Life, Liberty and bla bla bla....

A Fairly Nutty Christmas

2011-12-19T12:58:00.003+08:00

Dear Santa,

I started out this year with a list about three pages long. In it were things ranging from an Emily who’d last more than a day on the job to a vacation of a lifetime somewhere far far away where the office had no means of getting in touch with me.

There was also a new phone and an iPad equivalent somewhere in that list. As was the wish that some people would just disappear from my life, thank you very much. Some clients, I can say with absolute certainty, just don’t deserve to be on your phone book.

Oh…and there was, if I recall, a mention of a man somewhere in that list. There always has been. Since like, 2006. *snigger*

As the year passed by though, that list got whittled down a fair bit, rather surprisingly. I don’t quite know if it was you reading my mind and pre-empting my wishlist or simply fate and good fortune working in my favour, but nonetheless, my list of about 56 items – give or take a few side notes for secondary, but nonetheless related wishes - is now down to just three.

Yup. You read that right. Just three. So ol’ Rudolf can stop working out at the gym now. *guffaw*

Mind you, they’re not silly, abstract things like world peace or a cure for cancer. Although I do constantly hope for both, they’re the kinda wishes only Donald Trump or the Ol’ Liz in Buckingham would throw your way. For the simple fact they have pretty much everything else. No. It’s easy peasy stuff, really. Nothing too silly. Or too demanding.

They are, in no particular order:

A decent year-end bonus

This is borne out of a need to replenish the Treasury after the multitude of holidays I’ve been fortunate to have gone on this year. San Francisco. The Maldives. Singapore. Thailand. Australia. Not the cheapest of destinations to head off to, as you’d probably agree. So anything in the five figure range would be greatly appreciated. The Chancellor of the Exchequer thanks you too. *guffaw*

A smaller waistline

Again. I blame those holidays. Cos holidays means time away from the gym. And the bike that admittedly goes nowhere. And with that, my only hope of counteracting my ginormous appetite for good food. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what those holidays did to me this year. Anything you could do to get me back into size 30 jeans would be ace.

Another office move

I know. This sounds a bit of an oddball wish. Especially when the office has only been at its new address for just a little over a year. Nonetheless, it’s on my list. For the plain reason that I simply LOATHE - with all my heart - the need to park my car a whole postal code away and take 20-minute rides either way to come and go from the office. It’s ridiculous. And an insanely complicated solution for what was never an issue if we had stayed at our old location.

So yeah. There you go, Santa. My wishlist for this year. It’d be great if I could have all three. But getting any one of those would still be a good thing for me.
And if you have some extra space on your sleigh…perhaps you could pop a VW Golf GTi into my Christmas stocking as well?

Just saying…..*grin*

Anyway. That’s all from me for now.

Yours truly,
Rpmnut.

Different, Yet The Same

2011-12-02T01:03:00.004+08:00

Shed a tear when I saw this.

The gender combination may not be typical. But the feeling inside, is all the same.

Marriage. Truly something quite special. Even if neither one of you takes each other's names. *grin*

The Highland Escape

2011-11-14T13:08:00.000+08:00

In the pre-independence days of Malaya, the British residents of the land often left the stifling heat of the lowlands and retreated to their ivory towers high above the clouds when a break from the hustle and bustle of the cities below was called for.

This gave birth to the highland stations, as they became known – with Frasers Hill, Cameron Highlands and Penang Hill quickly establishing themselves as the trifecta bastion of bourgeoisie escapism, allowing the British to enjoy the cool comforts of England right here in the Malayan peninsular when the need arose.

Much in the same way the Brits did back in the early 1900’s, present-day Malaysians (and obsessive Anglophiles for that matter) can do the same when a quick break from modern city life is needed - for a lot less of course, since an entourage of servants and valets is no longer required to make the journey to the heavens. All you need is a trusty steed of the four-wheeled variety and some willing friends to ride shotgun for the adventure.

And so it was that this Nut, JM and a few good friends headed up Cameron Highlands over the weekend - at the gracious invitation of the Cameron Highlands Resort - to re-live the decadent lifestyles of yesteryear in the lush, cool highlands, steeped in colonial influences.

The Cameron Highlands Resort hosts an intimate gathering of family and friends every year to usher in the yuletide season, an event highlighted by the unveiling of the resort’s charming Christmas décor and lighting. The gathering this year was made even more memorable as one very special guest of the resort celebrated his birthday during the weekend escapade.

Acclaimed for his creations which adorn and accompany the most gorgeous of ladies down the catwalks of Paris, Milan and New York - that purveyor of fine footwear for women - Dato Jimmy Choo turned a year younger that evening amongst swooning fans of his work.

Over a span of three days, we relaxed over charming afternoon tea spreads, dined on delectable morsels of goodness in lush, elegant settings and treated ourselves to soothing spa treatments. The British themselves, I reckon, never had it so good back in their days.

We also took the chance to explore the nooks and crannies of this quaint highland station, in the process acquainting ourselves with the signature product of this place - tea. Cameron Highlands, for those not in the know, is the home of Boh and Cameronian tea. Its vast Sungai Palas plantation and visitor centre is located right in the heart of the hill station. Watching the intricacies and complexities of tea-making was quite an eye-opener.

Despite my new-found appreciation for tea, you certainly won't be seeing me give up my java just quite yet. *grin*

I can see why the Brits saw it fit to escape here every so often. The ability to walk and roam the place without soaking your clothes in sweat is quite simply, a priceless luxury. So is the ability to luxuriate and while away the day with nothing more than an open window in the middle of the afternoon and not have the room turn into an instant sauna. Twenty-five degrees Celcius is truly all the heat that one should have to handle in a lifetime. *grin*

As much as we enjoyed our journey back to the gracious, elegant colonial times though, eventually reality – and the need to get back to the job that pays the bills – beckoned. And so it was that after three short, but thoroughly enjoyable days, we left the cool comforts of the highlands and its yuletide charms for the big city.

That however, doesn’t mean that the yuletide spirit from the highlands didn’t follow us home.

These are going to look spectacular on NewK’s tree this year. *smirk*

I’m SO ready for Christmas!

Pink Independence

2011-11-10T15:28:00.001+08:00

Once again, the Pink Parade of Malaysia gets its 15 minutes of fame for all the wrong reasons.

The Seksualiti Merdeka debacle has dominated headlines for the past few weeks, and it really got me thinking about the community, issues of marginalisation and what I reckon has been a massive knee-jerk over-reaction resulting from this year’s planned festivities.

Seksualiti Merdeka, now in its fourth year, is intended to celebrate diversity as well as promote understanding and tolerance for the community. It is, in the words of the organisers, aimed at providing a safe space to dialogue and share information and knowledge on human rights during Seksualiti Merdeka’s events – notably the right to be who you are without fear of prosecution or marginalisation borne out of misinformed prejudices.

I applaud the objectives of the event. I truly do. But at the same time, as a gay Malaysian, I have some personal thoughts on the matter – chief amongst them was this : taken in context of the country we call home, was Seksualiti Merdeka 2011, and its associated hoopla, necessary?

At this point, I’d like to point out that my observations, thoughts and opinions contained herein are borne purely out of my experience as a man who happens to fancy other men, living in the big bad city of Kuala Lumpur after having been raised in a small town up north by a mother who studied in a convent and a father whose conservative ideals of family and sexuality were pretty much set in stone.

A combination which, by all accounts, should have resulted in my early, suicidal demise if popular media is to be believed. But I’m still here. And I’m still queer. And I’m going to share with you a few reasons why I think the gay agenda is best served quietly. Without the fireworks or taffeta. Or the marching band, for that matter.

Whilst you may not share these views - and I don't expect you to - I reckon it would serve as an interesting counterpoint to the current debates dominating the headlines in this country.

Did we really need to ‘Merdeka’ all over again?

Seksualiti Merdeka is based on a simple enough premise: that all Malaysians, regardless of gender preference or sexual orientation, are entitled to live and love without fear. Therefore, following this principle, the question that needs to be asked to justify the event is this : are we truly a community that is oppressed and constantly living in fear?

Try this little experiment for the sake of argument: One of these days, when time permits, seat yourself at a café in Bukit Bintang and observe the passing scenery. In a span of 30 minutes, count the number of “gays” you can spot. I can virtually guarantee that in less than a minute, you’ll spot one. And in all likelihood, you’ll spot a dozen or so more in the next few minutes. Half of them might even be walking alongside their partners or friends with similar inclinations.

They’d be pretty hard to miss. You’ll first notice the perfectly styled hair, with just the right hint of product in it. Then you’ll quickly catch a glimpse of his unusually fashionable take on casual wear, draped over his gym-toned body. In his right hand, he’ll have an iPhone4, suitably blinged up with a snazzy cover case. In his left, a leather folio bound iPad. And in all likelihood, he’ll walk right up to his car, a stylish city runabout – perhaps even a Mini Cooper, valet parked - and drive away, wind in the hair and all.

Whilst I openly admit that this may not be representative of the average homosexual in this country, Mr. Mini Cooper here represents 100% of the gay community that I happen to know. Even if they don’t happen to own a Mini Cooper or dress in fancy designer wear, none of them appear in any way to be victims of a hateful society. They live thriving, successful lives within a social network - and often, net worth - comparable to, if not better than many a straight man’s.

They may not be making out in public with their partners or going apeshit with public displays of affection, but that’s something even heterosexual couples refrain from in this country.

So call me blind or perhaps a bit presumptuous, but from where I stand, this simply doesn’t seem like a community living on the brink of fear. So what are we declaring “Merdeka” from exactly?

Prejudices and opinions - the truth of the matter is, we all have them. And we’ll never be rid of them

Seksualiti Merdeka aims to rid Malaysia of the prejudices that give rise to homophobia and hate through workshops and forums for discussions. Laudable, no doubt, but I’d be the first to admit that even as a gay man, I have committed my fair share of sins when it comes to acting out my prejudices - as I am almost certain you have as well. Especially when such prejudices relate to stereotypes associated with certain races here in Malaysia.

*Cue civil service jokes*
*Cue Cheras Engrund jokes*
*Cue ‘unsaid’ HR policies that exclude UiTM graduates*

At the end of the day, everyone’s a little bit racist. We just don’t make it a point to champion those feelings or start committing hate crimes because of it. And we certainly don’t find the urge to run two-week long seminars on tolerance and acceptance in public because of it. So long as those feelings and thoughts aren't provoked into overdrive, it often remains in the background and fades into prejudicial white noise.

Therefore, if “closeted racism”, as I’ve come to term it, is widely accepted as a mere attribute of a person in possession of a mildly inappropriate sense of humour, the question that begs to be asked in my mind is this - why then do we categorize non-aggressive, closeted homophobia any differently?

But it’s gay rights! It’s different!

Fact is, it isn’t. Homophobia, at the heart of it, is no different from racism or any other prejudices you care to mention.

You can’t make everyone love the fact that you screw other guys.

You can’t force people to accept the fact that you’d rather stick your wand into another blokes’ behind than have a beautiful wife, 2.5 kids, a Golden Retriever and a Volvo estate in the driveway.

And you certainly can’t expect everyone to understand why you’d rather spend your life with another member of the same sex.

But fundamentally, this really is no different from how you can’t expect everyone to understand why you prefer coffee to tea, BMW’s to Audis or one’s preference for TRX instead of Bodypump.

It’s all the same emotion, just wrapped up in a different package. Except these days, we seem to pay a whole lotta attention to the packaging, forgetting that inside, it’s the very same thing – the very same source of combustible material that fuels issues as diverse as immigration controls, naturalisation, racial profiling, education policies, affirmative action and the like.

So no, it’s not any different. And it’s not a problem unique to the LGBT community.

But it still reeks of prejudice. And prejudice has no place in modern society! I should be able to express who I am unequivocally!

Prejudice is a rather unfortunate side effect of having opinions. And expressing it is just another human right which cannot be denied. The right to expression, it must be remembered, is a two-way street. If you expect to have an unequivocal right to say what you think, be prepared to accept the fact that others have the right to challenge your thoughts, even if it reeks of prejudice.

Case in point: We often have negative things to say about the presence of foreign workers in our neighbourhoods, even when the workers themselves have not really done anything wrong. And we’re almost unanimously vocal in expressing discontent when we talk about the persistent menace that is the ubiquitous Mat Rempit, drag-racing their “Kapcai” bikes on the streets of Kuala Lumpur. This despite the fact that they too, are merely exercising their inherent right to express themselves through their admittedly dangerous antics.

Fundamentally, therefore, there is little to differentiate between expressing one’s prejudicial remarks about Mat Rempits and some religious reformist proclaiming that homosexuals are doomed to hell. It’s prejudice, no doubt about it. But it is also his right to express his opinions. What you choose to do with such opinions is, however, entirely your call. Just remember that for every action, there will always be an equal and opposite reaction.

Freedom of expression therefore, should be exercised with a modicum of discretion. Simply put – the need to temper freedom of expression with a dash of morality, common sense and common decency is not a uniquely “gay” issue.

If you fan a fire, you better have an extinguisher at hand

I think everyone will agree that we live in a rather conservative state. This is a country, after all, where even normal, loving straight couples can be arrested for “close proximity” because the law provides for it. And where making out in public, even amongst “normal” heterosexual couples, is frowned upon. Expecting that a country like this was ready to openly and publically acknowledge the Pink Parade and its associated same-gender displays of affection was simply asking too much too soon.

Having been pushed into the limelight by the unequivocal ban by the authorities, and the resulting support Seksualiti Merdeka garnered from Non-Governmental Organisations, it was only a matter of time before every political party in the country latched onto the issue and capitalised on it for their own benefit in an attempt to galvanise support from their respective electorates - in the process turning what was a relatively low key event into what was eventually termed by the media as “a free sex party”.

Was this right? Most definitely not.

But was it expected? Why of course, yes. Expecting anything less would’ve been naïve. Plain and simple.

Now will someone PLEASE get Lil’ Miss Diva off the stage! I will choose my own spokesperson, thank you very much.

In all honesty, I have always had reservations with regards to the person(s) chosen to ‘showcase’ my identity and rights as a gay man here in Malaysia.

Performances by drag queens almost always feature prominently on the event schedule of Seksualiti Merdeka - as a statement of intent of sorts, that the community is “fabulous and proud of its quirkiness”. Not that I have anything against drag queens, but as amusing as these acts are, I simply do not think what they are on stage represents me, or for that matter, what being gay is about, at least in my books.

Their highlighted presence at events of this nature doesn’t do anything to quell the prejudice against the community, especially when such prejudice is principally fuelled by media-derived stereotypes that portray every gay man as cross-dressing freaks with an incessant appetite for filthy sex and every lesbian as a woman with a strange proclivity to dress as a man.

The fight for acceptance and tolerance is not won by emphasising our differences and then blowing it out of proportion just to get a reaction – as a test of sorts to push boundaries and see how much society can take before it caves. It is not won by shoving the gay agenda down the throats of everyone within sight. It is won, I reckon, by proving to naysayers that at the end of the day, save for our choice of partners for life, homosexuals are really no different from the average straight bloke or lass strolling the streets of Kuala Lumpur.

We have jobs. We have family. We have responsibilities. We don’t walk around in dresses all day. We too want to be loved. And we want to grow old with someone daring enough to stick around for the journey.

We are different, certainly - but I’d like to believe that there are more similarities between heterosexuals and homosexuals than there are differences. And that’s where the journey to acceptance starts.

Traitor! But you’re a gay man too!

Don’t get me wrong. I have always been proud of my sexuality. But on the same token, I’ve also never let myself be defined by it. I am a man who is gay, not a gay man.

I am out. I am proud. But I don’t see the need to scream it out loud at every opportunity. Nor do I expect any form of third-party affirmation that what I am is right or wrong. I simply do not need it. If someone doesn’t accept me for who I am, I ignore them and move on. There are simply greater battles to be won.

What about the marginalisation and prejudice that LGBT’s face from the evil, prejudicial and oppressive “system”?

Am I, as a homosexual living in Malaysia, marginalised? Am I the recipient of constant abuse arising from the prejudices of a tyrannical, unaccepting society? Is it truly impossible to live and love without fear in this country?

To answer these questions, let’s simply consider the facts:

I have friends whom I love and accept me for who I am, despite the fact that they know I bat for the Pink Parade.

I have family who, despite my attempts at coming out, still don’t believe that I am gay but love me nonetheless.

I have a well-paying job which I love dearly - where my performance is determined purely by my abilities, and not hindered in any way by my sexuality.

I have colleagues who treat me with respect and acknowledge my achievements despite my sexuality.

I live in a quiet, safe suburb of the city with a desirable postal code - home to more than a handful of fellow gay men.

I hang out in public places with my friends, both gay and straight, without ever being the victim of marginalisation, abuse or prejudice.

And most importantly, I have a person whom I adore and share my life with, whose very presence shows that even in an ultra-conservative society like Malaysia, loving another man and sharing your life with him is entirely possible.

So the short answer to that question is no. I don’t need Seksualiti Merdeka to pick a fight for me. For I am already living and loving without fear.

So what, just keep calm and carry on?

I’m a big fan of human rights. I’m a big fan of the ability to live without fear. I am an even bigger fan of being able to love without fear.

But at the end of the day, I am 20% optimist, 80% realist. And erring on the side of realism leads me to this conclusion: That you can support the gay cause without supporting every event. That the gay agenda is a huge canvass on which Seksualiti Merdeka is merely a part of. And it’s a canvass that has the luxury of time to develop into a masterpiece we can all be proud of. We will not be burnt at the stake en masse tomorrow, I verily believe.

Having one event banned by a conservative government simply isn’t the end of the world or the death of gay rights. Rome, after all, wasn’t built in a day.

And in relation to the constant headline grabbing debates spiralling out of control as days go by, I reckon a piece of advice the QueenMother gave me years ago would be hugely relevant :

“The more you scream, the less people listen. And the less they listen, the less likely you’ll get what you want”

I reckon in context of the events in the past few weeks, never has that phrase been more apt.

This post also appears on the Malaysian Insider

Betting on Emily, Part Deux

2011-11-07T22:11:00.001+08:00

What do you mean she's still at her desk?

Let me first state the obvious. I hate losing. Especially bets.

I’m a bit Singaporean that way, I’ll shamefully admit. The infamous “Kiasu” mindset. Though thankfully it doesn’t always rear its ugly head. I’m usually quite happy pottering about, minding my own business, lost in the pretty pink Commonweatlh of Nations that exists in my head.

Just don’t ever put money on the table when you hand me a challenge. Cos that’s a sure fire way to tempt the Singlish-Speaking-Green Eyed Monster out of hibernation.

Case in point : The last time someone bet 50 bucks that I would never fit into a size 30 jeans, I didn’t just take up the sodding challenge. I bloody turned anorexic. And went from a size 46 to a size 29. Just because I could. Nuff said.

But I digress....

So as luck would have it, HR found me another Emily late last month. I've been assured by HR that she's a keeper. This guarantee, I have no doubt, came about as a result of my less-than-enthusiastic review of their candidate-hunting abilities the last time they tried to shove a candidate my way. She was on the job for less than three whole days. To say that I was disappointed would be putting it mildly.

Gleaming references from a large firm downtown. The only firm she’s ever worked with since she was 22, apparently. And she’s pushing 35 now, mind.

Nonetheless, when news broke that she accepted the offer from the firm, I downplayed any hope of this candidate staying for longer than 72 hours. History has thought me well after all. But my fellow colleague, HY, wasn’t so sure. He reckoned this one might well last a little longer, seeing that she:

(1) didn’t graduate from a local university;
(2) had more than a cursory ability to communicate in English; and
(3) didn’t have that “lights are on but no-one’s home” look during the interview.

I on the other hand, argued that:

(1) she still looked for all the world like a civil servant, complete with the obligatory explosion-of-colour baju kurung. All she needed was a name tag to complete the look;
(2) she had a copy of Kosmo! on her desk the first day she reported for work; and
(3) she had that "deer-in-the-headlights" look when I said I needed her to fetch me a latte. Nods of comprehension only came about when I said I needed "kopi". *groan*

My expectations were pretty dismal, in other words. But HY wouldn't have any of it. He bet 100 bucks that she'd still be at her desk come end of the month. I doubled the bet. History was on my side.

EmilyFour, as I’ve now come to call her, reported for duty on Monday last week.

I’m rather perversely disappointed to note that she was still at her desk on Friday when I left the office.

Dammit.

I say it again. I hate losing bets.

Time to really go all Miranda on her, I reckon....*snigger*

Because It Came With The House

2011-10-25T10:33:00.000+08:00

Don't get too excited.
This salad is about all that's coming out of this kitchen!

I'd be the first to admit that the kitchen is the one part of NewK that I spent very little time doing up when I was renovating the place. While I laboured for weeks on end over the choice of leather for the sofa and the fibre length for the carpet in the living room, I spent all of ten minutes with my contractor on the layout for the kitchen.

Even now, a year and a bit on, the kitchen at NewK still looks distinctively sparse. A few new appliances may have found their way onto the counter tops, but otherwise, it looks for all the world like one of those mock-ups you see at IKEA. You just KNOW it's not a working kitchen.

I have a kitchen - but only cos it came with the house! *snigger*

JM's constantly poking fun at the fact that there's not a single wok in there. And that the only bowl I have in the place belongs to Cosmo. And that I don't even have a gas tank to power the stove. Which, for the record, is there only because my contractor REFUSED to complete my kitchen until I had chosen a stove. And a hood to match. *sigh*

"Where got people build a kitchen without a stove wan????"

He obviously overestimated my ability to prepare hot food. *snigger*

But my recent visit to my brother's abode, fresh from a recent renovation spree to expand their kitchen and dining area, reminded me WHY NewK's kitchen is as sparse as it is:

You just KNOW this isn't a gay man's home....

If this is what a working kitchen means, I'm going on record now that I'm NEVER having one of these in NewK!

I'll order in. Or eat out. I'll do anything but use the kitchen! Cos I'll be damned if NewK ends up looking like some Tai Chow kitchen in Pudu! *guffaw*

The Nutty Maldivian Adventure

2011-10-17T00:08:00.001+08:00

If there’s one place one has to see before they kick the bucket, Maldives would be it. Not typically the kinda holiday I’d sign up for, I’ll admit. I’m normally quite averse to any destination where getting half naked to worship the sun forms 50% of the itinerary. There are, after all, so many other things to do whilst on holiday, and more importantly, better reasons to get naked….*giggles*

But after spending a week on the islands, the Maldives is perhaps the one exception that I’m willing to make.

It’s not for shopaholics, that’s for sure.

They don’t even have a mall to their name. They do have a Mac store though, rather interestingly….

Steve Jobs. Stop smirking.

It’s not for those in love with city life, but just want to experience a different city for their holidays either.

The capital of Maldives, Male, is after all, all of two kilometres wide. That’s about the size of Damansara Heights. Minus the heights. Cos the highest point of Male is all but a few feet above sea level. There’s a street that runs from one end to the other end of the island. Stand on one end, and you can see the other side. Not kidding. It’s THAT small. And the streets are awfully narrow.

So narrow, in fact, that you’d struggle to find what we’d normally call a “normal” sized car here. A Suzuki Swift is quite simply, a massive car on Maldivian roads. Hans would've been outlawed, I'm certain. And as a result, they have the cutest cars on the road there - witness what passes off as taxis in Male:

A Toyota Will Cypha. I've never heard of it. But it looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. Almost a tad too “canggih” for the streets of quaint ol’ Male.

It’s not for those looking for culinary excitement on their vacations.

They have curries. With tuna in it.
And stews. With tuna in it.
And some mildly intriguing breads. With tuna in it.

But that’s about as exciting as meals get in the Maldives, to be honest. And if you’re not a fan of tuna, then you’re a tad out of luck, cos you can’t exactly pop round the corner for a Big Mac. There’s simply no MacDonald’s in the country. The only fast-food chain serving anything remotely familiar will be Marrybrown’s, serving Malaysian-style fried chicken.

