| Wingedman Finds A New Roost! |
|
|
| 02:33am 14/06/2005 |
| |
Okay, I'm officially sick and tired of Livejournal. It sucks like a
hoover, especially when you see people dressing up their Blogspots like
Barbies and you only have table rags to wrap around your Livejournal.
Therefore bookmark the following:
http://wingedman.blogspot.com
It's the all-new same old Confetti In The Wind!
As a plus, poor Jay won't have to type the link to his blog everytime
he posts a comment. As a minus, everyone else on LJ here will have to
instead. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| ...And Then I Elbowed A Kid In The Face |
|
|
| 01:27am 13/06/2005 |
| |
The mid-year school holidays are officially over in Malaysia. Thank GOD. I fucking hate school holidays. Flights are always full, and delayed because a family of 14 can't find the fucking gate, even though they have 14 brains between them and 28 eyes to look for signage. There's always extra flights to cater for the extra little terrors who have the extra time to terrorise extra people other than their own families.
Roads are more jammed, especially those leading to malls. Malls are full of screaming kids running all over the place, blocking exits/entrances, blocking the escalators and lifts, being generally pests while their parents look on with a beatific smile cooing at how cute they are while throwing you ugly looks when you throw THEIR children ugly looks. You just feel like turning around and whispering solemnly, "Your son will engage in bestiality and your daughter will have loose morals when they grow up" as you leave the lift, just before the doors close.
Children should not have too long of a holiday. I'm not a monster, I know they need their rest too. I say, 2 days is enough. After a weekend. That's four days. Plenty of time to go to Port Dickson or Cameron Highlands. No sense taking kids to faraway places--they won't appreciate it--and you can help support the local economy! I mean, Genting Theme Park is just as good as Disneyland, right?
It's not as if I hate kids or anything. I have nephews. I have a niece. I see them every other weekend, pat their heads nervously, and awkwardly cuddle the ones who can't run away from me (it's an incentive for them to learn to walk faster). Children that aren't your own are the best, actually. You get to spoil them outrageously, and play with them when they're dry, happily fed and doing what they do best--be cute. And when they're none of those things--just hand them back to their mom or dad or maid. One is always around because they know I'm utterly incapable of taking care of small children and I intend to remain that way. I can do the Heimlich Maneuver on a baby but I can't change it's nappy to save its life. I prioritize, see.
Let them run around the malls for those four days. I'd bear with not going to Mid Valley for four days out of a year. It's better than walking out of MPH and have a seven-year-old run right into your elbow just as you're lifting your arm to dig your ears. Okay, so it didn't happen. And it could happen any time of the year. But the chances of it happening during school holidays is much higher. You KNOW it will happen. He'd be running full tilt looking at the ground (because they have to STAY on the grey tiles, otherwise Por Por in Ipoh will DIE) and then it's "Elbow, meet Nose".
It WILL happen. Write to your MP now. The 2-Day School Holiday. It's for the children's safety, dear god, THINK OF THE CHILDREN. |
|
| |
|
Read 4 - Post |
| |
| Dancing Queens |
|
|
| 09:30pm 11/06/2005 |
| |
It was Friday night at Liquid and Slutilla and I were there to celebrate a tribute to Kylie.
Actually we were celebrating capitalism more than anything else, considering we paid Rm25 at the door, not a sen of which is going to Kylie nor breast cancer research. Oh well--this is life. One person's suffering is another person's cash cow.
We were a bit nervous that it wouldn't be happening, a feeling that was exacerbated by the drag queen performancers who couldn't even lip synch properly to any of the songs they were dancing to. Did they really think having huge knockers with perky nipples would divert notice from the fact that they're not actually singing the lyrics to "Better The Devil You Know" but instead "I'm A Little Goldfish, Open-Close-Open My Mouth"? It's a gay club, hello, if we are interested in breasts at all it's only because we've never seen one (or two) that up-close before.
Anyway we were there for the songs, and LQ did not disappoint in that sense. Kylie doesn't quite have Madonna's opus but she does have some very danceable songs. And boy did I dance! It was clear that people were really having fun...there was even a sort of conga line during locomotion.
