Clean, my ass

Well hello there, here we are back again at yet another instalment on Dramatic Musings in which I bitch about Mr. Clean. Otherwise known as the Australian-fucktard-I-live-with. Well then, settle in, get comfortable and enjoy the post.

 

See, I dunno whether I mentioned this before or not but when I moved in here I was told by the Australian-fucktard-I-live-with that there are a set of rules in which I am supposed to abide by when living in this house. The rules are as followed:

 

1)     No guests stay over more then 2 nights in a row. In fact he would prefer it if I bring no on home at all.

 

See I am totally cool with this rule. To tell you the truth I kinda like it cause it gives me the privacy that I crave and it would stop people from always wanting to crash at my place. Also, I have never mentioned this before but the bedrooms doors in this house have no locks. Only the front door, the backdoor and the bathroom have locks on the door. See this is a house based on the “Concept of Trust” or some fuckery right that. The rule is thart when you leave the house, you don’t close your bedroom’s door. You leave it wide open. When you’re home, you close it. It works as a signal too. And the system works to certain extend cause I have lived here for 2 months now and none of my stuff have gone missing. So yeah, okies.

 

2)     No dishes stay out all night long.

 

It’s more of a hygiene issue. You wash the dishes as soon as you used them, leave it out to dry and then keep them at night. So no dishes stay out at night. Sometimes once a while I don’t keep mine or the other 2 do the same and it’s cool. As long as you keep it the next morning but the ultimate thing is that no dirty dishes in the sink.

 

3)     “Don’t come home late at night, if you need to come home at 3am you might as welll don’t come home at all.”

 

He said that to me. I told him seeing that I am paying the rent which technically makes this house my house as well, I come home anytime I want. I’ll keep the noise to a minimum.

 

4)     Don’t turn on the music or TV too loud.

 

Understandable.

 

5)     No showers above 15 mins or we have to pay extra.

 

I take one hour showers everyday, I told him I’ll pay the extra. Stupid fuck. I blame my parents for making me stay here.

 

6)     People have to do chores according to the duty roster.

 

Okay so the house has a duty roster. Dissapeara and I share one bathroom, and le Fucktard has the master bedroom. So let me break it down to you.

Dissapeara and I take turns washing the bathroom and vacuuming the top floors cause its carpeted on alternate weekends. This has changed now seeing that she hates vacuuming and I hate washing the bathroom. So now she does the bathroom every weekend and I vacuums.

 

The downstairs floors is not carpeted. So on alternate week, either on Weds or Thurs, Dissapeara and I take turns moping and le Fucktard does it over the weekend. Cause over here we wear shoes inside the house and the floor get dirty real fast. So the floors get done twice a week. Supposably.

 

The kitchen, well its understandable that you should clean up after yourself after you use it. Wipe the hot plate, the counters, the microwave, what not.

 

We have a lawn. Le Fucktard supposed to mow it once it gets unruly.

 

 

So basically those are the rules, in a nutshell.      

 

Last Sunday, while I was doing the laundry, I noticed that le Fucktard was in the kitchen making sandwiches. Fine, then about an hour later after I’m done hanging up my clothes I noticed that he did not clean up after himself in the kitchen. There are bread crumbs on the counter and unwashed dishes in the sink. Fine, I was feeling charitable so I wiped the counter and did the dishes. Sometimes this happened. People are late for class and then all kinds of shit happen and did not clean after themselves. After I’ve cleaned up after that asshole, then only I realise that it was Sunday. And there’s no class on Sunday.

 

Fine, shit happens.

 

Then same shit happened on Monday and I’m like…okay. Interesting. Then on Tuesday the dishes piled up. I asked Dissapeara and she said it wasn’t hers. And then microwave dinner boxes started turning up all over the kitchen counters. Le Fucktard didn’t even bother to fucking throws it into the bin. See, after the whole fish-incident…I have stopped buying TV dinners and now I just cooked for myself. Plus those things taste like crap. Dissapeara cook for herself too and the only one who eat that shit is him. See now I am getting pissed but I have not bumped into him and I’m like “Maybe he has exam and is just stressed out. Maybe his mom is sick. Maybe maybe maybe….” Then this morning I went downstairs for breakfast and lo and behold what should greets me in the morning but his leftover TV lasagne on the kitchen counter and apparently a bunch of ants have made their home there overnight. No seriously, imagined lasagne that was left overnight. And then ants swarming all over it. It was disgusting. I could clean it, I could but I just pour myself a glass of orange juice and drink it while watching the ants have a mighty feast over that lasagne.

Then I washed my glass, went upstairs and knocked on his bedroom’s door.

Die stupid racist fuck! Die!

 

 

It was about 9 in the morning. I woke him up cause I could hear him grumbling as he gets up and walk towards the door. The fact that I woke him up made me happy.

 

 

 The moment he opened the door I was all smiles.

 

“Hey Chris*, did  I woke you up?”

 

“Yeah, you did.”

 

“Good. We need to talk.”

 

“Bout what?”

 

“Are you okay? Are you sick or something? Do you have an exam that you are stressed about round the corner?”

 

“No, why?”

 

“Cause I thought that might be the reason why you have not been pulling your weight around here. The reason why you haven’t done the dishes or clean up after yourself in the kitchen.”

 

“No I just don’t want too.”

 

Le Fucktard totally said that.

 

“Oh, and why is that?”

 

“Cause Tanya* haven’t done the floors.”