But….and this is really the country’s saving grace….what the Maldives lacks in conventional holiday attractions, it more than makes up for it with sights like these:

Waters so clear you would think they filled the oceans around the islands with mildly salted Evian.

Eye popping sights when the sun rises.

Equally breathtaking sunsets.

I was, quite frankly, blown away by the sights on the resort islands here. It’s gonna be hard for any other destination to top what I saw on these islands. How I’ll ever do another beach holiday again, I’ll never know. What they say about black blokes, I reckon it’d apply to this place too. Once you’ve gone to the Maldives, you’ll never go back to any other plain-jane beach holiday.

But be warned though. Beauty comes with a price. Everything from your bed to the crystal-clear water on which your speedboat zooms over as it delivers you to and from your idyllic lil resort is taxed. And is charged in USD. A shoe-string budget holiday, this is most certainly not.

But as a once-in-a-lifetime destination, I reckon it’s worth pissing off your friendly bank manager. *snigger*

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go peel a few more layers of sunburnt skin off my heavily-vacationed body. *guffaw*

Tasty Travelogues

2011-10-03T00:08:00.000+08:00

Was watching this just a couple of days ago, safe in the comforts of NewK, on one of those rare days where work didn't quite make it on the last shuttle back home with me.

It's quite possibly the ultimate chic-flick, this one. Sure, it wasn't as good as the book - but hey, when was the last time someone found a movie adaptation better than the book, right? But it's one of those movies that make you wanna go out there, travel, feast on pasta and hopefully, stumble into someone who'd be silly enough to spend the rest of his life with you.

Notice I left out the bits about India from the movie. No offence to anyone who hails from the sub-continent, but it was quite honestly the least interesting bit of the movie. I have a nasty habit of fast forwarding the movie straight from the streets of Rome to the fields of Bali, ignoring the slums of Delhi quite completely. Awkward. But quite necessary.

Anyway, back on the topic. Everytime I watch this I do kinda wonder if someone would ever make a version of this with a handsome young bloke in the lead instead of ol' Julia. After all, soul searching can't be the sole preserve of women folk, right?

Well, as the saying goes...ask and ye shall receive:

Eat.Move.Learn. Not quite a movie. Just three short, tasty films made by Rick Mereki and Tim White. They are the scruffy looking blokes on the left and centre of this shot:

Don't ask me who they are, cos I haven't a clue. And don't really care. What I DO care about, rather unsurprisingly, is details on the bloke that featured on-screen on all three films.

Andrew Lees. That's the handsome looking specimen on the right. 26. Australian. Actor. Attended the National Institute of Dramatic Art (NIDA) from 2005 to 2007. Plays a role in a show called "Special Ops" Down Under. The bloke in uniform. Oh be still my beating heart.....*grin*

One wonders if he's single...and rather more importantly, which team he bats for.....

So much more to investigate. So little time. *guffaw*

Speaking of travel...in just a couple of days, yours truly will be heading to this little atoll in the Maldives:

Staying in this modest little hotel in the middle of nowhere:

Sipping Cosmopolitans by my own private pool, enjoying the passable view:

Hi Booker! *guffaw*

No meetings. No e-mail access. No Blackberry. No incessant phone calls from the office. No country to run. No Euro crisis to solve. No pesky coalition government to guide.

Can't. Bloody. Wait. *grin*

And no Mr. Cameron. You're not invited.
Neither are you, Mr. Clegg.

Do try your very best not to ruin the nation while one is on vacation! *guffaw*

Nutty Nominees

2011-09-18T20:38:00.000+08:00

And to all the prospective Emilys in the room, working with me is a bit like drowning.
Quite pleasant once you stop struggling......*grin*

I've always loved the drama associated with award shows. The Academy Awards. The Golden Globes. The SAG Awards. The tears of joy, the ludicrous hysterics. The theatrical outfits. As a spectator sport, these sort of shows are quite honestly, unbeatable for entertainment.

But I do often wonder though, it it's all genuine or just another encore act to cap off their award-nominated performances.

Well guess I'll be able to find out, soon enough, first hand:

Wonder if it's a bit premature to write myself an acceptance speech...*grin*.

Something along these lines, perhaps:

Overrated? On some days, just maybe. But not today, darlin. Not today....*guffaw*

Tagging for Lil' Miss Emily

2011-09-11T22:33:00.001+08:00

So deeply unimpressed...
To purse or not to purse them lips, that is the question...

Here’s a bit of news, in case you haven’t heard : Rather expectedly, my new Emily is no more. The civil service castaway barely lasted two days on the job. She took medical leave on the second day, and just never bothered to return.

And here I was thinking that she’d AT LEAST last till the end of this week. *snigger*

No matter. Candidates of this sort are a dime a dozen, I’ve been told. Local universities churn them out by the bucketload every semester after all. *guffaw*

With the recent spate of dismal hires, I've taken a personal interest in the hunt for Lil' Miss Emily. HR has been suitably informed that I’m going to personally interview each and every candidate from now on. Screw the pre-interviews. Every application will now have to go through me and me alone before they waste everyone’s time with pointless calls for interviews.

Seeing that vetting resumes will likely make up a large part of the forthcoming hunt for someone who’ll survive the apparent rigours of the NuttyDepartment, I’ve come up with a system of indicating to HR if someone even mildly intrigues me. Or disgusts me.

Just as Miranda has her “nod-smile-purse lips” system of indicating her various degrees of approval with things she sees, I’ve found mine:

Brilliant lil' self-explanatory tags to let HR know what I think about each candidate's resume. Good system, no? *giggles*

Though I must admit, I have a distinct feeling that the “WTF”, “OMG” and “LMAO” tags are going to run out a LOT sooner than the others in the pack...*grin*

Betting On Emily

2011-09-07T00:10:00.004+08:00

Three weeks? Who in the world was silly enough to bet she'll stay THAT long?

My new Emily just joined the firm today, after an exhaustive search by HR. Admittedly, this is their second attempt in as many months to successfully staff the NuttyDepartment with much needed help.

Note the words "attempt" and "successfully". *snigger*

This time round, I decided to help HR along and chose to forego my usual requirement that candidates have at least a cursory exposure to legal mumbo-jumbo. Thought that might make it a mite easier for the lovely boys and girls in HR to find suitable candidates. Whose sole purpose in life would be to send my faxes. Scan stuff. Fetch my coffee. Or lunch, if I’m ever so inclined. Walk the dog if I had one. Check the brakes on my car. You know. Emily stuff.

I must admit that I am, so far, quite unimpressed with the one they sent my way.

For one, EmilyOne didn’t pre-interview her. *gulp*

She also looks for all the world like she came from the civil service. *double gulp*

And she failed the six-word test. Miserably. Gave me a blank stare when I said “facade”. *sigh*

Over lunch, I had this little conversation with the managing partner at the NuttyFirm:

HY : So how’s your new Emily?
Me : Not promising, if I’m to be entirely honest.
HY : Why’s that?
Me : She has “civil service” written all over her face. And she’s already applied for leave. On her first day. Nuff said, really.
HY : *rolls eyes*
Me : *rolls eyes*
HY : So how long you reckon she’ll stay?
Me : Two weeks. Max.
HY : Really? I was thinking more like next week! Ha ha!
Me : *snigger*

And here I thought I was the pessimistic one!

Rather unsurprisingly, the entire department now is betting on New Emily’s staying power. Two weeks, max, seems to be the current favourite at the exit polls. I've got a fifty riding on it.

Here’s hoping I’m right. *guffaw*

QueenMum@NewK

2011-09-05T00:08:00.001+08:00

Oh I do hope she's finally found a consort!

“Oh wow. Your kitchen actually looks like it could feed someone. You've actually got bread! And a proper toaster!”

“Now all you need is a girlfriend!”

“Since when did you start using so much facial product? And all branded too! So fancy!”
“You have a girlfriend already ah?”

“You finally got your closet organised! Though some of the shirts look really small - if you can't wear them anymore you should just donate them, you know....”
“You know, our neighbour’s daughter is already getting married. When will it be your turn ah?”

Sigh. Yup. You've guessed it. QueenMum is at NewK. And she’s here to stay.

At least till Wednesday.........

God save this Queen. *gulp*

Beemer Brothers

2011-08-24T00:28:00.000+08:00

BMW is quite a crafty little company. Their cars are, of course, clever little bits of engineering. But their advertising and media campaigns often proves to be even clever-er.

Take the new 1-series....

Oh dear. Not very pretty, this one. I’ve never been a huge fan of the baby beemer. It’s tiny. It’s massively overpriced. And it looks for all the world like a gangly pup who’s had the carpet pulled out from underneath. Not the best place to start if you had to come up with a devious campaign to sell the thing to the masses.

Nothing about the looks then…

Credit must go then, to the bloke who figured out this angle to sell the bloody thing:

The car may look like a dog, but put some pretty faces in the ads to distract you and VOILA! You’ve suddenly got a campaign that gets you noticed.

The beauty of aspirational marketing....*snigger*

The Lund brothers. Remember that name. Cos they’re quite a sight for sore eyes. And they’re funny too, in a way only Pommies can be.

Reminds me a bit of my brother and I actually.

Except, of course, we don’t look as pretty.
Or as thin.
Or as well groomed.
Nor do we cook.
And I don’t really go to the gym that often.

OK. Fine. Nothing like them actually. *guffaw*

Over MSN with CC yesterday evening:

Me : Like seriously. The brothers are kinda hot! Wonder if I could hire them for a shoot or something!
CC : I’m sure you can, though I’m almost afraid to ask what KIND of shoot you plan to have..lol!
Me : Oh please. I’m hardly a prude. Some A&P stuff for the firm of course!
CC : You guys do that?
Me : Of course we do! And when we’re done, I’ll…urm…shoot them myself! Hur hur
CC : Sigh. Should’ve saw THAT one cumming!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some cyberstalking to do…*snigger*

Toasty Sundays

2011-08-22T00:48:00.001+08:00

Perhaps we should stick to cereals and milk, babe.
I don't have to put the fire brigade on standby that way!

Like most, I do really look forward to Sunday mornings. Something about the day in particular - can't quite put my finger on it yet - just puts me in the right mind for a slow start to the day. The morning news on BBC courtesy of the Samsung Galaxy, coffee and perhaps a proper meal to start the day if I'm ever so inclined. Quite the contrast with Saturdays, to be honest, where I'm often rudely awakened by M the Maid (not to be confused with M the Agent) banging down the door at 9am sharp to start her routine of keeping NewK in presentable shape.

So it was that yesterday, I woke to a gorgeous sunny Sunday. One of those days where the sun wasn't glaringly bright and the air conditioning kept the room at a perfect 20 degrees. Sleep-in stuff, this. JM had stayed over, so he was convinced he'd demonstrate his domestic skills by making breakfast. No objections from me, this little demo, for a breakfast made by someone else is always a breakfast worth enjoying. Especially when you don't have to pay $29.95 for it. With tax. *guffaw*

Toast with homemade coconut jam was the order of the morning, so JM whipped out some bread he had brought over, and put it in the toaster.

Now a bit about this toaster. It was a freebie. A prize I had won at some lucky draw at a client's event just before I moved into NewK. It was fresh out of its box and had never seen the light of day prior to this day.

Oh. And it was some funny local brand. Logik. Or something along those lines. An Electrolux, it certainly wasn't. *snigger*

Anyhow. JM popped the bread in and came to the study where he was charging his iFruit and I was checking e-mail on the BeriHitam. This conversation promptly ensued:

JM : So what's happening with the NuttyClients? Are you flying off to Bangkok again?

Me : Any time is TT time, as they say. But thankfully no signs of another trip. Yet. *sniff sniff*. Do you smell something burning?

JM : It must be the toast getting done...

Me : No no. That's not the smell of toast. That's the smell of fire.

JM : Don't be silly lah. Toast always smells a bit burnt.

Me : Amuse me. Just go check will ya?

JM : Fine, Mr. OCD......*rolls eyes*

Not a minute after JM walks out of the study, I hear the unmistakable blare of the smoke alarm.

Yup. You guessed it. The toast burnt.

But so did the toaster:

You see those burning embers? Well, that was what remained of breakfast. To say NewK was shrouded in smoke would've been putting it mildly. It was quite literally smothered in acrid by-products of the burning toaster.

So much for breakfast....*guffaw*

Not sure if it was the bread. Or the setting on the machine (though it was admittedly set to a mild 3 out of 7 on the selector dial). Or the machine itself. But one thing's for sure - my next toaster's gonna be a proper, branded thing.

Call me a brand snob, but hell, I'm not risking NewK to a fire to prove otherwise. *grin*

Periodical Killjoy

2011-08-16T22:38:00.002+08:00

Hot men. Fast cars. All you need for a good time.
Boobies definitely not required.

God knows I love magazines. Ones that feature shiny fast cars especially. Written by witty Brit blokes preferably. The two foot-high stacks of Top Gear and Autocar in NewK’s master suite would attest to that. It’s a borderline obsession, this.

Anyone who has read one of Jeremy Clarkson’s books will also attest to the unique motoring humour that only my fellow countrymen can dish out. It’s entertaining. It’s borderline brilliant. And that’s something even gay men should be able to appreciate, even if their understanding of cars is limited to how the key makes the car start and run.

Then again. I may be wrong....*guffaw*

Nonetheless, as of late, my love for the motoring periodicals has been tempered somewhat by the ordeal that has been maliciously imposed onto innocent readers like yours truly.

I couldn’t help but notice that in the past few months, not one, but BOTH my usual monthly reads have come up with this absolutely unnecessary bundling deal.

Buy one magazine with lovely shiny cars on the cover.....

And you get an eyeful of boobies for free.

Like Epic Ew.

And you know what's the worst bit? You can't even fling the offending boobie magazine away at the store, cos they shrinkwrap the awful double deal together. Meaning you have to take the gruesome twosome home with you. Inevitably forcing you to deposit the boobie half in some nook. Because throwing away a glossy seems such a waste of good paper.

And in time, I have little doubt that QueenMum will stumble onto this stash of unwanted boobie-ness, resulting in the unfortunate perpetuation of the myth that yours truly could possibly still bat for the team that screams for va-jay-jay at half-time.

Sigh.

I mean seriously, can a gay man not indulge in his motoring fantasies for a moment these days without having to deal with the general assumption that only straight men get wet at the thought of having a Bugatti Veyron parked in his driveway?

Bloody hell.

So if there’s someone working in Top Gear Malaysia reading this little bitch post, for the love of car-loving gay men, get the straight-man eye porn out of my monthly reading, puh-leese!

Okthxbye. *grin*

Oh My Engrund

2011-08-15T00:38:00.005+08:00

There’s been much debate as of late as to the standard of English on our sunny little patch of land in the middle of nowhere. For the most part, it’s been a nagging concern that’s quite justifiable, as the linguistic prowess of the typical bloke and lass on the Intrakota bus in Boleh-land often beggars belief.

If you’ve ever dealt with the civil service in this nation, or had the honour of interviewing graduates from certain local institutions of higher learning which specifically champions the national language above all else, you’ll know exactly what I mean. It’s almost like they slept through English class and passed by sheer luck when exams came their way.

The Five-Word (now Six, if I’m to be entirely accurate) Test, they will never hope to pass...*guffaw*

Most of the time though, modern word processing and that wonderful thing called grammar and spelling check help conceal this not-inconsiderable, flawed by-product of our education system.

MOST of the time, that is.....

Sometimes though, even the cleverest bit of tech can’t help the hopeless, and the impossibly abysmal linguistic prowess of a certain chunk of the local demographics is exposed for all the world to see. Like, LITERALLY.

Had my passport renewed recently. After spending half a day wading through government red tape, I got my grubby hands on my duly refreshed piece of travel documentation.

Maldives and Western Australia, here I come!

Grotesque picture of yours truly aside, I thought that the new passport layout was a vast improvement on the old one, with the instructional and disclaimer pages now laid out in portrait instead of landscape format, and a nicer typeface adopted throughout. There’s even a page now on the back with all sorts of instructions on how to store and deal with the said passport.

As I was reading the list of do’s and don’ts printed in fine print at the back of the little red book though, I gasped, rolled my eyes and screamed at JM to read this one line:

Like seriously. Oh my Engrund!

On any other official document, I’d be willing to forgive. Maybe. But on a passport! Which will be seen by hundreds of immigration officers from various English-speaking nations. England itself too, if you happen to travel there.

I’m almost too ashamed to keep my passport in its sleeve now..

The Queen is most certainly NOT amused. Heads should roll for this! *sigh*

B-List Hotties

2011-08-10T00:33:00.001+08:00

Kellan Lutz. The name itself is enough to throw a herd of homosexual men into a hormone-induced bout of palm-humping. The body. The face. That body and face in nothing but Calvins. Yum.

A handsome specimen he may be, but if I’m to be entirely honest, I reckon the bloke’s rise to stardom has been driven almost entirely by his looks and his picture-perfect rack of abs rather than his acting abilities. I mean seriously, his role as part of the Cullen pack in Twilight was almost an afterthought, with lines numbering in the single digits.

So perhaps it comes as no surprise that Mr. Lutz has already started his descent into that sodden, downward path trodden by so many of Hollywood’s pretty boys with questionable acting skills. Witness his latest foray into Hollywood’s B-grade underbelly:

It’s a messy mish-mash of Death Race, Gladiator, Hercules and Gamer, seemingly created to principally satisfy public cravings for Mr. Lutz’s chiselled physique.

On a sidenote : What’s with Samuel L. Jackson these days? Does he ONLY do B-grade flicks now? *snigger*

But yeah. Kellan. B-grade flicks.

I reckon I’ll be giving this one a miss on the big screen. Though admittedly, I'll probably still be getting the DVD from my favourite bootlegger.

He may suck as an actor. But I reckon RM10 bucks is a price worth paying to see a pretty boy getting his arse whipped. Don’t you think? *guffaw*

The Pink Pilgrimage

2011-08-08T00:23:00.005+08:00

This should’ve probably gone up ages ago, but as always, I got a bit lazy. As many bloggers will surely attest, reducing a week-long trip into a single blog entry is an arduous affair. More so than random bitch blogs, I can assure you...*snigger*

But this particular trip wasn’t just any trip. It wasn’t a quick jaunt to Penang. Or Ipoh. It was, for all intents and purposes, a pilgrimage to the holy gay land. To that elusive city by the bay, San Francisco. Certainly an event important enough to document on these hallowed pages.

They say it takes about a week or two to really get to know a city, a month to start feeling at home, and a year to properly settle in. I was in San Francisco for just under two weeks, so that put me right smack in the middle of the former two, in that no-man’s land between knowing this place and feeling at home.

To be honest, I was homesick the moment I arrived in the city. Eighteen hours cooped up in a plane tends to do that to you. The comforts of NewK beckoned and I started to think that my ten-day long business-cum-vacation was perhaps a tad over-optimistic. I was alone. In a big, strange city. With strange creatures roaming the streets.

I see white people. And NONE of them look like Chris Pine!

The progression from homesick, to feeling at home, however, happened quite rapidly. And rather unexpectedly. And it went a little something like this:

Day 1 :

Thank God I booked a Town Car instead of a taxi to get me from the airport to Josh’s place. If this is good enough for Miranda....*snigger*

Oooh. The crooked street! Time to do the touristy thing.....*snaps away*

Wow. No wonder Josh loves this place. Look at that view!

Day 2 :

First day on my own in the big, bad city. Please God don’t let me get mugged.

Why is that homeless guy staring at me like I was lunch. I’m soooo gonna get lost. Shit. What was the street name where the hotel was?

Josh better pick up his phone. Pick up pick up pick up, old man! I need DIRECTIONS!!!! Every street looks the same! Bloody hell!

Day 3 :

Ooh look. Grindr works here! And I’m getting messages!

Maybe I’ll meet up with that blonde haired hottie right after the conference. Oh yeah. This IS a working holiday after all...*guffaw*

OMG Niketown’s right around the corner!!!!

The rest as they say, is history. *guffaw*

So what did I learn in my ten days in this city by the bay?

Honey, who shrunk the city?

Forget what you see on TV. Or what you’ve always imagined this city to be. San Francisco is all of 7.5 miles end to end, bookended by the Pacific on one side, and the San Francisco Bay on the other. It’s about the size of Damansara, to put it into perspective. As a result of this diminutive size, and the surprising lack of freeways, it often feels like a large village rather than a cold, unfriendly city.

One chilly weekday morning, I decided to just take a walk and see where my feet would eventually lead me. I just walked down the street next to my hotel - it was as straight as an arrow and took me past city block after city block of quaint Victorian houses, manicured parks and gorgeous Art Deco buildings. An hour later, the vast expanse of the Pacific greeted me. Like I said, it’s a small place, this.

Warning : Staying Warm – Not the easiest of things to do here

The day I arrived, it was 17 degrees outside with the sun shining bright overhead. I loved it. I could finally put that leather jacket to good use. Over a long sleeved shirt. Which went over an undershirt. Which was topped off with a nice colourful scarf. I could do this. Everyday. Easy. Layering is heaps of fun. Just not in the humidity and heat that is Malaysia, unfortunately.

But within the last few days I was in the city, that delightful weather had turned into spring showers, 12 degree afternoons with gale-force winds and 10-below nights with a wind chill factor that beggars belief. No matter how much you layer, you’d still think twice about taking a cold shower when you get back to the hotel. Trust me. I did. Save water indeed.

Nonetheless, the locals seemed completely oblivious to the chilly weather:

Perky nips were the order of the day. Much to my delight. *snigger*

Foodies, You’ve Been Warned

Most of my vacations typically revolve around food. I mean, hey, we’re Malaysians after all, right? A country where food is quite literally the national sport. If you come here with the expectation of a culinary adventure, well, people, I’m sorry to say, you’re gonna go home sorely disappointed.

With the exception of several good burgers I had in the most unlikely of places, food in San Francisco is kinda like dining in a local Chilli’s or TGI Fridays. It’s good, but it’s not going to blow your mind. Unless you have deep pockets, that is, cos all the good stuff would blow your travel budget in half and rip right through your shopping allowance. And that’s BEFORE you add in the tips. Which are customary. Stinge on it at your own risk. Cos you may find unwanted additions to your meal should you ever return...*guffaw*

My my, aren’t we a friendly bunch?

The best way to see a city is through the eyes of the locals. With that in mind, I made it a point to get friendly with the local folk. From Jorge the Spanish-Mexican San Francisco native who attended the conference with me and volunteered to be my tour guide, to Alex the doorman at my hotel who brought me to his favourite bar for a pint after his shift was over. To Nancy the MUNI ticketing officer who took the time to explain the intricacies of the MUNI subway and F-Market streetcar network to me no less than three times on three consecutive days without pursing her lips and raising her arms in disgust. And oh, of course there was David, the barista at Starbucks Union Square whom, after 3 days, knew my order by heart and threw in an extra shot for free. And also not forgetting the guys at the iconic Mr-S on Folsom Street, who took the afternoon off to show a Folsom virgin the sights and sounds of the leather-laced neighbourhood. The people in this city are insanely friendly.

So much to do, so little time!

Pier39. Westfield. Metreon. Yerba Buona Gardens. SOMA. The Museum of Asian History. The Jewish Museum. Folsom Street. Quake Tower. Lombard Street. Chinatown. Alcatraz. The Bay Cruise. Golden Gate Park. The Naval Museum. Folsom Street. The Castro. The number of attractions in this tiny city would keep you busy for days on end. Even at the end of my 10 day stay, I was still trying to squeeze in as many attractions as I could each day.

Say What? Five Bucks? For Dinner? Seriously?

Food is cheap as chips here. Subway sandwiches are all of $5 each. For a foot long, mind you. And if you avoid the temptation to convert and assume you earn in USD, you’d come to realise that we pay WAYY too much for food back here.

