The jetsetter would be calling me from Pangkor and the next day would be whizzing off to Paris and would call me from Province having French wine!

Bitch…

I don’t have that kind of life, as a matter of fact, I don’t think that I will ever be leading that kind of life. I am destined for an average Malaysian non jetsetting non drama life. I am this person who is in management, works odd hours and choose sleep over partying any given saturday and sundays. To make an oversea trip would be to save every cent of my low wages for it.

For fuck’s sake, I don’t even have an average relationship to start with. ( I am not sure if I am supposed to be glad or… disturbed by that little fact.)

And then, every so often when I have the tinge, I would feel a pang of guilt… for the envy I feel.

I am one sad case… I deduce.

A guy dropped me and a friend off his ‘friends’ list. The thing is, I don’t even care.

He was an ass, an idiotic ass, who thought the whole world revolve around his pathetic insignificant full of ‘problems’ life.

Let’s face it, his life is a speck, all of our lives are just floating specks in the universe. It is just magnified if other people wants to see it.

Hell… there can only be one Michael Jackson whose life is so interesting that his family is being paid money for post death processes and royalties.

So Knucka, we don’t care one fuck about you, ass.

And then, came the friends request. Sometimes people are so brainless that they thought that people would just add them  in to their list of friends, this despite the fact that we don’t know the fuck they are in the first place. Why should I add in a stranger to my ‘friends’ list?

Then, came the ex schoolmates, the one period of my life that I would like to forget. High school was so massively horrendous that I would erase it off my life, if I could. The people in it and the events that happened, it’s just so stupid. What makes you think that I would like to rekindle that in the first place. Takde masa bai!

I added in one or two that I am in contact with, for the heck of it. Some of them grew fat, like FAT. They have tows of little people and a husband and all that. Basically, a life I can’t really imagine having for myself. If I ever get married, I would like to retain my ‘hotness’ and my sizzling life. My husband and me would still be going to the gym to take care of our gorgeous lives.

And I won’t be wearing those horrendous things that these people wear. Sorry, but I am just not that type knucka. And my kids won’t (hopefully) have dried snots on their noses.

I sound arrogant, yes, but seriously, these photos turned me off from getting married. If I am going to look that fat, I would rather not have any little people.

One of my exes had the cheeks to try to add me into his list. He was a racist pig, and being with him was that one thing in life that I had to constantly wonder about.

Maybe I was lonely, maybe I was trying to get over another person who I love so dearly, maybe this and maybe that.

Bottomline is, I was whack, and that guy was whack.

And I don’t care, I don’t give a flying fuck!

Of course, I ‘ignore’ the request. To have him in my ‘Friends’ list would be another act that I would regret.

We were wondering aloud how come hot people like us (well, we consider ourselves hotter than the average Kiahs and Muthus around) don’t get to meet amazing people with.

“To fuck with?”

I asked.

He rolled his eyes and said that sex is not everything.

I can connect with him being that he is gay and he is on the other side of the unknown. I love talking to him because he understands our girl issues.

Well… a week ago, I decided to have white wine alone in KLCC. I considered that as my date with my laptop using public WIFI. I was given the cock stare by an auntie in hot pants and thick make up sitting opposite my table.

I ignored her and concentrated on my screen, and then he came.

He, this beautiful, gorgeous creamy Hershey skinned God came and sat next to the auntie.

It’s at that moment, that precise moment, I felt like crying.

I wanted to be the auntie.

So why is it that I was told that I am hot, but only managed to get attention from screw ups?

Well… I could have cried if it’s not for the fact that I was kind of tipsy… and hot, literally. I am not a smoker so I didn’t have any idea why I decided to sit outside that night.

I should have sat inside, at least I will be surrounded by elderly people sipping their Pimm’s cup.

Oh well, bloody hell, I think things are better the way it is right now and we better just stop wondering and go on with our lives then.

Right now, my love affair is with myself, me and I.

And the fact that my arms are looking fabulous thanks to all those intensive weight training in the gym.

I reminisced (literally… grimaced) at my past. My glorious past littered with brainless self sacrificing and dumb decision making bullshit.

In a word, to sum it up, I was a moron. A dumb moron.

I was working in between jobs for about two years. I should have chosen to complete my university education but NO I chose to drop  out because my student righteousness was challenged by a brainless lecturer saying that an assignment is not considered an assignment if it is written based on my own opinion.