 

Seriously, he said that.

 

“She done the floors yesterday.”

 

“Yeah but I told her to do it before and she didn’t and I won’t do my dishes because of that.”

 

See what I have noticed that le Fucktard is a racist bully that thinks he’s better then Dissapeara and I just because he is white. The thing with Dissapeara is that she doesn’t fight him back so he walked all over her and make her do shit.

 

“So how does that make sense? She doesn’t do the floors and then you don’t do the dishes and we all live happily ever after? See Chris, the lawn is getting unruly and one of these days snakes are going to move in and call it their home cause you haven’t mow it. But you don’t hear me or Tanya making noise about it or see us not cleaning up after ourselves and leaving the kitchen in the disgusting mess that it is just cause you don’t pull your weight around here.”

 

He just shrugged.

 

“Listen we are all busy here. Tanya works. I have assignments, just because we can’t do the house chores on time doesn’t mean we are not going to do it. We do it. We are all adults here, not a bunch of 12 year olds playing the blaming game. Seeing that you just woke up you wouldn’t know that a whole bunch of ants are downstairs in the kitchen, having a feast with the lasagne you did not clean up last night. Now you see, I don’t like that.”

“I don’t like it either.”

 

“Then why do you do it?”

 

“Cause Tanya….”

 

“No. This is not about Tanya. This is not about her. This is us talking now. This is about you being immature and trying to put the blame on someone else when you are the one not pulling you weight around here. When I decided to move in here, I was led to believe that this was going to be a clean house. That people actually respects each other in this house. And quite frankly, with the way you have been acting I feel that I was lied to. By you. And I don’t like being lied to.”

 

“No CD, why don’t we talk about this later. When all of us are home, when Tanya is home.”

 

“Good. Tonight then.”

 

I did not yelled when I talk to him. I was calm, I spoke slowly and I did not once broke eye contact. Fucker. After that I went out. Wah I am damn pissed off okay. There are so much shit I hate about him. He is very condescending towards me. He thinks just cause he is white he is better then me. Fuck that shit. I let it go for a while but the ants were the last straw. Fuck that. Tonight I’m gonna say it all to his face. When I got home bout an hour ago, the kitchen was clean though. So I’m happy bout that.

 

Tanya’s home now. I asked her in the kitchen just now if she wanna have the talk with Chris. She said she didn’t’ want too. She wants to go out with her boyfriend. The woman doesn’t like confrontations. I thrive on it. I’m waiting for her to leave the house and then I’m gonna call Chris and we gonna have our “talk”.

 

Stupid fucking asshole.

Fuck you Biawak

Australia is fucking with me. Seriously. It is fucking with me.

Remember when I wrote in passing that a fucking giant lizard appeared at my feet? Well, it happened. Again. That son of a bitch was about 3 inches away from my right foot!! And if you’re thinking “Chill, it’s just a small lizard.” No you mofos, it ain’t a small lizard. Malaysians would know this as a “biawak”. Let me just translate that for you non-Malay reading/speaking readers. “Biawak” means motherfucking hugeass lizards. Okay it does not mean that. I made that up. You’re online. Google it.

So anyways, let me re-enact that faithful day in which I almost had a near brush death experience (ie: being bitten by a biawak). I was walking to class with the Malaysian girl I’ve mentioned before hereby will be known as Mini Skirts. Cause that’s what she wears all the time. Mini skirts, then she bitches about how cold the lecture hall is- much to my amusement. Anyways I was walking to the lecture hall with her. We’re not taking the same subjects but somehow both of our classes are in the same building so we just went there together.

See, the thing bout my campus is…is that it’s in a forest. Now imagine a preserved forest if you could. Think of the beauty of Mother Nature and the importance of preserving it. Now imagine, again if you could that they cleared a huge chunk of land in the middle of it and built a university. Like a little town of its own, in the middle of the fucking forest. That’s how my campus is now. It is all sort of creepy at night. My only consolation is that they don’t have pontianaks in Australia. I’m very sure of this cause I had an in depth discussion with a friend over MSN and by the end of it we came to the conclusion that Pontianaks cannot fly that far over the sea and find me in Aussie.

God, I hope that’s true.

Anyways back to the story, right so there are trees everywhere. Bushes, low hanging branches and little pathways in between buildings. FYI, there are exactly 81 buildings on campus. Having a lecture in Building 32 and then a tutorial in Building 68 right afterwards with only 10mins gap is a wwwwhole lot of fun. I’m still in the process of perfecting my speed walking skills. In the middle of walking towards the lecture, Mini Skirts suggested that we should take a shortcut. We could walk on the fully pavement way or we could cut across the little paths with the bushes. Cause I was too lazy to walk that much I decided that yeah, this was a good idea. And then the nightmare begun.

I was walking along the path, chatting about something or other, feeling the lovely autumn breeze on my skin and the rustle of my skirt against my knees and thinking to myself “Oh my, what a lovely weather. We never get it this lovely in Malaysia” when I sensed movement at my feet. I looked down and there it was. A fucking biawak by my feet. It was like 3 inches away and I was wearing these open toes gladiator sandals. Sonofabitch!!!! It was about 3 feet long, black skin with green stripes. Green stripes!!!!!!!!!! And it was by my feet!! Dude, I didn’t think long. I screamed and I fucking ran out of there. I remember pulling up my skirt and running cause I was wearing on of those knee lengths, 50s style skirt. Mini Skirts didn’t know what was happening. She heard me screamed so she screamed too and started running. Fuck man, we covered what was supposed to be a 15mins walk in under 5 mins. By the time got to a somewhat “safe” place we were huffing and puffing and at the same time, a security guard was around. He hurried to us and he was like

“Are you girls okay? Did someone attack you? Was it the flasher?”