I See Rainbows. Lots and Lots of rainbows.

Let there be no mistake. San Francisco is, and probably will forever be, the Gay Capital of the World. And it’s not shy about that fact either. Rainbow flags fly proudly over the most prominent landmarks in the city. More so in the Castro, where it’s like you’ve accidentally walked into an episode of Glee. Starring only the Dalton Academy Warblers. And everyone’s Blaine and Kurt. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. *guffaw*

There’s lots of history in this neighbourhood. History that may not always be in the minds of the Pink Parade in Asia, but pretty significant to the community as a whole.

Though I was surprised at how understated tributes were to Harvey Milk. I was expecting grand gestures of architecture. What I saw instead was a subway entrance and a flagpole. *snigger*

Take the Bus. Or the Train. Or the Streetcar. Or better yet, walk. Whatever you do don’t drive.

Cos unless you have deep pockets, driving the car into the city is painfully detrimental to the health of your wallet. Parking isn’t cheap. The cheapest multi-storey was charging USD20 per entry. And mind you, parking structures of that sort is certainly NOT plentiful. So everyone inevitably commutes into the city. As a result, the streets are refreshingly devoid of the epic traffic issues that plague cities like KL. Something for the powers-that-be to ponder upon if they’re serious about getting public transport going back home.

Asia, Truly Asia

Jorge tells me that easily half the population of San Francisco aren’t Americans by birth. And walking around the city, you’d have no reason to doubt that statement. The immigration guy who greeted me at the airport was Korean. My doorman at the hotel on alternate days was a Japanese bloke with a funky accent. The lady at the front-of-house who checked me in was from the Philippines. And the guys at the Subway around the corner from the hotel were Indonesians. Not too far removed from home, then....

Wonder If it’s all that hard to get a Green Card

At least that was one of the many thoughts I entertained in my head on my last day in San Francisco. In just 10 days, she’s managed to work her way into my veins and into my heart. I’ve always said to myself that KL is all the city I ever need, with London a perfect alternative should the need to flee ever arise....*snigger*. But after this little trippy to San Francisco, I’m not so sure about that arrangement anymore. If the opportunity ever came up to move here, I can’t say for certain that I’d say no. I could definitely see myself raising a Golden Retriever or two in a pretty Victorian-style townhouse in Castro.

On the first day I was here, someone stopped me to ask for directions to Chinatown. Probably because I was the only Chinese on the street. I hadn’t a clue and had to admit, rather coyly, that I was about as lost as he was.

On my last day in the city, a lady asked me how to get to the W Hotel on Embarcadero. My response surprised even myself. And I didn’t even have to think about it. I even told her which MUNI station was nearest to the hotel. And if she’d rather take the streetcar, where she should board and disembark.

Now if that isn’t a sign of feeling right at home, I don’t know what is....

San Francisco. Missing you already, you crazy, colourful city by the Bay. I’ll be back! Soon!

Cardiac Service

2011-08-03T00:16:00.000+08:00

Take THAT, you recalcitrant window!

Sent Hans in for his oil service a couple of days back. Nothing spectacularly out of the ordinary, thankfully – just an oil service. Old lube out, new lube in. Like a quickie of the manly sort - in and out in 20 mins. At least in most cases, that is. But on this particular visit, it did seem a bit wise to allocate a little more time, cos I desperately needed to sort out one teeny-tiny problem on the big ol’ Bavarian.

Over the weekend, one of his power windows developed a nasty habit of not wanting to budge. No matter how I poked and prodded the switch on the driver’s door, the rear window on the passenger side simply refused to roll down.

Damn.

Hardly an inconvenience, if I’m to be entirely honest. After all, I rarely ever have anyone seated back there anyway, and the only window that really gets a workout is the one on my side. I could have left the window well enough alone, especially after I had a friend tell me how much it would cost if I needed to replace the electric motor on that window.

Read : A ticket to the Maldives. With enough spare change to buy you a whole grilled cow at Prime. *gulp*

If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

But if it is, in the best of OCD traditions, even if you don’t bloody use it, you just have to get it sorted. And sort it I did. So at the service counter, I checked my wallet for cash, double checked my credit limit on my cards just in case and mustered enough courage to blurt it out in the service report, bracing myself for the worst. *guffaw*

Now, the nice bit about where I get Hans serviced, is that the waiting area is right next to the workshop area, and there’s a lovely view of what the cute lil’ grease munkies attending to your car are up to. And if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of some cute munky’s...urm... luggage area...revealing itself for all the world to see...*snigger*

It was in this waiting area though, that I had a minor cardiac and discovered, rather crudely, that sometimes these grease munkies apply the crudest of solutions to your vehicular issues.

To be honest, I had expected a careful disassembly of bits of the door and window mechanism to investigate the recalcitrant window. This was Auto Bavaria after all. They don't just simply bang on bits of the car to see if they can coax it back to life. They do that at Proton. I would know, cos that's how they fixed Betsy's erratic door locks. *guffaw*

But as they say - expectations and reality don't often meet in the middle. So it was, that in place of the expected German care and precision, what I saw instead, was a technician banging, with all the might he could muster, on the window switch. Then the door panel. Then the armrest. And finally, the leather-upholstered door card. Before moving on to the driver's door and repeating the process.

I baulked. My eyes popped. I nearly spat my coffee. Cos I was quite sure this wasn't in the standard list of solutions offered in the BMW service and repair manual!

"BMW solution for wonky windows - just randomly hit the door panel and pray to God it cures itself."

Hardly Teutonic, you must admit.

Naturally, I dropped my coffee. Got my ass off the sofa and took a step closer to tearing someone's head off. But as I was just about to enter the workshop area to throw a massive hissy fit, I witnessed the most amazing thing – the window rolled down and then up again with nary a hiccup.

My jaw dropped.

This is almost certainly standard operating procedure at Proton service centres. But at Auto Bavaria?

Who’d have thunk it right?

Then again, it didn't cost me a cent. So who am I to argue with the means to the end? *guffaw*

Obsessive Compulsions

2011-08-01T00:10:00.000+08:00

I'm sorry Captain. We're gonna have to do it all over.
Your right nipple is about 2 inches higher than your left. That simply won't do!

I’ve never thought of myself as an OCD-sorta person. Ever-so-slightly anal retentive, perhaps, but seldom OCD.

I mean after all, EVERYONE runs spellcheck TWICE before sending work-related e-mails out, right? I mean, can you imagine the shame you’d face if you had an actual, documented “Oh-My-Engrund” moment with your name and title on it?

And I’m sure everyone has preferred parking lots. Mine just happens to be a million miles removed from the nearest neighbouring car. It’s perfectly normal. Just a mite inconvenient in strange, crowded parking lots as you hunt down that elusive, perfect lot for your immaculate vehicle of choice.

I’m also certain NORMAL people have a list of things that simply CANNOT be brought into their cars. Sharp objects. Food. Durian in particular. Kids. Of any sort. Pets. Even if they’re cute. I mean, who’d want their car littered with used lunchboxes, peppered with food crumbs and crawling with cockroaches and the like, right? [Hi Booker! - guffaw]

And I’m also pretty sure I’m not the only one who PREFERS to use the remote control on the DVD player instead of the shiny chromed buttons on the player itself to avoid getting greasy fingerprints all over those shiny buttons. Like seriously...they’re NASTY!

So yeah. Hardly OCD. Perfectly normal. At least until JM highlighted recently, that my definition of normal isn’t quite so....'normal' after all:

JM : We better go in my car today.
Me : But why? I haven’t driven Hans in like two days.
JM : It’s already 3.30. We’re supposed to meet the girls at 4. If you take Hans, we’re going to spend like 2 hours hunting down a parking lot.
Me : Please. It’s The Gardens. I’m sure there’ll be lots I can shove Hans into.
JM : It’s a Saturday, It’s the Gardens. Your parking lot has to be either between pillars, between walls, parallel to other cars or tucked in a corner. There’s like 4 lots like that in the WHOLE of The Gardens.
Me : *pondering silence*
JM : We’re taking the Suzuki, Mr OCD.
Me : I’m SOOO not OCD! Fine. We’ll take Le Helmet. But only because he’s easier to punt around that car park. And before we go. Help me with the sofa.
JM : The sofa? What in heaven’s name for?
Me : It’s not aligned to the floor tiles anymore, thanks to you leaping onto it! The left side is like 2 inches off from THAT line on the floor!
JM : *rolls eyes* Nooooo...of COURSE you’re not OCD!

WHAT?

I mean – I’m SURE I’m not the only one who arranges furniture according to gridlines on the floor, right? I mean, who’d ever want asymmetrically arranged items scattered randomly around the home? It’s jarring. It’s annoying. And just so....WRONG!

OCD? Puh-leese! *grin*

Fruity Temptation

2011-07-27T00:20:00.000+08:00

Temptation finally got the better of me.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. Nuff said. *guffaw*

Secure Seduction

2011-07-25T00:38:00.000+08:00

I'm sorry sir. You want me to show you my what exactly?

Security guards are usually quite a dodgy lot. No doubt fished out of the bargain corner of the illegal immigrant section of the employment office, they usually look like something the dog dragged in. And they usually smell, for all the world, like they haven’t taken a shower since Christmas of ’98.

There are exceptions to this rule, of course. Guards at fancy office buildings for one. They’re usually a little easier on the eyes. And not to mention, nose. Guards at residential apartments in uppity neighbourhoods too. This bunch is usually selected with a teeny tiny bit more care and consideration for the...urm...."environment".

NewK’s guards, rather thankfully, fall into the latter category - the sort that you would actually trust to do what it says on the tin. They don’t snooze on duty. They don’t let the riff raff in at the mere wave of a hand from drivers of strange, banged up vehicles. They patrol the grounds with big, long batons. And they don immaculately pressed white uniforms, which thankfully stay white with the passing of time, instead of degrading into some ridiculous technicolour variant of off-white.

But they’re not usually very pretty.....*sigh*

At least till now, that is.

JM noticed the bloke as he drove me home one night after dinner in this quaint little shack deep within the far flung corners of Kampung Subang. As we stopped at the guard house to get the drop-off pass, he nudged me to take notice of the dashing fit lad.

Nicely tanned fella – of the natural sort, mind you. None of that spray tan rubbish. Bright hazel eyes. Dazzling smile. body. Even speaks decent English!

*hallelujah*

Oh the things I could do with that boy in uniform. The imagination runs WILDDD!!!! *grin*

And you know what’s the best bit? His guard station from midnight till 7am is right at NewK’s doorstep!

There IS a God!

Now all I need is an excuse to get him up to NewK. So he can show me what he can do with his...urm...baton. *guffaw*

Perhaps it’s time I tested that “SOS” button in the hallway....*smirk*

When Too Much Is Just Enough

2011-07-19T23:10:00.000+08:00

You reckon we have enough computing power behind us, Spock?

You know, when this whole Internet-age thing started out, it was all fun and games for the average bloke on the street, to be honest. ICQ springs to mind almost immediately along with the good old days of pre-Google Alta Vista.

And if you remember what Alta Vista is, my friend.....it's time to stop counting your birthdays! *snigger*

How things have changed since those simple days. You quite literally can't go by a day now without the internet.

Work would grind to a halt when e-mails cease to pass along crucial bits of info relevant to your work.

Your 445-friend strong social hub would collapse along with Facebook connectivity.

And rather worryingly, so would your random bedroom romps with hot single blokes within a 100km radius the moment Grindr stops working.

So yeah, an indispensible bit, this Internet thing. Which is why remaining connected to it seems to be paramount for most blokes and blokettes my age.

Cue iPhone, iPad and a whole host of net-enabled toys that Cupertino lobs at you these days.

But at some point, you will realise, it can get a bit too much. Just witness the connectivity suite at NewK:

The magnitude of the net-enabled mayhem came to light a couple of nights back, when:

Both laptops needed to have their hard drives mirrored to each other..

The iPod needed software updates...

Both BlackBerries needed to get their backups done...

Trusty ol' ChengSum needed to purge the contents of its memory card into the smaller of the two laptops...

And the larger of the two laptops needed some stuff installed so it could speak to the latest addition to the family, the Samsung Galaxy Tab...

IT Superstore, eat your heart out! *guffaw*

Too much of a good thing? Very likely.

On MSN with CC while I was getting all that tech sorted out:

CC : Why on earth do you need two laptops?
Me : Well, the big one's for work. The teeny tiny one came in a really pretty shade of blue! *snigger*
CC : You're crazy. Seriously. And why on earth do you need two Blackberrys?
Me : One's for work. The other I got for peanuts, used. Though I suspect there's something desperately wrong with it cos it has two SIM slots inside. Not sure if Blackberry ever made them that way....haha
CC : Okaaay. And the Galaxy?
Me : I just got tired of waiting for the damn iPad. It's ridiculous! They're sold out EVERYWHERE!
CC : Wait. You want an iPad. Whatever happened to "thou shalt not indulge in the forbidden fruit"? LOL
Me : *pondering silence*
CC : And don't you have like three iPods as well?
Me : Oh shuttup Serena!
CC : As you would say....hur hur! lol

Forgive me father for I have sinned. *groan*

Seeking Survivors

2011-07-18T00:05:00.003+08:00

Now where did that silly girl go??

A million girls would kill for the job, as Emily would say. But apparently not, for some kids these days. There’s a famine of competent help these days I tell ya.

A couple of months back, it dawned upon me that the NuttyDepartment was desperately running short of staff. Work was piling up, calls were starting to go unanswered and at times, the entire floor was deserted. Quite an inconvenience, this, especially when I'm the only one left behind with no one to fetch my coffee...*snigger*

What we needed, really, was a dedicated assistant to take care of the bread-and-butter stuff. Stuff like answering calls. Taking messages. Churning out invoices. Doing the photocopying. Preparing submission bundles. Fetching my lunch. And of course coffee if Emily is ever on leave. Or away on duties. That sorta thing.

Last month, HR proudly proclaimed that it had found a solution to the NuttyDepartment's predicament, and sent someone my way. Emily didn’t pre-interview her. And the result, I’m afraid, was rather predictable. She was an employee of the firm for all of eight hours. She went AWOL the very next day. I shit you not.

HR certainly has an odd sense of humour....

And before you lob any accusation of torture my way, I categorically state that all I asked her to do in her eight-hour tenure at the NuttyOffice was to fetch me my coffee during lunch break.

Perhaps it was the complexity of my order. Or that I hinted that she shouldn’t bother coming back if she didn’t have the unpublished Harry Potter manuscript by 3pm....*guffaw*.....nonetheless, she promptly fell off the face of the earth....

Bugger.

Last week, however, after yet another long exhaustive search, HR sent yet another candidate my way....

I had little faith in this one. Reminded me too much of the girls who sit behind the counters at the Pos Malaysia offices. You know...the eyes-glazed-over-with-boredom-lights-are-on-but-nobody's-home look.

Not promising...

But then again, beggars can’t be choosers, right? I mean, we were in dire need of an extra pair of hands, and all she needed to do was answer my calls and take messages. Hell, in a show of good faith on my part, I even printed out the contents of a MirandaLatte order for her on a nice little Post-It so she wouldn’t have to tax her grey matter with my coffee order during a Starbucks run.

And they say I’m heartless....bah! *snigger*

My lack of faith in her however, was perhaps a little ill-founded. She showed up for work for a second day. Much to my surprise. And then a third. And a fourth. And before you know it, she completed a week with the NuttyDepartment.

Hurrah!

OK. Perhaps Ms Civil Service here was a fair bit tougher than she looked.

“Take a chance” I said to myself. “Have faith in the little blonde thing. She might just turn out to be another Andrea...”

The weekend came and went. Come Monday morning, however, lo and behold, Ms. Civil Service was nowhere to be found.

Another day, another assistant bites the dust. Sigh.

I mean seriously. What's wrong with kids these days? Back in my days of being an Emily, I just took whatever came my way and dealt with it. I didn't go running at the first sign of a complicated latte order. And even if I did, I'd at least have the courtesy of tendering a formal resignation. These days, they just run. For the hills. In the next county. Leaving their passports behind. And not caring if we ever revoke their citizenships.

Ok. A bit dramatic, but you get the picture. Sigh.

Lesson learnt, then. Sometimes, a book's cover tells you all you need to know about a person. If it even has a hint of the civil service, RUN. Just katakan tak nak!

So we’re on the hunt again. For that elusive Andrea.

Anyone out there with potential candidates who’ll survive for more than a week here?

Munky Business

2011-07-15T00:01:00.009+08:00

Today you’ll realise; you've survived yet another year,
And I'm sure it'll all end well gifted and caked,
But don't for a moment think that you’re too old or mature,
Cos baby, you’re still a long way from fully baked!

*snigger*

Happy Birthday, lil’ Munky!!

And remember...

Forget the past, you can't change it.
Live for the future cos that’s the only place you’re headed.
And forget the present....cos you're really quite impossible to shop for!...*guffaw*

Now go ahead. It’s ok to light the candles on your birthday cake. I’ve already alerted the fire department... ;)

Howdy There, Stranger!

2011-07-13T17:57:00.009+08:00

Emmett : Say. Didn't you used to have a blog of some sort?
Me : Blog? What in heavens name is that?

Ok. I'll admit. It's been a while. This little patch on the blogosphere has been quiet for almost an inordinate period of time, though not exactly by choice.

I blame work. Seriously. Been pulling sixteen, sometimes twenty-hour days since ol' Will got married to that dreadful commoner. Pretty she may be, but good GAWD she needs to learn how to wave like a royal! *snigger*

An Everest-sized chunk of work of course, has the dreadful effect of reducing the time for semi-crucial things like...say...keeping this place alive...to virtually naught, especially since the remaining hours of the day have to be dedicated to a couple of life-sustaining tasks...like say....sleeping. *guffaw*

Which could perhaps explain why, to get the most out of every day, I find myself increasingly multi-tasking on entirely new levels these days. On the throne no less. Though not of the gilded, gold plated sort.

Imagine this : Laptop in hand. Purposeful look on the face, showing clear intent on bludgeoning agreements to the border of legal acceptability, interspersed rather worryingly, with brief pauses to expel the remnants of lunch. Gross, perhaps. But it's an intriguingly effective combination, this.

Not quite sure if it's the fumes. Or the clinical sterility of the venue. Or the pin-drop silence when the body isn't intent on filling the room with its Dolby Digital, THX-certified sound effects. But it oddly works, this working in the loo thing. I can even say that some of my most brilliant legal moments have happened in there.

If there was ever a webcam in NewK's WC's, I tell ya...... *giggles*

But yeah. It's been like THAT for the past few months, so do forgive the silence on these hallowed pages....

But while we're on the topic of the web and cams. The most exciting news I've heard in a while. Duncan James. Of the boy band Blue. Remember this handsome lil' fella?

Turns out the boy has a thing for getting shafted in the rear. *hurrah!*. And he's been getting a wee bit trigger happy with his iPhone cam:

Bisexual man with a rocking bod and a healthy appetite for self-obsession. Sounds like a recipe for quite a bit of fun, this one. Hur hur. Wonder if I should grant the bloke a royal audience and make him sing for a knighthood. I'll even gladly hand him my...urm..microphone...for his...urm...aural exhibition. *grin*

Down boy!

Anyway, thought I'd pop in for a quick visit to this strange land called the blogosphere. With any luck, I'll be back. Soon.

Now if you'll excuse me. I've got some work to do. On that throne, no less....*guffaw*

Royal Nuptials

2011-05-02T22:38:00.000+08:00

They called it the wedding of the decade. And like most people , I found myself glued to the computer screen last Friday at the office, watching the fanfare around Will and Kate’s nuptials.

Of course, being a workday and all, I closed my office door, plugged in my headphones and pretended to be hard at work when all I was doing really, was swooning over the sight of Harry in uniform. And amusing myself with the fact that William looks in desperate need of an appointment at Yun Nam.

What I didn’t count on, however, was the realisation that I wasn’t the ONLY fan of the Royal Family at the office. Halfway through the afternoon, as I was amusing myself with the odd choice of headgear that the Princesses Eugenie and Beatrice selected for the day, Emily knocks at my door and the following conversation ensues:

Emily : Aren’t you heading up to the conference room?
Me : For what exactly? I thought I said to keep my afternoon free. No meetings!
Emily : No no. Not for a meeting. They’ve catered food and the guys from IT are setting up the projector for the Royal Wedding! I think HR's caught the Royal bug! haha!
Me : You’re kidding, right?
Emily : Nope. And they have a chocolate Easter bunny too! See you upstairs then? *grin*
Me : Wait for me!!! I’m coming!

The sight of the NuttyOffice in full-scale Royal Wedding fever meltdown - *guffaw*

As for the wedding itself, my personal 20 second review of the day’s proceedings:

Nice dress, Kate - though after all that hoopla, I expected something a bit more dramatic, to be honest. But to be fair, it was a Royal affair. Gaga-esque shock and awe tactics so typical of McQueen would’ve been asking for far too much. As it stood, however, the only shock and awe that dress had was Kate’s reaction to the chilly English weather that morning. NippleGate might just be the byword for the year. Gives new meaning to the term “perky bride”, that much I’ll say...*guffaw*

Princess Eugenie. Dear Lord, what in the WORLD were you thinking when you chose that hat? Nuff said, really.

Posh Spice. Don’t even get me started on this one. I mean, did someone DIE or something? She looked constipated, to put it kindly. And that frock. In black. For a wedding. Did she mistake Kate’s big day for the Queen’s funeral? If someone showed up in something like THAT for my big day, I’d have her put down.

It still amuses me a bit that despite all the anti-monarchist sentiments that have been milling about the UK in recent years, everyone still ends up swooning over the sight of the dear ol’ lady pottering about in her little car. There’s just something about Queens I reckon. Especially ones that look as unthreateningly grandma-ish as dear ol’ Liz. How can you hate something as adorable as THAT?

And speaking of cars, it was a nice parade of British wheels on that day. Range Rovers as escorts vehicles, the Bentley State Limousine ferrying the Princes and the Queen to the Abbey. The Jaguars XJ’s which were assigned to the guests of honour, the Rolls-Royces that brought senior members of the Royal family to the venue and of course, Prince Charles’ surplus-wine powered Aston-Martin DB6 Volante convertible which played a starring role at the end of the day’s festivities.

Never mind that all but one of these car manufacturers are foreign-owned. Tata of India owns Jaguar and Land Rover. BMW owns Rolls Royce and Bentley is now just another brand in the huge VW empire.

But nonetheless, cute couple, these two. I certainly hope they do prove the critics wrong and make this union something the monarchy will be proud of.

On a sidenote - I have a mild suspicion that the final act of driving off to their new home with all that crap hanging off Will’s daddy’s car was choreographed by the palace boffins as a deliberate nod to the new Duchess’..urm...less-than-royal roots. Wonder if the Queen herself had anything to do with this little display of commonality. *snigger*

Nonetheless, a pretty good day for the Royals, I reckon. Now the question is....how do I do a Kate and bag myself a future King?

Bromance Romance

2011-04-21T08:20:00.001+08:00

Just showing some brotherly love...or is it?

Bromance

A portmanteau of the words bro or brother and romance, commonly used to describe a close but non-sexual relationship between two (or more) men, a form of homosocial intimacy. Editor Dave Carnie coined the term in the skateboard magazine Big Brother in the 1990s to refer specifically to the sort of relationships that develop between skaters who spent a great deal of time together.

In order words. Guys who behave, for all the world, like a gay couple. *snigger*

It’s invading the TV screens, this bromance thing, the McSteamy-McDreamy twosome from Grey’s Anatomy being one of the more memorable pairings of recent years. That and every police-themed show you care to mention where the difference between "partner" and “partner” can be so thin that it’s almost invisible.

And mind you, I see this behaviour everyday “live”. There’s an unmistakeable bromance going on between two of the more senior partners in the firm. And it’s almost too adorable to watch.