And then the DJ played, my first experience in all the times I've been there, a slow song--Especially For You. My god I never felt more alone in my life as everyone left the dance floor to the couples and the too-drunk-to-notice.
I realised then that it would be hard for me to have a boyfriend who didn't club, at least casually. It would be difficult for a non-clubber to understand that sometimes you just need to get released, to go on the dance floor and feel the bass. To see other people having fun. To check out other cute guys. To check out the nice sweaty muscular naked bodies. Okay maybe I won't tell him that last part. But yeah, I love dancing. I don't do it all that well, but I love it all the same. The guy I'm with must understand I go to clubs not to drink, or socialize, but just to dance and have a good time with my friends, and have a GREAT time with my boyfriend.
Especially here in KL, we can't be very open or touchy feely with each other in public. And one of the few places you can openly do PDAs is Liquid. And being able to have a full-on unabashed get-a-room-you-guys type of public display of affection is a big deal to me. I'm lucky in the sense that I got to do it practically throughout the whole time I was in San Francisco where I could walk down any street in broad daylight holding hands with my ex and no one would bat an eye (at least no one we noticed). That, I would say, is one of the best feelings in the world.
So what better way to combine my love of clubbing, and my love for my man, than a night on the dancefloor, dirty dancing together?
And, I have to say, good dancers make me drool. Men who move like they were born with rhythm just seem to catch my eyes and make me rape them mentally. Average lookers turn to demigods the longer I try and stare at them surreptitiously while trying to figure out 1) how on earth they move so gracefully and effortlessly; and 2) how on earth do I get his number. |
|
| |
|
Read 7 - Post |
| |
| Run Out Of Blog Topics? Steal Someone Else's! |
|
|
| 04:21pm 11/06/2005 |
| |
I've been tagged for a book meme. Yeah I know, book WHAT? I suspect
it's some high class word for a chain-blog, much like the silly badly
typed chain-letters you used to get in school and the equally silly
chain emails you still get nowadays. Except that you don't get any
benefits if you forward this meme shit to a hundred other bloggers, and
definitely no setbacks if you don't.
Still, it's a nice brainless way to blog a lot without, you know, ACTUALLY blogging anything.
I love books. And comics. I cream at the sight of a new Terry
Pratchett. My juices flow copiously when Neil Gaiman has a new comic
out. I spend at least ten percent of my monthly salary on printed
matter. Bookshops of any kind has been my bane. My mom had to BAN me
from reading any kind of fiction all through primary school just to get
me to concentrate on my work and not on magic Wishing Chairs and Famous
Fives.
How Many Books Do I Own
I've never really counted, and a quick glance at my bookshelves make me
all the determined NOT to. I'd just depress myself on how much I've
spent. If I had to give a ballpark figure, I'd say a few hundred. Give
or take another few hundred.
On second thought, definitely GIVE a few more hundred.
The Last Book I Bought
Make that plural. I got--
Matt Groening's (creator of the Simpsons) Love Is Hell
Funny as hell.
Alan Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty
2004 Booker Prize Winner, but I bought it for the graphic gay sex
scenes. Of which, there are many, and while not quite erotica, it does
stir the heart somewhat. Okay, maybe stirs somewhere south of the
heart, then.
Lauren Weisberger's The Devil Wears Prada
Apparently, required reading for young and fashionable gay men but it
reads like someone shoved a pen into a 13-yr old girl's right hand, and
an issue of Vogue in the other, and told her to "Write something. Use
all the brands you can find from the magazine. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF
THEM."
The Last Book I Read
Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist
Supposedly one of the books that would change your life. No doubt it
would--if you were raised Christian. I definitely did not appreciate it
as much as a lot of other people did because of my Buddhist "let's take
a rational look at everything shall we" background. A pity, considering
I bought a very pretty hardcover 10th Anniversary Edition.
Five Books That Mean A Lot To Me
Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Good Omens
Each masters of
their own genre, their one and only collaboration is the gold standard
in quirky comedy. This zany tale of the bungling of Armageddon features
an angel, a demon, an 11-year-old Antichrist and a doomsaying witch;
unmistakably British humor is in abundance.