FYI, apparently there was a flasher round campus area. Hiding in the bushes and jumping out at random intervals to flash girls. No dude, seriously. They sent out an email to everyone’s student email. Campus Security thingie. So I was like

“No no, biawak. Big fucking biawak. By my feet.”

He stared at me. Mini Skirts eyes were bulging out “A biawak attacked us?”

“Miss, what’s a biawak?”

“Ohhhh a lizard. Big fucking lizard. Black, with green stripes. Sharp teeth. OMG, so scary.”

“Ooohhh a Goanna. That’s allright. I thought it was the flasher. Oh lizards are fairly common round these parts. They’re allright. Won’t harm you one bit. Unless you have meat on you.”

“Why was it by my feet?”

“He probably wanted to get to class too.” Then he laughed at his stupid little joke, pats me on the back and told me that it’s all allright.

Sonofabitch.

It was safe to say that I was traumatized by it all. Had nightmares that the biawak was eating my feet for 2 nights afterwards. Then over the weekend, Mini Skirts and I went to the museum. Yeah, the museum. Hey man, I have only been here for 2 weeks. I’m doing the whole tourist thing. And then there it was on the wall, a display of the same damn lizard that attacked me. Okay...maybe "attacked" is a strong word. Let's go with "ambushed". A display of a lizard that ambushed me. Much better. I found a person who works there and she actually went through some books to find some information for us. And here it is, it’s a Lace Monitor. And for your viewing pleasure this is how a lace monitor looks like:

Now tell me if you wouldn’t run screaming into the night if you saw that thing by your feet too. I mean fucking A Scott, I already have lizard issues as it is. And this mofo….according to the wiki page is venomous.

I am scarred for life now.

So begins my life long phobia....

The following post that you are about to read is something that is very.......personal to me. It is something that is so......horrible that I spent a considerable amount of my life trying not to think about it. But alas....every time I see one of them lurking about, crawling around my fear is triggered back again. I will experience the now familiar feeling of nausea and the emotional, mental need to puke even though physically I do not need too.......The following post will depict my traumatic experience when I was assaulted by a cicak. A single experience that will change the course of my entire life........


Okay, not as dramatic of course. Hahaha! Just talking shit. Hey y'all, I am the Constantly Dramatic One. If there is no drama, I need to be creatin sum. You get what I'm saaaaaayyyiiiin?

I had several of my non-Malaysian readers asking me what a "cicak" is. By "several" readers, I mean precisely two of them. I used the word "several" so that I would come across as popular and cool, which I clearly am not. But it's okay, I live in my own world of make believe and in that world- I am the most popular girl. Ever.

Ever bitches, ever.

So I was thinking to myself......"Dude, wtf is cicak in English? Does it even have a name in English?.....Wait does cicak even live outside of this country?........". So I Google up "cicak" and all I found is this lameass Malay Wiki page but it did however provide me a clue. "Uh huh!! Those little bastards are geckos." Using my super ossum CSI skills, I Google Image "gecko" and I found those little, icky suckers. Apparently, they are called "house geckos"....well no big stretch of imagination there. And you can see how they look like if you click here. No way in hell I'm putting up pics of fucking cicaks on my page. Fuck off.

Those little slimy bastards must die.

So now let me explain why cicak scares the bejesus out of me. On why every time I see any one of them, my first impulse is to run like bitch while screaming like a banshee and then when I do find a safe cicak-free spot, proceed to puke. Totally. Right, let's take a trip down memory lane of a memory that I always try to forget but never could.........

The year was 199*, I was 13. (Ha! As if you bitches gonna know how old I am) and I was at one of my aunt's. I was pretending to watch the TV while trying as hard as I could to eavesdrop on my parents and my aunt and uncle while they're gossiping bout someone or other. Then out of the blue, my aunt told me to get some brand new silk sheets that she got in Thailand for my mom. She told me specifically that it is in the "big brown cupboard in the next room, go get it now cause I want to give it to your mother". Alright, fine. Whatevs. Like a good kid I went to get it and as it happens, this is the point in time in which the universe decided to Fuck. With. Me.

As it turns out, a cicak was trapped in said big, brown cupboard. I do not know how the damn cicak got in there okay, but it was there. And the night that I was supposed to get the bedsheets for my mom was the night where that damn cicak was trapped in the cupboard. Here is what I think happened: I think that cicak was freaking out that it was stuck in the cupboard so it went towards the crack of the door that was emitting some light in. So this would placed the cicak, right in between the cupboard door. Like half body is on the left door, vice versa. Little piece of shit was in the middle. At the same time I came in to get the bedsheets. Cicak was contemplating its eternal entrapment in the middle. I opened the doors to the cupboard. Cicak went flying off the door possibly screaming "OMGWTFBBQ!!!!" in cicak language.

