This is turning into a sappy Bridget Jones blog. I am sorry.

This is not a proper post. I just kinda need to run this by you guys, if people are still reading this shit.


So....I sort of...kinda....a little bit.....dating a cop.


I know, I KNOW! What the eff right?


It's just dates and there's nothing specific or official but he's really keen but I'm not really keen but he's young and he's fresh out of cop school (8 months!) and he's like buff and his ass looks really, really....really good in the uniform, you guys. Like really good....like damn that ass is so tight, it could deflect bullets. Which is good, cause he's a cop. Could come in handy...the tight ass.


And if you guys remember anything at all about me, you remember my thing with uniform. Although I have always veered towards firefighters...


So it have only been dates and movies and no official "labelling" of such, but he's pushing for it and I'm holding it off....but I dunno.


He's cute. But he's a cop. And well.....a cop. He's going back to school next year so he could become a detective....but that's just fancier version of being a cop.


So I dunno. I think he's cute. And he's funny. Slightly pushy. And a bit possessive...but most men are possessive so nothing special there. Except that he has a gun. 


Shit.


What should I do?! Cut it off cause he's a cop? I mean, dating is dating...and I sort of holding out for another guy who is not a cop whom I'm totally into and he's into me as well but he's a fucking pussy that won't ask me out and I'm like "I don't wanna make the first move cause I don't wanna emasculate you," so we both go around sneaking glances, and me flirting with other guys in front of him to make him jealous and have so many girls nights out where I profess my full blown crush on him to my girls and how the answer is yes, it will always be yes if he JUST. FUCKING. ASK. ME. OUT. ALREADY.


But he doesn't.


And then the cop dude comes around. And he asked me out and I said yes cause even though I totally like the other guy I'm like "I can't wait for you forever till you grow some balls and realize that you like me too and I need to be out there while I still have perky breasts and is this fucking hot and I really can't wait for you babe. Aaallll this, don't come easy. Fight for me."...so I said yes. 


And now I'm sort of dating a cute cop with a tight ass who wants to make it "official" while all I could think of is the other guy who always sneaking glances my way, who makes me happy by just being near, whose slight brush on my hands makes me sweat, whose the first thing I think about everyday -- but is doing nothing and there are problems at work and my friends are getting married all over and ohmygawd -- the pressure people, the pressure!

Also, my ass have not grown any tighter or any perkier eventhough I fucking take RPM classes 4 times a week and I do 60 squats EVERY. FUCKEN. DAY.


Oh wow....look at that. This is a proper post after all.


So dump the cop? Or have faith and see where this goes? I truly need an answer to this one people. I truly do. 

Oh wow, I'm a writer. A legit one.

You guys! 

I'm back. Well, not to blogging per'se. But to Malaysia. I'm done with my degree, and I came back on August 30^th, lounged around the house for 3 weeks before I started the job hunt. True testament to how much of a badass motherfucker I am, I was offered to 3 positions in 10 days and now is proudly employed! Mwahaahaha! Fuck, I was so scared that I was gonna be unemployed and shit cause I heard of people who took 6 months to find a job after uni but I did it in 10 days.

TCDO = BAMF.

In case you guys are wondering what I do now...well I am a writer for a female-oriented magazine. Yes, I write for magazines. I use to fantasise telling people that I “write for a living” back when I was younger. The fantasy was when someone ask me what I do for a living, it was either:

“Oh, I'm a journalist...for the New Yorker.”

Yes, the New Yorker. Yes, I realize I'm from Malaysia and that I live in Klang and I get roti Naan from Little India every other day, but fuck you, it's my fantasy.

OR

“Oh, I'm a writer. I have my own column in...”

OR 
 

Metamorph into Liz Lemon from 30 Rock.

So technically I don't have my own column or have metamorph into Tina Fey's altar ego...yet, but I get to say that I am a writer when people ask and it'll be totally legit! So yay me!

However, considering that I do write for a female-oriented mag, I do come up with stuff like “Is your husband cheating on you?!” and “Why your co-worker is avoiding you. Could it be B.O?!”.......And I graduated with a Bac. In Journalism with a Minor in Middle Eastern Studies. 

If you guys are going like “Middle Eastern, what the fuck now?” Cause you guys, I wanted to do SERIOUS journalism and work for the New Yorker and one day become a war correspondence cause let's face it, there is no such thing as peace in the Middle East. Like, ever. 

 

When it bleeds, it leads and I am all for milking the cow till it dries and die out of dehydration.

Don't get me wrong, I been writing for the mag for 2 weeks now and I have been enjoying myself and learning so much but at the back of my mind...there's a voice that's going:

“You're a 3^rd wave feminist with a minor in Middle Eastern Studies. You care about politics. You read the Huffington Post in your free time. You know who Maureen Dowd is. You rallied in Gay Rights and volunteered at women shelters. So riddle me this, why are you writings shit like 'How to achieve orgasms during pregnancy sex'?”

Because I need a job. 

Because I am a hypocrite. 

Because Capitalism is the modern day god and I am but a humble servant appeasing it for mercy on my bank account.

Also, I bought a car and now I'm 45k in debt and bish, I haven't even received my first cheque so excuse me for selling my soul to The Man.
 

Just because I write about trite, fluffy, inconsequential things does not mean I care any less or that I am a bad feminist. I am just trying to make ends meet here. Plus, when your editor read your first piece for the first time, giggles, look at you and say “You're very dramatic aren't you? I can tell from your writing” and you tried to keep a poker face, but she continued “I love it! Can you spin it and make it more sensational though...” There's that warm feeling inside that goes, that despite principles and beliefs...that maybe low-brow journalism is where you belong...
 