Neil Gaiman The Sandman
Fucking hell. Without a doubt his finest
work. After reading all 80 issues of this comic over the space of about
a week I was simultaneously exhausted yet blown away yet thrilled yet
melancholic yet hopeful. I've never since found another body of work that could
make me feel all of this at once, and it saddens me that I perhaps
never will. The sheer scale and grandeur of Gaiman's storytelling is unmatched.
David Eddings The Belgariad and The Malloreon
Ah, Old Faithful. I read Eddings when i was very young, about eight, and I've never looked
back from sword & sorcery since. I totally blame Eddings for making
me think being dry and sarcastic and witty(arguable) is cool.
Rumiko Takahashi Maison Ikkoku
Manga. Boy meets young widow. Boy
rents room from widow. Boy falls in love with widow. Widow blathers on
for about a hundred issues on whether or not she can love him and still
be faithful to her dead husband while juggling the antics of a hostel
full of wackos and nutjobs. Hilarity ensues. Not the best love story
ever, but definitely the funniest so far. Rumiko Takahashi's touch is
most magical in her only manga series which does not involve magic at
all, but merely the complexities of the human soul.
J.K. Rowlings Harry Potter and his Tweeny Antics at a Magic School Blah Blah
Not
just because of hype, her imagination has fired MILLIONS of children's
imaginations. For this, she deserves knighthood. Or dameship. Or
whatever title they give ladies. I've always wanted to be a talented
teenage magician in modern times training in a School for Magic to
fight an Evil Lord. How did she fucking know that?!
Five More People To Tag
I don't know five bloggers who haven't already been tagged. And the few
I do know, are bibliophobic. Slutilla can't finish a book without
pictures in it (and words in font 36)--he's never even finished Harry
Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Mary Anne coolly declared that he
"doesn't DO books" and when I tried to be funny with a joke about
papercuts on his unmentionables, his eyes just about rolled out of his
head.
The madness ends here, people! |
|
| |
|
Read 2 - Post |
| |
| Hi, My Name is Wingedman, and I am a Sucker for Compliments |
|
|
| 12:27am 07/06/2005 |
| |
Today I was getting off the escalator after another shopping binge at Borders (somebody BURN THAT PLACE DOWN) when I was accosted by a lady with a pamphlet.
"Take one!" she yelled in Cantonese. Now my eyes have a built-in pussy-filter or something, because I just don't notice women. They could be massaging their naked tits en masse cooing my name and I'll be all looking at their handbags, "Is that a real Gucci or pasar malam one?" So, as befitting my mini-diva status, I gave her The Hand.
No more than a few strides later, a guy with the same pamphlet comes up to me. "Lengchai," he said. "Take one-lah!"
And I did. The entire thing was in Chinese, of which I can't read ten words to save my grandmother's life. So why did I take it? He wasn't even that cute! But I just couldn't suppress a short, guilty burst of pride when he called me lengchai.
I felt really cheap thinking about it as I walked to my car. Am I really that deprived of attention that I actually feel thrilled when someone, very insincerely, calls me lengchai? That's hardly a compliment, it's more like a standard form of greeting for the cantonese whenever they see a young man. It's like getting an orgasm over a "How are you today?"
I've told this to Slutilla before. He's observed in the past that I can be a total whore for compliments. Just saying I look nice today would have me beaming with pleasure even though I know you don't really mean it. Want something from me? Just tack on a compliment (never mind if it's implausible) and watch me spread my legs.
"Your pores look really small today!"
"I'm your cumwhore!" |
|
| |
|
Read 1 - Post |
| |
| Break Out The Tissues |
|
|
| 03:33am 05/06/2005 |
| |
I just realised there aren't enough hot hunks on my blog. It is now remedied.
Jesse Metcalfe, every Desperate Housewife's favourite gardener.
 |
|
| |
|
Read 9 - Post |
| |
| What's In A Name? |
|
|
| 03:00am 05/06/2005 |
| |
I actually got a lot of flak for that last entry about my flying...a
lot of "Oh you're so unsafe" and "Oh I'm flying AirAsia". Isn't that
lovely. I know most of it is tongue-in-cheek but you know what? I've
been in the airlines for 3 years plus now and it wasn't funny the first
time I heard it and--this may come as a big surprise to you--IT'S STILL
NOT FUNNY NOW.