Well… strangely, I don’t have any regrets on dropping out. I do regret not applying for another discipline though.

Or another University.

Of course, my past also entails the many (Many) romantic encounters I have had with UNbelievable men.

It’s not a good UNbelievable. It’s a rather bad UNbelievable.

I was in a ‘sort of’ relationship (Criteria- 2 weeks to a month) with two waiters, one very young guy, one very short guy, one very tall guy, all of them very dumb guys.

All of these, very fucked up decision making on my very fucked up part.

What do you expect from a very young me eh?

I was in love, only once. I was with almost 20 guys, but I was in love only once. I am still in love, but that’s another story. I am 30, and I have only been in love, once.

Sucks, but that happened. Better to have loved than to not have loved at all?

Careerwise, it only occurred to me that a career means more than a fat paycheck when I was 25.

All of the sudden, I wanted to move up, I wanted to be better, I love being drenched in adrenaline, I loved proving people that I can do the impossible and I am pretty darn good at it.

All that at 25. Now at 30, I am doing good, but I still want to be better.

Mainly because I know I can be better.

Oh well… enough reminiscing for now. As how they say it in Latin ;

Carpe Diem!

Anyway… Jay and I is currently plagued with our housemates from hell.

The thing is, they did ask us, me and Jay about the rules and regulations in the house, and we said no.

I mean, we are the kind of people who keep to our own business. We don’t meddle in other people’s affairs. We told them jokingly, and earnestly, actually;

“Well, just make sure you warn us if you warn us if you want to strip naked in the house.”

Yeah… that’s me and Joyce for you. We just couldn’t be bothered.

Honestly, we never though that hygiene could be an issue. Seriously, what they do could be a sign that their parents might have dropped them on their heads, or something.

Being that my room is the master unit with its own bathroom, I guess Jay suffered considerably more than I do.

But first, let me just go through the list of really weird and downright gross stuff that they do in the house that we share.

1) They put their dirty laundry basket (Well, It doesn’t even look like a laundry basket, looked more like a waste basket) outside next to the garbage bin. I mean… who… in the world would think of doing that? And when I said dirty laundry, I don’t mean as in pants or tops or whatever, it includes dirty panties and bras. Panties! Like seriously… Jay’s husband is now living with us and these people put their fucking underwear outside the house… NEXT to the waste bin…

2) Pube hair, in the common bathroom outside. Very yucky… fucking disgusting.

3) I found a fish buried under maybe an inch of ice when I was cleaning out the fridge. God knows when was it bought. I do know for damn sure that neither myself nor Jay would go as far as buying a fish for anything.

4) The way they store their breakfast capati is by putting them on a plate and shoving it in the fridge. For what reason, I wouldn’t know. This means that Jay and I would not be left with much space for our stuff.

5) They don’t know how to clean. They just… don’t.

Thanks to them, I rarely buy groceries because I would be thinking of where to store them. It’s a good thing though because I took the opportunity to diet and lose kilos of my bum bum.

If they decide to move out, the first thing that we are going to drum into the new people’s heads would be ;

“We want clean. Clean is good. ”

I know this post has something to do with Yoga but that is not what I am talking about… yet.

As far as meeting new people, I am all out for it. Although I am pretty much okay being on my own and is in no rush to get hitched, I like meeting new people and make new friends. It can get pretty boring with the same old set of friends. (No offense).

A guy that I have been chatting to for the last couple of days suggested to meet up for a drink. So because I didn’t have anything on the day after, I said yes. I didn’t see anything wrong with that. Because this dude is still studying and I was informed that he will be having classes all day, I double checked to confirm if it’s okay with him. I don’t have a problem with it because basically I am free on weekends and well… I don’t really care.

He said yes.

The next day, he didn’t call to reconfirm so I assume it was called off, so I slept until about 7pm when he called 15 minutes later saying that he will be late. I said that I will be late myself so it’s ok. After my shower, he text and said because he had classes all day, he was too tired and he asked me if it’s ok that we postponed it.

I said no problem.

I called Sue who I have not been seeing for some time now and asked if she wanted to go and get dinner. I was starving as I was on a sleeping marathon almost half of the day. We met at Chilli’s BSC and talked over our southwestern grilled lamb, Mango Juice and her Pina Chilada… ( I Think…).