For now, anyway.

Plus, who can say no to a company whose dress code BANNED button downs and corporate attire and is totally cool to wear mini skirts and band t-shirts to work...as long as you pair it with heels and lunch hour is any hour between 9 to 6pm and their business card is in hot pink. 

Glossy, hot pink.

I know I can't.

The way we used to be

I'm writing this down while sitting on the dirty, shabby, carpeted floor of Brisbane International Airport, Gate 79, Departure. There's a group of school children in sports uniforms milling about near me. Buzzing with excitement and anticipation of whatever they are heading to. I understand the feeling.

I'm going home.

The homesickness did not pass the way it usually did. Once it passed the three day limit and I was up at night trying to download "Bujang Lapok" to no avail, I knew I was in way over my head. Called my dad and asked if I could use the one year open ticket he bought me. After all its only been only over 10 months since I been home and I really don't want to waste. He said it was fine. This was on Wednesday. Its Saturday now and I'm waiting for that plane.

This need to fly home this time around is different. You see, my sister is in Malaysia. For those who do not know, my sister lives in Finland. She married a Malaysian Nokia engineer, who luck has it was transferred to Nokia Finland shortly after they were married. They have lived there for the last three years. Two years ago I went to Finland to visit them. And that was the very last time I see her. Sure we Skype and speak on the phone but its different to see her in the flesh. To hug her and to tell her hair looks like shit and go to the movies and eat ice cream afterwards. Just like the way we used to, before she got married. Before I came here.

Now my sister, who has always been best friend, my sworn nemesis and my faithful confidant despite the distance between us is back home, with the rest of my family and I'm the only one away. I do miss Klang. But I miss my sister more. And this would be the first time my entire family would be together in the same country, fuck on the same continent for the same time since like six years ago. My brother went to study in the US, then my sister left for Finland then I did, leaving only my parents in Malaysia. Now my brother's back in Malaysia for good, my sister's back for a holiday and I'm here sitting on this goddamn airport floor, just willing for the departure gate to like fucking open already. Jeez. But no matter. 10 hours from now, via one transit in Singapore and I will be back.

I will be back with my sister who I miss more than anything in this world. But a little less so than the nasi lemak over in Meru. Fuck man, that's some good shit.

Now take it away Mel.

Home is in a different time-zone

I woke up today to a blistering cold winter morning. Put on a pair of leggings underneath my jeans and two layers of sweater on top. Then padded to the kitchen as slow as an 81-year-old with Arthritis to make myself a cup of green tea, cursing the cold floor under my feet. Then I put on my winter boots and got out of the house to get yesterday's mails and bills. It was shivering cold outside, but still somewhat lovely.

“Morning CD!”

That was 7A, off for his morning run round the block. Sometime I run with him, but I'm more of an evening runner than a morning runner. I smiled but didn't say anything. Too early and too cold to actually socialise right now. I made my way slowly to the mailbox, breathing in the fresh air, the peaceful silence of Queensland suburbia and think

“This is lovely. This is beautiful. I miss Klang.”

It came out of nowhere that dull ache. That throbbing homesickness. That burgeoning pain in your heart. Like a ninja trained in the best of dojos, it appeared out of thin air and strike you when you least expect it.

Ah Klang, Bandar diRaja tapi padahal macam celaka. I can say this cause that's my hometown but you have no right bitch, you have no right. Strange, I never actually was particularly proud about coming from Klang. I was never ashamed of it either. It just is. Kinda like the tumour on my brain. I never gave a moment's notice about it other than bitching about the amount of illegal immigrants that overflow it. I swear, Klang is like the unofficial capital of illegal Bangladeshi and Indonesians of Malaysia. Or about that one time when I almost get mugged by assholes on one of those rempits motorcycles and my first reaction after the fact was “Fucking Klang.” Cause let's face it, it's not the safest of towns now, is it? It used to be lovely I'm sure, but it is almost a ghetto now when you think about it.

Like Lucille Bluth, the deliciously racist matriarch on Arrested Development, I place all my blame on the illegal immigrants that overcrowd the place.

But here I am, seven hours away by distance and two hours ahead by time-zone waxing poetic about it. I miss the little things about it mostly.

I miss getting the weekly grocery list from mom before I head out to Jusco Bukit Raja to actually buy the groceries. I miss going to the movies in TGV on Wednesdays with Gypsy, cause that's the cheap day. I miss getting stuck in traffic on the way to Meru to buy nasi lemak at that little place by the road. I miss the pisang goreng guy in Andalas, who always give me extra pisang goreng just because. I miss going for evening runs at Taman Rakyat, and then running back the way I come from whenever I spot an old school teacher in the distance. I miss having chappati in Little India with dad on Sundays. I miss the A&W near Tesco and their God-awful and consistently undercooked waffles. I miss passing by my alma mater on the way home and feeling strangely envious of the girls who are still there, whose lives are simple and without complexities but for boys and TV shows. I miss driving to my friends' homes to pick them up without ever knowing their proper address. There's no need for that because everyone I know from Klang have lived in the same exact house they lived in their entire lives. Myself included.

It's weird being away. You start being nostalgic about things you never gave a fuck before, or in fact things you never knew you noticed before. In your head, everything is rosy. Everything is gorgeous. No, Little India don't have creepy men who openly stare at your boobs as your walk by. No, the traffic in Klang is not that bad, really! What illegal immigrants? I dunno what you're talking about. You guys, Klang is not that shitty! Honest!

Nostalgia works best when you edit the fuck out of all the shitty stuff and dress it up with pearls and Yves Saint Laurent.