It was actually just a test, to see whom among my loyal friends
deserves a free plane ticket...you all lose except sweet Kitty. He gets
a free ticket home from London! Oh wait he's getting that anyway...
Actually, I do have really scary stories to tell about my personal
flying experiences--things that made my balls retract into my body and
burrow its way up to my mouth--literally sucking my own balls in
fright. No mean feat, I can assure you.
But of course I won't relate that here. I may be an aspiring blonde,
but nowhere stupid enough to get myself fired over some blog--Heather
Armstrong (who IS blonde) got the sack for doing just that, even though
her blog www.dooce.com is now one of the world's most popular (it won a
2005 Bloggie Award). The adulation of the hoi polloi is good, but it
won't pay for my Tiffany's.
I will however talk about an
incident that happened not too long after I joined the airlines. You
know how we have to make in-flight announcements? Well we actually do
have a rough format to follow, and once you've done it everyday for
like a million times it just becomes rote. You merely fill in the
blanks such as landing time, height, speed, etc. And of course I will
mention my name and the captain's name. Obviously, as he's going to be
my partner for the next few hours or days, I have to kind of remember
the Captain's name.
Here's how I learned why it's important to know his name.
Halfway through my announcement, right when I get to the part where I
say "...and flying with us today is Captain...uh...Captain..." I
realise with bowel-loosening horror I've totally forgotten his name. I
have nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Apa pun tadak. I look to him
desperately seeing if he's monitoring my P.A. No, he's not thank god. I
scan for his name tag but of course it's obscured by the clipboard he's
holding. Ah! There's always the flight plan! His name's on the flight
plan. The flight plan is THERE! On...my...clipboard...he's
holding...no...GOD...NO!
By this time anyone who was listening would surely have figured out
that I've forgotten the captain's name. I had to think fast, and
desperately.
So I went "...and flying today is Captain (unintelligible but plausibly
Malay name) and we're flying at..." and smoothly continued on to finish
the announcement like nothing had happened. I figured nobody really
listens to the announcements anyway so I just made a vaguely
Malay-sounding noise (DON'T ask me what it was, I can't remember). I
had absolutely NO clue what the fuck his name was. I didn't know if he
was a Mohamed from a Zakaria or what.
So I finished the announcement and waited a bit for any reaction, from
either a giggling stewardess or some irate passenger. When none came
forth, I breathed a sigh of relief, and mentally patting myself on the
back, I launched into the Bahasa version of the announcement.
"...dan bersama saya adalah Kapten...er..."
Yup. I STILL didn't know his name, even when I had the opportunity to
find out. I wanted to fling myself out of the aircraft there and then.
But of course, I was already an old hand at this, so out came the old
unintelligible but plausibly Malay name. Just for the sake of
consistency of course.
The best part is, the stewardess is supposed to report to us after the announcement.
"First Officer, your announcement was LOUD AND CLEAR".
I wonder if I do this on every flight, how long before they'd catch on to me. |
|
| |
|
Read 3 - Post |
| |
| Time To Say Goodbye |
|
|
| 05:08pm 03/06/2005 |
| |
Here's a few typical phone conversations between my mom and I:-
Me: Mom? It's me. I'll be back late, the flight was delayed.
Mom: Okaylah. Anything else?
Me: Er, no.
Mom: Mm. *click*
Me: .......
OR
Mom: Are you coming back for dinner?
Me: No, I'm eating out
Mom: *click*
Me: .....
OR
Mom: Where are you?
Me: KLCC. Why?
Mom: Just checking. Ate already or not?
Me: Yes. Just only.
Mom: Humph. *click*
Me: ....WTF?
Just what is it with moms who don't even say goodbye to their one and only sons? Aren't I the light of her life, the apple of her eye? Am I not the one who will cherish her through her twilight years? I DESERVE A PROPER FAREWELL DAMMIT.