After that we drove to Zeta Bar in Hilton KL Sentral.

We wanted to have a girl nite out. We ordered each a long island tea because I think I should slow down on my beer consumption and we gyrated to the awesome performance by the band.

Seriously, it was awesome. Sue didn’t shout out “I will fuck you anytime” to the sizzling hot female lead for nothing. She was hot, the whole band was hot.

We saw a drop dead gorgeous black guy. I looked at him dreamily. He has an American footballer kind of bod and being that I have a thing for bald black men, he fits the bill. He has a killer bum too.

*sigh*

“Go and talk to him. I think he is alone.” Sue shouted over the din. I shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

All of the sudden, I lost my balls. My balls were nowhere to be seen. I know literally, I don’t have any but that aside, I seriously lost my guts. He was just so yummy that I chicken shitted out.

Sue on the other hand had an arab guy stuck to her like a mollusc. She asked him for a cigarrette and their ‘romance and mollusc-ness’ sparked off from there.

No one approached me, but it was okay. I went there to have fun not to pick up guys. Well… it’s a bonus if I can get one. But as fate had it, I didn’t.

The mollusc offered to pay for our coffee at the hotel lobby after we finished partied. Sue doesn’t drink coffee, she ordered latte because she thought it was tea… (Hahahahaha!). After the mollusc left we talked over coffee and a couple of really delicious lemon macaroons.

I love macaroons… I’d make love to them (nananana) if I can.

I arrived at home, feeling emptier than ever. I sat on my bed looking out my voyeurist window, and again, I cried myself to sleep.

–

The next day, I woke up at about 12pm, took my late breakfast (Cereal with strawberries, wholegrain toast with unsalted butter) and got ready for my PT session at the gym.

I have a new trainer and I found out who was supposed to be my trainer left the gym. Might as well, she told me I am overweight! (Sobs…)

I found out during my third BMI evaluation that I have lost 2 KG. Joy.

I checked with the dude who ‘so called’ wanted to meet up and have ‘lunch’, but he didn’t pick up and he didn’t reply my message. So I said fuck it… I honestly don’t need these kinds of people around. Whether it is a woman or a man, nobody should behave like an idiot.

I called H and asked her out since it’s been sometime. We met for dinner in KLCC and we talked.

Conclusion; I would rather go out with my girlfriends then some pathetic guy.

The next day, because I was tortured by my trainer the day before, I decided to take it easy. I went to the Yoga class.

The problem was it was a ‘Power Yoga’ class.

The last time I went for Yoga was when I was still in my job like maybe 2 years ago. That was with this Indian Yogi whose Indian accent was as thick as a mango lassi. Half of the time I couldn’t understand his instructions.

This time, the instructor was a small and short chinese guy whose instructions made me smile just as much as I sweat.

“Now stretch yo ams and luk ap… crose your fingers and inhale and feel yore mascle contract…”

That paired with the relaxation tune in the background (and also unfortunately, some construction was going on outside), it was kind of funny.

My favorite pose for that morning… definitely the corpse.

I went straight after work at about 7.30 am. By the time I arrived at the gym, it was about 7.45 am.

(My office, my house and the gym is I think around maybe 4 block radius.)

I thought nobody is going to be around at that hour, apparently I was wrong, so I decided, when I grow up, I want to open up a gym. (Haha!)

I went to the lady at the reception and asked what do I have to do as I was very new. I have had a gym membership before this but I believe that all equipments in different gyms operate differently. I was after all supposed to wait for my ‘trainer’ to call me up, but she never did.

I said I preferred a woman instructor as I think that women would be harder on their fellow sistahs.

I want hard. Hard is good, it makes me work more. And yes, I am referring to the trainer, as in hard attitude, not anything else that would eventually become … umm… ‘hard’… if you know what I mean…

In case you don’t get what I am trying to say here, YES… I am referring to stale bread.

*Whistles*

Aaanyway, I changed, a bit intimidated by the seasoned gym users who obviously know what they were doing. I was the newbie. I went to an empty locker, dumped all of my stuff in it and changed, very demurely in the shower.

And then I found out that the changing ‘cubicle’ was very limited, and it was located at each corner of the changing room.

 … I felt ‘stupid’.

But never mind, not as if anyone really cares anyway. I changed to my running gear, grabbed the towel and walked out to the trainer counter.