I saw that cicak flying in the air and in a split second it landed. On my lips. That's right. I had a fucking cicak on my lips. I did not scream. I remember looking down and the cicak was staring up at me. Time stopped. Then it scurried down like a little bitch before stopping RIGHT BETWEEN MY BOOBS!!! Okay to be fair, I was 13. There wasn't much boobs, they were just growing after all but that's where that little icky fucker stop ok. My only consolation that it was on the outer part of my shirt. Thank God. Thank God. Thank God. Thank God. I dunno why it stopped between my boobs, maybe it was horny. I dunno. After that, that little fucker crawled down my body, stopped on my left foot then it disappeared. I was in shock. I just stood there for like a minute.

When the shock was over I ran like a bitch towards the sink. I washed my lips with water and that wasn't enough, I took some of my aunt's dish detergent and smeared it all over my lips and then wash some more. I repeated that like 5 times all the while not making noise. I didn't scream or anything like that, I think "shock" is the word we are searching for. Then I ran to the toilet because I had an overwhelming urge to puke which I did. My parents thought I was sick. I wasn't able to tell them that a cicak landed on my lips in between throwing up.

But it was horrible. After that incident I had this intense fear of flying cicaks and how they gonna land on my lips again. For a while, I even cover my face whenever I open any cupboards. Just in case. I haven't done that for a long time but cicaks still make me nervous. Every time I see a cicak, I could feel it on my lips. It's not fun. It's traumatizing and disgusting and just so damn wrong. Fucking cicak bastards.

Great. Now I'm all creep out again. Okay, let's look at cute photos of cats and dogs to be rid off this creepy cicak-related sensation on my lips....

Awww how cute is this dog? Forget bout the damn flying cicak CD, forget about it.

And this kitteh, awwww bless. Too cute. Awwww, and while we're at it let's look at how cute I was....

See, I was totally cute. Waaaay cuter than you when you were a kid.....ahem. This was the life before I was assaulted by a flying a cicak. A life free of cicak-related paranoia....I can't remember that life anymore....Why you flying cicak bastard? Whhhy?!!

I shake my fist at you!!

* This post is dedicated to Peter and Rujing, the two people who asked what exactly is a cicak.

** The cut off bit of my baby picture is because the date and year was there. Don't want people to figure out how old I am now, do I? I totally have age issue man....

This is not over you filthy Pizza Hut bastards!!!

Dude, I totally threw a bitch fit at Pizza Hut just now. Well not really a bitch fit....more like a righteous tirade. A really pissed off and loud righteous tirade. Which by the way……. totally scared the crap out of Farid.








Okay let me run this scene by you and see if you don't get pissed off too. You are with your good friend having a late lunch at Pizza Hut, which by the way you have indignantly championed from all your friends saying that Pizza Hut's pizza totally taste much better then Domino's. Okay so you are sitting there, munching on your second piece of personal pan pizza, discussing current events, resident college bitches and the perpetual never ending topic: the size of your ass when all of a sudden - a fucking cockroach appeared from the underside of the table, crawled all over the table near your plate that contained your damn food and then disappeared to the underside of the table again. Here's a multi choice answer:





a) Scream, push your chair back and then fall on your ass.


b) Stare at the cockroach in utter disbelief but do nothing.


c) Stare at the cockroach in utter disbelief, make your guy friend capture it by using a tissue, and then make a waiter call the manager so that you can give the manager a piece of your mind.








I picked option C.








Unlike most of the female population, the Constantly Dramatic One is not afraid of cockroaches. I am however, is shit scared of cicak. Cicaks are fucking creepy okay. But I do know that cockroaches are filthy and they bring on diseases. And I just ate from a table that as it turns out, the oh-so-accommodating pit stop of a cockroach. Holy Mother of all that is Pure and True, if I could have open a can of whoop ass on someone right there and then, I totally would. The manager came to me with an attitude. She was all gangsta when she looked at me and asked "Yes?".......Bitch, you do not throw fuel to the fire. Bad move bitch, bad move.








"I just found a cockroach on the table here. Where I am eating. A cockroach! What kind of establishment are you running here when people come here to eat and you serve cockroaches along with the food?"





"Ohhh we just had pest control last Friday.............."








"It doesn’t matter whether or not you had pest control last Friday or yesterday or the month before this. That is a non-issue. What is an issue here is that while I am eating here I found a cockroach crawling around next to my plate. *Lipas tau tak? Lipas. Atas meja.* Do you expect me to sit here and eat your food still?"

*A cockroach you know? A cockroach. On the table.








"Oh we always have a cockroach problem. *But sekarang dah less dah.....*"
*But now it have lessen....*







"Oh is that supposed to make me feel better? Is the fact that last time you had more cockroaches attacking your customers and now you only have one is a victory? Am I supposed to rejoice at that? Seriously, what kind of show are you running here? *Ini kat depan dah ada lipas. Kalau I pergi to your kitchen, what will I find there? Perkampungan lipas dan tikus?* Is that the cleanliness level of your establishment? Eh when I come here I expect a certain level of professionalism and cleanliness. **Kalau I nak makan kat tempat kotor-kotor I pergi makan kat mamak tepi jalan tu. Kereta lalu-lalu, berhabuk sana sini tapi tak per.** Cause that's how much I pay for it. Here I come and I pay your service tax and all that and this is the bullshit I have to deal with?"

*If you have cockroaches at the front of your restaurant, then what do you have in your kitchen? A mini city for cockroaches and rats?*

**If I want to eat at a dirty place, I go to a mamak by the roadside. The food will be all dusty but it's okay because that is what expected of mamak and that is how much I pay for it.**

By this time she looked like she was on the verge of crying. I feel kinda bad but no matter how bad I felt it doesn’t change the fact there was a disease carrying cockroach near my food. Shit son, what if I have rabies now?