Apparently I'm not the only one who suffers this phenomenon. I've personally witnessed two other friends who've been hung up on by their moms, leaving them vaguely uneasy and utterly puzzled.
Sluttila: My mom just DISSED me. She slammed down the phone without a word. I didn't DO anything.
Me: Yeah my mom does that too. It means she loves you.
Sluttila: Really?
Me: Naah, I just say that to comfort myself. A part of me dies a little everytime she does that, actually.
Of course, I KNOW she loves me. All mothers love their kids, it's like a cornerstone of life. I never did ask my mom why she keeps on hanging up on me without a word though, it comes off as quite petty when you think of it.
I think it's perhaps how they were brought up. I mean my mom was brought up just after WWII ended, and you can be sure back then the girls didn't spend hours yakking on the phone gushing about the lastest beehive hairstyles and the new Elvis record. I don't think my mom ever picked up a phone to chat socially until she got married. To her it was always a handy device to keep in touch with other people, and occasionally just another something to put the Yellow Pages on. I don't think she ever evolved any type of telephone etiquette like we're so used to. Hence, the unwitting rude hang-ups.
So anyway, whenever she hangs up in the middle of the conversation, I know she doesn't mean it. So I just roll my eyes and laugh it off and MAYBE NEXT TIME I WON'T SAY GOODBYE EITHER, SEE HOW YOU FEEL, MOM. |
|
| |
|
Read 4 - Post |
| |
| Why You Pay Pilots So Much |
|
|
| 09:13pm 02/06/2005 |
| |
You're five hundred feet from Kota Kinabalu International Airport. At this rate of descent, you'll be hitting the ground in less than a minute. The autopilot is off, the aircraft's fully in your control. The lives of 153 people are in your hands.
Now would be a bad time to develop an itch in your left eyeball. Very bad indeed. And wouldn't you know it? You do.
You blink, and it's already another hundred feet lower, and your controls are starting to wobble. You think..."Should I scratch? Is there time?" and by the time you finish that thought you're another hundred feet lower.
Then it's really itching. And you can't think of anything else. It feels like the hordes of hell are raking their nails over the inside of your eyeballs. No, worse than that. You can't think of anything. Fuck the 153 lives, I need to scratch! You lift up your hand, and guess what?
You're wearing sunglasses.
Gaaah! Too late! Is that the ground already?!
I landed, glasses askew, still with the urge to claw my eye out.
Because, I'm a proffessional. *flip hair* |
|
| |
|
Read 7 - Post |
| |
| I Hate The Treadmill Everyday |
|
|
| 08:12pm 31/05/2005 |
| |
I totally hate cardiovascular exercise of any sort. I'm sure there's a much better way to get slimmer and lose weight without actually working out. I mean, how sexy can one look while you're inelegantly flailing your limbs away on the elliptical machine, your armpits stained with sweat patches and your face red with exertion? Or perhaps you're on the treadmill, running nicely, then you catch yourself in the mirror and realise with dawning horror you run like a girl.
Somebody should just invent a machine that let's your body do cardiovascular exercise in your sleep. Like just strap yourself in and then when you wake up tomorrow morning you're in a puddle of your own sweat, but you'd feel refreshed and healthier. Like an Osim chair, but much more useful. Man, you could make millions.
The fact is, I have no stamina whatsoever. I can stay on the treadmill for 45 minutes, no problem, just don't ask me to actually RUN for all that time. Or even 20 minutes. Or even ten, come to think of it. Oh who am i kidding, if I start running before Mariah starts warbling I collapse in defeat by the time she hits the chorus. I seem to have all the endurance of a slab of tar, and most of the enthusiasm also.
When I see people just happily running along with no pause at speed 10 I wonder what drugs they're on. I mean I've been going to gym for almost two months now* and in all this while I've never been able to run for more than about 7 minutes at a stretch. Normally I'll try and blame my delicate princessy constitution but when you see elderly aunties sprinting effortlessly with just a light sheen of perspiration on their forehead, you just kinda give up the fantasy.
And then you read that these people actually experience a kind of euphoria when they're running, it just confirms that yes, they really are on drugs. What, you run for a few minutes and suddenly you be trippin', yo?
