Thanksgiving My Ass

I'm not exactly thrilled with him right now. I made roast chicken for thanksgiving, and the entire day he complained about how much he hates holidays, and how he has not spent any holidays in the last 10 years with a significant other. I said having a partner does not guarantee an excellent holiday, it might just be as bad, and it could easily be a lot worse from my personal experience. He said he can't speak for me, but he's the kind of person who will always enjoy celebrating holidays with his girlfriend. So I said how could you have possibly known that if you've always spent your holidays alone? He said he was still with his ex on the Fourth of July, and it was utterly splendid. Well what the fuck was he doing with me then, go to your fucking vietcong ex then. What a rude, inconsiderate and ungrateful little bastard :(

One of the reasons why my ex boyfriend's mom disapproved of me (among many others) is the fact that I didn't cook. Let me rephrase that, the fact that he told his mom that I can't cook. Cooking is, unfortunately, like many other skills (i.e. driving, fellatio, manicure, bulb changing) - easily learned, practiced, and if one is diligent enough, perfected - a fact that probably escaped both his mother and him. The real reason why I didn't cook, and unapologetically so, is because I simply didn't have to - my mom cooks all the time, and she loves cooking for me because I love eating her food. I don't eat a lot - for every serving of rice I have, I would usually leave 3/4 untouched, but with her food I would at least have a second helping. She sometimes grumbles that I don't cook, but she will cook anyway. So why the hell would I fix something that's not broken?

And then I landed on this godforsaken island, and found most of the food inedible and despicable. I don't eat steaks, hamburgers, tacos or pizzas, so I was forced to make my own food. It wasn't hard, the first few meals tasted kind of ehhh but as I said, with enough practice anybody can bloody cook. The advent of online recipes expedited my learning process, my only grievance is that asian cooking takes a lot of preparation time which I usually don't have the luxury of.. and sometimes I'm just plain lazy. But when I have the craving, at least I can run to the kitchen and whip up something spicy and comforting.

And then after I got to know him, instead of cooking for just myself, I cooked for two. I knew that he liked my cooking, because he always asks for second helpings, or maybe he was just perpetually hungry. Deep down inside I also felt a tinge of pride because I have never cooked for anyone, not even for my ex of 11 years (serves him right). It gives you that inexplicable joy, slaving through unfamiliar grounds just to create something delicious and fit for consumption for your object of desire... My sister always says the way to a man's heart is through his tummy. Funny, I always thought it's through his penis. No wonder I didn't have much luck there.

And whenever I cooked for him, I never expected anything in return. You can say my affection towards him is genuine and unconditional. I simply enjoy his company, I love his sense of self-deprecating humor and passionate misanthropy, and he is just such a delight to look at. Some magazine poll somewhere voted Bradley Cooper as the sexiest man alive, but honestly if he were spotted in Hollywood, he would have easily trumped Mr. Hangover. There is nothing that I would not do for that man, except maybe anal sex. I would give him head all day if he wanted me to. He complained that my bed is the most uncomfortable bed ever, so I went shopping at 1 am on Black Friday and got an entire set of Calvin Klein bedding, complete with Calvin Klein mattress pad and Calvin Klein down comforter. I could have gotten other sub par brands, but no, I got everything Calvin Klein, just so he would stop whining about my bed. Also because I have always wanted a Calvin Klein bedding. I realize this zany relationship is lopsided and I am the only one showing any effort and affection, but I really like him and everything I did, I did it out of sincerity.

So is it too much to ask for a bit of respect and gratitude? How about not complaining that you hate your day while I am around? What am I supposed to do when you say these things? Am I supposed to ignore my own feelings? I have been there before, and I sought the company of girlfriends.. It was a holiday and I couldn't spend it with my ex so I went out with them instead.. but I didn't tell them I hated holidays because I couldn't spend it with him. That's just awkward and unappreciative. Even a callous cunt like me knows that.

Yay to life

It's my birthday today *fireworks*

It's been an awesome month so far.

Once and for all, my parents helped me resolve my 2-year-old problem and relinquished half of my monetary problems. Woes which had dogged me for months on end, of which I never thought there'd be light at the end of the day are finally gone. There are days I woke up in the morning and thought of it, and I remember being very depressed about it, I wanted to shove it away but I can't and eventually my family came to my rescue. I am relieved and thankful for my family, but being 30 and still have to have your parents to help you has made me think that kids are such a bane.

You'd thought by 30 they'd not be bugging you with their problems and you set them free and they set their own course in life and shit. Not come round to you and ask you for help, I mean what the fuck? If I was 60 and my kids still asked me to resolve their problems I'd go "Shieeeetttt I don't have the energy for this anymore, son."

So yeah, that's one dream I don't mind not happening. If it happens anyway, yeah well shit happens hahahahah.

Digressed.

Anyway it has been amazing. In the preceeding days to my birthday, during one of our many banters about where to eat, he willingly suggested Japanese food a couple of times when I knew he hates Japanese food. Aww is this really love? (Later he told me likes the Japanese udon in one of the restaurants that slightly resembles hailam mee, and that's the reason why he didn't mind compromising -_-)

For this birthday I received a couple of birthday gifts from Fuzzy, and I feel so, so, so blessed so thankyoubaby (sic).