"What happens now if I get sick from eating your food? If my friend gets sick? Who is going to foot the bill for our medical fees? You? Your pest control people?"








She just kept quite. On hindsight, what else can she do? I wasn’t screaming but I spoke loudly. I made sure that the whole restaurant can hear the fact that there was a cockroach on my table. Near my fucking food. I am still so pissed off.








"So what are you going to do now?"








"Well what do you want?"








"I do not want to pay for any of these, I will not pay for my food and neither will my friend. When we came in we expected to eat pizza, not some cockroach infested tasty treat. Also do you have a business card? I want your business card if not you write out your name and give it to me. If you think you can serve people food in this kind of place where cockroaches live happily ever after then you are wrong. I am going to report about this. This is not over."








"Miss, building ni memang ada banyak lipas."
*Miss, this building is infested with cockroaches.*







"That's not an issue. *I pergi makan kat Subway like 3 doors away and takder pun lipas. I pergi minum kat Starbucks, takde pun lipas. I pergi makan kat Ali Maju, mamak tau mamak, takder pun I kena attack dengan lipas. So don't blame the building for your shortcomings. Ni tempat makan, bukan printers suratkhabar.*"
*I didn't find any cockroaches when I go to eat at Subway which is 3 doors down from here. I don't see any cockroaches when I have a drink in Starbucks. When I go to Ali Maju, which is a mamak establishment, I don't get attacked by cockroaches. So don't blame the building for your shortcomings. This is a restaurant, not a printers.*







I wanted to go on and on but Farid was staring at me from across the table looking on the verge of crapping his pants. (No dude, you did.) So I just stood up and left. I think if stayed longer I would have cut a bitch. Seriously. Fucker!!! What if I have rabies now? Do cockroaches carry rabies? Fuck. What do they carry? I should Google this up. What if Farid and I are infected with it? Whatever it is that they are carrying? What if the disease is spread by saliva? Like rabies? What if everyone we kiss and share a drink with is infected? And those people will infect other people and other people and other people...... In like a week or less there could be an outbreak of cockroach-something disease all over KL!! In a month- the world!








It'll be like the fucking Mad Cow disease all over again. But it'll be worst cause when this story hit the news, the news anchors are going to go "The original deadly disease carriers have been traced and that trail goes back to Malaysia. We have been notified that the original carriers were Farid.A and the Constantly Dramatic One, who ate at a cockroach infested Pizza Hut establishment. Sad to say however that these two individuals who were the original carriers of this deadly disease are already deceased."








WTF?!! I don’t want to be remembered as a plague-carrying-originator. This is not fair!! When I die, people should remember me as the object of Clive Owen's desire. They should remember me for my ass the size of galaxy. They should remember me for my superior bitching skillz. But most of all they should remember me for the ossumness that I am. Not as the cause of a plague bitches!








This is bullshit.








I will lodge a complaint at the Consumer Rights and Health Ministry or whatever. I need to find where exactly I can complain at. And when I do, I will cc. that to The Star, Utusan Melayu and all other newspapers. Take that you filthy Pizza Hut bastards! Take that. If I am going down as the original carrier of a plague-later-to-be-named then I am taking you down with me you filthy Pizza Hut bastards! I am not going down without a fight.








......Damn, I totally need to go to the family GP tomorrow. I need to check if I have rabies. Or whatever it is that will make me go down in medical books as the cause of a plague that wipe out a shitload of people.


Damn Pizza Hut bastards.

I'm racist. You're racist.......So what happens now?

Disclaimer: The following post deals with issues concerning racism. It could be hurtful to you. It could also piss you off to the point of wanting to track me down and kicking my ass. So if you don't feel like reading an extremely long post in which I ponders the issue of racism in all my pseudo-intellectual glory, then don't. Unlike the real world; freedom of choice still rules supreme in the blogsphere.

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

Let's be honest here, there is a bit of racism in all of us.

If you can honestly say that you are not racist, at all, then you my friend are a liar. We are all racist. It comes with the upbringing. When we were growing up our parents, our relatives, the people of our own race who associates with us......well they inject a certain something into our subconscious. It is called ""racial superiority". The case in which we view our race, our people as better than anyone else’s. This shit is like Sociology 101 yo.


Now how we are going to deal with that racism is up to us. We can choose to remain being racist or we can choose not to. Me? I have selective racism. It is shameful. It is wrong. I should get my ass whooped for it….but then you know, no matter how ossum you guys think of me, I am still but human. A constantly dramatic human, but still human.



You wanna know who I am racist towards? Chinese teenagers. Yes, do I hear uproar out there? Yes of course I do. But please before flooding my comment box with hate comments, let me just get some points across. I am not racist against all Chinese teenagers; I am only racist against those supa kawaii ones. The ones who find the need to emulate Japanese street fashion, to be anime themselves, the ones that wear top to bottom pink, the ones that talk like fucking bimbos……and those are just the girls. The boys, God the boys are another story all together.


But I do notice that this damn fucking annoying anime/Japanese/Harajuku behaviour are most of the time attributed in Chinese teenagers exclusively and because of that I am racist towards them. Please note that I am not racist towards the Chinese, just the supa kawii ones. I have Chinese friends, I watch Chinese movies, I think Lee Hom is a hot piece of ass and remember geek boi of which I had a………..sex dream of? Dude’s Chinese. How’s that for not being racist against the Chinese?