Brisbane is not that far. It's not like I'm like my friends who are living in America or Europe. They have to take multiple planes, and sometimes days just to travel back home. I have a direct plane. In terms of distance, I'm better off. But when the aching in your heart comes, it doesn't matter how far or near you relatively are, the pain is still the same. That dull ache that hurts more than a broken femur and a root canal combined. But I cannot be sure. I never did broke a femur or had a root canal, all I ever had is this homesickness that would take days to go away.

But I'll be fine. It comes and goes this ache. Sometimes it'll last a day. Sometimes, a few. But it'll go away eventually to bid its time for another visit. In the meantime though, lets raise our teh tariks to Klang, the shitty-almost-ghetto town where I come from.

I miss you more than I can rationally comprehend and you will eternally be part of me.

***Apologies to my non-Malaysian readers. I do try to avoid the national colloquialism, but sometimes there's no avoiding it.

"Creepy" doesn't even cover it

So uh...I'm scared. I want to use the word “terrified” but that would be pushing it, so let's stick to scared.

I woke up at an unGodly hour today, despite going to sleep late. It was around 5ish in the morning and it was one of those bullshit thing and you can't go back to sleep. So cause I can't go back to sleep, I decided to do some room cleaning and then round 6.5ish decided to go do my laundry.

We have a public laundry here where I live. It's in this badly lighted room with a sensor light that flickers all the goddamn time in the name of “energy saving.” So it was round 6.15 ish this morning, it was really cold and windy...and dark. Winter is brutal this year. I was all alone in the laundry room, the light was flickering and I was measuring the detergent when he showed up. Who?

Creepy-ass Gym Dude.

For those who are new here, you can read all about the creepiness here and here. But the short version is this: This guy watched me at the gym when I go there to workout, hits on me and then followed me home. Like he fucken followed me home. I'm not even exaggerating. I have stopped going to the gym completely because of him. So yes, creepy doesn’t even begin to explain the extent of this fuckkery.

So again, it was 6.15 ish, it was dark, the light was flickering and there's just the two of us in the laundry room. I think he was coming back or either going for a morning run, walked by the laundry room and saw me. The thing was......he stopped and stood at the only entrance and exit of the room hence blocking it, leaned on the frame and stared at me. I looked up from measuring the detergent and he was there, leaning on the frame and stared at me like it was the most normal thing to do in the world.

I didn't know what to do. I stood there holding the detergent box and just looked at him. I mean, wtf, he didn't even say hi. Just stared at me. I was scared you guys. My whole body tensed, and all I could think of was “Fuck OMG there's no way out. There's no way out.”

Then I said “Hey, how are you?” Kinda wanted to get rid of the intense creepiness and maybe if I get him to talk he won't go all batshit insane on me.

He didn't replied. He just stood there. Staring.

I was overwhelmed with fear. I mean, it was really early in the morning, it was really quite. He stood there blocking the door and this guy, he's like 6'2? 6'3? He's not big, but lean and muscular. And I'm there all 5'1 and holding a detergent box and with no other exit. Physically, if anything were to happened, he has the advantage. I was, scared. I was thinking “If he does anything, motherfucking throw the detergent in his eyes then hit him in the balls! Hit him in the fucking balls!”

He stood there a little longer. Stared at me a little longer. Then he left.

I dunno how long it lasted. I dunno when he showed up. But fuck, fuck, that was so creepy. I mean, what the fuck right? I was so scared you guys. I mean, why would anyone do that?

I was shivering when he finally left. I don't think it was from winter alone. He didn't actually do anything but this is considered harassment right? I mean, why would anyone do that? Shit. I let him down easy, it wasn't I was a bitch or something. But that was scary. Holy shit you guys, that was so scary.

I'm still really shaken up from this.

I wash my hands off this bish

I have just submitted my final 4000 words essay for this sem on motherfucken war reporting. Fucken researched that bitch for 7 weeks. I have also been up, and stuck in front of the computer for the last 5 days working on it and now, I am done.

I'm going to sleep and not waking up till Friday.

Intermission

The following is a work of fiction. Though certain characters, locations, conversation and events that transpired within it might or might not have been based on real life, it is still a work of fiction and as such should only be read as a work of fiction.

**** **** ****

The maturest man I have ever been with was 35 years old. 35 is not really that old...but when you think about the fact that at 35, he was more than a decade older than I was...then yes...it is old.

The year was 2009. It could have been July or it could have been August....either way it was winter. I remember this distinctly as it was a rather cold winter that year. I remember stepping into the foyer of the bookstore and being thankful of the warmth it provided me. It was not just the heating in the store but more than anything, the warmth and the joy that I get just from looking at books. In no time had I managed to lose myself in the sea of books until an accented voice interrupted me in my hunt for the “perfect” book.

“Do you like crime fiction?

“Why do you ask that?

“You been thumbing that new Patterson trite for over 10 minutes, I was merely being curious...

“Trite?

“Trite.

“And I supposed you have fantastic taste in books?

“Superb. I could tell you all about them over coffee.”

He smiled cheekily.

Dark hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, and clever. Certainly clever, he's got that look to him. And judging by the accent...somewhere from the Latin region of the world.

“Smooth. Very smooth.

“I've been told that. I'm Rodrigo....and you are...bonita.

“That's not my name.

“But it certainly suits you.”

He was working me top to bottom. I knew this even then and the thing was, I was charmed. Very charmed. So charmed that I agreed to that coffee.

“You're not from this parts, are you?

“Oh no, I'm from Spain originally but I'm here for life now.

“What do you do?

“I'm a scientist.

“Scientist? That's a strange coincidence cause so am I. Rocket scientist.