Can I have some of what they're having?
*two months, 3 years, it's all the same. |
|
| |
|
Read 14 - Post |
| |
| Outrageous! My shopping spree... |
|
|
| 02:37am 30/05/2005 |
| |
Oh. My. God. You want to know what's the Devil's greatest invention to tempt mankind? It's that little flat plastic thing that fits into your wallet. Yes, my good god-fearing friends, it's the credit card.
I mean it's not MY fault all these banks keep on calling me and beg me to let them use their money. What can I do but agree? The way these telemarketers put it it's as if their monstrous managers will flay the flesh from their bones if they don't get me to sign up. "Please help la, I have to meet my sales target this month or else my manager's going to eat my first-born child..." These telemarketers are all trained not to take no for an answer. It doesn't matter what you're doing, they'll just plow through, it's their first-born child at stake dammit:-
Telemarketer: HELLO! I'm Irritating, calling from Shittybank, is this Mr Fabulous?
Me: Uh...yes...I'm sorry did you say your name was--
Telemarketer: Oh HIIII Mr Fabulous! Mr Fabulous do you know we've got a SPECIAL offer for you?
Me: I--
Telemarketer: YES, YES! We've specially chosen YOU, Mr Fabulous, for our Super See-Through Ultra Evo Mega Platinum Diamond Card! Because of your loyalty Mr Fabulous! Isn't that wonderful?
Me: I'm not interested.
Telemarketer: Now Mr Fabulous, let me tell you the benefits--
Me: I'm NOT interested.
Telemarketer *pretending not to hear*: We will give you FREE FOR LIFE Mr Fabulous!
Me: Free to be in debt for life, is it!
Telemarketer: We have a very attractive loyalty super bonus reward points Mr Fabulous!
Me: Yeah...spend RM30,000 and you're eligible for a juicer? A MANUAL juicer? One which I have to USE my hands to squeeze the juice with?
Telemarketer: How about supplementary card! Mr Fabulous!
Me: Away with thee, Whore of Satan!
Telemarketer: How about I just send you the card first Mr Fabulous? Mr--? Mr Fabulous? You there?
I'll never hear my name repeated so many times in one conversation again...well, at least not until the next one calls. The scary thing is, sometimes I just give in. The Whore of Satan wins, and in the next few weeks my Super See-Through Ultra Evo Mega Platinum Diamond Card arrives.
Of course it's supposed to be just a piece of plastic. The gun isn't evil, it's the people who use it, right?
No, the BANKS are evil. Satan is evil for creating credit cards and being generally Evil Incarnate. But mostly known for the creation of credit cards, the crown jewel of his Evilness.
Yes, my credit card statementS arrived. Note the plural. It's not good to open them up all in one shot. You'll be like staring at the neatly printed figures in disbelief, each precise number an accusatory middle finger at your lack of financial self-control. It's amazing how a hundred here, a hundred there can add up so quickly into the thousands. ON ONE CARD.
Now don't you think I make a better case for needing a rich sugar daddy? *plays with blonde hair* |
|
| |
|
Read 6 - Post |
| |
| Random Spewings |
|
|
| 02:12am 30/05/2005 |
| |
If you sit in a plane and go into the air, you're said to be flying.
So if you sit in a submarine and go through the water, are you swimming? |
|
| |
|
Read 4 - Post |
| |
| Wesak Whoopee |
|
|
| 12:55am 26/05/2005 |
| |
Once is eyebrow-raising, twice is coincidence but three times is downright creepy.
I'm talking about having sex on and around Wesak Day.
Alright, my record is...spotty to say the least. I'm so far from being sexual that when straight friends ask me how gay foreplay is like, I tell them to watch footballers after they've scored a goal. My record stands not-so-proudly, at roughly 17 months of celibacy, not counting the first 21 years of life.
And yet, it's freakishly coincidental that I always manage to have sex around Wesak Day, the holiest of days for Buddhists, which I count myself as a staunch follower. I'm not talking weeks before or weeks after, it's usually on the day itself or the day after!
