I'm Okay Now Ladies and gentleman,

I feel okay now. Thank you for your kind attention. Today I shall resume into the normal me. As in, not so generous with bad words.

Okay. Running off now.

See ya.

  ¶ 23:03

  CURSE THAT IDIOT WHO STOLE MY PARKING LOT AND WHOSE WIFE SMILED AT ME AND CLAPPED HER HANDS IN GLEE. AND WHO, AFTER I HAD MADE A PATIENT ROUND AROUND THE CITRUS PARK BLOCK TRYING TO GET ANOTHER PARKING LOT, IN AFTER LESS THAN 3 MINUTES, DECIDED NOT TO BUY ANYTHING FROM PARKSON AKTIF, AND INSTEAD GET BACK INTO HIS CAR, AND MOVE HIS CAR OUT RIGHT BEFORE MY VERY EYES AND GIVE THE STUPID LOT TO ANOTHER IDIOT FUCKER.

I HOPE HIS BLARDY COCK GIVES WAY JUST AS HE TRIES TO FUCK HIS STUPID WIFE TONIGHT.

yes i'm perfectly capable of profanities and i mean it about the cock dying. idiot son of a bitch, he looked blardy educated i tell you.... that bastardized smirk that his wife was having on her face as she lightly clapped her hands in glee while staring into my eyes, MY EYES, boy oh boy, one fine day, if our paths ever cross again she's going to hope that she was never ever born.

back to me.........................

WHY SO USELESS ONLY CAPABLE OF SAYING BAD WORDS ONE? in the end here i am wailing at home over an unfulfilled craving for a chocolate banana cake slice. and then stupid tears just won't seem to go. I feel like a 6 year old, now the best part is I know its being childish but I can't seem to control these stupid tears .... dunno what the hell is wrong with me.... idiot idiot idiot... shut up shut up shut up....

BOY I HOPE THAT GUY IS SNEEZING SENSELESS NOW AND HIS WIFE IS INFERTILE OR SOME STUPID SHIT.

ok. my vocabulary sucks shit when i'm pissed. i'm reduced to shit shit and more shit.

*WAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL WaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa bbbbbbOOOOOOoooohhhhhhhhooooooooooo I WANT MY CAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*   ¶ 22:32

  What's Different About Her There's this little bit in this person here, here this girl, the one's who's typing out all this crap. Okay, honestly, honestly she is NOT schizophrenic... she's finally learnt how to trust her instincts and at least accept herself for who she is. Okay, okay so once in a while she gets all those things like how on Saturday a friend told her, constructively, 'You know, sometimes you can't be all that honest.'

Or, quite a long while ago, another person she loved so dearly told her before, 'You need to learn how to be less direct, less straight, less .... well, you need to twist and bend the corners slightly.'

Hey, hey, she's got those words written down in Chinese in my graduation booklet, signed, yours sincerely, yours eternally ... well well... what's past is past.

So it took her quite a bit of learning to trust the person in her. Or to trust people, newer, actually, mostly older, friends, real real friends who could honestly accept the evil sharp-tongued person as who she really really is.

'I love you for the person that you are...'

You know she remembers his favourite song, Secret Garden, that line that was his favourite, that one line where Renee Zellweger says, '... I love him for the man he almost is.'

Surely, that's what it's all about. Nothing else matters?!

Right now, what really matters is herself, herself putting that little bit of faith in herself, trusting the world when for once, she's finally being told that she doesn't really need to pretend, or 'not be so honest' anymore. For every ten people on earth that hates her guts, there's got to be one person who loves her for having them.

And that one person is ever so worth being herself for.   ¶ 19:00

  Mamak Weekend Nights I've turned into this Mamak-must-go-girl on weekend nights... Every week, for the past 4-5 months, I've been a permanent fixture at Steven's Corner, near the bubble tea blender area, feasting on either puree or roti tissue tambah gula, sometimes I get more adventurous and order a plate of sotong goreng *yummy* and yak the night away. I usually don't leave the place until it's about 1 am.

Last night was the same (yes, and despite a resistant pain in the throat that doesn't seem to want to go away). My ex-coursemate, Shu Liang, was in town, trying to finish off his annual leave days, and there we were again, wagging off our tongues with gossip and more gossip, 'Don't you wonder if so-and-so is sneezing terribly now that we're talking so much about her?'