“Haha...no, no bonita, I am for real. I did Marine Science for my Bachelors, Biomedical for my Masters and then the government of this country offered me a full scholarship for PhD in Genetics if I agree to work for them later on. R and D. So yes, I am a scientist.

“I never met a scientist before...

“Now you have...How would you like to date one now too?”

The conversation went on. The chemistry was electric. We laughed and we talked and he wooed me the entire afternoon. When it finally came to an end, he reached over the table, squeezed my hand and asked if he could see me again. Tomorrow, perhaps? My heart skipped a beat. In fact, if I was honest it skipped a thousand beats and it was a miracle that I am still alive now. I knew then what I know now for all certainty, that I was in trouble. Historically speaking, whenever I follow my heart anywhere it gets me into trouble and this was no different.

We met up the next couple of days, we talked and we laughed. We stared into each other’s eyes and overtime we were holding each other's hands while crossing the street. We were holding hands even when we were sitting at the cafe. We were holding hands everywhere and anywhere. He took me to jazz clubs and ballets. We visited museum exhibitions and pretended to be more cultured than we actually are. He introduced me to his scientists friends as an equal, not as a university student completely clueless on where her life is going. I was...smitten. It was an exciting time, to be with a sophisticated older man who treated me with respect and care and overtime I feel like this could be more. Much more. But the L word has never crossed his lips and if I was being completely honest with myself, amidst all the glamour and fun we were having, he was holding back something from me.

I wanted to ask. I wanted to know. But I didn't want to pry. I told myself if he wanted to, he would have told me. I said this to myself as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Consoling myself the only way I know how; by denial and more denial and half-concocted mistruths. “Everything is going so well, don't ruin this. Don't ruin this,” I told the increasingly apprehensive reflection in the mirror. “He cares about you, and that's enough” I said to the reflection, willing her to be satiated. But she wasn't.

And neither was I.

It was raining that day as he dropped me off at my place. He couldn't come in as he had somewhere else to go to. I smiled and what I wanted to say was....I couldn't remember what I wanted to say. But what I did say was “Why are you holding back from me?” It blurted out of nowhere. I did not plan it. All those time pleading to myself in the mirror did nothing, nothing at all.

The silence hung between us like an icicle waiting to fall and shatter into a million tiny pieces.

I didn't even have to explain what I meant because I knew that he knew what I meant. Rain was falling even harder outside. Dean Martin was crooning “Bye Bye Baby” softly out of the stereo. As if foreshadowing what's to come.

“Her name's Margaret.

“Right.

“We were together for 5 years.

“Right.

“She left me about 4 months before I met you.

“Why?

“I asked her to marry me....but she wasn't ready. We fought a lot because of that. Then she left.

“...........................................”

The icicle has fallen. And every and each of the tiny pieces managed to find its way into my heart.

“So I am.....your intermission?” Couldn't bring myself to say rebound, when clearly it was the more apt choice of word.

“It's not like that. I do care about you...it's just that....

“Not nearly enough,” I finished the sentence for him.

It was his turn to be silent. I stared out of the window. Trees were swaying in the wind. The rain was not letting up. Somewhere in a distance, a cat hurriedly crossed the street. Things seemed to be going on as per normal outside when everything, entirely everything has changed in my world.

“I should get in, it's getting late” I said as I opened the door. I wanted to get away. Just get away.

He grabbed my hand as I was stepping out. Just like that very first time. 

“I didn't want it to be like this. I don't want it to end like this.

“But it just did.”

And with that I walked into the rain and to my place. He didn't come after me. My roommate was watching the telly in the living room when I came in.

“Hey, your mascara's running down your face” she said as she stuffed her face with pie.

“Well, hell of a rain outside.”

My mascara wasn't runny for the rain alone.

After that he called and we talked. We talked for a really long time....and I decided to end it. I knew that it hurt me more than it hurt him but I deserve better than to be the intermission. I am a head-liner and if I am not than there's really no point. I deserve better. This, I know.

This was of course 2 years ago. I've moved on since then. I thought so anyway.

Today I went to the bookstore where we met in 2 years ago. They were having a fire-sale. I used to avoid the store like a plague right after it happened, but not anymore. I was thumbing through a Sheldon book this time when

“Still reading trite I see” he said in that easy way of his, appearing next to me out of nowhere.

“Fancy bumping into you here” I said.

“Not really, cheap books!”

We smiled at each other when I noticed there was a woman watching us.

“Who's that? New girlfriend?

“Old actually.....that's Margaret.

“Ah.

“We kinda got back together.

“I could see that....ah well I should get going now.

“Wait, I want to tell you something......Margaret and I, we're getting married next month. I thought you should know.”

There's that icicle again, making an unwanted reappearance.

“Oh, congrats then. I'm happy for you. I kinda need to go now but congrats!”

I gave him a smile and exited the store as gracefully as possible. Leaving the pile of books I have carefully selected for the last hour behind me. It's been 2 years but my heart was still beating in my throat and my eyes were getting blurry. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out. Drinking every inch of me for what could possibly be the very last time.

I would have turn back for one last look too but then....this time around there was no rain to mask the mascara streaking down my face.

Awkward is my (imaginary) middle name

Omg, fucken kill me.

So I went for a run this morning. It started raining. Continued running in rain, feeling completely badass while looking at weak-ass sissies all sheltered in their car. Hah! You ain't as badass as I am. Look at me! Look at me all wet and running even in this weather. Be in awe of my awesomeness! Be inspired by my wet body indiscernible from sweat and rain water! Be inspired, bitches!!