In 2002, it was with M***, on his parent's bed. Lesson no. 1: DO NOT SLEEP WITH MEN WHO AREN'T OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE SEX IN THEIR OWN BEDROOMS.
In 2003, it was with J*****, on his grotty mattress in his prison-cell of a room. Lesson no. 2: DO NOT SLEEP WITH MEN WHO DON'T HAVE AN ACTUAL BED (and no, passing it off as a futon doesn't count)
In 2004, it was Mdm Palme and her five sisters. Lesson no. 3: DO NOT GET INTO A LONG DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP IF YOU WISH TO HAVE A HEALTHY, ACTIVE SEX LIFE (without the guilt of cheating on him, of course).
And now in 2005...S***. Just sex, but in terms of physical attributes he beats them all with a big, ugly stick. No lesson learnt yet, may need another session...
Still, it is scary. Is Somebody trying to tell me Something? |
|
| |
|
Read 4 - Post |
| |
| Closeted Lifestyles |
|
|
| 10:21am 21/05/2005 |
| |
How often have you flung open your wardrobe on the night of a big date/dinner function/clubbing night/Miss Universe Finals and declared that you have absolutely NOTHING TO WEAR?
Chronology of events:-
1. OMG I can't wear that, I wore that last week!
2. OMG I love this one but it doesn't go with these pants!
3. OMG I want to wear that shirt but it's still at the drycleaners! Argh!
4. OMG I don't want him to think I'm a whore.
5. OMG I don't want him to think I'm an accountant.
6. OMG I don't want him to think I'm a drag queen.
7. OMG why are my fabulous Sisley pants so tight! Curse me for buying size 28!!
8. OMG he's in the fashion industry! He'll so totally be judging me!
9. OMG fuckit let's just squeeze into the Sisleys. I'll just let out the top button when we're sitting down.
10. OMG I think I just bruised a kidney.
11. OMG I can't wear this, I look like Britney Spears--the Pregnant Version.
12. OMG *stares at the heap of rejected clothes* I have NOTHING TO WEAR and I only have 15 minutes more!
The threat of a wardrobe malfunction constantly looms. I so need a fashion consultant (not to mention Hair & Makeup retinue).
And let's not get started on shoes. OMG Shoes! *throws open rack* I have NOTHING TO WEAR! |
|
| |
|
Read 3 - Post |
| |
| Why Can't We All Just Get Along? |
|
|
| 03:25am 21/05/2005 |
| |
You know recently I seem to have a few upheavals in my personal relationships and also those around me. Maybe Jupiter is juxtaposing my Mars or something, but don't you get the feeling that sometimes months go by without something big happening and then all of a sudden it all just comes rushing upon you, just like when you swallow in surprise when they cum too quickly? Or is it just me? *blinks innocently*
In the past few weeks, I've had arguments with two best friends, and seen arguments happen to another partly because of me. What am I, some kind of relationship black hole? OK I realise I'm being dramatic, it's not always my fault, though I do have my fair share of faults.
I always thought that arguments are always constructive, if not outrightly good, for any kind of relationship. To quote a straight euphemism (I beg forgiveness O Lady Madonna the Non-Virgin One), relationships are like cars. Every few thousand km you need to send for servicing because the parts get rusty, the oil turns into sludge, and other yucky vehicular stuff happens which I have no idea about and no intention of ever knowing.
So anyway think of arguments as servicing your relationship. Every time you go out with them, everytime you communicate there's bound to be some small misunderstandings that you let slide. Then there's the proverbial straw which breaks the camel's back, and all the past mishaps just pour out. I observe that a lot of arguments contain the following: "...this isn't the first time!" or "you're always..." or "I'm so sick of you...". It's chronic, I tell you. It shows that there's a lot of pent up resentment simmering in the background (the straws on the camel!) just waiting to burst forth. So actually arguing can really clear the air and get the engine running smoothly (oh god I knew it was a bad euphemism...can't straight people do anything right?).
I don't know about you guys but everytime I resolve an argument where both sides can walk away feeling like each has learnt something, i feel really good. I feel like I've grown closer to the other party, and we've surmounted an obstacle together which creates a special bond.