Well, let's put it this way, we're all friends, and you know? This really isn't about gossip. At the end of the day, we do care for each other and we're just ranting out our feelings about that person, also putting out frustrations that we otherwise can't express because that person just won't be able to accept direct face-to-face criticisms.

At the end of the day... we're just tired of masks, and it's nice to let them down, if only for one night. That's why these Weekend Night Features are so vital.   ¶ 12:52

  Work on Saturday Hello! It's the last Saturday of the month and here I am blogging from the office. Look, there's the renovation guy walking all over the place, they're fixing up Design to make way for more editors, or so I heard. some of the cabinets have been brought over to just outside my cubicle, allowing me more privacy, BUT, less breathing space. My body seems to be heated up internally, but if you put your palm over my forehead and neck, you'll say that there's nothing wrong with me. The sore throat hasn't gone yet, it goes every time I take the doctor's prescription though. Otherwise, I'm pretty ok, that's why I'm here today.

Mum has been notified that for the next few months I'll be seeing less of her, become more edgy, become more sensitive and more prone to tears of frustration. The more sensitive part came yesterday when I almost yelled at my colleagues on the phone when I found out that they had hid my pillow. Well, yell I didn't. Tried very hard to sound nice (I knew it was a prank), but the moment I put the phone down, I felt tears ... Oh dear, oh dear. Minishorts, you're not being in control of yourself. Not anymore.

Me? I blame it on the weather. That has caused this horrid cold. I want to get well soon because I want to be all nice and happy again. And then the whole world will seem to be a better place to live in. Because I'm nicer to talk to then!   ¶ 09:26

  Sick Again Something is definitely wrong with this body of mine. I seem to fall ill once every week. The first attack came four weeks ago, on a Monday morning, when I suddenly had this horrible bout of vomiting (even without having breakfast). The next day I was diagnosed as having LBP and after that, it was very dizzy-fying week... Just on Sunday, while doing the cha-cha, the world suddenly started to twirl before my eyes... a few spins later and I was out, when I woke up Mum was worried sick, 'You're getting really sick, girl.'

I thought I would be fine. Well not so.

Am now down with a terrible sore throat and a flu. Something's gone awfully wrong with this husk that I call my body... And the worst thing is, I have an MC but because work's so terribly heavy... I can't leave anything behind... I need work and work and work... otherwise nothing's ever going to get done.

I miss my holidays, I miss the time when I could have month after month of bumming around, I miss the time when a holiday meant going out and having fun until the wee hours of the morning. Now, a holiday means time for rest and sleep.

See... it's so sad being in the workforce. But can't complain. I heard it's worse not being in it.   ¶ 07:33

  Here's Another Incoherent Post A while ago a friend mentioned something about how Chinese mothers don't like their daughters dating men with longer hair. I remembered how I agreed 100 per cent with her, how I used to slightly smile, how I had that great feeling of internal victory you get as that little rebel within you cheers whenever old-fashioned friends remark casually, 'Eh he's got long hair!' And then she was saying that a sign that your man was really in love with you would be when he changes drastically to fit you. 'Who knows, he might even cut his hair to make you happy!' That particular friend had said.

My perceptions on both parties changing for each other are now a far cry from what I used to think before I broke up with my last boyfriend. So have my views on love. Oh yes, I was really idealistic, very optimistic... Of course it never did help that my closer friends at that time shared those same thoughts (most of them are still single now...) Maybe we were brought up with the opinion you've got to have standards, and if you can't really acquire those standards, you make do with what you have, and then try to move that person 'you love' slowly into models that are more akin to them standards that you had. No compromise.

Not to say that change in a person does not occur... but instead of modifying a simple A into the A that you really want, you find that you're never easily satisfied. After you've achieve point 1, you want point 1a, and then point 1b, and then more... Maybe both me and my ex were trying too hard to move ourselves into the models that we have each set up for each other... I wanted him to become the ideal person that I would marry, he wanted me to behave like the ideal trophy wife. So we changed, but in the end we couldn't take not being ourselves anymore... and we broke apart. Now we're not even acknowledging each other's existence. I mean. He's not acknowledging my existence. You all know I acknowledge his.