Got home, feeling all superior. And knowing that my housemates won't be home at this time of day, I thought it would be completely okay to strip down to my sports bra as I entered the house cause my shirt is hella wet and I don't wanna get pneumonia. After all, we all collectively know each other's schedule now and this is an all-girls house. Should be fine, right? Riiiigggghhht?!!

Walk in the house while simultaneously pulling said wet shirt off me. Heard voices. Look up. Three guys I have never seen in my entire fucking life was sitting in the living room.

Fuck.

“Hi.”

“Hi” shirt still halfway off my body.

“We're Bitchface McGee's friends”

“Oh. I live here.”

“Oh.”

Awkward silence.

“I'm just gonna go inside my room now.”

“Okay.”

Awkwardly made way to room. By this time all the guys were grinning. Bastards! Baaaastards!

“Hey.”

“What?”

“I like your sports bra. Pretty.”

“................................”

I just did a striptease for my asshole housemate friends you guys. It does not get any lower than this. Just fucken kill me now.

Just fucken kill me now and get it over and done with.

Hey, remember when I used to be funny?

I notice there is a slight increase in my readership as of late. Which is all kinds of interesting given the fact that this blog is on life-support as it is. I used to update 3 times a week like clockwork back in the day and barely have any readers. I actually kinda have to tell people to read this little corner of the Internet, which is super sad when you think about it. Now that I barely give a fuck anymore or put the kind of effort that I did back in the day...and I have more readers. 

Weird ass shit man.

So here's a little background for the new kids on the block...and perhaps a refresher for those deluded enough that have stuck around during all these time. Thanks...bitches.

I am a 20 something year old Malaysian woman currently living alone in Brisbane for the last 2.5 years. You should know this because when I make references to “home” I mean Malaysia, and when I say “here”, more often than not it means Brissy. But as the years progresses, the line between “home” and “here” starts to blur and I am sort of stuck in a limbo. The limbo in which I do not know nor can decide where my heart belongs to. It is like a love triangle. But instead with two smokin hot (and preferably buck-naked men with giant dongs), I'm having it with two different time zones. It's complicated but in no way unique for someone in who is in my position. To love and to hold the country you were born into and in which you should...if you have not sworn your fealty to...or the country that you have adopted as your own?

I curse in four different languages and can pick up guys in three. I know how to say “I like your ass in those pants” in Spanish. English is not my first language. I just happen to choose it as the medium to blog in cause it's universal. I date. A lot. I just don't blog about it. Cause some shit you just don't blog about or maybe too trivial I just can't be assed into charting it into my life's chronology. You should know this cause if I just start bitching about some random guy, it might be the dude that is just the current flavour of the month. He will not be a reoccurring character on this blog.

I'm 5'1, 5'4 with 3 inch heels. I'm fat. I started running last August and lost 20kg/44lbs to date but I still have another 15kg/33lbs to go to what is deemed as my healthy BMI. I am not hot. I get hit on a lot though, but I contribute that to fact that I (used) to have big boobs. And that I'm a South East Asian living in a Western country. The word “exotic” could be applied within this context. Once a guy told me that I'm hot, I paused, stared at him and then turn around to make sure there is no hot chick standing behind me and I just so happened to be in the way. Analyse that as you wish.

I'm a Journalism major. In my line of study, I observe and remain objective. In my blog, I observe and be as subjectively bitchy as possible.

I have a thing for men in uniform. Mostly firemen. And/or US Marines. I also have a reoccurring fantasy of having kinky dirty sex with a faceless fireman in a fire truck. Cause fire truck sex is hot. And so is library sex. But with a different fireman. The library should also be on fire as we got it on...just like my loins.

I make fun of religion and God in general. Because reality is my opium, not religion. This tend to grate on people's sensibilities. I find this immensely amusing.

I am a feminist. I am not ashamed of it nor will I shove it in your face. I do not preach for equal rights, just respect.

I write things that are uncensored. I write things that might offend you. I write things that concern me in the present now. I write things that matter to me.

And that's really the basic things you should know about me.

Anything else, you can ask in the comment box. Whether or not I'll answer it....is a whole other ballgame. 

 

Russian roulette

I was told that I was barren at the age of 20. My parents were in the room with me when the clever lady doctor broke the news. My dad clenched his fist and looked away. My mom cried silent tears. I reached over to comfort her. It was strange. It should have been the other way around. It wasn't her that was just declared defective. It was me. And yet I wasn't sad. Just...relieved.

I never liked children anyway.

How did it come to this? At the age of 20 I went through 4 cat-scans, 3 specialists, 2 overnight stays at the hospital and after a while they finally figured out why a 20 year old woman barely gets her periods. That's how this started you see, I wasn't getting my period. When other normal women were menstruating 12 times a year, I consider it super lucky to get mine at most once a year. So what was the problem?

A tumour was growing in my brain. It is not cancerous. It is benign. It just what it is. A tumour that came univited and stayed on long after the welcome mat has been thrown out. Though it will not progress into something deadly, it does however grow in the area of the brain that regulates hormones in my body. What it does is...it fucks up my hormones especially with the one that have to do with the productive system. It fucks it so much that I barely get my period. It fucks it so much that the body doesn't receive enough hormones to create ovums...or eggs if you would. It fucks it so much that one day, my body just stop trying.

It fucked it up so much that the doctor told me that I'm barren. They used the word “barren” not infertile. “Infertile” are for women who still have their ovums but can't conceive. “Barren” are for women...who are not even capable of creating her own eggs.