They both drive Audis, which they got within months of each other. They’re both in white. They both have the same hairstyle (or lack thereof). And most recently, got themselves matching Blackberries. They also have a lingo all their own and spend an inordinate time together over a cuppa in the office pantry. And it’s been like this since high school, apparently.

It’s an amusing sight, this. And one that I strangely envy - If only my relationships were half this successful, I’d be a very happy gay man! *guffaw*

But nothing quite compares to the bromance I’ve been witnessing ever since I got my grubby hands on the Hawaii Five-O box set. The reboot featuring this yummylicious specimen....

....and his bromance partner:

...going through the motions of seeming for all the world, like a married gay couple:

It’s like watching the Klaine twosome from Glee. On steroids. Can’t say it’s an unappealing sight. Though I do suspect said appeal would be quite lost on the homophobic lot from the East Coast.

Question now is though, when are these two gonna pucker up for real? *snigger*

Magic Elixirs Required. Apply Within

2011-04-12T12:18:00.003+08:00

Perhaps I should just swallow one of these whole and see if that works...

The Flu. Everyone hates this bug. Like death warmed up, as Emily so aptly put it. But for the most part, it comes and goes in about a week. Tops.

I do suspect though, that my NuttyBody didn’t get that memo.

First it was the fever – the good doctors at Prince Court reckoned it was viral. It came and went in less than a week. Then came the chills. Which lasted about 24-hours. And just when I thought it was clear blue skies, my voice goes AWOL on me.

Woke up Saturday morning to a sunny, Disney-moment morning, complete with chirping birds and all that jazz. Rolled around in bed for a bit, enjoying the scenery out the window. Then got up to get decent before Melly the maid arrived. 9am sharp, I get a buzz on the intercom from the guard house:

Guards : Good morning sir!
Me : *croak*
Guards : Sir? Your maid is here.
Me : *croak*
Guards : Huh?
Me : *croak*
Guards : Ok. We let her in ok?
Me : *croak*

Fuckity-fuck. I sounded like Kermit the Frog. With a bad sore throat. *groan*

And to make matters worse, it was a bit too late to scrap RPM later that day. The result of trying to teach with Kermititis? Amusing, to say the least. Members were obviously more amused than concerned with my lack of vocal prowess. Inadvertently hitting notes only dogs would normally hear became a disconcerting habit throughout the class, much to the amusement of M, who was obviously enjoying the spectacle - perhaps a bit too much. Whether my PR will survive that incident intact remains to be seen. I could literally see the percentage points drop before my eyes....*sigh*

So ladies and gents. TheVoice (tm), it seems, has left the building. And doesn't seem to want to come back no matter what I do.

Anyone out there with magic elixirs to make the bugger stage a proper comeback? Or a McSteamy to give my throat a proper...urm....inspection? *guffaw*

On a sidenote, all this downtime has given me a chance to spend some quality time at home while I nurse myself back to health. And yesterday, I finally came around to trawling through this stack of photo albums that the QueenMother passed to me months ago. Remnants of the great Balmoral cleanup, no less. As I was flipping through the stack, one shot stood out:

Like Oh.My.God.

"Did Demarchelier confirm? Get him on the phone now...and is there a reason why my coffee isn't here yet? Did someone DIE or something?

Shocking shades of Miranda in this shot..hur hur. The oversized glasses. The pose. The look of disdain. I had it down to a pat, I tell ya!

And yet, she refuses to believe that I bat for the PinkParade....*guffaw*

The Nutty Hanoi Adventure

2011-04-07T18:18:00.000+08:00

Hanoi. Odd little city it turned out to be. Not as bad as I thought it’d be, to be honest. I was expecting dirty, dank third world muck, but what I got instead was a charming little French-influenced city with its fair share of highlights.

The Hanoi experience, the Cliff Notes version:

If you’re into architecture, you’re gonna be gawking at the buildings for hours on end. Cos around every corner, there’s a gem to be found, even if some are in dire need of attention:

If you’re into boys, well, ho ho ho, Christmas has come early for you, cos every street is a veritable treasure trove of fresh-faced boys just screaming for a father figure. Like this cute little bundle of boyish goodness just behind dear ol' Ange:

Wonder how one says “daddy” in Vietnamese....*snigger*

Oh. And the coffee? To die for. Seriously. Hanoi has such an amazingly strong cafe culture here that even the most basic roadside cafe serves up a killer brew.

If only the chairs at their cafes and eateries were a bit more....accommodating, that is:

My one bane throughout the trip. Vietnamese furniture was NOT made with adults in mind, I tell you that much. WHY in HEAVEN’s name would ANYONE make a chair THIS small?

As for food, Hanoi’s a bit of a mixed blessing. What you get at your Pho Hoa here in KL is nothing compared to the full-on streetside dining experience in Hanoi. The flavours of the genuine items here are a hundred times more intense, though it comes with a downside – mystery meats. In a country where English is about as common as Halley’s Comet, identifying the meat that is swimming in your Pho can be a bit daunting.

Would that be from something that went Moo, Cluck-Cluck or Woof? No one quite knows....*snigger*

And if you think KL traffic is a bit insane, you aint’ seen nothing yet till you try to cross a street in Hanoi. Take note that traffic lights here are mere suggestions to the motorists, not necessarily taken as a rule. The only way to survive? Stand beside one of the locals and follow them across. It’s the only way you’ll make it to the other side in one piece.

Situation’s a lot better once you get out of the city and into the countryside. Traffic here is almost non-existent. This is where bicycles and good ol' foot power rules the road. We took the opportunity to practice RPM for real out on the open roads here.

I'll admit - choice of music needs looking into, but this was quite possibly the fun-est thing we did in the country.

I was quite frightful of breaking the bikes that we rented though, cos to be honest, they seemed like they've seen better days. Droopy seats, rusty frames. The works. Star Trac spinners they certainly weren't.

If someone was going to break a bike, I reckoned it was going to be me, seeing that I break the spinners in the RPM studios with alarming regularity. But no. On this occasion, it was no other than Booker who somehow managed to dislodge the chain on her bike so badly that it had to be towed back to base. Amusing sight, this. And caught on HD-video no less, though I've been sworn to never place the video on this blog. So I shant.

But cycling along the Vietnamese countryside - highly recommended, this.

Less so are the boat rides to see the “Hualong Bay on Land”. It’s an hour journey on a muddy river, where the boatmen will, midway through the trip, stop and try to sell you ugly t-shirts for a couple of thousand Dongs a pop. Positively unpleasant, this.

It became so desperate at one point that this odd conversation ensued between Ange and I on board our little boat:

Ange : If he stops and tries to sell us stuff again how ah?

Me : I swear I'll hit him with my backpack and run a mutiny!

Ange : It's just the three of us. What mutiny you talking about?

Me : Mutiny doesn't need numbers. I just need to kick the captain offboard - lol!

Ange : Aiyoh, he's now sighing like he's about to have a cardiac.

Me : I swear if he complains I'll hit him.

Ange : Maybe we're too heavy for him leh!

Me : He took the bloody job! He just has to live with the consequences!

Ange : Heartless lah you!

Me : I swear land cannot come too soon!

But hey, no holiday’s perfect right?

I’ll just remember the better bits...bits like:

Soaking in the serenity that was the Sofitel Metropole. Having this haven of calm in the middle of Hanoi's maddening traffic was godsent:

And just in case you think I'm blowing the whole traffic thing out of proportion, this was the scene outside the palatial gates of the Metropole:

The noise. It gets to you. Even if you're the least aurally sensitive.

Dining at a fancy little French Restaurant at the French Quarter where for once we could tell what kinda meat we were having was also a pleasant thing:

That'll be duck. Definitely. Ah the luxury of not dining on mystery meat for once....*guffaw*

Having a lazy afternoon lunch at the local equivalent of Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen, making cute wait-staff jump through hoops for us:

And just camwhoring like any good Malaysian would:

And the best bit? I changed about a grand and a half for the trip, thinking I’d have to dip into plastic sometime during the trip. I returned with plenty of change. Slightly over a grand to be exact. Which meant I spent less than my monthly coffee allowance on this fun vacation. Bloody worth it, don’t you think?

Oh, and met a few friendly locals too, thanks to that gift that gives on giving - Grindr. It's true what they say, there's an app for everything, and in this case it was an app for boredom as the girls decided to head out for a massage and I was more keen on exploring the city. So I tapped on the app, and out come a lovely list of blokes from which to choose from to spend my evening with.

One candidate jumped out at me rather obviously - primarily cos he was the only one who replied in comprehensible English....*guffaw*. G was his name. An Ozzie by birth, G has called Hanoi home for the past two years thanks to his job. He was a natural candidate for dinner.

But before you jump to any conclusions, no, we didn't voulez-vous or anything of that sort. I'm just not that sorta gal, mind you. We just had a pleasant boys' night out and along the way, ran into another bloke, J, who rather surprisingly, turned out to be Malaysian. Rather funny how we identified each other.

We were at Angelina's, the Hanoi equivalent of Frangi's. Appropriately swanky with a bar-full of expats looking for hookups. As G and I chatted along the sidelines, watching the scenes for the evening unfold, in walks this chap dressed in a grungy tee, jeans and of all things, flip-flops. I looked disdainfully at his choice of footwear and since he was within earshot I decided what the hell, let's just let him have it since it's unlikely he'll understand english anyway:

Me : Interesting choice of footwear, mate!

J : Haha. Yeah lor. It was the only thing I brought lah!

Me : *squints eyes* Are you Malaysian?

J : Hahahaha....ya ya! You also ah?

Moments like these make me a firm believer in that whole 1Malaysia mantra. *snigger*

Thanks to G and J, I found out that Hanoi has its equivalent of KL's Frangi & MP party circuit. One of the clubs being Angelina's, but the other establishment has a shockingly suggestive name - the GC Club. GC as in "Golden C*ck". I shit you not. I nearly spat my Cosmo all over G's shirt when he told me what it stood for.

So there you go. Hanoi. A pretty interesting holiday destination on all accounts - as long as you discount the potential bugs from travelling to such far-flung lands. Which yours truly somehow managed to catch. A virulent strain of the Commies with a persistent desire to keep one bedridden. But that, ladies and gents, is a story for another day.....

Daddy Flasher

2011-03-22T13:08:00.003+08:00

Dude. Just because the old man did it, doesn't mean you should too...
Now will you please put on some pants?

The Queen Mother’s consort has not been in the pinkest of health lately. Late night panic trips to the ER. Prolonged stays at the hospital for check-ups. All very Grey’s Anatomy, admittedly. And for better or worse, it has become a bit of a permanent fixture in the Royal Household.

The most recent panic attack in the middle of the night came over the weekend, when the ol’ chap suffered from shortness of breath, disorientation and lethargy of monumental proportions.

Cue panic midnight dash to the hospital.

With a bevy of doctors poking and prodding him in all manner of ways, none of which looked even remotely pleasurable, it turned out to be a case of viral fever. A couple of nights under observation should sort him out, they reckoned.

Two days into his stay, in the dead of night, I get this SMS from the NuttySis:

“Hospital called Mom. The nurses said Dad was walking around the hospital naked. Doctors said he was either hallucinating or sleepwalking, but dad insists he was just taking a stroll to cool off. We’re heading to the hospital now to see what’s going on”

Oh the images that flashed through my head when I read that.

Dad. Naked. Eeeps.

Safe to say I didn’t sleep much that night....*guffaw*

The doctors have, rather predictably, extended his stay at the hospital until they can place a finger on his random bursts of wonky behaviour that are interspersed with periods of perfectly normal lucidity.

I do have my suspicions as to what these symptoms point to, but hey, I’m not the one with a doctorate degree hanging on my wall. So I guess I’ll wait till the blokes in the white lab coats come up with their diagnosis.

Until that moment of truth, I’ll just keep my fingers crossed and pray that Daddy dearest doesn’t flash the entire ward again. *snigger*

On another note, this Nut is finally getting a long-overdue break from the insanity that is work these days. In just a couple of days, the Nutty Entourage, consisting of Booker, M and a few others, will make our merry little way to Hanoi for a week-long vacation.

Land of Pho. And rather more importantly, Vietnamese drip coffee. The kind with enough caffeine to wake the dead. And if we're lucky, lean-bodied Peter Le lookalikes with six-pack abs forged not from hours in an air-conditioned gym, but rather, from hours of hard labour doing...well...farm-y things.

Oh be still my heart. *snigger*

Can't.Bloody.Wait.

The Exodus

2011-03-14T15:28:00.002+08:00

And get me that hitman we have on retainer. I think I have a job for him...

A bit of a bitch blog, this one. You have been warned.

As Japan deals with the aftermath of the massive disaster that struck last week, closer to home, this Nut and my merry band of Emilys have been forced to deal with an aftermath of a totally different sort. The mass departure of an entire department at the Nutty Firm.

Yep. You read that right. An entire department, 7-person strong.

We had, oddly enough, anticipated this. There are ALWAYS signs when an exodus is about to occur.

In this particular instance, the signs were rife when monetary penalties for the department’s assorted fuckups started to accumulate in the four-to-five figure range. This was then rapidly followed by a significant upturn in various leave applications for members of said department throughout the week. Except on Saturdays and Sundays, of course...*guffaw*

Not that it would matter much under normal circumstances, since departments within firms are usually quite insulated from one another. Even if one went Fukushima, the others would remain relatively unscathed. But in this particular instance, one department's impending departure has somehow managed to drag everyone through the mud – primarily because of one singular head of department who has apparently forgotten what that title entails.

Sure, she’s resigned and all, but she’s also been noticeably absent from the office for the past two weeks. Medical leave on Mondays. Annual leave on other days. And when she reckons she’s run out of migraine excuses, she arranges for all-day “signings” at client offices – with her ENTIRE department in tow.

I mean seriously. Just to get a document signed?

She’s also ceased taking calls from her clients. I'm not shittin' you. She just sits there, watching the phone flash and blare as she leisurely digests the content of the morning papers.

And this, ladies and gents, is where yours truly gets dragged in. As it turns out, one of her clients who has been frantically trying to get hold of her for the past two weeks, just happens to be a client of my department as well. One that contributes fifteen percent to the Nutty Department's bottom line every year, mind you.

With her newfound dedication to keeping herself updated on the news, she completely relegated this matter to the backburner, nevermind that there was 200k worth of my client’s hard earned cash on the verge of being forfeited. Which naturally led to me having a massive Miranda Meltdown (tm) last week when my client gave up on her and called me instead.

Call me a traditionalist. An idealist. Whatever. But I reckon your responsibilities on the job only cease on the day you depart, not on the day you hand in your letter.

The aftermath? Think Chernobyl. Only bigger. And with far more theatrics.

And yes, before you ask - Prada did provide some pretty useful lines to use in that heated exchange of words:

“Did you smack your silly little head on the pavement this morning???”

“By all means move at a glacial pace with this file, why don’t you. You know how that thrills me.”

Sadly, both of which were lost on her. She’s from Cheras. Nuff said, really. *snigger*

We’re giving her the boot tomorrow. Screw the notice period. She’s certainly not doing us any favours by staying.

I just hope I get to break the news to her. I’ll use the best line of all time:

Can't.Bloody.Wait. Hur hur.

Tempting the Pink Dollar

2011-03-02T12:28:00.001+08:00

Always happy to serve....

He has a smile that could light up a neighbourhood for miles on end.

Blessed a face and body that would no doubt, launch a sugardaddy bitchfight across the continents.

He smells faintly of CK One.

Speaks English like it was his first and only language.

Always on his best behaviour.

He’s always in an immaculately pressed uniform.

His sole purpose in life, for 8 hours a day, is to serve.

And yes, he accepts tips.

He’s no stripper, though. His name’s Rosie. Or at least that’s what I’ve come to call him. Not because he reminds me of a certain Ms. Phua, the best in Singapore and JB. And some say Batam.

No.

It’s because of his rosy pink cheeks. The ones on his face, you pervs. Though I’m quite sure the other pair further down south of the border is no less appealing. *snigger*

I could eat this boy whole as dessert, quite frankly. Right between my Delicious pesto pasta and a tall, iced Death by Chocolate. Which may just end up drizzled all over the lad....

The imagination runs wild.

I certainly hope he’ll be there again tonight when I visit. Ms. Read has never seen a more loyal customer, I reckon.

Restaurateurs take note. Never underestimate the power of cute wait staff. The pink dollar is yours to milk if you get it right. *guffaw*

Royal Guests

2011-02-23T13:48:00.002+08:00

For crying out loud, will the bloody car hurry up already!
I need this lot out of here ASAP!!

Three weeks. That’s how long the QueenMother has been putting up at NewK while the doctors sorted out her Consort at the nearby hospital. A pretty nasty lung infection that just refused to go away. Until now, that is.

But three weeks with Mummy dearest……blimey. That’s about two weeks longer than ideal, I reckon.

After this little experience, I have a new-found respect for those who, by circumstance, continue to live with their parents till they’re well into their late 30’s. And by equal measure, I’ve started to think that those who do it by CHOICE are predisposed towards some questionable form of S&M. *guffaw*

Many a time in the past week, I’ve felt the insatiable urge for hurling myself off of NewK’s window ledge. And mind you, it wasn’t even the big things that drove me insane. Rather, it was the little things that drove me up the wall. And then some…..

Things like waking up to the sight of the QueenMother’s...urm..."delicates" hanging from my kitchen window for all the world to see. The first time I saw this, my morning coffee nearly ended up splattered on my kitchen wall.

Or the need to field questions about my lifestyle on a daily basis:

“I don’t understand why you have to work two jobs…”

“Why don’t you come back early instead of eating out everyday…”

“Why do you spend so much time with your friends. Are they that amusing?”

“Out so late again? If you’d only find some time to find yourself a girlfriend”

Like seriously. After the first week, I just stopped responding to these queries.

And of course there were the numerous comparisons drawn to the accommodations at the NuttySiblings’:

“Your sister’s place is so much bigger. And cheaper. Maybe you should get a place near there when you have a family…”

“Why isn’t your air conditioning as cold as your sister’s place ah?”

“You need a bigger dining table lah. Something like your sister’s would be nice”

And speaking of the siblings, having the QueenMother at NewK also meant that they persistently visited. With kids in tow, no less. I have simply lost count of the amount of DVD's and collectible box sets that have miraculously "disappeared" from my shelves without prior notice. My iPod Shuffle disappeared for a while too, till I rediscovered it at my sister's home, that is.....

Kids. Hate them. Bloody hate them.

The list goes on, but you get the picture. A pleasant time, it most certainly was not. I’m just thankful that the experience didn’t go on for any longer. I have honestly, never, ever prayed harder for the national health service to do their job, and do it well, and put the Royal Consort back on his feet again. Cos that was pretty much the only way I was going to reclaim my own home from the brink of destruction by annoyance.

As much as I love the lady, her presence was seriously putting a damper on that one solitary joy I still get at the end of a long day at work – walking into the peace and tranquillity that is NewK.

I helped her pack this morning. Even gave her some parting gifts. Once again..I’m SO looking forward to heading home tonight…..*guffaw*

Not Quite Dead. Yet.

2011-02-15T13:28:00.005+08:00

Don't write me off just yet...

News of my departure from the blogosphere have been greatly exaggerated. To everyone who’s been sending me text messages demanding that I respond before they call the police to check up on me at NewK, I am alive.

Barely.

A slightly insane two weeks is to blame, really.

First, it was the Chinese New Year. This, as you can imagine, was entirely an predictable affair, though not necessarily in a particularly pleasant manner.

The countless family dinners were a pretty dreary affair. Small talk has never been more forced. And don’t even ask me how many times I had to entertain THE question. Cos I lost count two hours into the reunion dinner....*rolls eyes*

No I’m not getting married mom, like EVER. So I reckon it's time you start digging into the wedding reception fund..like now.

And yes, I’m gay. I have as much interest in women as I have in watching paint dry, thank you very much.

For the record, neither one worked. Cos she was on the phone with LeDentist’s mom on the second day of New Year, presumably planning some devious way of hooking us up. *groan*

And oh. Before you ask. Yes, I ended up paying the bill for the reunion dinner. Again. I may not be the most filial of offspring, but watching the QueenMother whip out her credit card to pay for the meal while the NuttySiblings sat idly around the table was just too much to bear.

Then there was the little issue about the Royal Consort landing himself in hospital. The risks of self-medication have never been more amply demonstrated.

Lesson of the day – if you’re a dialysis patient, you should NEVER EVER EVER decide for yourself, how much water you should take. Leave decisions of that nature to the people with the proper certificates nailed to their office walls, I say.

The result of his little fun time role-playing? A week’s worth of late-night panic visits to the ER at various hospitals in town, culminating in a prolonged stay at the Nephrology Ward of the Selayang Hospital. He’s still there, by the way....*sigh*

Oh. And did I mention about the day job?

Well, two weeks into 2011, we got received our KPI’s for the year. Safe to say our billing targets for the year theoretically ruled out any snoozing on the job.

Out the window, my three-hour lunches went...bugger it.

If I were to have ANY hope of meeting that magic seven-figure target, something had to give, and for a while, it was a toss-up between giving up RPM or giving up Life Liberty to free up some marketing time. Yes, even lawyers have to do this. Though we DO stop short of bending over like the OTHER profession of the same vintage....*guffaw*

Thought about it for a bit, then decided I’d try a long-shot. Got down on my knees before bedtime to pray for a big juicy piece of work to miraculously land on my table without me needing to go through the persistent pain of selling my services, streetwalker-style. *phew*

As the saying goes – “Be careful what you pray for...it might come true”. Lo and behold, the very next day, we receive word that we won bids for not one, but TWO projects which we had quite literally given up hope on.

Imagine that. Divine intervention of the best sort....*grin*

With these two in the bag, I thought to myself – alright, KPI’s sorted. Now back to planning how to skive next week from the office. Then it hit me. Winning the two jobs would mean having to work on the blasted agreements in the very near future. A process that will last the better part of the next 6 months, most likely, stretching into the wee hours of the morning cos the blokes on the other side of the negotiation table aren’t even in the same time zone!

[Insert Expletive Here]

Perhaps I should’ve thought about that wish a bit more before making it. *sigh*

So you’ve been warned. Life Liberty might get sidelined for the next few months. Don’t go calling the police or anything of that sort, ok? *guffaw*

Off The Hook

2011-02-01T18:08:00.002+08:00

This Champagne better not be on my tab later!

Over the phone late last week with the NuttySis:

NuttySis: So I heard reunion’s at your place?
Me : Not exactly. It’s by the poolside.
NuttySis : Why not in your apartment? What if it rains?
Me : Well, for one, NewK has a dining table fit for five. Six at a pinch. No way in hell it’ll seat fourteen.
NuttySis : So your poolside has enough space?
Me : We literally have the entire recreation deck to ourselves.
NuttySis : But what if it rains ah? Got umbrellas or not? How bout power points? We’ll need fans, otherwise the kids will melt!
Me : Welcome to the outdoors. I DID suggest a restaurant, but no one confirmed.
NuttySis : Aiyo. Very mah-fan lah like that. Why don’t I look and see if there’s still space somewhere in town. No air cond the kids are going to suffer lah!
Me : Yes yes. The kids. We absolutely must keep the kids happy. So go look for a restaurant. Quick. I'll call building management now to cancel the poolside gig... *snigger*

They say never look a gift horse in the mouth. And so I shant... *guffaw*

As it stands, therefore, NewK is gorgeously off the hook as a venue for the NuttyReunion. Thank heavens. Which means I needn’t worry about the pesky children finding their way into NewK to impart their unique brand of juvenile destruction on the palace.

No paw prints on the wall! No broken vases! No cracked china! Bring out the fireworks!