Then on the night of my birthday gift I spent it with Cath from Beijing, Kirsty and Fuzzy and it was simply great as I love quiet celebrations. Cath who was my houseguest gave me a birthday card, with cute messages and it's been a long time since I got one so it was really, really sweet.

I am truly thankful for my supportive family, my ever reliable friends and my charming boyfriend. God bless you all.

p/s: Gosh I'm sucha woman I have to rave about my birthday in one sappy blog spot hahaha.

Sunny Day

You ever noticed that people love watching other people fail?

"His son got 10 Cs for SPM. What'd you expect? His kid is playing all the time."
"Anak Minah kena buang kerja, ko tau? Alaaa...mana tidaknya Kiah oii. Asik menayang tetek sana sini orang pun amik peluang lahhhh."

I noticed our people rarely acknowledge achievements. I've been lucky to meet people from around the world and they wouldn't miss a beat in complimenting something about you. Fake or not, you gotta admit that getting compliments is a nice thing to receive from people, especially strangers.

People would always jump at the first opportunity to kill you. Well, not literally but heck I think if they were given a foot-long machete they wouldn't think twice. That's why Face fucking book is sometimes annoying with people jumping to know the first moment you got fired or when your relationship goes drown the drain.

The birthday wishes are fuckin' phony. Who gives a shit about your birthday? Because it's as simple as typing "Happy Birthday!", people wouldn't mind wasting a nanosecond to type that to your Wall. Next time, send me a cheque while you're at it.

So next time, when someone is in deep shit, try to do something to bring them out of the shithole rather than smearing them with more shit. Shit, I just said shit 5 times.

Go easy on the criticisms. Be generous with the compliments. Won't that make it a sunny day?

Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean

I told a buncha friends I'm flying home tomorrow night. In my subconscious mind, that tropical island is home. If I could get a job there and settle down I would abandon everything here and move there in a heartbeat. I touched down on Motherland two weeks ago and I could already feel what a dumpster it is. I bumped into a couple of people in the flight who were of the same ethnicity as me; the auntie smiled, offering acknowledgement, but the turd who was sitting two seats away literally ignored me. He kept dropping names of VIPs and dignitaries, making himself look important, like the other squint-eyed east-asian passengers give a flying fuck. That is just so typical of third world nations like Motherland.

The more I think of it, the more I feel the need to get my ass out of this shithole peninsular full of self-righteous bastards. Where the men are 5 feet tall with 4 inch penises and 38 inch waistlines but forever relishing the possibility of having 3 wives with their meager salary of nothing over USD1k. I might be generalizing and exaggerating at the same time but we all know it's somewhat true. With my past encounters and less than graceful experiences, I now know with conviction that I cannot end up with a man of my own race. I don't think they can handle me, and I know for sure I don't want to handle them. Likewise I don't think any sane man here thinks I am wife material, with my potty mouth and crude demeanor, as much as I don't think they are fit to be my husband.

The bitter part of me is still dwelling on the past (I would say it's about 75% percent - the bitter part that is, not the part that's dwelling on the past)  on why my former love did not want to make me his life partner, on why his parents were not favorable of me, on what kind of woman they were envisioning would make a great pair with their son, amongst other dubious thoughts. They're a wasteful thought of course, and they bring me no closure nor peace... but I just can't help thinking at times. I have no ill feeling towards him, nor do I have any feelings towards him anymore, but sometimes I wonder why I let my dignity be trampled on like that. And then I remembered why - it was because I loved him, as much as I love my current object of affection, and that's what happens when you love someone, you swallow your pride. You also swallow their sperm juice (sorry could not resist).

This is a happy post

As we get older, we get nostalgic. Melancholic. And most notably - tragic.

I left the blogging arena some years ago as I just couldn't commit with updating mundane things that happened in my life (plus I discovered Twitter).

I used to be such a happy camper. I had a bright outlook on the world. I actually liked people.

Now I'm just a cynic. I counter every positive things in life from my pessimistic point of view. And I just can't stand people.

I have most possibly changed. Something inside me changed. Meeting a lot of amazing people (and enduring toxic friends) changed me. Being screwed over by many different parties for their own gains changed me.

A lot of people claiming they're my friends said that I've become arrogant, indifferent, sarcastic and difficult. Well so what. It's not my fault you're insufferable.

I'm most possibly perpetually depressive as well, but who needs to get into details now?

But you know what? I absolutely love it.

Time passes

I used to be an angry teenager.

The teachers sucked. The politicians were talking shit. And grown ups never listen to you.

I am 30+ and I don't listen to angry teenagers.

Things never change.

Freshman

Blogging after an absence of a few years feels like having sex for the first time. You know what to do, seen everything you can on the Internet, yet when push comes to shove, you just trust your gut instincts.

Which I am about to do now.

In this day and age of social networks and micro-blogging sites, blogging seems to be like writing with a quill. It's messy, time-consuming and no one actually does it anymore.

To think that when I started eight years ago, social networking was in its infancy. Mark Zuckerberg was just another angry freshman in college and tweeting seemed like something you did when you see hot chicks.

My thanks to a certain someone for making all this possible. She provided me the platform to blog eight years ago, and continues to provide me with the same platform now. I haven't really grown up, haven't I?

Welcome to our blog.