The second group of people that I am racist towards are white people. Yeah I know. Contradictory ain’t it? Am I not the one who goes on and on about how I wanna bang Clive Owen’s within an inch of his life? And clearly, he’s white. Do I not idolize Kelly Clarkson, and look at her- she’s white! Am I not blogging in English, which we Malaysians recognize as the language of white people? I mean go anywhere in Malaysia and speak a bit of good English and you’ll probably get comments that go along this line: “Berlagak lah tu, sebab pandai cakap bahsa omputih.”

Let me explain. I am not racist towards all white people. I am only racist towards white people living in Malaysia. Now I dunno whether you guys notice but white people living in Malaysia, most of them, they think they are so much more superior than we the locals. Cause they’re white. Just because we are all brown and suddenly they’re white in the sea of brownies, they think they are so much superior to us? It does not help that most Malaysians cannot escape the colonized mentality and view them as better than us. And because of this, white people in Malaysia think they can take advantage of us. They can skip queues, get discounts and bla fucking bla just cause they’re white. They think they can get away with anything, just cause they’re white.

Shit pisses me off.

And no, my selective racism is not limited to other races only. I am racist against my own people too. Malay people. Yeah I know, I am here to declare that yes that the Constantly Dramatic One is Malay and I take an active role to not be associated with people that I deem to be “too Malay”. The ones that I like to label as “kampong”. I mean the ones that only want to watch Malay movies, religiously watch "Akademi Fantasia", go for those damn "Sure Heboh!" bullshit. Yeah….those. I am racist towards them.


I view myself as more modern, liberal, hipper Malay whereelse they are the outdated, boringly traditional and kampong Malays. They in turn, do not view me as a modern, liberal or hip with a positive spin to it….They look at me and think that I’m a skank for not dressing in the typical Malay fashion, and that I am going to burn in Hell for being me. They also accuses me of bringing shame to the Malay community for being “liberal”. They are as racist towards me as I am to them. The cyle of hate that comes with racism is a vicious one.

So you see, I am racist. I will not deny it. But I am selectively racist. I do not blindly hate a group of people just because what I heard or because I have been thought that my race is “supposedly” superior when compared to everyone else’s. I hate them for reasons that make sense to me. So does it make it okay for me to hate?

Of course not. It’s hurtful.



I’m sure what I wrote about being racist towards Chinese teenagers have angered…well Chinese people out there. I’m sure what I said about white folks would lose me my international readers and I’m sure somewhere out there some Malay girl is reading my blog and going “Oh dia ingat dia bagus sangat lah sekarang? Betina sial.”…or you know something along those lines. Because let’s face it. Racism hurts.

So why am I bringing all this up? Why am I airing my racism out to the world? Because, I just recently encountered such blatant racism myself. I encountered it from someone who I think of as a friend. I thought he was cool....then I stumbled upon his blog and I found these gems:


“……………Waiting for the other guy, he stood there, the book in hand, and the place it below his lip and on his chin, the way you would place your fingers below your lip when you're thinking. OMG, the bloody Malay idiot. I just wanted to slam his face along with the book into the counter repeatedly. If he wants to get that personal with my book, let him have the whole shebang, I'd have shoved it up his ass if it didn't interfere with morals... and laws against assault.

Unfortunately for me, the book was the only one they had. Argh, kill kill kill. And if anyone wonders why I believe majority of Malays are uncivilised imbeciles that I wouldn't trust to even be my slave, let them go spend a night with Mr. Bookaphile over there.

Genocide, here we go!”

And this:

“…………show me a malay who seemingly doesn't exhibit traits of imbecility and/or incivility, and I'd prove you wrong.”


I mean, wow. Can you guys just feel the racism in that? At first I was shocked; I always thought he’s a cool guy you know. He doesn't show his racism in real life but every other post is about how he thinks Malay people should be rendered obsolete. Once the shock is over, I became extremely angry. And I just wanna track him down in college and kick him in the balls. I did. Then I thought of attacking him in my blog and then it occurred to me that……….wouldn't that be totally hypocritical of me?


I sure am not as racist as him. I do not want to commit any genocide and no I will not hold it against his people for the things he said………. but to judge him on his opinions of my people, his racism, when I’m in turn is racist too? That’s just wrong and shallow of me. But just because I can think sensibly about this does not mean that his words do not hurt. And that’s what racism is all about. They hurt, they anger and all that’s left is hate.

I have stopped being angry with him. I have also decided to stop being his friend. I don’t think that I could associate myself with someone who clearly looks down on me just because of my race. But of all things that I take out of this, most of all…is pity. I feel sad for him. If you read his blog and if you know him in real life as I do, he is a very clever guy. Quite witty too. But that’s just so much hate there..... I do not know where this hate for Malay people comes from. I do not know whether it is justified. I do not know. What I do know is that, it’s such a damn shame to have so much racism and hate in someone as young as he is.


We are all racist in our own way. It's just a question on how far we let the racist in us go. Do we let them dictate the way we think or view a person of a certain race without any justification? Or do we hold on to our racism but accept a person, albeit begrudgingly, if they turns out to not be what we have envisioned? Are we happy to lead our lives with all these hate and in turn pass it down to the next generation? Could we ever live in a world in which there is no such thing as racism, be it individually or institutionalized? Will the cycle of hate, unjustified suspicions and blind arrogance ever end?