Though having said that, I DO still foresee having to show up at the reunion with just one or two RM50 notes tucked neatly into a money clip and leaving the ol' NuttyWallet at home. Cos I’ll be damned if I have to fork out my plastic to cover the bill. Again.....*sigh*

Anyway....time for Life Liberty to take yet another short hiatus as this Nut braces himself for the overload of festive cheer. To those celebrating the lunar new year, Happy Chinese New Year. To those who aren't, Happy Holidays!

Catch you guys once normality returns to the big city!

Plus Ones

2011-01-27T00:10:00.000+08:00

Yeah, we're just friends....nothing more....

One of the few perks of dealing with the kinda clients I have, is that they tend to throw several corporate events a year. Corporate events that usually involve copious amounts of booze and if you're lucky, international artistes to keep you entertained.

But I'm usually not too bothered about the entertainment. Not much, anyhow, since no one has yet to have the brevity to bring in the boys from Chippendales - so on that front, it's usually quite disappointing, no matter how much booze one partakes in. But at least the booze is free....*snigger*

So it didn't really come as a surprise when I got the invite to the latest one earlier this week. I reckon it was a gesture of thanks for all those sleepless nights I spent hammering out complex opinions that was, as always, due "yesterday".

The phone call to confirm my attendance however, was a little awkward at the very least:

CL : Hi Nut. CL here. I'm calling to confirm your attendance at our pre-Chinese New Year dinner next week.
Me : Hey CL. Sure....assuming nothing blows up at the office in the next few days, I'll be there...wouldn't miss it for the world. Free champagne! Who could resist? *snigger*
CL : Hahaha...not sure if we're serving champagne this year, but definitely got wine lah!
Me : Wine's good!
CL : So I've got you down on the list, "plus one"...will you be needing a room to stay the night?
Me : Depends on how much wine you're serving....*snigger*
CL : I'll get you a room lah - ha ha. I'll reserve it under Mr. and Mrs. Nut, ok?
Me : Urm....not married yet, CL....no missus.
CL : Hahaha...ok...girlfriend then?
Me : Urm...no girlfriend, CL...I'm happily engaged to the job though!
CL : Hmmmm....maybe you can bring a....urm....friend instead?
Me : *awkward silence*
CL : *awkward silence*

This was oh-too-ridiculously familiar. Déjà vu, in other words, for it all felt a bit like one of QueenMother's infamous gender-bias-interrogation sessions.

From the tone of CL's voice, you could already sense that she wasn't expecting me to show up with a member of the fairer gender in tow. Like most ladies within the QueenMother's age group, to CL, being single at my age can only mean one of two things:

(1) You're morbidly disfigured; or
(2) You're gay.

And applicable only to those of Chinese descent, a third possibility:

That you're...how can I put it.....financially challenged.

Though I do suspect that the distinction between the former two is, in their minds, a very very fine one....*groan*

Nonetheless. Question now is - who in the world should I bring as the "plus one"?

Decisions decisions.....*guffaw*

What’s In A Name, Part Deux

2011-01-25T00:18:00.000+08:00

If she gives us some stoopid name like Cutie or Goldie, I say we run.
How bout it, boys?

Pets often suffer the ignominy of living their lives with silly names.

Spotty. Brownie. Doggie. I even once had a friend who named her sodding big Alsation “Cat”. Which, I reckon, is the doggie equivalent of naming a guy "Girlie". Nasty. Just plain nasty.

So I guess I shouldn’t have been THAT surprised when I had this chat with EmilyThree at the office yesterday:

Me : So how’s your new rabbit doing?
Emily : Oh...the rabbit..how did you know about that?
Me : Facebook. It’s a pretty useful management tool! *snigger*
Emily : Ha ha...he’s fine, thanks.
Me : Why a rabbit?
Emily : Always wanted one! They’re SOOO cute!
Me : What breed is he?
Emily : He’s an Agora.
Me : Have you named him yet?
Emily : Yeah. I call him Fluffer!
Me : *SPITS COFFEE* FLUFFER?!?!
Emily : Yeah! Because he’s SOOO FLUFFY!
Me : Okaaaayyyy......

I wonder if I should tell her what a Fluffer really is.........*guffaw*

Reunion Mayhem

2011-01-18T00:32:00.002+08:00

Family. Yay.

Three things I don’t particularly fancy about Chinese New Year:

The “this is the last time we’re giving you Ang Pau ok?” statement.

Of course, for those in the know, these red packets synonymous with the Chinese New Year, is only given out to those who are still single and available by those who, well, aren’t. And in my family, that means I pass go several times to collect my $200. Which naturally pisses the NuttySiblings off to no end, though I’d be perfectly happy if they just gave me the packet. The money, I don’t really need. Cos the crap I have to put up with to earn it is quite simply not worth it.

Fielding the dreaded “when are you bringing someone home for New Year lah” question from the extended family.

This happens every year, like clockwork. As unwavering as Old Faithful, it usually gets asked within the first five minutes of their arrival at Balmoral or wherever the family reunion is held these days. To which my answer is always the same.

“Don’t hold your breath..”

Which is usually followed rapidly by the QueenMother interjecting with this:

“Choi! He’s just PICKY lah! Next year! Next year!”

It gets old. Seriously old.

The Big Reunion Dinner

Traditionally held on the eve of the Chinese New Year, this is a chance for family to come together for the last meal before the New Year under the lunar calendar rolls in. In movies, it’s portrayed as a time of laughter, good food, good company and everything Walt Disney taught you about family time. In reality though, it seldom pans out that way, for the simple fact that it provides an even more convenient forum for the first two questions to be asked.

“No. For the 40th time no. I don’t like girls. I like guys.”

When the Nutty Family used to religiously return to Balmoral once a year for this gala event, determining a venue for this gala was simple - by default, it was the dining hall in the great palace. Except that one year, of course, where the QueenMother decided to host the gig at a hotel. Whilst we had absolutely no objection to the venue (no messy after dinner clean up - YAY!) the hotel's choice of entertainment for the evening was rather more questionable, as involved blaring feng-tau music, strobe lights and performers who thankfully ran out of fluorescent green chiffon before they could completely wrap themselves in that blindingly awful material.

But now, since the QueenMother and the Royal Consort moved to the big city, the venue of choice has been rather fluid. The NuttySis and the NuttyBro have so far taken over the role of hosting the dinner, primarily because they have the square footage to host a family of our size.

A fact that has made me love the modest size of NewK even more, since the space constraint has effectively rendered it safe from being nominated as a reunion venue. The clan simply wouldn’t fit. At least that was what I thought:

Oh dear God. *gulp*

Wonder if it's too late to book a flight to London for the new year....*sigh*

The Price of Service

2011-01-13T00:30:00.001+08:00

Brioni and the law. A combination NOT for the financially faint of heart.

Just like the OTHER oldest profession in the world, the legal beagles of this world come with a price. And the greater...urm...depth...of service, the higher one pays to BE serviced...*guffaw*

But some, obviously, missed the memo. By a clear country mile. Like the man who walked into the hallowed halls of the Nutty Firm yesterday.

Mr. L was his name, and he was the President of this university college in PJ. Didn’t even know colleges had presidents. But always game to play host to heads of state, we met up to see if this could prove to be a viable new client for the Nutty Department. It was an hour of billable time which we had to sadly write off in the end:

Me : So what can we do for you, Mr.L?
Mr. L : Well, we’ve got these agreements we need legal advice on. You reckon you can assist?
Me : We’re on the panel of a few local universities, actually. I’m certain we can be of some assistance. Do you have the agreements with you? Maybe I can take a look.
Mr. L : Of course! Here you go.

At this point, Mr. L hands over a stack of agreements, each of which were all of three pages long - which is freakishly abrupt for documents facilitating million-Ringgit deals.

Mr. L : So. Can you just help us take a look at them and see what needs to be added before we sign?
Me : *flipping pages* When do you intend to sign these?
Mr. L : Well, they were supposed to be signed last year, but I wasn’t comfortable signing it without someone checking the legal stuff first.
Me : Wise move. Cos these will need a fair bit of work.
Mr. L : Hmmm....so how much will it cost me for you to review these?
Me : Well, looking at the amount of stuff missing from these, I’d say between 3-5k at the low end, 6-8k on the high end.
Mr. L : For the whole stack?
Me : *giggles* No no. Per agreement.
Mr. L : Hah! But they’re only a few pages long!
Me : And that’s why they need so much work, Mr. L...*grin*
Mr. L : Can’t you do it for a few hundred Ringgit? Can’t be that hard right?
Me : *rolls eyes*

You should’ve seen the look on Mr. L’s face when I quoted him my hourly rates. On his budget, this would have effectively capped my review time to 3.5 minutes, give or take a couple of seconds. Which you must agree, wouldn’t have improved his legal predicament any one bit.

I blame this on the Pasar Malam mentality most locals have when it comes to legal services. Maximum benefit, minimum cost. This, no doubt, has been encouraged by a peculiarity of legal services - when we do our jobs right, we’re literally transparent. Deals are signed and sealed, and no one gets their ass hauled to court. So the value of our work is ends up being judged only by the real-world value of the paper on which our peculiar language appears. In other words, pittance.

The reality though, is quite the opposite.....I mean, SOMEONE has to pay for the Thomas Pink shirts, Brioni suits and the fancy German cars on our driveways, right? *guffaw*

As for Mr. L......it was soon obvious that we were ever so slightly out of his financial capabilities, so I generously sent him on his merry way with a firm brochure, a free pen and a 2011 planner in hand.

And they say we're ungenerous buggers....*sigh*

Pitifully, he’s about a month too late for proper yuletide charity....*guffaw*

What's In a Name

2011-01-11T00:33:00.002+08:00

That's Vaness, your 10 o'clock tomorrow. And that's NOT a typo.

Stop me if you've heard this joke. It’s not exactly PC, so it would be best repeated sparingly outside of the palace walls. But it’s bloody hilarious. And it goes a little something like this:

Vietnamese have names that often baffle outsiders. When asked by a curious tourist, a friendly local revealed the secret to naming children in the country.

Take two stones, a nail and a wooden object.
Place items into an empty tin can.
Recite prayer of good luck.
Fling the can forwards, towards the ground, causing the can to roll once it hits the ground.
Listen carefully for sounds made by said objects in the can.
Take first three sounds you hear, and VOILA! Junior has a new name!

Which would explain names like Trong Tri (means “not of small mind”), Phuoc Thang (translated, it means something like lucky & victorious), Quang Sang (brilliant & bright). Or Thou Thang (courteous, victorious).

Hur hur.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, could possibly explain the names that are popping up on business cards these days.

Yesterday, at the office:

Emily : Remember you have a 10am meeting tomorrow.
Me : *purses lips* 10am! For the 40th time, no. I don't do any meetings before noon! That’s still bedtime! Can't we push it to after noon?
Emily : Unfortunately not. You have a noon meeting with that client from Singapore - you know, the Italian guy who plays rugby - remember?
Me : Ooh. Blimey. How could I forget THAT meeting. Clear my afternoon. I might get lucky tomorrow...*snigger*
Emily : Huh?
Me : Nevermind. So who’s the meeting with at 10am?
Emily : A Mr. Vaness. From ABC & Co.
Me : You mean MS. Vanessa?
Emily : Nope. Vaness. No “a” at the end. And it’s a HE. See. Here's his business card.....*grin*
Me : Oh my word. Guess his parents were REALLY set on having a baby girl! *snigger*
Emily : Huh?
Me : Nevermind. *sigh*

Guess I’ll just put this on my list of names that make you go “hmmmm..” – right alongside oddities like Alxez, Blaise, Evki, Fukyu, Water Tong, Liew See and various names derived from fruit and/or behavioural traits........*guffaw*

But really, folks. Unless your last name is Hilton, or you have a reality TV show named after you, please, for Pete’s sake, stick to Adam. Or Mark. Or something your grandma would approve. Cos to be honest, it just looks a bit sad when you have to try THAT hard to stand out.....*guffaw*

Nutty Nuptials

2011-01-06T00:32:00.000+08:00

You just HAD to go crazy on the flowers, didn't you?

My good pal SS and I have had this long standing joke about us getting married. Don’t ask me how it started, but it did, and for the longest time, it’s been a topic we revisit every now and then just for a laugh or two. But as of late, the conversations have become ...how shall we say....a little more frequent, and a lot more twisted:

Conversation on Sunday:

Me : So how did the job interview go?
SS : Pretty good actually. Might swap jobs and take up this offer at the agency near City Hall.
Me : Better perks?
SS : Yeah. Much better opportunities. And I’d get to do more of the stuff I like.
Me : Sounds good. Any downsides?
SS : Yeah. We might have to re-think the seating arrangements for the reception.
Me : God dammit. You know how hard it was to figure out who we’d put next to Donatella? You KNOW practically no one talks to her these days!! You’re lucky it’s too late for me to UN-marry you, MISTER!

And then on Monday:

Me : Harlow. What you up to?
SS : Nothing much. Working from home. What’s up?
Me : Oh nothing....just thought of you and decided to say hi.
SS : Waitaminute. You’ve blown the budget on something for the wedding and you’re trying to hide it by being nice to me aren’t you?
Me : Me? Blow a budget? Noooooo. Puh-leese. I’d never. At least nothing we can’t afford....lol

And finally....yesterday:

Me : So what’s for dinner hun?
SS : Don’t know. How bout yourself? Have you had any?
Me : Undecided. It’s a toss-up between chicken rice and a Japanese bento.
SS : Chicken Rice! That’s usually my default food! LOL
Me : When in doubt, it should taste like chicken then eh? :P
SS : Yup. Didn’t know we shared the same default food! Ha ha
Me : Well, this IS why we’re getting married you know. Speaking of which. Vera called. She wants to schedule a fitting.
SS : Just for you or for me as well?
Me : For you of course. You’re in the dress, remember?
SS : No no. There must have been some sort of misunderstanding. I’m wearing Boss.
Me : Heaven bite me. Do you know how hard it’s going to be on the poor gal to alter the dress from your size to mine? You better hope and pray she has enough lace to cover my behind!

Notice how the topic has woven itself quite seamlessly into every single one of our little chats? Weird. So totally weird. Yet so damn funny....hur hur

But I do wonder if this is the gay version of the biological clock at work? Hmmm.

First Day Blues

2011-01-04T00:18:00.001+08:00

Where is everyone?
Have they DIED or something?

The first day back at work after a long break is often a rather painful experience. The mind seldom gets the memo that play time is over...*snigger*

But over it most certainly is, and that fact hit home rather blatantly the moment I stepped into the Nutty office yesterday and was smacked in the face by the trifecta of first-day blues:

Which part of Reserved Parking don’t you get, Mister?

I may not have the privilege of parking at the office itself, but I still do have the joy of shaded parking at the old office building. A reserved lot, no less, with Betsy and Hans’ license plate numbers proudly displayed above the lot. Trouble is, some drivers are just either plain blind and or ignorant to the same.

And so it was the case that I arrived at the car park yesterday, with a forced smile on my face, only to find one large and particularly hideous SsangYong SUV lodged in my parking space.

Cue biblical bitchfit.

Suffice to say the offending driver was hunted down and read his Miranda rights...which went a little something like this:

“What you’re blithely unaware of is that this lot isn’t a visitor’s lot, it isn’t a free for all lot, it’s MY lot. And it’s kind of comical that you think you have the right to park in this lot when this lot was clearly reserved for me and me alone by the people in this building. That’s all...”

Ok. Fine. Not EXACTLY like that, but you get the picture...*snigger*

The e-mail Deluge

At a smidgen over seven thousand, it’s safe to say this will keep me busy for the rest of the week....*sigh*

Admittedly, about a good thousand or so mails were junk - the stuff you're copied on out of courtesy but not really relevant to your work. Another hundred or so were administrative updates from HR, which I have a habit of ignoring anyhow unless it has some financial figures attached to it that's relevant to my department's wellbeing. In this case, most weren't....so off to the junk folder they went...*grin*

Another few hundred joined the HR stuff cos they came from none other than the QueenMother, whose loopy fruit has a habit of directing her SMS's to my work e-mail. Junk junk junk. That and a couple of hundred promotional mail-blast stuff, which is usually about as useful as an umbrella in a firestorm. But nonetheless, that still leaves a sizable chunk of stuff to wade through....*sigh*

Though having said that, I did expect more. Far more. After all, four days back at Balmoral gave me about five thousand of these unpleasant little love notes. So in the bigger scheme of things, seven isn’t THAT bad, right?

The Missing Emilys

Fine, they’ve been holding the fort for a while now, so they KINDA deserve some time off - but did they REALLY have to take off the very day I was due back?

There wasn’t a single drop of Starbucks anywhere to be seen when I got in this morning. My laptop wasn’t fired up for instant work. My snail mail wasn’t sorted alphabetically. And my office wasn’t pre-cooled to 23 degrees, give or take a few notches on the thermometer.

Memories of being a junior associate suddenly came flooding right back......*sigh*

I was close to pouting my lips in disapproval, but the fact that there was no audience to witness the theatrics kinda made the whole thing ever so slightly irrelevant.

Wonder if it’s too late to reconsider their bonuses for 2010....*snigger*

So yeah. Not particularly pleasant, this Nut’s first day back at work.

Here’s hoping there won’t be a repeat performance of this tomorrow. Otherwise, heads WILL roll. *smirk*

The Return of the Queen

2011-01-03T00:28:00.003+08:00

Blimey. It's back to ruling this country again tomorrow....*sigh*

And we’re back to reality. With a thud.

After three glorious weeks of doing sod-all, come morning, this Nut will be back to donning Mr. Pink’s finest and heading to that office with with a severe lack of parking space at the top of the hill, with memories from the Nutty vacation fresh in my head. Memories of, for example, having TripleL back in town for the holidays:

Although I inherited this fag hag from the inimitable HRH Slut when he migrated for the pink shores of Singapore, she quickly proved herself to be a brilliant addition to the Nutty harem of hags. Having her back from Down Under where she calls home these days - complete with a kid in tow - just reminded me of how much I missed her zany sense of humour.

Having everyone near & dear over for the Boxing Day gig at NewK was another highlight of the Nutty vacation.

Although traditionally held on the eve of Christmas, this year, scheduling conflicts forced he annual event to me moved to Boxing Day - which as it turns out, wasn't a bad thing after all as it resulted in a healthier-than-usual turnout, including some from that little island down south...*snigger*

Melons melons everywhere, and not a slice to nibble on....*guffaw*

NewK was literally bursting at the seams, resulting in some guests having to share seats...LB obviously not particularly happy with that arrangement....

As expected, the combination of zany L2B3 regulars and a bunch of excitable hags resulted in an evening filled with infectious laughter....

And amazing revelations - notably that of M, who as it turns out, has NEVER EVER played Jenga before. I'm starting to think this gal had a very very deprived childhood....*guffaw*

Oh. And Santa made an appearance too. Though not the rotund, bearded version your mother told you about when you were a gullible little child with little appreciation for the distinction between fact and fiction.

This Santa calls Dore Alley, SF, his home. And I reckon, doesn't use Rudolf the red-nosed raindeer and his antlered pals to pull his sleigh....though I do suspect he still calls one of the blokes in the harness Rudolf.

For this one, I'd be naughty. Very very naughty indeed....*snigger*

As 2010 neared its end, I managed to battle traffic, escaped the mayhem that was The Curve and spent New Year’s eve with M and the crew at the PJ Hilton.

This was an evening best remembered for the copious amounts of food and the spectacular fireworks display when the clock struck midnight:

Awesome way of ending the year, I reckon. But now 2011 beckons. A new year, almost certain to be riddled with peculiar challenges all of its own. Here's hoping we all come out of it alive...*snigger*

But for the immediate future, I'm keeping my thoughts focused on one teeny-tiny thing. Specifically, for there NOT to be a bazillion e-mails waiting for me to sift through when I get in tomorrow.

Wish me luck. *gulp*

Holiday Hiatus @ Liberty

2010-12-19T22:28:00.000+08:00

Yesterday over lunch:

Cosmo : Is it just me or has your blog like DIED?
Me : Blog? What blog? Oh. THAT blog. Hur hur.

For a moment there I almost forgot that I had this little spot on the blogosphere to manage. Not intentional, I assure you. Nor is it a sign that L2B3 is on the verge of abandonment. Far from it. But admittedly, the holiday spirit has hit me. And it has hit me hard with a sledgehammer, no less.

For the past week since the holidays officially started for this Nut, I’ve been pretty much bumming about. Not something I’m used to doing, contrary to popular belief.....*snigger*

Sure, there were the RPM launches all around town to keep me busy in the evenings, but for the better part of the past week, it’s been all about lazy mornings that start just as most folks are getting all hyped up for lunch, leisurely afternoons spent shopping for Christmas presents and lengthy dinners with the Nutty clan.

If I had my way, every day would be like this! *guffaw*

Which rather unfortunately, meant that the blogging bits took a backseat for a bit while I caught up with that thing called life. It's a brave new world outside when you don't have to stick to a fixed daily schedule revolving around work, blogger and the gym...*smirk*

While it's been fun just "winging it" all day, all week - all that time has also given me a chance to kinda kick back and review the events of the past twelve months, and in the process, sort them into those neat "good, bad & ugly" mail slots in my nutty head. Things like:

Settling into NewK:

This one definitely a good thing, though it’s almost surreal to realise that I’ve called this place home for a full year now.

What started out as a second choice forced by a bit of bad luck (and not to mention a law suit) when the deal for my initial choice of abode fell through, has turned out to be a pretty darned good twist of fate.

Funny how these things tend to work out for the better - just a month after I signed the papers for NewK, the closure of one of the main access roads to my initial choice of condo (and the resulting drop in the property values of that particular neighbourhood) made me thank my lucky stars that I didn’t get that place in the end.

Whilst NewK has proven to be the perfect home for this Nut, it is, admittedly, far from complete. I’ve yet to come around to putting artwork on the walls of the place, for one. And that perfect console and coffee table still alludes me.

Been thinking about wallpapering some of the walls at the place too, but the plans kinda got sidetracked when I found the perfect running-mate for Betsy.....

Finding Hans:

The hunt for a car that was slightly more suited to my day job took a while. Though OK. I admit. I was just a weeee bit picky when it came to choosing a companion for the ol’ turquoise gal. But how could I not be. Finding the ideal second set of wheels is much akin to a father matchmaking his daughter. You only want the best. And for this Nut unfortunately, the perfect match had to fit a list of criteria several pages longer than the QueenMother’s spec sheet for the perfect daughter-in-law *snigger*

It had to be an E39, not the newer E60 – the shape of the newer car never quite caught on in my mind...just too fussy.

It had to be an original Auto Bavaria unit, not some reconditioned grey import with history as spotty as a rabid Dalmation.

It had to be in blue. Not just any blue, mind you, but Biarritz Blue – a shade of sapphire blue that emphasised the car’s shape in all the right places.

It had to be a 525i, not the run-of-the-mill 520i or the slightly OTT 530i with its insane road tax. Paying five-thou a year into the JPJ's coffers just didn't sit well with me...

And it had to be a 2003-year model, cos that was the last year the car was in production and BMW threw everything but the kitchen sink into it. Electrically adjusted seats with 3-position memory, electrical sunblinds, UV-cut glass, BMW Professional hi-fi with DSP, Dynamic Stability Control...you name it, this model year had it.

Is it any wonder the hunt took the better part of eight months? *guffaw*

But it was worth the time. Cos Hans is quite the dream. Every time I fire him up in the morning and hear that lovely BMW straight-six exhaust burble, all the world just seems a better place. Never mind that he’s punched a hole in my wallet the size of the SMART tunnel - a low maintenance boy, he certainly ain’t! *snigger*

Parking Fiasco at the Nutty Firm:

Moving to the new office was one of the highlights of the year, though it must be said that the joy of a new workspace was qualified in one very big way. The parking sucked. For the mere fact that the new place didn’t have any. Except for the NuttyBosses of course, who were, for a moment, quite oblivious to the nightmare that the lack of foresight was causing.