I'm reading the book “The Lovely Bones” now. You might have seen the movie while it was playing at the cinema. It was beautifully shot but dreadfully told. The book on the other hand, is beautifully written but tragically told. It is about a family who lost their child and how they cope with it. Especially the parents, on how their love is for their deceased child. And...I didn't get it. This will sound fucked up, but I don't understand why people love their children. What makes your children so special? In fact, what makes children so special, full stop? I don't get it. And then it hit me....I will never fully understand it.

Ever.

It took me years to realise how much that day in the doctor room have impacted the path of my life. My intense dislike for children is what it is, an intense dislike. But more than anything it is a defence mechanism for something I will never have. I will never have little girls in pretty dresses calling me mom. Or little boys hiding behind my legs in fear. It is much easier to dislike and detest than to like and yearn for something you never have. Less complicated. Less stress. More time to concentrate on something else.

I never been in a proper, long-term relationship because of this. Whenever it starts feeling comfortable, serious...I cut loose. I sabotaged it. I dump him or make him leave me. It hurts. But its much easier than telling him all defensively “Oh by the way, I can't have kids. And no, I totally was not leading you on.” It is much easier to stick with the fun part and cut loose before the serious kicks in. Its much easier to run away than knowing that he will leave you when he knows that you're...defective. I mean its not something you can tell over the first date now is it? “Oh this is a lovely restaurant. I'll have the chicken, with a side of salad and oh by the way I'm barren. What's for dessert?”

When is the appropriate time for this conversation? The third date? The third month? After the first “I love yous”? When? I don't know. Do you? Much easier to just end it than to bring it up. That way there will be less pieces of my heart to pick up from the cold, hard floor.

Now...in my own way, I have made my peace with it. But in my own way, I have not.

Its complicated. Children is never something that I ever wanted but it is nice to know that you could have than never actually could. Is it not in man's nature to desire what he could not? I don't really know why I wrote this post but it felt like after all these years something have been lifted from my heart. I have come to terms with it, somewhat...enough that I could share it with the faceless strangers who read the trite I spew on the Internet.

But not enough with the people who actually matter in my life.

Seriously, God hates me

I really wanna write something witty and hilarious today. But I can't. I'm depressed.

So fucking depressed.

So a little back story, I've been losing a considerable amount of weight ever since I started running last Sept. When I said considerable, I mean 19 kilos. That's about 42 pounds, if you're not on the metric system. Weight loss have never been the main goal it was more of a “Holy shit, I totally wanna run a marathon before I die” kinda thing. I'm still fat though, there's about 16 more kilos to get to my ideal BMI. However, that's not the story here. The story here is that going from a size 18 to 14 means that I gotta buy new clothes every now and then so that I totally not look like a hobo.

I been belting my clothes and doing the whole stylish layering thing for a while now cause seriously, it gets pretty expensive if I wanna buy a new wardrobe every time I drop a size. Pants however, are not as forgiving as tops cause those bitches totally slide of you. I was in the ladies department today looking at some budget pants that I can double up for gym/home/and possibly sleepwear when one of the ladies that were working there kept on staring at my boobs.

Seriously...creepy, pervert, psycho much?

Then she came up to me, put her hand on my shoulder and went

“Don't take this the wrong way love, but I seriously reckon that you're wearing the wrong bra size”.

Okay so she worked at the lingerie department and all....but still...kinda creepy.

She asked me what my size was and I told her and then she, again, stared openly at my boobs and went

“No love, you might have been that but I'm telling you now...you went down a cup.”

She gave me some new bras and you know what...she was right.

I did went down a cup. It was not like I wasn't aware of it. There have been tops that have previously been very awesome at the cleavage area that are no longer....cleavage-y. But I been telling myself that's cause I lost all my back fat, hence the tops are no longer as fitted as they are. Boobs are still however, in tact.

I was lying to myself of course.

My boobs have shrunk. My awesome rack, the type of rack that you would write home about...is no more....Holy shit I'm depressed.

I mean, WTF?! Why is it that the moment I lose weight it comes from my boobs and not my stomach?! WTF?! Why, WHY do God hates me so? I mean, seriously God, what is your deal? Like do you revel in my misery. Why the boobies God, why?!!!

Oh the pain! The pain...I cannot take it.

Probably have to take a tranquilliser to deal with the pain and the shock before I go to sleep tonight. Also, I'm losing my ass as well. Like I know I shouldn't be discussing this but my ass is shrinking as well. It's not perky anymore you guys! My ass is not perky anymore!!!! Arrrggghh!!! So now, I don't have tits AND ass. It's ridiculous. But still a lot of belly despite all the abs curls I do. No tits, no ass...but yes on the belly.

Seriously. I bet this is all some kind of bullshit cosmic joke, so the Big Guy could have his shit and giggles.

Then today, my boss told me that since sales is not going good so they're closing the shop next week. I have been working part time in a stationery/gift shop for almost 6 months now...and they're closing down the shop next week. So in a week's time, I'll be jobless.

So let's review, shall we?

No tits. No ass. No job.

And you bitches think you got it bad.

 

Bye bye boobies...

Me and Bitchface McGee

So I got a new housemate.

Her name is BitchFace McGee.

Okay, that's not her real name. But it sure as hell fits her better than whatever her real name is.

She moved in here into the extra room last Thursday, round 9 in the morning. Now the reason I can be super specific with this is cause I was at the kitchen making honey glazed carrots for breakfast. That's right, I make fancy healthy, vegetable dishes for breakfast.

Yes, I am more awesome than you. Let it go.

So the story goes on, I was cooking and someone begun unlocking the front door. Then she came in...and this is literally my first sight of her:

Both hands full of stuff, a cigarette hangin of her lips reminiscence of the Landlady from that Stephen Chow's movie, and beer belly sticking out of her shorts. Like her shorts were falling of her, what assume is her hips, and her gut was just sticking out for the whole world to see.