I understand the idea of choosing a part of yourself to be the centre of your being. Gay people wear their homosexuality with pride. It is what defined them as individuals. I choose my dramatic antics to be the centre of my being. The thing that defines me as an individual. But sadly for him, instead or choosing his cleverness or his wittiness or a thousand other good qualities that he has as a human being.....he instead chose his racism to be the centre of his being. The thing in which he defined himself with as an individual.

He wears his racism with pride.

And that is the most saddest, heartbreaking thing I have ever encountered in my entire life.

So wrong...so damn wrong....

OMFG y'all. This is so wrong. So wrong. So fucking wrong. OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG. I am so disturbed.



So you know how I don't own a laptop and I use the family PC to get online and stuff. So the PC is situated in what used to be the study area, it's the study area because the tuition teacher used to come and teach me English here. And also it has a whiteboard and a library so hence we call it "study area". The study area also happens to be situated right outside of my room and my sister's room.



So it's 3 fucking o'clock in the morning. I am surfing the net, stalking people on Facebook- it's the semester break. I don't sleep till sunrise yo....when I heard moaning from my sister's room. Seeing that it's 3 in the morning, my brain is not functioning all that good but dude, my sister moved out. There's no one in her room. OMG wtf? Is that a ghost?



Then it occurred to me that she's sleeping over for the weekend.


With her husband.



In her room.










































Dude, that's my sister.
I am so disturbed right now......

Donkeys?.....Really?

I don't usually do this but uuuhhh to the dude who found Dramatic Musings through the Google search "sexy women with donkeys dvd"....hello. How are you?



Pray tell ser, have you found your DVD? I know, I know its tough isnt it? Fetishes, how people scorn them so. I have a fetish too. Mine fall under the "hot men in uniform" kind of fetishes. Firefighters more like, with their little orange helmets..... drives me wild ser. Just wild. I once know a guy who was into feet that he asked me to take pictures of my feet and send it to him. True story. Didn't sent the photos though. But never ser, have I come across a man with a thing for donkeys.



What's that? It's not uncommon? A lot of people thinks that donkeys are sexy too? Really? This creature?

Sexy?



Hhhhhmmmm astounding ser. I've never noticed it before really. But now that you mentioned...yes I see it now. The shaggy fur, the long face..... ahhhh the divine colouring. Lovely lovely. And the saggy belly. How could I forget that? Yes a gut hanging out is always the pinnacle of sexiness.




Hhhmmm....wait. What's that? Oh the donkeys are not so sexy on their own? You don't say. Donkeys need a sexy woman with that to even become sexier? Ohhh right. Rigggghhhtttt..........














You sick sick bastard.



What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?! A donkey?! Why don't you go get a donkey and do it yourself. I mean, I get fetishes. I get BDSM but ohmygod bestiality is just pushing it okay. It's disgusting. Dude go get help or something. This is not ancient Roman in which horses and men do it and come up with centaurs. Those are myths you sick bastard. Short of that go buy a farm. Somewhere far away. Breed donkeys and have crazy wild sex orgy with them. Far away from civilization. Far away from other people. And far away from me.

I would like to talk more about this and come up with ways on which you can fuck off and die but I guess that would be too judgemental of me. But then for the sake of the donkeys of the world, you should die. You sick sick bastard.




You disgust me.

Vagina. Sorry, that was completely inappropiate.

Rules of differentiating between a skirt (image 1) and a napkin (image 2)

Skirt

Napkin

Rule 1

If a straight woman takes one look at you and the first thing that comes to her mind is whether or not you had a bikini wax....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 2
If a gay woman look at you and the first thing that comes to her mind is "Uuuuummmm carpet" .....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 3
If a straight man look at you and the first thing that comes to his mind is "Ooooo punani. I wanna squeeze it first." ....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 4

If a gay man take one look at you and the first thing that that he says to you is "Girl, you are nasssssty. Cover up."...than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 5
If the first thing that comes to mind when random people look at you is "Damn, what was the plot to Octopussy again?" .......than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 6

If the first thing that comes to my mind when I see you is "Whoa, she has a napkin on her vag....oh wait....that's her skirt......damn. Vagina. Shit I just said vagina out loud. That's completely inappropriate. Oh wait...I didn't say it out loud. I was just thinking. Hhhmmm...... Vagina. Vagina. Vagina.Vaaaaaaaaaaaagina........." ....than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

Rule 7
If the length of your skirt is making me blog about it and repetitively using the word vagina, than huney; It's not a skirt. It's a napkin.

See, there are miniskirts. And then there are napkins. Napkins are something that you use to wipe your mouth and hands with after eating. It is not however, something that should be use to barely cover your ass and your.....va-gi-na.

My parents, they foot the bill for my college education. They do that so that one day I could become a productive member of society. So with that in mind, and my aspirations to become said productive member of society I go to my classes to learn. I expect to know what journalism is all about. I expect to know the theories and the power of the media. I expect that what I learn in class would later help me in the industry. What I don't expect is to be assaulted by your napkin-covered-vag during the last class of the day.

It makes me queasy to know that I am "this close" to tapping you on the shoulder to ask you where you get your bikini wax done. I never had bikini wax before. I heard it hurts like a bitch. Maybe you can validate that for me? But then I realise what's the point when its not like I'm getting laid anytime soon and I always make a point of covering up my own vag with more than just a napkin.