Tempers flared, frustration mounted until one day, everyone decided to show the bosses in a rather comical manner, just how bad the parking situation was.

Imagine the sight of twenty-two cars, all parked in front of the office, in a small cul-de-sac occupied largely by privately owned homes and a high-end condominium block with enough VIP’s living in it to make the authorities take notice when they complain. Suffice to say, the residents weren’t amused, the authorities took notice and the powers-that-be within the office instantly realised the magnitude of the problem.

Instantly, they started making amends, first by securing car parks in nearby buildings, followed rapidly with the acquisition of a proper shuttle to ferry everyone to and from their cars. The success of these mends are still left to be seen though, as common consensus is that it’s a fix for a problem that didn’t really need to be there in the first place.

Guess we’ll know once bonuses are paid out for the year, eh.....*snigger*

The Office Trippy:

In case you missed the memo, the destination of choice for the office vacation this year was Jakarta. I know. I was equally as puzzled when I saw the e-mail from HR informing everyone where we were going to spend our office vacation time this year. Not traditionally a holiday destination, but then again.....one should never complain about fully paid for trips, right? *grin*

So off we went, though it must be said that the trip could hardly be described as uneventful.

From the get-go, three persons, including Emmett, missed their flight to the city of traffic snarls when one of the drivers failed to realise that check in times for international flights were two hours prior to departure time. So he casually strolled into the airport thirty minutes before departure, only to find that the check-in counters were already closed.

Emmett and our HR Manager had to stay back thanks to the fact that Mr. Driver’s passport was with them, so all three had to take the next flight out, wasting three perfectly valid tickets in the process.

We’re still thinking of devious ways to make him pay for that little stunt.....*guffaw*

Another round of drama ensued when the lot arrived in Jakarta. A group of junior associates decided that they wanted to get a headstart with the shopping and headed straight to the infamous ManggaDua mall.

Now if you have never been to this mall before, let me just say that if there was ever a building to win the "most confusing layout" award, this place would win it hands down. With one hand tied behind its back. And a ball gag firmly stuffed in its mouth.

Rather expectedly, a bunch of them got lost in the maze of a mall. A situation which could have been averted if one of them actually had a working cellphone. Rather ingeniously, none of them saw the need to activate international roaming. *sigh*

They saw sunlight again after four hours of running about inside the mall - by which time, the roads around ManggaDua had flooded, thanks to the rain , making the whole area impassable to vehicles.

Jakarta. You've gotta love this city.

Seven hours after they were first reported missing, they miraculously found their way back to the hotel in one piece. Barely in time for dinner. Safe to say they didn't wander very far from the flock from then on....*snigger*

As for the rest of the trip, it was a lot more pleasant than I thought it would be, to be honest. Found time to bond with my new Emily. Discovered she’s quite the party animal when we ended up doing multiple shots of booze at one of Jakarta’s nightspots.

Nevermind that the place was, from what I could see, their equivalent of Frangi's. My gaydar was beeping every two minutes at the sight of muscle marys, twinks, bears...all decked out in their Friday best, strutting their boo-tays down to the bar.

The fact that EmilyThree was not the least perturbed by the large presence of the PinkParade and ended up making friends with some of them made me grin with approval...

I think she and I will be getting along just fine in the coming years....*grin*

The Great Facebook Cleanup

You'd be amazed how many people end up on your Facebook friends list after just a few years on the network. One sunny afternoon, with a clear day ahead and nothing better to do, I took a glance through my list and realised that (1) there are at least 50 people on my list whom I haven't a clue who they are; (2) there's an equal number of people on that list whose presence there is questionable; and (3) there's a handful of boys & girls from that list whom I've not heard from in yonks.

That last point especially, got me thinking for a bit, for there were people in that last category who featured rather prominently in my life just a year back. Now, twelve months on, I barely see them. I barely hear a peep from them. And more worryingly, some have even taken to ignoring my rather....for lack of a better word...."substantial" presence.

Funny how one's circle of friends can change so rapidly in such a short span of time, eh? But then again, change is the one certainty in life - so I guess I'll just have to "deal with it".....*guffaw*

So it’s been a mix of the good, the bad, and the slightly ugly then, for 2010. But that’s life for you. Just remember to celebrate the good, moan a bit about the bad - but swiftly move on, and try as hard as you can to forget the ugly – while taking notes along the way to avoid getting into the same shit on a different day. Or a different year for that matter.

As 2011 looms, one can only hope that I’ll have more of the former, and less of the latter.

A fatter paycheque would be a great place to start! *guffaw*

On that note, ladies and gents, Life Liberty officially goes into its customary holiday hiatus. These old blogging bones need their rest....

Naturally, I’ll still be scribbling sporadic thoughts on Facebook. And if you’re partial to that Twitter thing, I’ll be posting off and on there as well. Just look up tykeonabike. Though how I’ll ever manage to fit my rather colourful thoughts into 140 characters or less will be an interesting thing to watch all on its own.

Ho ho ho

Anyhow, to everyone here, have yourselves a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Till next year, I leave you with what I reckon will be the theme song for every gay couple this time of year:

Oh. PS. Santa. If you’re reading this. Can I have Darren Criss for Christmas? Pwetty Pwease? *guffaw*

Holiday Horrors

2010-12-10T00:34:00.006+08:00

You DO realise the concept of a holiday means
I'm not supposed to be here, right?

Stop the press. Tales of my early demise from the blogosphere have been wildly exaggerated...*snigger*

The past week has been a bit of a whirlwind, to be completely honest. A natural side-effect of (a) taking a lil’ trippy to Jakarta right smack during the peak pre-Christmas work rush (b) warning your clients by way of a footnote on every e-mail that you’ll soon be heading off for your year-end break, somewhere far far away from their sodding ‘issues’ and (c) not having someone senior enough in the department to hold the fort on their own during your absence.

A triple whammy so to speak...

My year end break SHOULD have started on Monday, but thanks to all of the above, I’ve been religiously heading into the office every morning, MirandaLatte in tow. I hope to Gawd next week will be sufficiently calm on the work front to allow me the peace and quiet I so badly crave right now.

But that’s not to say that other aspects of my nutty life will be on the same terms, though. Seems that non-work drama has a nasty tendency to ramp up in intensity just as work winds down for the year....*snigger*

The Royal Matchmaker Cometh.....

The QueenMother has seen it fit to once again attempt a royal union. Thanks to her recent visit to Balmoral, she’s been informed of a potential suitor for this Nut that could potentially inject new life to the Royal Family.

A doctor, apparently, and the sole offspring of a decently wealthy family. Meets all of the QueenMother’s criteria, though none of mine. Particularly when it comes to gender. Which means I have about as much interest in her as I do in marathons. *guffaw*

Normally, brushing off such attempts to matchmake me to the va-jay-jays would be easy, except this time, she’s given my number to the poor unsuspecting woman’s folks. Which means it’ll likely be just a matter of time before I have to deal with the repercussions of that act of motherly love..... *sigh*

DoctorX : Hi...Got your number from my mom.
Me : I’m gay. Let’s not waste each other's time. Shall we go shopping someday?

Oh joy....

The Shocker

On another front, the QueenMother also recently ambushed me with a request that made me gag and choke on my lunch. Which is a feat all in itself since I’ve never known myself to HAVE a gag reflex in the first place. *guffaw*

Anyway, seems the folks have decided to return once again to Balmoral to complete the rectification works in the place post-flooding, and they’ve decided to ask me to LOAN THEM BETSY or alternatively, HANS, so they could drive themselves down and spend a week sorting out the contractors.

Gag Gag Gag.

How oh how do I politely tell them that it ain’t gonna happen. Not in a million years.

Anyway, heading into the office again one last time tomorrow to finish off the year-end appraisals for the Emilys. Possibly the best part of my job come this time of year. Playing God most definitely has its appeal! *guffaw*

So if you’ll excuse me, I have to now go and decide, using a precise mathematical formula, which of the three will get the bigger stash of cash labelled 'bonus' in their January paycheques.....

Now where’s that damned dartboard when you need it.....*grin*

Betsy's Little Bitchfit

2010-12-01T23:48:00.002+08:00

I thought I'd give her a few upgrades while I was at it....

I have a suspicion Betsy isn't exactly a happy camper.

Quite probably my fault, cos I've been lavishing Hans with quite a bit of attention since he arrived. As much as I try to deny it, things haven't quite been the same since the arrival of her German stablemate.

But still, I wash her once a week, take her out for a spin every now and then and make sure she gets her routine oil service and inspections done on time. Which is probably why I wasn't expecting her to pull a hissy fit of monumental proportions earlier this week.

She sprung a leak. From her oil pan, of all places.

Walking towards her one sunny work day morning, I noticed a small puddle of liquid pooling under her. First I thought it was just water - quite possibly from the air conditioning. But upon closer inspection, it was clear that the stuff was far too viscous to be plain-ol' water. It was engine oil...*gulp*

Even the blokes from the workshop was at a loss for words when they saw her spewing her lube all over the garage floor. For all the crummy build quality issues that blight Protons, this is one part that they almost NEVER replace on these cars. At least that was what I was told.

Replacing the pan was the only solution. So she was promptly carted off to the dealership to have the offending item swapped.

But the real stinker came when I picked her up:

Nine hundred and fifty nine. For a metal tub. I mean seriously, do they press it out of platinum or something? *sigh*

Out of curiosity, I rang up my ever-so-friendly service consultant at Auto Bavaria. Would you believe it if I told you the same item for a BMW costs half as much?

Well, wonder no more, cos it does......with change to spare.

I reckon someone in the parts procurement department at Proton needs to get his numbers double-checked......

Anyway, on a side note...been heading to the other gym for TRX classes and such when time permits. As of late, I've taken notice of this one bloke there - mid-20's, fresh faced - a bit like a younger version of Hwanhee. Always dressed in form-fitting wife beaters and ass-hugging track pants, the fit fella works out alone most of the time and has this adorable tendency of staring out the windows in-between sets, seemingly day dreaming away.

Wah lau. Very tired leh!

Something about daydreaming pups.....*grin*

But I digress. Back to this fella. So he most definitely caught my attention, and by golly I was half tempted to strike up a conversation with the bloke today when I had him cornered at the ab machines.

At least that was the plan....until I overheard him on the phone, that is......

Cliff notes version? I have the distinct feeling he hails from Cheras. Punctuation by way of "wah-lau". Random addition of "s" to every sentence. Sporadic insertions of Chinese swear words.

Sigh. What a waste of good erectile tissue. *snigger*

Oh well. Guess it's true then. What God giveth........*guffaw*

Now if you'll excuse me...it's time to start packing for the NuttyFirm's little trippy to Jakarta. Starting Friday - three days of roaming about that traffic-logged, sweaty, messy little city. Oh joy.

Monday Morning Musings

2010-11-29T00:23:00.004+08:00

Just lettin this Nutty mind wander...

Weekends do come and go rather quickly, dont' they? And I don't know if it's just me, but they seem to fly by just that little bit quicker as the year comes to a close.

Bloody hell. Talk about coming to a close.

It just dawned on me as I was polishing off the last morsel of smoked salmon from my dinner salad earlier, that we are just weeks away from the new year. I remember moving into NewK like it was yesterday. And that, ladies and gents, was in January.

Where the hell did all the time go?

Well, a large heaping chunk of it, of course, went here:

On some days, the view out the window at the NuttyOffice almost makes the daily toil with shuttles and scarce food sources worth it. Almost. Though I must say that those days are starting to become a little far and few in between. I'll be the first to admit that it's all getting just a little old for me. Don't ask me why exactly, cos even I haven't quite put my finger on it. Though I can tell you this much....it isn't one single issue that's bugging me, just many many small niggling issues that make me want to stay in bed that little bit longer these days every morning.

It's funny how the little things can add up.....

Let's hope my usual month long break next month will sort this out.....

Though, being on the receiving end of 5000-odd e-mails every three days or so won't help. Not one bloody bit. *groan*

Sidenote : In case you were wondering, they're all cleared. Finally.

Speaking of clearing, notice how the admittedly scarce Diwali decorations around town quickly made way for Christmas?

Even the mamak stalls are jumping in on the bandwagon:

And to think this place was as barren as the Sahara when it came to festive ornaments just last month....

Same goes for this place:

Bangsar Village had a foyer devoid of any sort of ornamentation during Diwali and now, lo and behold, is a sodding great Lego Christmas tree three stories high. No prizes for guessing which festival brings in more of moolah then.....*guffaw*

And speaking of moolah, Hans is almost done with his Extreme Makeover:

I know, I know, he looks like a mere shadow of himself in this picture, but I have loads of faith in the abilities of the boys at Auto Bavaria to breathe new life into this 6 year old German. What I don't have much faith in though, is their ability to stick to a budget.....

May the Lord have mercy on my bank balance......*snigger*

While we're on the topic of bank balances, watched a show over the weekend about a bloke with no worries whatsoever about his:

The story of Mark Zuckerberg. The youngest billionaire, like ever. His company alone is reputedly worth USD25billion. To put things into perspective, that's like the GDP of a small African country. Or two.

While everyone I know who's watched this gave rave reviews of the movie itself and waxed lyrical about Mr Zuckerberg's inspiring brilliance, I walked away with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth. And no, it wasn't due to the quad-shot latte I was sipping on at the time....

I won't bore you with the legal nitty-gritties that led me to that less-than-awed conclusion, but rest assured, the movie, to me, seemed to say one thing and one thing alone - that stealing someone's idea is fine, as long as you have enough sarcasm in you to deflect the issue in court and enough moolah in your coffers to pay them off in the end.

Not something I'd want my kids learning, I reckon.

So hats off to you, Mr. Zuckerberg, for getting to where you are now, but as for how you got there......tsk tsk, really....

Speaking of hats and other fashion accessories.....it seems that shoes aren't the only thing that the ladies can't get enough of:

Cosmo, seen here at the ALDO sale on Sunday. At last count, the lady had about a dozen bags on active duty. That's a wholelotta bags for one woman.

Wonder if bags are to women what cars are to blokes. You can never quite stop at ONE. *snigger*

Checked out this new place at BVI on Sunday with the girls. Called PlanB, it's run by the same guys who used to own Delicious, before that joint was sold to the E&O Group. Not a bad place, to be honest. The menu has more than a passing resemblance to that of Delicious, and in fact, incorporates some of the good stuff that sadly went the way of the Woolly Mammoth when D'lish closed its doors.

For those not in the know, D'lish was the cafeteria concept off-shoot of the Delicious chain that used to occupy a quaint little corner at the BV Village Grocer.

We tried a bit of everything, but the standout items, for me and Booker at least, were the pastries:

Croissants and Brioches that were crisp on the outside and buttery soft on the inside. We died and went back to Europe. *snigger*

Speaking of dying. This picture Cosmo flashed up in the middle of dessert gave me what the French would call "La Petite Mort".

Kellan Lutz. Like seriously. It should be illegal to look this good without a shirt on. Oh the things I could do to this man.......*dreamy grin*

Down Boy!

On a parting note, Santa, if you're reading this....could you stuff Kellan into my sock when you swing by later this December? And oh. If you have the space, one of these would be nice too:

Still want that iPad? *guffaw*

But enough about me, how was your weekend, folks?

The Best Medicine

2010-11-24T00:23:00.001+08:00

Go ahead. Make me laugh this shirt off....

It’s barely halfway through the week and I’m already praying for the weekend to come. The first weekend in the past half-a-month that I’ve been able to spend in the comforts of NewK, in fact.

But as annoying as the work week’s been, it’s been tolerable, thanks to liberal splashes of humour in and out of the office.

First there was Cosmo:

Me : Cosmo! What do you call a baby lion?
Cosmo : What kind of stupid question is that lah? Why you want to know?
Me : It’s a secret....*snigger*. So what’s a baby lion?
Cosmo : Seal lah! Aiyoh....
Me : *pondering silence*
M : *pondering silence*
Cosmo : Whaaaaatt????
Me : Ermmmmm.....I think that's a completely different species, Cosmo!

Then there was SK:

Me : Dude. Slow down with the miniature doughnuts! You’re literally breathing them down!
SK : But they’re SOOO good! You should try stuffing a few nuts in your mouth at once. It’s YUM!
Me : *pondering silence* *grin* Oh really, now?
SK : F*ck.

And mind you, SK doesn’t exactly bat for the PinkParade.....*snigger*

Then of course there’s the one that takes the cake. At a HOD meeting with the blokes at the office:

SN : So guys...seriously...we need more assistants.
TH : Ok. How many do we need?
Me : I have enough Emilies right now. So don’t need any on my end.
J : I could use one more.
WC : I need one more too. Work’s getting insane!
TH : SN. You need any?
SN : Yes yes! Of course I need one to service me!
Me : *pondering silence*
TH : *grin*
J : *snigger*
K : Urm....not something you want to repeat in front of the missus, mate!
SN : F*ck. Didn’t mean it that way lah...aiyoh....bloody pervs, all of you! *guffaw*
Me : Should’ve recorded this. Would come in handy during year-end assessment, I reckon....

Never doubt the power of laughter to keep you going.

Or blackmail, for that matter....*guffaw*

The Silence of Lady Liberty

2010-11-23T00:38:00.003+08:00

In case you were wondering, no, this Nut hasn't hung up his blogging mitts just yet. It's just been a particularly hectic few weeks for this Nut. First the Great Balmoral Cleanup.

This was a hugely messy, unpleasant affair. Cleaning up a house caked in mud is painful enough. Having to do it with the background chatter that is familial nag is borderline suicidal.

And the QueenMother wondered WHY I insisted on separate rooms at the hotel.....*rolls eyes*

In a practical, and slightly amusing demonstration that, contrary to popular belief, this Nut does actually work, the Great Cleanup resulted in this:

Your eyes do not deceive you. That's a four figure number on my inbox. Accumulated over a span of just three days. Sure, there were about 798 junk e-mails. And about 126 non-work related items, but the rest of it.....*gulp*

And people wonder why my social life sucks so badly....*snigger*

Before I could get through that massive headache of an inbox though, the weekend was back with a vengeance. And this required yet another trip up North, this time with M and Cosmo for this:

Regular folk read books on roadtrips. Instructors read choreography notes....*snigger*

RPM49. Watch out for it. Major ouch assured....

Anyway, while M and Cosmo battled torrential rain at gawd-forsaken hours in the morning, I got to enjoy this:

And rather more spectacularly, this view out the window:

Enough greenery to turn Kermit pink with envy. *guffaw*

Vistana Penang. Not bad, despite its decidedly utilitarian facade. When we arrived though, the building had some serious plumbing issues, which resulted in this:

I reckon a letter to YTL is in order. Wonder if it’ll score me a free stay at another YTL property....*snigger*

As you may have read in the papers, the marathon turned out to be a rather wet affair - for all the wrong reasons. Gusting winds, pelting rain. Despite the adversities, our two ladies put in pretty decent times, clocking waaaaaay under 3 hours for their 21km run.

On a sidenote, I still think it's ridiculous that, with the advent of self-propelled vehicular transport, people would still subject themselves to this sort of torture....*snigger*

Post marathon, we smothered our faces in some good ol' Penang grub:

This time round, I also got to meet Cosmo’s ex-pussy, which she so graciously sent to live with her aunt when the thing outgrew her pen at the Cosmopolis.

She’s always been telling me tales of the sheer size and laziness of this thing, and in particular, her odd habits of sleeping like a human. I never believed her until I saw it with my very own eyes:

Look ma! It’s a baby seal!!!

Trip back to the big city lights of KL was uneventful, which is a good thing. Traffic was non-existent as Betsy and us clocked an average of 130 clicks an hour on the big bad freeway with Bon Jovi's Lost Highway on repeat on the BlingPod. The most perfect tune to accompany long drives on the freeway, I reckon.

But alas....all that is over and it's now back to reality with a huge thud for this Nut...notably the task of clearing off the remaining 300+ e-mails on my inbox, and dealing with the aftermath the workday earlier......*sigh*

But on a parting note....

Now put your hands up. Hur hur, no?

Found this while trawling the depths of the net, waiting for Cosmo and M to return from their run. To whomever penned this answer - 100 points for creativity. *guffaw*

New Royal Thrills

2010-11-12T00:38:00.000+08:00

You bought her a WHAT?!?!

My love, or lack thereof, for all things fruity from Cupertino has been well documented. With the exception of the BlingPod (which has so far, in my opinion, been the only thing out of a Mac Store worth the money asked for it), my life has thankfully involved minimal interaction with the rest of the loopy fruit farm.

At least until now:

Witness the QueenMother’s latest acquisition.

Over the phone yesterday with the lil’ lady:

QM : Did you see the pic I sent you?
Me : Oh yeah. Someone’s got a new toy, I see..
QM : Very nice lah this phone! So easy to use!
Me : Just don’t hold it along the sides without a rubber cover...*snigger*
QM : Hah? What do you mean?
Me : Never mind. Oh. And don’t drop it. The glass won’t stand a chance!
QM : Aiyah. Of course lah I’ll be careful!
Me : So what apps have you downloaded?
QM : Dunno lah...your brother downloaded stuff for me. But I have Facebook now! I can see what all of you are up to! Haha
Me : *gulp*
QM : Oh, by the way...who’s this Kipod fella? What kind of name is Kipod anyway? Is he Chinese?
Me : A friend from UK. Yes, he's Chinese. No his name is not Kipod. That's just a nickname. He was here for a short holiday.
QM : Hmmmm....He’s not gay right? Better not stick too much to gay guys lah.....you might turn gay!
Me : *sigh*

SSDD. Same Shit. Different Device.

Wonder if the lil' lady will ever realise that ghey doesn't exactly share any similarities with the common cold.

Nonetheless. The QueenMother's peculiar brand of cyber-snooping has now gotten even easier, no thanks to the NuttyBro. First the iPad. Now this. You’d almost think the bloke was FACILITATING a royal outing with these new royal acquisitions.

Whatever it may be. Live updates on News Feed. Delivered straight to the QueenMother’s hand.

Bloody Bollocks.

And speaking of bollocks....come Monday, the Royal Family will depart the comforts of the big city for buttfuck Balmoral. After being submerged in water for the better part of the week, the flood waters have finally retreated from the palace grounds to the point where a proper hose down will now be possible.

The QueenMother is naturally eager to inspect the damage and issued a Royal Decree, insisting that the whole clan take time off to head up north for what is expected to be a clean up of biblical proportions.

The NuttySisters have been wise enough to summon help in the form of volunteers from their old church. Surprisingly, they still kept in touch with friends from the days when they dabbled with that bloke named Jesus. The QueenMother has also summoned help in the form of domestic helpers from her family estate. If all goes according to plan, this should be less about execution on my part, and more about managing the staff. Something I'll be quite happy to do...*snigger*

Please bore someone else with your...questions!

We're all putting up in a hotel, since the palace itself will likely be rather unfit for habitation. You'd be amazed how difficult it is to find a decent hotel in that town. There was simply nothing rated above three stars.

Not a town the Hiltons would take note of at any rate, then....

What we eventually settled on was the most decent looking place we could find on the net in such a short time. StarCity Hotel. I get chills up my spine everytime I say the name. Silly name aside, it was the only place with complimentary wi-fi in all rooms. In a sea of choices that looked distinctly underwhelming, that teeny-tiny convenience tipped the scale in favour of this particular place of lodging.

In any case. Starting Monday. Three days worth of Operation Clean Up Balmoral. Stay tuned for updates! *grin*

A Curious Case of Homoerotic Homophobia

2010-11-09T00:33:00.001+08:00

Do I REALLY have to touch you there, Mister?

Boi.

Hardly the most imaginative of names. And one that, admittedly, conjures up naughty images of leather daddies, bears and all sorts of wildlife under the banner of the Pink Parade.

But as they say - never to judge a bloke by his name. Unless it’s Ah Beng, of course. Or any derivative thereof which would lead to a similar abbreviated form. In which case, one has to question the sanity of his parents when they put pen to paper at the National Registration Department.