I have always feared the scale. I have one, stashed under some clothes. I find it scary. My BMI was scarier, my weight, horrendous.

I do have a soft bum, it is both a curse and a blessing to me. (Men follows my bum. For some reason, Africans are driven crazy by my bum. I would rather drive men crazy with my mind –Yeah right!… I was obviously LYING. Heck… I am no saint!)

The trainer who just happened to be around and was free because according to him two of his appointments were cancelled took charge and after finding out that I am overweight and apparently he was puzzled by my body fat percentage (He said it must be the snacks, I said, I only eat one meal in a day and that is dinner only because I go to sleep at 8 am and wakes up at 8 pm). He did say that my BMI didn’t match how I looked like.

Not sure if I am supposed to be flattered by that. Did he mean that I look skinnier than I weigh or the other way around? I figured I had enough with honesty for the day and kept quiet.

The trainer is small built, very chatty fellow, who told me that he is 29 YO and is single. I didn’t ask about the single part. He showed me the cardio section, showed me how to use the treadmill, I pretended not to know, told me how to use the row machine, I pretended some more and the step machine, which is actually my favorite machine. It made me sweat like nobody’s business.

And then we went upstairs and did some squats. He told me to ‘push my  butt out and put all of my weight on my ankles.’ I would have to ‘get my chest up’ and ‘make sure that my knees are parallel with the tip of my toes’.

Sounds easy? Hell no. I looked pretty vulgar, I was looking at myself at the mirror, and figured out that hey… my bum’s kind of hot, I just need to shrink it a bit.

The next session I was with another trainer (Which was supposed to be my real trainer, the one who was supposed to give me a call earlier but didn’t). Again I went through the whole BMI thing and was told that my ideal weight is 52 kilos.

That kind of freaked me out. I have always though that I would look hot if my weight is around 55, turned out that for my height (I am about 5ft4) and body built, I am supposed to be that skinny.

Hmm… maybe the machine’s broken.

I was fine in the morning. I was in Starbucks and was absolutely fine sitting there with my laptop. I was happy, and I was not thinking about anything big. Afterall, it was a Sunday.

Then I drove over to KLCC, my main objective is to find the book that I have searched for months now. It is called ’I Am A Cat’ written by Natsume Soseki, a Japanese author in the 20th Century. I went to Kino and eventually found all three volumes of it but was shocked at the price tag of RM 108. So, sadly, I decided to get the book some other time. I ended up buying my weekly copy of Newsweek though. There was a special on the two Iraq wars waged by the two Bushes and also the swine flu. Interesting nevertheless.

The thing that sparked my emotional outburst was the fact that I was sitting in Dome for almost 2 hours and NOBODY approaches me. That’s when I thought that my self value had depreciated and was totally feeling sucky over that. I went to Cold Storage, bought stuff for dinner, drove back home, took a shower and lied on my bed for 2 hours on end.

I was crying. It was not a pretty sight when you think about it. I was naked under the covers with my wet hair (The one on my head) strewn all over the pillow.

I text Sue and she immediately text back offering her shoulder for me to cry on and wipe my snot on (Okay, maybe not the latter) and suggested that we meet up.

“Babe, where’d be good for you? Ampang or Pelita KLCC?”

To be honest, I was in no state to drive at all. I was depressed, I was sad, I had wet snot in my nose and my eyes are red. I was snivelling and I can barely get up from the bed. She text me again saying that I can just go over to her place, she will get a few six packs of beer and she suggested getting wasted after she finished sewing a pinafore (she is currently crazed over sewing stuff, like dresses and quilts, which is good for me because I would be the first person to send her stuff for dresses as I am such a sucker for dresses.)

I declined and settled on a rain check. We will be doing the ‘wasted’ activity some other weekend.

Still crying, I turned off the lights, put on my earphones with Usher singing ‘U got it bad’ on the MP3 player. I literally cried myself to sleep.

This morning, I woke up at 8 am and one part of my naked self was urging me to drag in that bottle of wine I have in the fridge and to stay in bed the whole day feeling miserable. The other part was nagging me to get up, get dressed and for God sakes, just go and make something to eat already as I have not been eating well the past couple of days. My only meal yesterday was a plate of potato wedges.