Which would bring me to my second point, why do you feel the need to share you vag with the whole world? I mean...seriously. I'm sure that your intentions are good. However skewed they are. But here's the deal. I have my own vag. And it is prettier than yours. I don't need to look at yours okay. Thanks....but no. Cover yourself up woman.

I'm all for self esteem and that whole "confidence makes us beautiful". I do. But your legs............yeah. Fug. I'm sorry. Kudos for the self confidence though but really. They're fug. I was of course distracted by that napkin you were wearing....coz its was just like......half an inch away from exposing your vag to the whole world that for the first 10 mins I did not realise how fug your legs are. But they are huney, they are.

So the next time you come to class. Please don't -under any circumstances- try to share the view of your birth canal with me. I can go on with my life without ever knowing that. Seriously. Cover yourself up. Your vagina is your treasure. Cherish it. Guard it. Give it a wax once in a while. Don't turn it into a friggin sideshow attraction.

Get that, Napkin?

A massage and an extra somthin somthin......

I might have been inside a brothel today.

I'm very disturbed.

I was driving around town today searching for some stuff when I realised that there were a whole lot of spas and massage places around my area. Those that cater to full body massage, sauna, body detoxifying, etc...basically things that are up my alley. These places were everywhere so I got sidetracked from my primary mission and instead went on a spa hunting mission. I was driving around around when I saw this huge banner spread out. It says:

TRADITIONAL FULL BODY MASSAGE RM50

Operation hours 9am - 11pm

Dude, I got super excited. The cheapest I have paid for a full body massage was RM92. Yes, stress on the word "cheap". Bullshit. So when I saw "RM50" I got super excited. I can get a full body massage twice a month now. I called the place up and a woman with a thick Chinese accent answered the phone. She told me to speak in Malay coz she can't understand English. Than she told me that they have more promotion and now its actually RM45 for a one hour full body massage. Fucking RM45 for a one hour body massage. That's 47 less compared to my "cheapest" massage. I got super excited and since I was parked in front of the building I asked her if I can come in now and get one done and she's like yeah of course.


The moment I walked in I knew something was off. First of I have been to a number of spas and massages places. They always have that relaxing theme going for them. Scented candles, running water, ginger tea the whole nine yards. This place have none of that. The only thing in the reception area was the receptionist desk. Other than that it was an empty room...and she was completely alone, until I come.


Then I was like "Hey before anything, could I see your massage area. I'm very particular about comfort....". She took me to a big hall. In the hall there were like these....little cubicles. Its not a cubicle. Its more like they hang curtain in between to make each "room". The "rooms" were all about 6x5...I think. There were thin mattresses spread out on the floor of each room. And they weren't clean. Have you ever pictured in your mind how illegal immigrants of 20 live in one tiny room. Yeah, that shit. And worst of all the place, the supposedly relaxing massage place - reeks of sweat, urine and other bodily fluids. Its dodgy as hell.


I told her that I change my mind, I forgot that I have a family thing I had to get ready for. By this time my hand was in my bag clutching my pepper spray, I was very nervous. I figured if there is any sudden movement I will pepper spray this bitch and make a run for it. But she only look irritated and she told me to come back anytime. They're open until 3 in the morning.

A massage place that's open until 3 in the morning.

Rigggghhhttt.......


Before I left I noticed that behind the reception table there was another room. I took a peek inside and it was a waiting room. A blue sofa with holes in it, a number of assorted mismatched chairs and men's magazine spread out on the coffee table.

Lets put two and two together:

1) Full body massage = RM45
2) Lacks of any deco. Merely the massage cubicles and nothing else.
3) Filthy.
4) Reeks of urine, sweat and I'm pretty sure....semen.
5) Men's magazine on the coffee table.
6) Open until 3 in the morning.

Holy crap dude, I think I have single handedly discovered an erotic massage parlour. And holy crap it pretty near to home. What the fuck kind of area do I live in?!! That place was so filthy. I could feel the STD in the air. I'm not kidding you. Maybe there were like syphilis molecules still in the air and when I went in it probably gets stuck on me. Great. Now I will fucking get syphilis without actually engaging in any promiscuous premarital sex activities. Fuck.


I bolted out of the place as soon as possible. I was practically running down the stairs. Shit man. I felt filthy. Than I noticed that there was a spa across the street. The proper type like you see in shopping malls. With glass for doors and their messues in clean uniforms. I was looking at the brochures (RM 82; full body, one hour) when I asked the ladies about the place that I have been too. Then I told them that I came from there and they look scandalized. I asked if anything...dodgy goes on there. "We never been in there, but their customers usually come at night when we are closing. Round 9.30ish. Mostly men.....they have lots of China girls working there." Note, China girls as in from Mainland China.

7) Costumers come late at night.
8) Male costumers.
9) Mainland China girls.

Shit man. Does an erotic massage parlour counts as a brothel? Its still a form of sex service right so that counts. Dear God in Heaven, I was in brothel. Shiiittt.....What should I do? Should I just forget about it? Should I file a report? But last time I've checked, in Malaysia's dumbass legal system erotic massage is not a crime.


Whatever it is, all I know is that I cannot shower enough to get the filth of that place out of me. Its in my pores. Its in my hair. Fucking shampooed my hair 3 times already. I probably need to shave my head bald to get it all out. And have a check up for STD. I probably have crabs now. More logical than syphilis.

Great, I have crabs and I'm not even getting laid.