The point is, if you're going to say that when you fall in love, you will unconsciously change for the other person, but let's be honest here, how much are you really willing to change? How much will you be aware of changes or be unaware of them? And then how much as you willing to admit that you're actually conscious of those changes?

Now back to my bf's shorter hair. Ever since my bf cut his hair, I've been trying very hard to get used to that new image of his. He looks almost 6 years younger now. On the day he cut it, I sat into the passenger seat and stared at him. It was almost like dating a different person! Okay, so I'm slightly or maybe, very bothered by his new look. All of a sudden I feel years older. Maybe that's why I'm becoming more and more child-like in the office. I don't know. I like it more when it was longer. Oh boy, I'll just have to get used to it I guess, although he consoles me saying that it'll take a month to grow again...   ¶ 10:01

  Here It Comes Okay. So everybody on the team was quite dreamily optimistic about the would be outcome... one of us was so excited she had a stroke, the other day I fainted while twirling to some cha-cha beats... and get slightly more irritable lately. I've been re-reading 'The Yellow Wallpaper' and suddenly, all the cryptic things in Perkins-Gilman's masterpiece just made perfect sense; who are we to assume what she was trying to say as she wrote that story?

Oh well...

I've just acquired my very first remarkable achievement in my career path, and henceforth, my workload will increase triplefold. That's good news and bad news at the same time.

Oooooooh....... snippets of a very private conversation. No prizes for guessing who is who.

'If you bully me my blog readers will bully you in return one...'

'I didn't bully you also.'

'I say if mah...'

'I never say you were bad luck mah.'

'I know.'

  ¶ 23:09

  I'm Being Honest Honestly. You know it. When I say it breaks my heart to talk like that. But sometimes, I don't know what happens, I just can't control my feelings. Or all that bottled up pain and hurt... that usually, whenever sometime 'tiny' happens, I think, 'look, its a miniscule detail, it doesn't matter.'

Of course that fear of being hurt again always haunts me at the back of the mind...

But then I always thought that my tear ducts could be sealed shut, at will. Yucks. I'm such a wimp. I need to be in control, as my mother always tells me.

Just that, I don't want to feel like I'm some sort of jinx or bad luck charm. And whenever you say the things you said, you keep me up the whole night, wondering if I'm really good for you. When you look happy, I'm happy, because I feel that I'm good for you, but if things like this happen, it makes me sad, because suddenly, I think...

'What am I doing here?'

Because I don't want to be a jinx to anyone. That's all.

No, no. It's not what you think.  ¶ 23:23

  At the End of the Day It boils down to this. Puking my very guts out. Wallowing in un-admitted, disallowed self-discrimination. Not that I love to shove my lowly soul down to a corner, but you know what? Those taunts, oh boy, those taunts ... though unintended, can really get to you.

After an unplanned course in crypti-logy of course, one truly gets better and better at this. Sometimes you have that distinct smell of his very male scent breathing down your collar... girls, you know how her head would snap up, mouth slightly open, teeth exposed and that slight baring of her tongue as she pants, and she pants...

And you're just right, you know? It is erotic.

You know it when you feel the icy cold taste of sparkling fruit juice roll down your throat, feel that sweet taste of grapes envelope your sense as you sorely nod to yourself, 'Yes, yes, of course this tastes better than fermented grapes... wine just tastes horrible, it's usually for wannabes who want to pretend to be classier than others.'

But she is classier than others.

Or so she thinks.

At the end of the day, you realize just one thing. Everyone's a bloody hoax. Even though she hates to admit it. That woman on the bed, she moans, yes you know how she moans as his body grinds into her, animalistic, like that, it hurts but she tolerates the pain because, because, it is welcome. 'Pain'.

I don't like tolerating pain, but I don't seem to have a choice, dearies.

You, dearies, did you do your civic duty today?


  ¶ 15:15

  These Are a Few of My Favourite Foods
  ¶ 18:48

  And You Wondered Why They're Jobless Someone please tell those dudes at the government offices that implementing English zones needs a little more than posters and nice words. There's also the thing about dedication, and sincerity. And everything needs effort.