But I digress. Back to Boi. The Royal Masseuse.

A man of few words, but when one is blessed with hands as talented as his, one simply has to forgive his lack of verbal interaction.

And speaking of those hands – boy do they talk. They have a way of working their way up and down your back and into nooks and crannies that would make your mother blush, kneading the stresses of the week into submission in the process. The silence just makes it that much easier to drift into a restful slumber as the man does his thang on you.

At least that’s what usually happens.

On Sunday though, Boi was decidedly different. His hands were still magical, no doubt about that, but along with the kneading, the man seemingly, out of nowhere, found his voice. As in REALLY found it.

From the start of our hour-and-a-half session, the man just gave a running commentary of all things sundry about his life, his loves and his never ending pursuit of happiness.

OK. Maybe not as dramatic, but you get the picture.

Within the first hour itself, he had talked me through all four of his past relationships, his family history, his life as a Kadazan boy living in the buttfuck corners of Sabah, odd habits that he and his brothers shared and rather shockingly, his specific physical preferences when it comes to ladies.

That last bit, was a bit WTMI. Seriously.

As much as the conversation turned from amusing to alarming every now and then, it was generally interesting enough for me to keep my ears peeled. Eventually I came around to asking him about his likes and dislikes when it came to his job.

This rather hilarious conversation ensued:

Me : So you must meet a lot of interesting people on the job here!
Boi : Yeah. But there are times when it gets a bit awkward.
Me : Awkward? What do you mean awkward?
Boi : Well, most clients are nice, and some like you are really really easy to work with, but some tend to ask for...urm..... “extra services”.
Me : Extra services? Oh my. What does that mean?
Boi : Well, you know...it’s usually with the gays lah.
Me : You have gay clients? *gasp* *snigger*
Boi : Haha...yeah..I do. Some have this habit of wanting me to touch them THERE, you know? It gets really, really awkward.
Me : There as in THERE? Oh.My.God. Really? *grin*
Boi : Yeah. Gay guys. I’m actually a bit afraid of them lah...I’d take straight guys or ladies any day!
Me : *snigger*

Hints of homophobia? Well, perhaps. But thing is, the boy’s fear isn’t exactly unfounded, for the Pink Parade have quite a different understanding of what a massage means when compared to the hetero crowd. And for a fresh-faced straight kid right out of the jungles of Borneo, dealing with big-city homos can prove to be a rather daunting and unnerving experience.

But nevermind. For there’s more....

The best bit of this whole little exchange was this - as the man was honestly, and rather adorably spilling the beans on his slight fear of gay men, the bloke was hard at work kneading – of all places - my arse.

Talk about odd timing. *guffaw*

Oh if only he knew......if only he knew....*snigger*

Weekend Roundup No.25/2010 - The Diwali Break

2010-11-08T00:38:00.002+08:00

Oh how I love extended weekends. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I do believe, with religious-like tenacity, that this should be the way things are – four days at work and three days at home. The perfect balance, I reckon...*snigger*

With three days on the cards, thanks to the Diwali holidays, you’d think that I would’ve filled up my itinerary with heaps of fun stuff to do, but no. Nothing of that sort happened. Not even remotely. Perhaps a sign of age or a mere symptom of fatigue, all I did was sleep and catch up with Hollywood’s latest offerings.

On the subject of sleep....

I had the most biblical amount of slumber on Thursday night. Thirteen hours straight, though oddly enough, I didn’t have a single dream. Which is rare, for I usually remember my dreams quite vividly if I had any. Like the one involving Chris Pine last Monday. Changing sheets first thing in the morning is such a dreary affair! *snigger*

After dinner with the clan at Delicious @ BVII, I headed home, chucked my grubby gym gear into the wash and slumped into my sofa to wait out the wash and dry cycle. Next thing I knew, it was bright and sunny outside.

And mind you, the only reason why I woke up at all was because some pesky kid started screaming her lungs out while she was playing in the courtyard garden.

Kids. They should all come standard with a mute button.

On the subject of movies....

Caught two of them over the Diwali weekend. First was this:

I’ll admit, the only reason why I hassled the girls to watch this was because Mr. Pine was in it. Think Speed – the one with deadpan Keanu in it - but instead of a bus, you have a runaway train. And instead of an actor whose repertoire of facial expressions amount to a grand total of one, we have a bloke who's capable of so much more...

Nothing earth-shatteringly fresh as far as the storyline is concerned, I'll give you that...but ONE particular scene made every cent of our tickets worth it.

Five minutes into the movie. Chris gets out of bed. In nothing but tighty-whities in all his big-screen glory. M and I nearly had a cardiac. All that was missing was a full shot of his morning wood. *guffaw*

The very next day, I caught this:

Bruce Willis. Not a huge fan of the man, I must admit, but the fact that Hellen Mirren was in this one piqued my interest a fair bit. The Queen as a retired secret agent....imagine that.

I won’t bore you with the details, for a little visit to IMDB will sort out the synopsis, but all I have to say is this – miss this at your own peril, for it’s probably one of the better films out of Hollywood this quarter. The fact that it adopted a fair bit of the Brit tongue-in-cheek brand of humour rather than the slapstick antics that tend to prevail in this genre of movies, made it a pretty darn good watch.

And for the record, I think Hellen Mirren RAWKS! I’d REALLY love to see her play M in the Bond franchise. *snigger*

On a side note. The floods up north. It suddenly struck me, late Thursday evening last week, as my colleagues and I were having a coffee break in our pantry at the office, that buttfuck Alor Setar was currently reprising the role of Atlantis really rather well.

Emily : OMG. Look at this article. The whole of Kedah is literally underwater!
J : Wow. That looks awful! Thank God it isn’t flooding here!
Me : Even if it did, we’re all on high ground, so no worries! *giggles*
Emily : Wait a minute. Aren’t you from Alor Setar, Nut?
J : Oh yeah. Don’t your parents still have a house there?
Me : Hmmmm.......

A call to the QueenMother confirmed the worst. As it turns out, Balmoral slipped under a good foot or so of water as of late Thursday afternoon. Which means a trip back to the Royal Retreat will be in order once the water recedes to sort out the inevitable aftermath. I already have horrific images in my head of rotten woodwork on the built-ins in the kitchen, mud-soiled soft furnishings, and a whole load of damaged electrical gubbins. All of which, will require replacement.

I do hope my Thundercat figurines survive.....*grin*

I just hope the NuttySiblings will have the decency to volunteer their financial might to the restoration efforts. Cos I’ll be damned if I’m gonna play the role of the Treasury when the time comes.

But enough about me. How was your weekend, folks?

Extreme Makeovers

2010-11-04T00:38:00.000+08:00

Seriously. Just bloody leave it to the professionals.
Your wallet will thank you......

Makeovers are all the rage these days. From shedding unwanted pounds over live television to turning humble abodes into designer pads – everyone, apparently, has a deeply ingrained fetish for all things new and fresh.

This Nut unfortunately, isn’t immune to that particular fetish. Just another notch on the bedpost as far as those are concerned...*snigger*

It all started several weeks back, when I decided, rather foolishly, that I’d try my hand at giving Hans a bath. It was bright and sunny outside, the housekeeper was busy doing her thing and I was, rather predictably, bored.

An idle mind is an idle playground for the devil within.

So I drove Hans to the condo car wash area and armed myself with a bucket of car shampoo and an oversized chamois. Things started out swell at first. It was a fair bit easier that I had imagined it. But as I worked my way around the big lug of a German, I started noticing various paint blemishes and teeny-tiny dents in the sheetmetal, no doubt the result of his previous role as a well used executive express.

First it was the double-ding on the fuel filler cap. God knows how that got there. Then it was the little bump on the front passenger door. After which it was the swirl-marks all over the bootlid. Then to top it all off, I found scratches as I looked under the front valance. It drove me nuts. Within minutes, I was on the phone with the boys at the detailing centre.

The result of that conversation is an empty parking space at NewK , for Hans is officially on the automotive equivalent of Extreme Makeover. In the span of the next few weeks, he’ll be getting a fresh coat of paint, an interior detail and a new coat of tint on his windows.

Then he’ll be shipped off to the boys at BMW to get all his mechanical bibs and bobs sorted out – notably his tired shock absorbers which have been the source of some pretty hilarious moments when driven at speed. Hit a bump hard and fast enough and you get the distinct feeling that you’re at sea....*snigger*

With any luck though, he’ll be as good as new when he gets back. Which, they tell me, will be in two or three weeks.

Before Booker decides on a new car, then.....*snigger*

Can't bloody wait till I'm reunited with Joy once again. *grin*

But lesson of the day here - If you’re a finicky little sod when it comes to your wheels, NEVER wash your car on your own. Your wallet will quite simply, HATE you for it.

Who Let The Cat Out

2010-11-02T00:28:00.000+08:00

So tell me....HOW exactly do you know Emily again?

Over sms with KS late last week:

KS : I’m heading to Frangi’s tonight with JH and his friends. Please say you’ll come.
Me : JH as in the bloke you just met of Grindr a couple of days back?
KS : Yeah. He sounds like a decent bloke. Besides. He wants to meet you!
Me : My nose is full of snot. It randomly leaks. My head’s all stuffed up and I sound like Daffy Duck. Not in the best shape to meet the boys, darlin.
KS : Aw. Come on. Go to the nearest pharmacy. Ask the pharmacist to prescribe you Pseudoephidrine. You’ll be fine. Don’t be such a big baby!
Me : Pseudoephidrine? Sounds dangerous. Isn’t that a date rape drug? Hur hur.
KS : Hun. Why would I ask you to take that BEFORE you got to the club?
Me : Good point. I’ll mull over it. If I feel better after taking your witchcraft, I’ll see you at Frangi’s.

As it turns out, it wasn’t a date rape drug and I felt infinitely better by lunch, so for the first time in AGES, I made my way downtown to GayCentral. Traffic was insane, made worse by some bright bunny’s idiotic move of closing off the street in front of Frangi’s during peak clubbing hours. As a result, what would’ve been a quick 20 minute drive & park affair turned into a protracted affair of circling the block through Bukit Bintang, Pudu and back through Raja Chulan to get to the other side of Tengkat Tun Shin.

Whilst I was busy circling the block, fighting my way past pesky Perodua Kancils with oversized exhausts, I started to get the impression that KS wasn’t really enjoying the company he was with.

I got this over sms from the poor lad:

KS : You here yet?
Me : Traffic’s insane. Circling the block. Like you COULD NOT TELL ME the street was closed?!
KS : Really? It’s closed? It looked quite open when I got here!
Me : How many have you had? You sound drunk.
KS : Not much. A few beers. But when you getting here. Me bored.
Me : Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m stuck in traffic. Not much I can do. Will be there soon.

An hour after I set off from home, I finally handed Hans to the valet and made my way to the club.

Walking through the hallowed hallways of this place, I was perhaps a wee bit disappointed that my VIP pass no longer worked at the door. But it’s perhaps indicative of how long I’ve not been here.

Anyways, I walked in and started to look for KS. Bumped into a few friends on the way, caught up with ZW whom I’ve not seen in ages, made a mental note of which FF club every face belonged to and did the customary trot around the central atrium to see if there were any blokes doing the naughty at the quiet corner of the club.

It’s like riding a bike. You never forget how to work this place. *snigger*

After a bit KS spots me and walks over. We chat. We get some beer. He moans about the company. As always, what looks good on chat doesn’t always work out that way in real life. JH and his buddies notice KS missing from their fold and start looking for him. They eventually spot us hanging out by the balcony and come over.

From the moment they walked through the door and said hi, I knew it was going to be a disaster.

I was suddenly in Cheras. Think of every cliché applicable to the folk calling this area home and you pretty much have the company we were in. The fact that KS had to break into song and dance in Cantonese to keep the conversation flowing was pretty indicative of the communication breakdown that we were experiencing.

Someone please get me a Mat Salleh. Stat!

What was perhaps a tad more hilarious though, was this. JH’s gaggle of giggly Cheras boys included this sorta-cute bloke, TL.

Me : And you are?
TL : Name’s TL. Bet you don’t remember me!
Me : Urm...sorry..I’m pretty hopeless with faces...care to jog my memory?
TL : We met at the gym before. I did your class.
Me : Oh. Really? Which club?
TL : MML.
Me : Hope you enjoyed the class, buddy. Didn’t hurt too much, right?
TL : Haha...no lah. It was ok. By the way, did you know that CJ’s now in London?
Me : *awkward silence*
TL : *grin*

In case you missed the memo, CJ was my Emily. The one who left the Nutty fold. TL as it turns out, is a young legal beagle in the making. And one of CJ’s inner circle of friends.

Dang.

Guess the cat’s out of the bag now.....*guffaw*

KL. Truly smaller than it looks!

All Lucked Out

2010-10-28T11:38:00.001+08:00

Can this day get any more ridiculous?

There are problems. And then there are problems. The former are nothing more than niggles. The latter, however, usually spells fits of frustration. The NuttyFirm was afflicted by the former yesterday, and it went a little something like this:

9.00am – Housekeeping staff finds a great big sodding snake around the garden. The ladies freak out and exercise extreme caution all day.

9.15 – Main reception afflicted by the strangest of pongs. A heady cross between battery acid and stale milk, Emily tells me. Turns out someone made a "deposit" in the guest bathroom the night before and forgot to flush. I just thank God I wasn’t in early enough to experience this olfactory assault.

10.00am – Fax lines go down. No incoming ring tone. No outgoing dial tone. Dead. No amount of twiddling with the connections would revive the stubborn machines. Everyone resorts to scanning and e-mailing out urgent documents or running back to our affiliate office at the old building to use the fax machines there.

10.30am – Coffee machine goes on the fritz, spewing coffee in every direction except down into the waiting mug. Emily calls me and suggests that I pick up my own MirandaLatte on the way to work. I moan in annoyance.

11.00am – Air-conditioning in the NuttyDepartment develops a mind of its own, randomly alternating between spewing out stale warm air and blasting out supercold gusts.

11.15am – Wi-fi connection drops and never recovers. I resort to using my little Wiggy. Plug and play fun. Though not in the manner I usually enjoy the most. *snigger*

12noon - The air-conditioning in the adjoining department develops a similar affliction to the one in the NuttyDepartment. The accounting staff are not amused.

But as always, fate has a tendency of saving the best for last.....

3.00pm – Water supply to the office ceases. No drinking water. No coffee. And more importantly. No flushing toilets. I shit you not. Literally.

Ladies and gents. Luck has officially left the building! *snigger*

Come tomorrow, if the situation doesn’t remedy itself, I’m sending my whole department home with laptops in tow. I think an uninhabitable office is a perfect excuse for a day off, no? *grin*

Civil Definitions

2010-10-27T00:23:00.000+08:00

I'm sorry, did you say December?!

It’s no secret that the civil service has a bit of a bad rep when it comes to turnaround time. “Blazing fast” isn’t a term that’s traditionally associated with the service.

Blame the numerous teh-tarik breaks....*snigger*

I must admit that it’s not always justified, this stereotype, for I do know a select few in the service who would stand head-to-head with the best that the private sector has to offer. Point is, though, that these are far and few in between.

For the most part, the service is a slothful little thing, though one that’s not completely devoid of charms. For one, their meetings usually have the best refreshments around...*guffaw*

The slothfulness bit was, however, highlighted quite hilariously at a meeting that Emily and I attended yesterday - one involving a roomful of government officials and academicians.

We spent about two hours and a bit thrashing through a complex collaboration agreement that was due to be entered into by no less than six government-run institutions. When most of the pertinent issues were finally sorted, we did our usual recap of the points of agreement and quickly reviewed and approved the minutes of the meeting to make sure that everyone was on the same page.

Then came the crucial bit of setting the date for the next meeting. Keeping in mind that this project of theirs was classified as massively urgent, the chairman of the meeting, HS, checked his calendar, mumbled some incoherent bits of speech and then proudly proclaimed:

“We just have to meet again as soon as possible..since this is urgent, kan, how’s December 22nd for everyone?”

You could see Emily’s eyes pop wide open. She leaned over to me and whispered:

Emily : Did he just say DECEMBER?
Me : Yeah. December. 22nd.
Emily : Okaaaaaaay. Thought I heard wrong.
Me : Make a note of it in our calendar.
Emily : December. You SURE he didn’t accidentally say the wrong month?!
Me : Quite sure. But just in case, let's send a reverse confirmation when we get back to the office....we don't want a repeat performance of last Tuesday's debacle.
Emily : *snigger*

So here’s a tip for you folks. When dealing with the service, and they say something’s urgent, don’t worry. You have a few months, at least, to mull over it....*snigger*

Malaysia Boleh indeed.

Weekend Roundup No.24/2010 - Work Be Gone

2010-10-25T00:28:00.001+08:00

So you actually kept the Blackberry off for a whole weekend?
I mean, like seriously seriously off, and not just on silent?

Finally. After six straight weeks of fifteen hour days and working weekends, I finally had two days off for myself. Not that work dried up, mind you, but rather, the kind of work that was flowing in as Friday drew to a close wasn't anything that couldn't wait till Monday. So as the work day came to an end, I left the work laptop behind and gleefully hit the power button on the Blackberry to kill any chances of receiving work related mails over the weekend.

Without the work bits nagging at me, I got down to properly enjoying the weekend, starting with breakfast with the NuttyCrew at LaBodega @ Pavilion:

M. Doing her best impersonation of a Bond Girl. Not one of her more successful poses, this....*snigger*

The Nutty Breakfast of choice.....yummmmmm. Two poached eggs on toast, with sausages, bacon, baked beans and half a grilled tomato. AL obviously shared my enthusiasm for this delicious platter of cholesterol....*guffaw*

Energized from a hearty breakfast and a quick update on gym goss, I decided to engage in one of my favourite things....retail therapy. Instant pick-me-up, this. Twice as effective as Prozac, in half the time....*grin*

Suitably armed with a wad of cash and not insignificant amounts of credit, we went on a marathon of sorts, weaving our way from shop to shop. LV. Cole Haan....and much to M's disbelief, I even mucked about inside the Apple Store. But worry not, folks. I didn't succumb to the charms of LoopyFruitCentral. I instead satisfied my long-ignored fetish for leather and got me a few bits and pieces from Braun Buffel:

My favourite of course, being this lovely little key holder. The key to Hans was just screaming for a posh cover to save it from the daily knocks and bumps that I tend to inadvertently subject it to. It was only apt that the keys to a German car be kept in a piece of German leather....*snigger*

On our way out of Pavilion, M and I spotted this. I think it may have been modeled loosely on her. Just add a bald spot and copious amounts of red paint, and voila!! *grin*

Later that day, familial duties beckoned as the Royal Family descended upon the NuttySister's abode in Bandar Utama to celebrate Babysaurus' 11th and the NuttyBro's 40th birthdays, which were just days apart.

In the best tradition of this motley crew, I was tasked with getting the cake at the 11th hour, so Secret Recipe was the only choice. When I selected this White Chocolate Macadamia Cream cake, it looked decidedly spartan, in a nice Zen sorta way. But when I picked it up, I nearly had a cardiac when I saw what they had added on to the confection:

Which part of "just the message" didn't they get, I wonder.....*sigh*

The birthday boys, however, didn't mind the eyesore one bit, as they eagerly blew out the candles.....

.....and promptly murdered the cake:

Never let straight boys handle cake-slicing duties. God made women and gay men for a reason......*guffaw*

I do however, have a suspicion that their eagerness for cake was prompted in part by the fact that there was barely enough grub for the whole lot of us. It was, as always, a pot-luck affair. But what possessed them to think that a bowl of TomYam, a salad and ten teeny-tiny pieces of Pandan Chicken with rice would be enough to feed a party of eight adults and four children, I'll never know.

I ended up ordering six pizzas to supplement the meagre spread when it became really rather apparent, from the kids' rather vocal howls of hunger, that everyone's appetite was far larger than the spread that was on the dining table.

And in case you're wondering, yes, we did polish off all six of those pizzas....*grin*

Post dinner, while the NuttyFamily was busy figuring out my gender orientation, and if I was bottom or top, I amused myself with this little fella:

Dogs. They really do make ALL the difference to morbidly distressing family dinners.....

And this helped too:

A FantasticFour figurine with a hilariously amusing trait:

No matter how hard I pulled at the thing, it just kept stretching and stretching. I spent HOURS testing the limits of this blue wonder.

Now if only real boys were this flexible....*guffaw*

Sunday soon swung by, and as usual, I met up with the girls for lunch:

A lunch which naturally, included a healthy portion of vegetables.....just like what the good doctor prescribed:

What? It's a carrot cake! Carrots are vegetables!

Over post-lunch coffee, I introduced M to this new game I discovered for the BlingPod:

Airport Mania. They have two versions, the full version, which isn't free, and the Lite, which is. BlingPod has the former, and although it has just a fraction of play options when compared to the full version, it's still a source of endless hours of fun with the loopy fruit.

The aim of the game? To play the role of an Air Traffic Controller and manage an airport. You have to assign runways for inbound and outbound flights, assign gates for embarkation and disembarkation, make sure planes get fueled and repaired if necessary and at the same time, set up holding patterns for incoming flights if there aren't any available gates. It's like playing God, basically....*guffaw*

The day I downloaded this fantastic little App, I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning running my little airport. But that was nothing compared to the scene that greeted us when M took over the controls. From the moment I handed BlingPod over and taught her the basics, the woman was hooked:

M. At 3.30pm.....

M. At 3.45pm......

M. At 4.15pm.....

And for your benefit, ladies and gents, a sample of what we had to endure for the remaining hours of the evening:

Cosmo : Aiyoh. FacePalm (tm) lah!

At least her Tourette seems to be far better controlled these days, eh? *guffaw*

But enough about me. How was your weekend, folks?

Sixty at Thirty

2010-10-21T00:18:00.002+08:00

Next time, if you don't see me waiting for the damned shuttle, for heaven's sake, call me!

Senility, contrary to popular belief, isn’t the sole preserve of the aged and infirm. The young and the restless, apparently, are quite capable of being similarly afflicted. Proof positive of this came to yours truly this week.

Woke up on a sunny Tuesday morning – nay, more like LEAPT out of bed - with alarms and red flags going off in my head. Meeting at 10am, I suddenly recalled. UBN Tower. That’s halfway across town. Right smack in the middle of KL’s notorious CBD. My alarm clock showed 8.45am. In morning traffic, and even with the most optimistic of estimates, that trip would be an hour’s worth of commute.

Fuckity fuck. Why the hell didn’t I set the alarm to ring at 8.00am as I should have? This is why people need boyfriends, I reckon!

Nevermind. No time to ponder. I jumped into the shower, did the usual grooming routine, got dressed and dashed out the door with morning coffee in hand and half a breakfast bar stuffed in my mouth.

To the Batmobile!

I decided to take Betsy. Small. Manoeuvrable. Peppy. Perfect for squeezing past bottlenecks.

My turquoise baby and I battled the morning traffic down to KL’s infamous CBD and ended up parking in an impossibly tight parking structure built, no doubt, to cater to nothing larger than Peroduas and Protons.

9.35. Late, but not by much. I can still blame the traffic.

I got through security and headed up to my client’s office, perspiring ever so slightly under all that Thomas Pink. I calmed myself down as I walked towards reception and asked for my client, ML.

This conversation subsequently ensues:

ML : Hi there Nut! What a pleasant surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure of your surprise visit?
Me : Surprise visit? I wish. You’re such a joker. Shall we get down to discussing your agreement?
ML : Urm.....is that today?
Me : Yeah. It is. Did you forget? *giggles*. See? I have today’s meeting right here on my organizer.
ML : It says Thursday.
Me : Yup. Thursday.
ML : Today’s Tuesday, Nut.
Me : *blink* *blink*
ML : *grins* I hope this trip isn’t going to show on my bill....*snigger*
Me : *facepalm*

Called Emily immediately after this little debacle to relate to her this massive scheduling error on my part. There was no joy to be had there as I distinctly recall hearing a dull thud - which I suspect was her falling off her chair - followed by hysterical laughter.