It wasn't pretty.

And woman just walked in the house, guts all hanging out and not saying anything at all to me. Like I was completely invisible. I was so shocked, all I could managed was;

“I'm sorry, what?”

And then she looked over, gave me a once over, and then went:

“Oh I'm moving in here. Do you live here?”

Ummm...no dumbass. I randomly brake into peoples' houses and make fancy breakfast using their stoves.

“Um, yeah.

“I'm Michelle*.

“CD. Where's you're from?

“Britain. But my boyfriend lives in house number 9, that's why I'm here.”

How is that related?

God, everything about her was trashy. Like just white trash you know. I mean maybe I was being judgemental and shit...but if you came in waltzing into people's house without even a hello and your beer belly sticking out.....I'm just gonna make the assumption that you are indeed, a white piece of trash. Also, she reminds me so much of Vicki Pollard from Little Britain, it is insane. Not the way she talks...but the way she looks. And huney, that is not a good comparison.

So that was the first encounter.

Then that night her boyfriend came to help her moved in. They had a lot of shit so I was like “Oh do you need help with that?” and I just kinda helped carry some stuff inside the house. Not much but I figure since we gonna live together, might as well play nice. While I was carrying one of the stuff, I was like “Oh this is quite heavy” and her boyfriend, whom I met but 5 seconds ago went oh “Michelle keep her sex toys in that” like all jokingly.

Right. I just met you. I just met your gf this morning. And you are already making a sex joke with me?

Classy.

When I woke up the next day, the front door of the house was opened, so I closed it. Then a little while later, it was opened again and I figured out it was her and she's didn't close the door behind her. And the same shit went on for like 3 days, woman just went waltzing out of the house and leaving the front

door just.....opened. I mean...what kind of a fucking idiot leaves the house without closing the door? It is not a tall order people. Close the door after you fucken leave. It is pretty basic. I mean...wtf? It was weird. So when I saw her next I was like

“Hey Michelle, do you mind closing the door when you go out?

“What?

“When you leave the house, close the door behind you.

“I didn't?

“No, you didn't. And its been goin on for days now.”

“Oh.

“So close the door after you, okay"

I said all politely and nice and the woman replied

“Yeah yeah yeah” in that annoying dismissing way and literally just walked away.

Fuck. This is karma. When I was a teenager, I talked like that to my mom aaaallll the time. Fuck man, this is definitely karma. It was infuriating. I kinda wanted to fly back to Malaysia at that exact moment and beg my mom for forgiveness and be all like

“I'm sorry mom!! I'm sorry for being such an infuriating piece of shit! Please forgive me! Pleaseee! I've learned my lesson from this piece of white trash I'm forced to live with!!!”

However, me being me, wouldn't let that slide. So I slammed the door behind her. I just slammed it. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that...but if bitch thinks she can just walk away mid conversation with me, she better think again. If she wanna play this game, I could play this game. I could play this game better than she ever could.

And after that we just ignore each other inside the house. Just plain ignorance. No “hey”. No “How are you?” Nothing. It is weird. She hasn't even been here a week and she already made an interesting fodder for conversations. And the thing is, when she met Leigh for the first time, she just looked at her and then walked back into her room. I mean, wtf? You gonna live with us but you don't even acknowledge us? Weird right?

She has friends all the time, in her room but I'm so weirded out that she made no effort to get to know the people that lives with her. It is weird. Like she just came in, decided to be outright rude to people she is living with and that's it. I'm not saying we all should be best friends but civilized at least? But I wouldn't know...I'm not well-versed in white trash culture.

It is still not a problem...for now anyway. She's rude but she's not obnoxious. So far, the house is still clean, her friends are confined into her room and she's not in my face. If she is, well...she'll find out.

Looking forward to that actually. 

Close encounter of the creepy kind

We shall begin today, with where Creepy-Ass Gym Dude (as he will hereby be known) left off. So he came by last Sunday and wanted to hang out and I told him no, like all in his face y'all. It should have been noted that when I said that...his face changed. Not scary changed, he just look utterly surprised. That was all, and after that he didn't come around (that I know of) which gave me a relatively creepy-assholes-free existence for an approximately 3 days until Thursday rolled in.

I was at the shopping mall library when I saw someone I recognise vaguely as one of his housemates. Here in Aussie, they have libraries in the shopping malls and the libraries are pretty kickass. You can borrow DVDs, CDs, audio books, magazines, foreign language media, video games (PC, XBOX, PS 1,2,3 and Wii) on top of the usual books and they're all free. You don't even need to pay to get a library card, you just need a valid Queensland address. That's all. Malaysia should get on to this- stat.

So I was in the library at the fiction books section when I saw the guy whom I recognised vaguely as his housemate. I certainly have seen the dude coming in and out of the house by the gym before. So me being me, completely panicked cause I assume Creepy-Ass Gym Dude would be there and I was not wrong. In like another second he appeared and they were making their way to the DVD section. And I was like “He didn't see you, be cool. Be cool.” Of course I was telling myself this while I was also trying to hide behind the bookshelves and sort of walk run to the furthest bookshelf from the DVD section. Once I got there I just crouched down on the floor and stared intently at the books that were in front of me. The thing is, the titles didn't made sense at all and I cannot figure out why they were not making any sense. But that's beside the point.