You were wondering why 50,000 of graduates are jobless? I'm wondering why the heck does a government office need so many employees when private MNCs are carefully selecting the 'right person' for the job. I suppose its probably really a matter of creating jobs for the market. And you know what? I really don't think these people appreciate the fact that jobs have been created for them. You ought to see them walk, they just saunter down the corridor while people like yours truly are waiting agitatedly for the documents to get certified.

'Cik boleh tak tolong dik...'

'ezcuz me this is English zon...'

'Oooh... okay could you help me... I've got this thing here that I need to get stamped and signed by an official...'

Stares blankly at me. Looks at my documents... 'Why is this in ... BI .... errr ... not in .... BM?'

Like WTF??!!! 'Errr... it's in BM. See..'

'Oh... eerr... yes.... errr.... sorry...'

'You know you've got an error in your English zone posters. It says Selected Service Counter instead of Selected Service Counters.'

'Errr...cakap sekali lagi?'

'Never mind.'

You know what's funny? The swish swish swish of the woman's baju kurung really gets to you you know... and then you wonder why on earth are you bothered with taking a whole day's leave, rushing to god-forsaken ends of the earth trying to get your documents certified when there's so many people in the office walking around, laughing around, all you need is two signatures on two xeroxed copies, you walk into the official's room, he's looking mighty busy at an almost empty desk and that guy asks you to, 'OK. Tinggalkan kat sana, pergi kaunter, nanti I bagi.'

And then you wait for a WHOLE fucking hour just to get two pieces of xeroxed copies stamped and signed. And then they say things about the private market not willing to give them chances and opportunities to prove their validity... when here I am, a recent entry into the private working environment, visiting a government office and getting frustrated over something so simple.

I know why there's bureaucracy now... there's just so many people they're employed, they've just have to create little flow in chores for them. Otherwise, what's the point of paying them?

The scary thing is, we're paying them. That's where our taxes go mind you. If I wanted to be racist, like how some people would go, they'll label them 'Malays', it's typical of them to be lazy. Maybe eight months ago I would say the same thing, because, now, let's be honest here, 99% of workers in government offices are Malays, and who's going to argue with me that they do seem terribly lethargic and slow-mo?

Maybe you'd like to come to a publishing firm, where there's no time to stoop for a rest even. The Malays in my company are the most hardworking people I've ever seen... and these people ARE certainly not jobless. Then, I see the great big divide... those people and these people. And I'm left hapless flailing in the middle as part of a more 'privileged' minority, so privileged that I'm not entitled to better education rights.

Anyway, I stopped complaining the moment I saw the Malays in my company. Right now? I'd respect that waiter working at the Chicken Rice Shop over a government service counter officer anytime. At least (s)he knows what 'service' means, and doesn't make my stomach wait.   ¶ 10:51

  No, Really I wasn't trying too hard you see. It's something I abhor too much, so I try my best not to do it, if possible, not ever. And, no, really. None of it was intentional.

I just wanted trust, and all of a sudden, it hit me that I wasn't being trusted as much as I thought I was. That's why I got sensitive, and that's why I cried.

But I'm okay now. And you've got to give me that much. When I say I'm okay, I'm okay, so do your best and please please please don't dwell on it. Because, like what I told people in need, the past, no matter how good, isn't worth focusing on too much. Because thinking too much about the past, will leave you no time for the present... and then what about the future. I'm not telling you to look in the future as well, because you've got to place your eyes and head right on this very, exact moment.

Because, now, that's all that matters. Now.   ¶ 13:07

  It's Happening Again Isn't it?

I told myself that it won't, at least I promise that I will try not to make it happen... but here I am, falling into that very same trap again. Maybe you know already, that it's just what I am, by nature, I'm terribly clingy... when I found a nice wall to lean against, I just can't leave it as it is, I have to leave my paw prints all over it, scratch it sometimes, and hug and press myself against it over and over again.