Emily : Hahahahahahahahahhahahahaha
Me : Shuddup. This is your fault, you know that, right?
Emily : Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Me : You should have called when I didn’t show up at the office for the shuttle! Didn’t you wonder where I went?
Emily : Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Me : I see this conversation isn’t going very far......
Emily : Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Me : There better be coffee on my desk when I get to the office.
Emily : Hahahahahahahahahahahaha
Me : *sigh*

So yeah. Senility setting in at 30-ish. Who would’ve thunk, eh?

At this rate, I reckon I’ll have all the age-related maladies of an octogenarian by my 40th birthday. A bright future, it certainly is not. *groan*

Vicarious Voyeurism

2010-10-19T00:22:00.001+08:00

Hmm...will you look at that status update. Wonder who's that bloke he's having supper with....

I’ve come to realise that the QueenMother monitors my every move. Via Facebook, no less. And I blame my brother for this. Introducing the iPad with its idiot-proof Facebook app to her has opened up a whole new world of vicarious voyeurism for the lady. Much to my dismay.

Her efforts at this brand of espionage was previously hampered by the need to turn on and log in to check her News Feed, something she manages about once a day, thanks to the intricacies of a PC start-up routine. But now, with the advent of the blasted fruit, she has access to a live stream of all her children’s whereabouts on the internet.

Crap.

So when I post something even mildly suggestive of a romantic liaison these days, she gets all excited and sends me a text within minutes of the post going up.

Who’s Ms. Pee? Is she single?

Thing is, even with the presence of significantly incriminating posts on my profile alluding to my sexuality, the QueenMother has yet to latch on to the fact that her offspring has little interest in Ms. Pee and her ilk. No offence to the fairer gender, of course.

Recently, I posted a pic of KS and I having supper over the weekend. I thought it was absolutely hilarious that we were having a banana split at 1am in the morning at a mamak stall. Moments like these, were just made for Facebook.*snigger*

The pic went up at noon. At 12.30 sharp, I get a call from the dear ol’ lady. And it went a little something like this:

QM : Wah....ice cream at night ah? Really enjoying life huh?
Me : What to do...it was a pretty warm night...
QM : So who’s that with you lah?
Me : Friend of mine from the UK. He’s back for a holiday so we’ve been hanging out a bit...
QM : Does he have a girlfriend?
Me : Urm.....no....
QM : What does he do?
Me : He’s a doctor....a radiologist, to be entirely accurate....
QM : How old is he?
Me : About my age. Why the sudden interest in KS?
QM : No lah....just asking....want to know a bit about your friends mah.
Me : Hmmmm....
QM : So he’s a doctor and he’s single? No girlfriend meh? Quite handsome what, the guy!
Me : Yes, still single. No girlfriend.
QM : He gay ah?
Me : *gulp* Urmmmmm........
QM : Better don’t hang around too many gay guys lah.....you might turn gay!
Me : *jaw drops*
QM : Anyway...have to go. Your brother wants to go out. Catch you next week! Bye!

I think I just got hit by the motherly equivalent of the infamous “Shock & Awe” campaign.

Coming out. It’s just not as easy as it used to be, I tell ya! *sigh*

Birthdays Galore

2010-10-14T00:12:00.000+08:00

Two birthdays in a week. That’s gotta be a record of sorts somewhere. More so when both birthday girls happen to play rather major roles in my Nutty reign.

This time round, that special someone is none other than everyone’s favourite Psycho Bitch.

Yup. It’s none other than M. The blogger formerly known as AgentM. No thanks to the complexities of compulsory retirement at the secret service, she’s lost the fancy prefix. So it’s just plain M now. *guffaw*

Contrary to popular belief, we weren’t always inseparable, M and I. In fact, I do very much suspect she suffered a tinge of disappointment when she found out that I, of all people, was to be her RPM mentor two years back.

I on the other hand, was just plain upset that I didn’t get the super hot, super cute, buffed hottie of a trainee named after an ex-American President. I would have gladly given THAT bloke private tutorials at NewK.

“I got THAT one? Dang. Why do I ALWAYS get the weird ones? Is her hair PURPLE? Seriously?”

But as people would say, fate has a funny way of hooking people up in the best of ways. From what was a strictly professional relationship, this odd bond spontaneously blossomed. Not quite sure what gave rise to it, to be honest. It just crept up on us when we weren’t looking - though I do believe sharing almost the exact same taste in men had something to do with it.

Not so much these days, though. M has seemingly moved on to slightly...urm....'spicier' flavours when it comes to her testosterone fixes. *guffaw*

She does have her moments though, this lady, and I’ve seen it all in the last two years:

Don’t ever point out manly goodness while she’s driving. The risk of ending up wheels-up in the bushes is unfathomably real.

Don’t ever let her teach when Mr. Sex is in the studio. You might as well ask her to make up choreography as she goes along.

Don’t even think about annoying her during that time of month. It’s like throwing a grenade into a nursery and seeing what happens. It’s seldom pretty. And no one walks out alive.

And don’t ever ask or teach her anything technical. It’s like teaching a 3 year old the complexities of launching the space shuttle. She goes blank between the ears before you can even say “instruction manual”. Facepalm moments are virtually guaranteed.

But still. For some strange, inexplicable reason, we get along swimmingly well.

So here’s to you, M.......HAPPY BIRTHDAY! ;)

Not the first time I’ll be wishing you this, and I certainly hope it won’t be the last! *grin*

Gaga On-Board

2010-10-12T00:32:00.000+08:00

Gaga. She’s weird. She’s eccentric. She’s outspoken. And though she’s not always the last word in good taste, she does have the tendency of making the headlines. There’s just no escaping it – like it or not, you can’t help but take notice of her.

I reckon this was the logic when the creative little blokes and blokettes at Cebu Pacific Airline came up with this odd little way of giving their passengers the customary pre-flight safety briefing:

Sure beats the monotonous, dreary affair with disinterested hostesses in most flights, no?

I do wonder though...couldn’t they have done it to something a little more pink? Say, Vogue? Perfect for striking a pose at the end, don’t you think? *snigger*

On another note, was speaking to dear old' buddy KS the other day. He's recently returned from ol' Blighty for a short sabbatical of sorts. As it turns out, we have recently acquired a common acquaintance. A client of mine, to be exact. And it has recently come to my attention that this fella has rather oddly, been sniffing around about me. And not in a pleasant way either.

First I find out he's been going through my Facebook profile. This came to light as he walked me to the elevators at his office one day and just out of the blue, asked me "Hey, how do you know KS?".

Browsing through my photos and friends list, apparently, led him to realise that I knew KS. Nothing out of the ordinary, admittedly....

But then, and this is probably the most troubling bit....he apparently CALLS KS in the UK to ASK him how he knew me, and engages in what can only be termed as the Hunt for Pink October.

How do you guys know each other?
He's not married, is he?
How long have you been friends?
Does he have a girlfriend?
When were those pics of you two together taken?

A long distance call halfway across the globe to ask questions totally irrelevant to my function as his legal counsel.

Like seriously.....whatthefugg.

Birthday Booker

2010-10-11T00:38:00.001+08:00

A departure from the usual weekend roundup to wish someone rather special, a Happy Birthday. And it's none other than everyone's favourite fag hag, the Goddess of Confection, the Mistress of Absolut, the High Priestess of Cocktails.....

Need I go on? I think not. *snigger*

Hard to imagine we've known each other for over fifteen years, Booker and I. An eternity in other words, for admittedly the extended Nutty circle of friends hasn't always been able to withstand the test of time. Booker, and a select few who have faithfully remained on my speed dial, have rather thankfully, always been there, despite the obvious challenges associated with befriending borderline psychopaths. *grin*

So it's with some degree of pride and relief that fifteen years, four apartment moves, five jobs, six cars and several boyfriends, later, I'm still able to wish this lovely lady a very Happy Birthday!

Here's to fifteen birthdays together - in a strictly non-romantic, fag & hag kinda way, that is - *grin* - and hopefully, fifteen more to come, Books! *snigger*

P.S (1): Hope you liked the birthday present.
P.S (2): Please make good use of it
P.S (3): White or black? Have you decided yet? *guffaw*

Fabulous Facebook Finds

2010-10-08T00:18:00.000+08:00

Had a bit of time on my hands yesterday at work, so I started trawling the depths my Facebook News Feed.

Friends airing dirty private laundry on their status updates – check
Friends finally finding that special someone and making it FB-Official – check
Good friends returning home – check

Then came the shared links.

Cute dog/kitten/pony videos – check
Hilarious accidents – check
Another Wondergirls skit – check

Then I spotted this lovely little video:

Which led to this discovery:

Culminating in this number:

Awww...he wrote a song about me! *guffaw*

But seriously. That voice! I'm totally baffled as to why this Joseph Vincent bloke hasn't yet managed to break out of the confines of YouTube.

Simon Cowell. Are you listening???

This rather unacceptable situation did however, spark a thought of sorts in my admittedly twisted mind...

Maybe I should hunt this little hottie down and bankroll his first self-titled album.

And no, before you accuse me of anything - rest assured, I won’t tie him down to a lifetime contract of debauchery, depravity or anything of that sort. I’ll just insist on a teeny-tiny acknowledgement on the album cover in return.

My Queen. Dedicated to HRH Nut.

Yup. That sounds about right. *guffaw*

Fresh Faced Joys

2010-10-06T00:11:00.001+08:00

Spot you on the bench press? I thought you'd NEVER ask!

For those who missed the memo, this Nut recently signed on for another gym membership. I blame this itch my credit card had. It was simply begging to have it scratched. And scratch it I did.

So this week marked my first visit to the new place for a proper workout of sorts. And the verdict so far?

Different. Well and truly different.

I’m not talking about the facilities per se, cos while the equipment and set-up may differ from one place to the next, most gyms are functionally the same. So I won’t bore you with details about that.

But what I will bore you with however, is a bit of math, for the place, rather unnervingly, has the hetero crowd outnumbering the PinkParade by a ratio of at least five to one.

Ladies and gents, the gay has left the building.

For a bloke used to seeing a sea of fully paid up members of the pink parade every time I walk through the turnstiles at the gym, the sight of 18,000 sq ft of fitness centre devoid of swishy gaits, hot pants and anything remotely fuschia was, quite frankly, unnerving. Yet, oddly comforting.

For once in a very long time, my pink-tinged guard went down completely.

Gravity took a firm hold of my gut, and I didn’t even bother fighting it.
I wasn’t bothered that my skin was borderline luminescent.
I didn’t really care that my hair was a mess.
And I didn’t give a rat’s ass that my shoe was missing a Nike swoosh.

Oh the joy of going incognito.

But that’s not to say the place didn’t have its fair share of distractions…..

There was the strapping young Australian kid bashing out sets on the squat rack with his buddy. Rock hard bodies, both of them. When one of them decided to strip off his sweat-drenched wifebeater to have a look at his abs in the mirror, I almost had a cardiac.

Then there were the Bench Press Twins. The sweaty, toned brotherly twosome had more than a passing resemblance to one Mr. Joseph Chang. And rather oddly, they were engaging in numerous homoerotic acts on the bench. If you’ve ever seen guys spot each other at the gym, you’ll know what I mean.

How anyone manages to lift that much weight with another bloke’s..urm….private structures…dangling inches away from one’s face is baffling to say the least. But oh what joy that sight gave me. Had to sit down, take a cold drink and think of QueenMother for a while after they left the room. *snigger*

And of course there was Mr. Bear and Mr. Cub at the cable cross. Porn star material, those two. Neatly manicured facial hair, military buzz, bulging pecs and a tan that could give J-Lo a run for her Latina money. The muted grunts emanating from them as they maxed out on their reps made the hair on the back of my neck go all stiff…along with other appendages further south of the Nutty border….*guffaw*

You’d think the fact that they were all straight would’ve put a damper on my joy, but no. It actually made it heaps more fun, for the simple fact that most straight blokes wouldn’t recognise a manly cruise if it smacked them straight in the face. *grin*

I think I could definitely get used to this place……

Next week’s agenda : Get to know the Bench Press Twins. And see if I can get them to partner up with me in TRX class…..

Wish me luck! *guffaw*

Nutty Ideas

2010-10-05T00:33:00.002+08:00

From the moment I saw the place, I knew it was going to be a disaster *snigger*

There are bright ideas, and then there are those that sit ever so slightly down on the lumens scale.

Examples of the latter are aplenty.....

Sticking your finger into an electrical socket, for one. Or a toaster, for that matter. Both of which, have been experienced personally by yours truly.

I loved putting my fingers into strange crevices – nuff said! *snigger*

Planning your RPM playlist first thing in the morning when you’re energized and gung-ho for a gut-wrenching workout is another. What seemed like a good idea at 11am in the morning is seldom a good idea after eight hours of work, I can tell you that much.

Staying up till the wee hours of the morning chatting with certain exes from across the globe, in full knowledge that there's a 9am meeting that very morning waiting for you also falls clearly on the dim side of the lighting switch. Sounding reasonably lucid and worth every cent of your hourly rate with barely four hours of sleep behind you is a challenge of biblical proportions.

Then of course there’s the impossible act of trying to fit an office, with a not-insignificant number of cars into a residential cul-de-sac of miniscule proportions.

The scene that greeted me as I returned to the NuttyFirm last Friday after a couple of post-lunch meetings demonstrated the nature of this problem to a tee.

Imagine eleven cars vying for space in a teeny-tiny cul-de-sac not much bigger than an RPM studio. Parking mayhem has never looked more amusing. Or felt more frustrating. Cars were strewn haphazardly in a mish mash of angles that would make a contortionist weep with envy. I reckon everyone had just returned from meetings from all over town, and just like me, were just too buggered to do the park & ride thing to get to the new office.

It was quite hilarious to see the NuttyBoss throw a hissy fit in the porch later that evening, when he realised that his path out of the driveway was blocked by quite a number cars. A grand total of six to be exact, all of which had to be shuffled around to let his Audi out of the blockade. A move made substantially more complicated by the fact that the owner of one critical piece of the vehicular jigsaw puzzle was nowhere to be found.

And here I thought MirandaMoments were beyond the grasp of the hetero crowd. *guffaw*

The office grapevine has it that we're getting a van of sorts in the next few weeks to run a shuttle between the old office, where we're now expected to park, to the new one in an attempt to put this parking debacle behind us.

This can't come a moment too soon - though it's still not the ideal solution, for the simple fact that it makes dashing in & out for meetings throughout the day infinitely more tiresome. *sigh*

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go reschedule my meetings so they're all lined up neatly back-to-back for the next week or so. *snigger*

United Colours of Toyota

2010-10-01T00:38:00.002+08:00

Had a bit of time after work yesterday for a bit of car shopping with Booker.

Yes, she's still looking.
And no, she still has not put a deposit down for any car whatsoever.
And yes, BookerMobile is still an oil leak away from being declared unroadworthy.

So we strolled into the Toyota showroom in Subang Jaya to check out the new Toyota Altis. She's tested this car before, but found the previous version just a bit too "uncle" for her taste.

Seriously, whomever thought orange-hued fake wood trim was a good idea for these cars ought to be shot.

The latest version of the Altis is a far more promising prospect.

Gone are the horrid orange hued timber strips,tacky shiny chrome accents and the ancient 4-speed auto gearbox.

In comes a modern variable valve timing equipped engine with not your conventional four, five or even six speed auto. No. Toyota went for the full monty and gave this new Altis no less than SEVEN speeds to mess about with.

And the new exterior, with its sporty side skirts, fancy headlights and fat alloys no longer lulls you into a slumber the moment you set your sights on it.

A winner on our hands then?

Not quite.

Cos the range of colours to choose from is dour at best.

Uncle silver.
Ah Pek grey.
Ah Beng white.

*yawn*

This colour so not the glam...

Why Toyota continues to insist on such a limited palette of colours for their cars baffle me to no end.

Thank GOD there was a shade of black on the colour chart. Matched with beige leather on the inside, this colour combination actually looked rather posh under the gleaming lights of the showroom.

Whether the gleaming poshness will remain under Booker's stewardship is another question altogether. *grin*

Now to convince her to hand over a cheque for the deposit......a task I suspect, will require all the clout of the United Nations to achieve....*snigger*

Berry Goodness

2010-09-30T00:23:00.003+08:00

Unless you’ve been living in a cave somewhere in Shah Alam, you should know by now that the iPhone4 fever has officially hit our shores. And it ain’t pretty.

The fever is quite literally taking the city by storm.

Everyone at the gym seems to be talking about it.

Facebook is awash with updates from giddy new owners of the loopy fruit.

Early adopters have become instant celebrities.

Rather expectedly, Emmett can’t stop raving about it.

And I see an endless line of people fawning over it at the Maxis Centres.

But I shall resist. For I’ve seen the future. And it’s a berry beautiful one:

Oh be still my inner geek. Hur hur.

And while we're still on the topic of loopy fruits, I have a feeling one such fruit drafted this offending ad, as seen at Bangsar Village II, at a new store that's about to open its doors to the public:

The itch to write to Ms. Annie Wang at JP Fashions is rather severe, I must admit....

Dear Ms. Annie Wang,

I refers to your ad looking for the most talented staffs.

I understands that you are lookings for the experienced retail staff to join your first flagship store.

I especially interest in the job where I assist the shop manager.

I includes here my resume.

If I don't get the job for your first flagship store, when you open your second or third store I would like to be considers for the position also. Better still if they also flagship stores.

Thank you for your considers and I looks forwards to our interview appointment.

Regards,
Nut

Reckon that will get me a job there? *snigger*

When It Rains

2010-09-28T00:18:00.001+08:00

My dear. I think something's leaking again...

Murphy’s Law dictates that, anything that can go wrong, will inevitably go wrong.

This law, ladies and gents, is one that simply cannot be broken, not even by the mightiest or brainiest of men. And so it was that, despite the best efforts of everyone at the firm, we had a crash course lesson in Murphy’s theories on the day that the NuttyFirm’s new home was opened for business.

One Mr. Nevil Maskelyne once wrote:

“It is an experience common to all men to find that, on any special occasion, everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Whether we must attribute this to the malignity of matter or to the total depravity of inanimate things, whether the exciting cause is hurry, worry, or what not, the fact remains.”

If there ever was a more apt description of what transpired last Friday, this would be it.

The list of things that went belly-up on our first day at the new premises ran like a script from a botched episode of “Better Off Ted”.

First, thanks to an over-optimistic electrician, the building’s main power tripped within minutes of the official start of business, leaving the whole office without power just as the guests of the day began arriving.

This, rather unfortunately, is generally what happens when a residential building’s power supply is asked to cope with a commercial demand for power. It throws a major hissy fit and promptly throws in the towel....

A few minutes later, and after a frantic search through the building for the main power distribution box, power got restored, and with it, came the next problem...

Soon after the lights were lit once again all over the office, the central air conditioning in the main reception lobby started to act up. It developed this nasty habit of rather randomly, leaking on the guests. Sadly, I suspect, none of them were into watersports, so the offending air conditioning had to be switched off, leaving the lobby defenceless against the ravages of your typical Malaysian afternoon.

Hot and sweaty guests. In another time and place, and with a different set of people on the premises, this could’ve been a precursor to far naughtier things.....but alas.....

As the air conditioning to the lobby was turned off, its companion in the lower floor decided to go on the fritz too, spewing out nothing but hot air.

Much like some of my clients, truth be told. *guffaw*

As a result, most of the lower floors were simply too uncomfortably warm for any work to be done. Productive, we certainly weren’t, that day....

Though having said that, it wasn’t solely the air conditioning’s fault that nothing got done. We also had no way to contact the outside world. This could be credited solely to the exemplary competence of our local telecommunications provider. Despite numerous attempts at securing a confirmed appointment with the installation crew from the lovely folks sitting in one blasted curvy tower in Pantai, our broadband service never quite got connected in time for the opening.

The promise of super-fast connectivity through fibre optic came to naught as we struggled to keep business ticking over on nothing but Blackberrys and one solitary Maxis Broadband modem.

And don’t even get me started on the snake that almost got into the office through the gym - spotted via our CCTV network by our eagle-eyed receptionist no less. But at least this particular event had a positive side effect - it demonstrated the swiftness in which our lower floors could be evacuated. *snigger*

Then there were the monkeys. And I don’t mean certain colleagues of mine. But, seeing that this deserves a whole entry on its own, I think I’ll save it for another day. A zoologically-themed entry, perhaps. With bears and cubs as a side-show....*snigger*

Oh. And did I mention the coffee machine? That too, fell victim to dear ol’ Murphy.

Today, as we came in to work early Monday morning, the fancy new coffee machine, all of 3 days old, spewed its last brew and promptly spluttered to a halt, leaving the entire office severely under-caffeinated.

So much for saving on my Starbucks bill........*sigh*

But there was one teeny-tiny, but financially significant, silver lining to this little cloud of gloom on opening day, though.

Within minutes of the NuttyFirm officially commencing business at the new address, we had not one, but two clients settle their not-insignificant accounts with us. Clients who conventionally, do not volunteer payment until appropriately threatened with strongly worded letters from accounting. Clients who, mind you, don’t usually bat an eyelid to having six-figure outstanding balances owing to us. A pleasant relief if there ever was one. And a sign of better things to come, perhaps. This in itself, made the move almost worth it.

Almost....

So long as you ignore the parking issue, that is.....*sigh*

Out With The Old

2010-09-24T00:18:00.000+08:00

Just a dash of paint here and it's all ready for Her Majesty....

In just a little under eight hours, "Le Big Move" will happen. Yep - the day of reckoning has finally arrived. We're moving. And there's no turning back. So farewell little corner office of four years:

If these walls could talk.......*snigger*

Four years' worth of memories, trials and tribulations caught in writing, packed neatly into five boxes. And that's after throwing out a good three or four boxes worth of junk, mind you. It simply astounds me how much crap I've managed to collect over the years here. I even found ticket stubs for my return flights to Bali dating back to 2009. Sure brought back some pleasant memories, that.....

And so, from tomorrow onwards, this will be my home for the duration of every work day at the NuttyFirm:

Not exactly the last word in space or luxury, but at least the view is reasonably inspiring:

And meetings should be a mite more pleasant now that our main conference room actually features natural light streaming through proper windows. There's even a ceiling that, at long last, doesn't threaten to scalp you with its less-than-generous headroom.

We finally have a proper kitchen too, though I hear there is a prohibitory order in place with 100-odd items on it that kinda limits what we can do in it. Cooking anything with belacan is item 24. Durians are right at the top of the list, I believe. *guffaw*

And oh...remember the "little" gym that was proposed when the office was being planned? Looks like it turned out a wee bit bigger than I had imagined:

Though whether or not this place will actually see any use is debatable, especially when everyone I know in the firm either has no interest in working out whatsoever or has several gym memberships to his or her name.

Then again....with that many points of restraint....urm....I mean....benches and racks, it may prove handy for other sorts of after-work activities...*ahem*

So the perfect office then?

Not quite. Cos parking is still, and I reckon, will be a persistent pain-in-the-arse for everyone.

The car porch, as it turns out, isn't as accommodating as the NuttyBosses had originally thought. Instead of five cars, it can now provide shade for only two. Three at a squeeze. Four if one of the partners volunteers to downgrade to a Kancil. Which thus leaves eighteen cars without proper car parks.

It should prove rather interesting to see how this little issue gets sorted out in the next few weeks....

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go scour Motor Trader for a cheap-as-chips, disposable junk of a car that will take to being parked in the sun all day without complaint. Cos I'll be damned if I have to leave Betsy or Hans out in the sun all day.

Booker. If you're reading this, would you consider selling me BookerMobile? Pwetty Pwease? *guffaw*