So I got dressed and whipped myself an overcooked pepperoni, capsicum and cheese omelette. It was overcooked because the stove we have in the house is a total mystery to me. I am used to the expensive stove my Mum has at home. Of course the stove is ‘Expensive’ and it is underused because apparently my Mum thought it was much too pretty to cook on. (That is another mystery I have yet to understand).

During breakfast, I realized that it had been like a billion light years ago since I watched a movie. I got ready and drove to Cineleisure, arrived at about 10.45 am and got tickets for the first screening of ‘Angels and Demons’.

The movie is okay because of Ewan fucking McGregor, he is so scrumptious, even when I found out that he was really this evil inquisitor type Padre pope killing dude (Sorry, a bit of a spoiler there.)

His character’s name does sound like a Ben & Jerry’s ice cream type. Mmmm… maybe I was just hungry.

After that I was wondering what to do next when sub consciously, I was walking towards Fitness First. I walked in and told the guy at the reception that I need to speak to someone about joining.

In a split second, I was briefed about the gym, was on a tour, handed over my credit card and was signed on.

It was like an out of the body experience. I found myself holding a Fitness First backpack trying to figure out the straps.

Whoa… those people are good, or maybe I am just zoned out.

And … so… there you go… I joined a frikkin gym! Watch this space for updates!!!

To have fun and to maybe go out to the city looking for nice shots (of the ones that you take with a camera,  not the liquid kind that makes you have sex to the pole in the club).

Gone are the days when I would constantly whine about being single and ‘old’. I might not have anybody to share this life with, but on the bright side, I don’t have to deal with over emotional grown men who has a personality of a 7 YO. I am at the moment enjoying my singledom with a fresh approach.

Never mind that I have been single for the past 3 years (and … counting)

Do I actually want to have someone at all… well I don’t know. I’d like to, but I don’t know.

I am still wondering why women take pride in having a VPL (Puke). I think I might become a millionaire by opening a class dubbed ‘how to run away from a VPL’ or ‘Stop a VPL nightmare’ or something of that nature.

FYI, my nipples are currently erected because of the cold. I am wearing a very comfortable kid bra with no padding and it was actually a semi conscious decision made while dressing up just now. I get absolutely confused and mixed up in the morning.

I think I better just go and get myself a boyfriend. How hard can it be right?

Right!

I thought her writing is far better than mine. Sure I have the patience for books and all that, but you do need a bit of that natural talent to at least write a pathetic sentence.

You do need that to convert what would have been a boring sentence ie ‘I went to eat good food’ to ‘I have gone to consume a somewhat delectably concocted recipe that have opened a window of culinary possibilities.’ – read that in an English accent ala Nigella Lawson and it will sound better.

Okay so I do admit I suck at writing ‘big sentences’ and just using ‘big words’ to express my subdued opinions.

Hey… I read George Orwell… but I am no fucking George Orwell.

 I also noticed that some people uses a blog to tell people (Who read blogs) about their life mission. To date, I have read two books about two women who publicised their personal goals in their blogs.

 One to cook all 500 French recipes using the Julia Fairchild’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Google it) and one to explore 50 ways to find a man. Both got a massive following and one is even turned to a movie.

I think I might just do that. Not turning a book to a movie, the telling people about my personal mission and updating it bit.

And I’d name it;

12 things you can do to get a grip on your life.

I will try one method for a whole month and see where it will lead me.

Though I don’t really know what I can do yet to achieve that. At the moment my life is a pile of dormant crap. If it;s not for the fact  that the new spot my office had recently moved to is probably haunted, I would have gone back to the office to start a new excel sheet on whatever work related that is really not a necessity.

 I am sure if I am to ask Jay about what can I posibbly do to get a so called ‘grip’ on my life, she would definitely get back to me with a smug;

 “Get a man and get laid. You need that.”

 Did I mention that one of the (I hope) crappy dreams that I have been getting involved me being chased around by a great huge DICK? (as in the reproductive organ and not anyone who is named one, or any Richards). It was the size of a fucking unsliced pepperoni  and it was literally hunting me down. The owner of it (In the dream) was actually quite cute.

 I guess I didn’t. yes, I did have a dream about a huge cock. And I did find the owner of the gigantic cock, cute. If he doesn’t have a massive hormone handicap that gives him the ability to magically hide under his own tent, I would bong him. 

 And try saying ‘gigantic cute cock’ 10 time s in a row. Yeah… Hahaha… it’s an oxymoronic statement but it is fucking funny.