Ideally, walls that you lean against stay stationary; they don't run away, they don't get angry at you. But in my reality, the walls often find me too hot to handle. Of course, initially, I'm terribly exciting to be with, hey, she's your wildest dream come true, surely you would have known it by now. But my walls are alive, and they have feelings too, and they can't handle hot, burning tongs. When I burn a wall too much, there are marks, and the wall looks ugly. If I hit against the wall too hard, the wall cannot take the pressure, and you know what happens?

It falls down. It crumbles.

And suddenly, she's standing again, the wind strongly heaving against her, no wall to protect her. The storm and the lightning threatening their blows at her, no wall to hide behind.

I've been stranded in an unwanted storm before, when the strong walls I built around me suddenly decided to cave in all around me. That pain was intolerable, and I don't want that to happen again. I keep telling myself, I know I built the wall, I know I pulled the wall down, and I know the mechanics of how you can pull a wall down, how you can make the wall stronger. I don't want my new wall to crumble around me, I want to make it strong, and tall, protective, and reliable... so that I can run to lean against it when I need support...

I just cannot bear to see my walls falling around me again.

But somehow, somehow, I have that feeling that, that thing, that thing, is really, quite inevitable. Because like what they all say, 'That's expected of you.'   ¶ 21:40

  What Do You See?

No one was being provocative. Why did you assume? No one said anything was bad. Why did you say bad things?

Does it pleasure you to see people quarrel and fight? Now that you've gone and done it, I seem to think so. Some jokes are NOT meant to be made, some minds are NOT meant to be read. You know she's said it before, many times before, it's her house, and she's entitled to strip in it if she likes. If you catch a glimpse, well maybe you're lucky. But in the first place... how'd you know that when she's stripping, she's not merely just looking forward to a good tumble in bed with those that she holds close to her heart? Don't tell me you're always in a black T and tattered jeans even as you enter the bathroom.

See we all strip to cleanse ourselves... but the irony is, I'm not even allowed to clean myself in this place.

It's a curse, my dears, a terrible curse... but I can't seem to pull myself out of it.

And remember, you think you know her, but really, you don't. What you know, is only that five per cent... and even then, that five per cent, belongs to you because she says it can be yours.

Otherwise, scoot, go away, and don't even come back.

Am I being cryptic?   ¶ 09:48

  I want to make love to you That's the first thing I think of everytime I see you. I look at the lines, and I think... okay this makes me glow, this makes me happy, and then it comes...

That urge of wanting to make you smile, sigh, moan, grin sometimes... maybe cry, when I'm depressed.

I want to tell you you're oldly yellow, but yellow is good, yellow is bright... I imagine your hair falling all over me when I tell you these words, 'I want to make love to you.'

I want to, I don't try to, and I guess that the thing that makes it so real, isn't it? You, knowing that I mean it, when you look into my eyes...

Or read between the lines.

But then again, you think you know me, but you really don't.   ¶ 23:05

  I Am Still Yours Truly I am still the girl you knew when she was only 12. You knew me as that 'tall for her age' girl who used to strut down the old canteen walkways, holding a soaking oily, crispy chicken drumstick in her right hand and shouting at the top of her voice over the din of the recess crowd, 'Uncle, uncle make it 1.50 lah, every day I buy from you one.'

Exactly 12 years later it's the year of the monkey again, and chicken drumsticks don't go for 1.50 a piece anymore. My tastes are still the same, I still like soaking oily, crispy chicken drumsticks a lot. I go to McDonald's and I ask for my favourite Crispy Ayam McD, 'No breast meat, give me the thigh and drumstick area please,' and boy, I wish I didn't have to give a damn about fat and cholestrol.

I still like sprinkling lots of salt and pepper on my large fries, and I still talk at the top of my voice sometimes. They used to tell me to lower my voice a little, an index finger to the lips and eyes wide open like that. When you do that I will still wave my hands around my head, because an imaginary film of heat seems to have enveloped me in that moment.

I'm independant, yes, but I'm also dependant. I like to rest against a passenger seat headrest, and close my eyes and soak in that momentary bliss of peace. I'm assertive, yes, but I also want you to assert your rights. I want to be asked, not initiate movements to be asked, I want to really say no, not pretend to say no and then smile so that you'll beg me to say yes again.