At the end of the day, who really knows what makes relationships tick? All of us can only speculate, and hopefully as we grow older and learn more about life, love and relationships, we know what's important to us and we do everything we can to keep it that way.
So to all who have felt wronged by me, and to those whom I've actually wronged, and to those whom I will wrong in the future, let's talk about it. You're all too important for me to lose over stuff smaller than "sleeping-with-my-boyfriend" level. And if I don't want to talk about it, well, too bad you're either a) not cute, or b) can't intro me to any cute people , or c) all of the above.
Can I wish for world peace now? *waves hand* |
|
| |
|
Read 3 - Post |
| |
| Boeing vs Airbus - Round 1...Fight! |
|
|
| 04:19pm 19/05/2005 |
| |
Everyone has a point in their life when they see their peers leapfrogging over them. It may occur early, when your classmates in school were picked for the advanced classes and skipped Standard 5. Or later at work when the colleague who joined the same time as you gets the promotion you wanted.
And it's always a shitty feeling, but you just gotta brush it off and live with it, right? Not everyone's created equal, and not everyone will have equal opportunities.
There was a spot available on the Airbus fleet last month for 10 co-pilots. Now promotion in the airline is based almost entirely on seniority (so long as you don't crash an aircraft or have drunken fights with the crew (which has happened before). Based on my calculations, I could have gotten one spot, but I hesitated before bidding for the post.
Now the Airbus fleet serves mostly mid-range flights, namely to the Indian sub-continent and China. They do have a lot of attractive nightstops like Hong Kong, Nagoya, Perth, Seoul, Dubai and Beijing. But that's really about it. I mean I'm just dying to go such glam places like Delhi, Ahmadebad and Xian right? And most of all, I'll probably be stuck in that fleet until I come back down to the 737 as a captain. That's why there's still about 50 co-pilots ahead of me who are still holding out for the 747 and 777. And these are people who have waited for up to six years. SIX YEARS of slogging on the 737. My butt will probably be grafted to the fucking seat by then.
That also means goodbye London, New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Taipei, Zurich, Amsterdam, Sydney, Shanghai, Melbourne, Rome, Rio de Janeiro and Madrid. FOREVER.
But getting to the Airbus also means more moolah and more free time (though not as much as I would have on the 747 or 777. I can finally fucking wear the pretty jacket which has been gathering dust in my closet for years now (i've so far only worn it once to Shanghai). And if I decide to ever leave MAS the Airbus rating will be very useful.
So in the end I decided to take the more glam route and slog for the Boeings. And today the results were released and two of my batchmates made it to the Airbus. I can't help but wonder, if I'd bid for it I would have definitely gotten it too, wouldn't I? After all we share the same seniority number, and I don't recall having crashed any planes or thrown drinks into idiot pilot's faces (ooooh the number of times I've held back).
But still I feel that I'm taking a risk by not going up with them. And then I'll have to see them smugly brushing off imaginary dust from their jackets and saying breezily "Oh I just came back from Nagoya, what about you?" knowing full well I just came back from Sibu or something similarly ulu.
LOL! I think I should jsut stick by my decision. I mean when I became a pilot I always wanted to visit Australia or Europe or the Americas (and NO not just to feed my tuber-root appetite you bitches) because that's how I always envisioned a pilot's life to be. And I WILL make it even if I have to slog in the 737 for 3 more years! |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| Conversations in the Key of Blonde, Part Deux |
|
|
| 01:35pm 18/05/2005 |
| |
wingedman: i'm so upset kylie's got breast cancer
Ursula Uranus: aw, yeah... that's a recent piece of news
wingedman: yeah there goes my concert *pouts
wingedman: i know it's utterly irrational but HOW COULD SHE
Ursula Uranus: yeah, she's so inconsiderate
Ursula Uranus: she should just drop dead, the hussy
wingedman: well, i won't go so far, really, but seriously, she only needs to attend the singapore concert
wingedman: i mean cancer can't work THAT fast
Ursula Uranus: i think "irrational" doesn't begin to describe this conversation
Please get well soon, St Kylie Our Lady of Pop-Dance Tunes and Gold Short-Shorts. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
wingedman's journal