The point was, there I was, a grown woman, crouched on the floor, trying to hide from some guy. The fuck? Come on! I am better than this. I am woman. And as a woman, I can take whatever that life throws at me, throw some glitter on that shit and sell it over eBay for 5 times the cost. Cause I am woman. So I stood up, grabbed a random book of the shelf and just started thumbing it. So what if he sees me? I will not be cowed...despite him knowing where I live and all that. I know where he lives too! So there! So what if he's creepy?! I'm bitchy. I can handle this. I am badass. I am woman. All these shit was goin on in my head as I furiously thumbed the book like it owed me money or something. Then a voice asked me;

“You're not Japanese...”

It was some kid in school uniform.

“No I'm not. Why?

“But you can read Japanese...

“Huh?

“Isn't that a Japanese book you're holding...I just assume could read Japanese. Cause that would be cool.

Oh....that's why it was not making any sense....

“I'm Malaysian. Everyone from Malaysia can read Japanese. It's in our learning syllabus.”

The kid looked thoroughly impressed.

“Yeah...I need to go now anyway. Konichiwa.”

Totally pulled that out of my ass man. So what if I was not totally un-frazzled? I am woman. I will rise above this. I did however...stayed in the library for another hour after I made sure the coast is clear...so that I won't bump into him in any other part of the shopping mall.

You bitches can stop sniggering now.

Things were fine until Leigh* asked me to go the gym with her. Up to this point, I have been avoiding the gym like a plague. Leigh is my 23-year-old Australia housemate. She is, by far, the sweetest person I have ever met in my entire life. She is also, the nerdiest. I kid you not. The woman has been on the Dean's List since her first sem and she studies Biomedical Science. That shit is not easy, and to be on the Dean's List every damn sem is quite a feat. Fuck, I study Journalism which is chicken shit compared to what she is doing and I'm not even close to the Dean's List man. She's very clever, but also very shy and timid. It took me about 10 days to coax her into talking to me when she first moved in. At first I thought she was an arrogant bitch cause she won't talk to me but then whenever I talked to her, said hello or whatever, in the early days,she would smiled shyly at me before scurrying into her room. Like a mouse. Bitches don't smile and scurried, they give you dirty looks, ignore you and model strut into their room. I have now managed to get to talk to me...and now, she doesn't want to shut up. I swear to God. Sometimes my brain hurts from her chatter, but I don't mind.

“Leigh, I don't wanna go to the gym...Creepy gym asshole would be able to see me.

“But I'll be there. You won't be alone. Plus, what about that whole “I am Woman” thing you spewed when you came home just now?”

Ah for fuck's sake...

It was with heavy trepidation that I followed Leigh to the gym that night. Things were okay for the first 10 mins, I felt semi-relaxed....until Creepy-Ass Gym Dude showed up. I am fucken with you not. The dude showed up. I am woman...but I freaked out like shit. Inwardly, of course. I was controlling my facial features but I was screaming bloody murder inside. He came in, looked at Leigh who was on the elliptical and completely avoided my eyes. I was like “Okay, okay...it will not be awkward if you don't make it awkward. Be cool CD. Be cool.”

So I continued running while Leigh continued with her one sided chatter, oblivious to my drama. And the whole time, he continued being in my view but avoiding my eyes and I was avoiding looking at him. It was fucken stupid. High school never ends people. He was doing all kinds of push-ups and abs curls and bla bla bla. I don't want to say that whole show was for my benefit but um......

1. There are so many weight training equipments in the gym, why are you not using that asshole?
2. Why are you doing push-ups and abs curls, shit you can do on your bedroom floor but you chose to come to the gym, and in my full view?

Sometimes my life is so stupid, I just wanna give up.

Then he moved to the back of the gym where he was actually using the equipments, and considering the fact that I was running on the treadmill and all the equipments are facing the treadmill, I'm just gonna make the assumption that he was also looking at my ass. Do you know how fucked up it is to be running and to have someone creepily stare at your ass? It is fucked up. Then the whole time I was on the treadmill, I keep on telling myself to go faster than usual cause I wanna show him that if he ever chase me as prelude to killing me and then mutilating my body and then burying me in concrete at a construction site, he will however, need to chase me first. Which is tricky, cause he's an athlete...and he runs track.

See, I know there are bunch of young athletes living in the complex. I seen them train and I have spoken to some of the girls who's on the team and they told me that they been placed here for their training. They don't work, they don't study, they just train. I seen them around with their coach sometimes and I know they go to some high tech gym over the other side of the town. The girl that I spoke with have been to 2 Olympics and 3 Commonwealths I think. I'm not sure. But they're athletes and they do track. Creepy-Ass Gym Dude is one of them.

So that's why when he showed up last night, I was all spooked. Why do you come to this stupid apartment gym when your government is paying for you to go to some state-of-the-art gym? Amirite, amirite? Ah creepy. But yes, I can't run as fast you but I still run asshole. I can still run. Also I don't get it, I'm not even hot. If I am totally hot, I would get this but I'm not which brings me to my other theory:

Have you guys heard of this well jock thing, that when their team is in a bad state, one of the jocks would find a fat chick and have sex with her so that they could get out of their losing track or something. I never heard of it, until I come here. But yes, its like sports superstition. Take one for the team aka have sex with a fat chick and then your losing streak would be over. Seriously! Have you not heard of this?

I'm fat. I wear a size 14 AU/UK. He's a jock. Think about it...cause I reckon this is what it is all about.

I left the gym without looking at him and as soon as we got home Leigh went;

“That was the guy right?

“How could you tell?

“There was a seriously weird vibe when he came in.”

I wish he would just find another fat chick for him to get over his sports funk or whatever cause this is irritating me. It's not fair. He has his fancy athlete gym, I only have this one. I should have custody of this one.

Asshole.