis or two.

Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz.

trudi: you know how they use that gun to pierce your ears? they don't use that when they pierce your nipples, do they?

jody: forget that gun. that gun goes against the entire idea behind piercing. all of my piercings, sixteen places on my body, all of them done with a needle. five in each ear, one through the nipple on my left breast, one through my right nostril, one through my left eyebrow, one in my lip, one in my clit... and i wear a stud in my tongue.

vincent: excuse me, but i was just wondering... why do you wear a stud in your tongue?

jody: it's a sex thing. it helps fellatio.

frost yourself

2005-05-09T22:23:00.000+08:00

mellon collie and the infinite sadness

2005-04-03T23:58:00.000+08:00

today i broke down.

after several months of mightily holding back the tears, i finally let my defences down for a moment and wept till my eyes ached and puffed.

i felt foolish.

but it was liberating.

i cried over nothing and everything. in between sobs, i would sense familiar emotions taking a good hold of me. frustration. misery. helplessness. shame. melancholy. but there was something more overpowering than any of these.

guilt.

it was something that happened almost seven years ago. it was the pain that wouldn't go away. it was the wound that wouldn't heal. it was something i have never forgiven myself for...

back from the dead

2005-03-22T02:44:00.000+08:00

it's been epochs ago since i last blogged. blame it on the exacting demands of my job. or better yet, hold my lady boss with questionable credentials and disastrous fashion sense responsible for it. i've been working my ass off for the past months that i've had no time left in my hands to do other things except sleep. and even that i'm not doing very well at because my insomnia is making a grand comeback.

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

i no longer live with her.

i mean, come on, how could anyone expect me to retain my sanity without talking to anyone but myself? i know it's mentally healthy to engage in a dialogue with oneself once in a while. but since i moved in with her, i had been having conversations with myself more often than necessary i was already beginning to believe that a tiny demon was inhabiting my mouth (which probably explains why i have put on some weight since i got here). anyway, i told myself it was time to pack my bags.

and the little devil agreed.

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

i have started growing my hair.

after sporting pixies for the past 9 years, i don't think it's necessary to offer any reason at all. but i must say that i now look officially unglamorous that the thought of wearing a paperbag over my head to work seems a pretty sensible option.

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

i am finally swimming in the adult pool.

that is if you consider tip-toeing your way 4 feet deep in the chlorinated water, filling your lungs with oxygen, then frantically moving your hands and feet to buoy your body while holding your breath until you reach the deeper end of the pool, swimming. but yes, i am no longer confined in the kiddie pool where, for years, i have always struggled and failed miserably to keep myself afloat on waist-high waters.

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

i have quit smoking.

not a single puff in 5 months and none of that nicotine withdrawal syndrome crap. imagine that.

unfuckingbelievable, i know.

balikbayan box

2004-08-27T16:40:00.000+08:00

still alone but in a new room at tiong bahru.

i can't wait to start work. the anticipation is killing me. it feels like i'm in a mental asylum doing my time inside an isolation cell.

i hear noises in my head -- amplified sound of my heavy breathing, my wristwatch violently ticking, the aircon roaring and e-heads singing:

umuwi na tayo
umuwi na tayo
hey hey hey
uwi na tayo
dahil wala ng sense and ating mundo

not a very encouraging ditty.

an exam i won't flunk

2004-08-26T19:07:00.000+08:00

had another medical exam.

just when will i be able to convince these people that i don't have sars, hepatitis b or any sexually transmitted disease -- and that i am medically fit to work here?

geez, i'm now concerned that i'll wear my lungs off not by chain-smoking but by having my chest x-rayed every month. seriously.

i need a smoke.

lost in translation

2004-08-25T21:45:00.000+08:00

finally found a permanent place to stay in. bad news is, i can't move in until friday. so i'm stuck in this cheap hotel room haemorrhaging $58 a day.

$58 = php 32.xx

58 multiplied by 32.xx equals...

nevermind.

but the flat that i'll be transferring to is quite a bargain. one tiny problem, though. i'll be living with the old landlady who doesn't speak and hardly understands english. i, on my part, am a complete ignoramus where mandarin is concerned. so our occassional conversations will probably be something like this:

me: hello, auntie.
her: (smiles)
me: i'll be going out to buy food.
her: (smiles)
me: do you want anything?
her: (confused smile)
me: do you want food?
her: (smile slowly fading)
me: uhm...eat? yum yum?
her: (now just plain confused)

off to lah lah land

2004-08-24T22:34:00.000+08:00

it is my first night in singapore and i am not exactly sure what to feel.

surprisingly, i don't miss anyone.

not yet.

or so i try to convince myself.

earlier, i met up with my former boss and his equally accommodating friend who fetched me from the airport. they were nice enough to volunteer to be my dinner companions. they also made special efforts to ensure that i had a place to stay in for the night, that i knew how to board the train and that i didn't chew gum.

how could i ever thank these guys?

anyway, i already made several discoveries.

1. cars are right-hand drive.
2. some loos are just holes on the floor.
3. mcdonald's serves tea.

hi-ho.