I still like strolling down crowded pasar malam walkways and smell the horrible stench of chao tau fu at the end of the road, I still like looking at sparkling zircons that they display on dark velvet-like holders, and dream of the day my destined one would give me a 20-carat piece, hair spilling down from his forehead, and eyes, really meaning the things that he will say to me. I'm still that dreamer, I do believe in love at first sight, and watching too many HK series makes me still hope that one fine day, a nice and really cute guy would approach me at a fast food restaurant and ask for my phone number. Okay, so I'm older now and those dreams usually come true if you're still 16.... it never did happen when I was 16, but I still imagine.

I still write sad things, as we grow older experience makes us wiser and more frequently melancholic; but I write happy things too. I still plan to say things like this, and then end up saying other things at odd angles... and usually, still, I won't even know what I'm saying when I'm done saying things.

I want to be yours truly, and then when I really think about it, there's no need to want for anything. After all, I am still yours truly.  ¶ 15:54

  Me Goodi Goodi or Notti Notti?? minishorts : me <---- goodi goodi or notti notti
darren : ?
minishorts: me <---- goodi goodi or notti notti
darren : what is that? are you ok?
minishorts : me goody goody or naughty naughty??
darren : goody naughty
minishorts : what is goody naughty
darren : in between
minishorts : i blog this chat can or not?
darren : can... nothing's secretive what
darren : are you ok?
minishorts : why me not okay izzit
darren : sounds kinda ... are you on something?
minishorts : on what
darren : drug
minishorts : what drug
darren : ... cough syrup

Cough syrup where got make ppl ask this question oneeee............ Bleh   ¶ 19:20

  Lost in Myself My site was down for 1 1/2 days.

While that happened, I was diagnosed with having low blood pressure. I was blurring my way through the masses that hit the road at mid-noon, and when I arrived home, the bed just didn't look like a bed... it looked like heaven to me. By the time I woke up, it was already 5 pm, and Mum thought I had died in my sleep.

Right now, my BP's at 94, the doctor says that I need to push it higher. I still have this severe distaste for people who pretend to be who they are not. And then I like to think that I can sniff out these people through their writing. I'm not forgiving, nor am I kind to you. You know who because you wrote a whole post on it. You know who because you wrote me an e-mail and then ... yadda yadda ... I don't want to pretend to patronize you because I'm not your every day, 'oh let's just pretend to be nice' chick. Because most of the time I don't feel like being nice, and if I pretend to be nice, it sucks shit and I hate sucking shit. Its gross and disgusting and it makes me sick.

By now I'd understand why they're all going to label her a hypocrite, because heck, she herself, is always, always pretending to be who she is not. That's probably why you didn't like that past post? Well, hun, I loved it to bits because it is who I am. You see, in real life, usually I'm not being me. And I'm so good at not being me that I don't even know that I'm not being me.

Well maybe, that's true. I told Daryan with a great big sigh that I'm sick of putting on different masks everytime I talk to different people. I'm sick of being all traditional when I talk to my mother, I'm sick of being this educated, in-the-academia book-ish nerd when I face my authors and the tonnes of work I have to look at (I mean tonnes, after a 2-day MC it doesn't look like work is going to get done very soon). I'm sick of being the local-uni educated chick who behaves like a local-uni educated chick from a Chinese education background when I talk to my local-uni friends, I'm sick of being the BRAT you all know from the 1997 heydays. I'm sick of being very CHS-y when I talk to my friends in CHS and I'm sick of being jumpy and hyper whenever the need calls for me to be jumpy and hyper. I'm sick of it all because times like this, I forget who am I and I get all lost and depressed. I sighed and asked him who is the me that he loves, and he told me it's the 'real you'.

I asked him, 'Who am I? Who is the real me?'

He told me the real me is the person who sounds like Minishorts.

I'm still digesting that thought.

'You're you when you start to sound like Minishorts in the flesh.' Or something to that effect. When I speak in real life, when I sound exactly like Minishorts, that's ME, spanking clear, crystal loud.

That's probably why the day I was diagnosed with having low BP, my site had to be down too. Talk about freaky coincidence, how many people you know actually has her bodily physical health tied to the physical health of her website?   ¶ 09:53

  Be Natural, Be You I was telling Ed about how annoyed I was about certain people who go on PPS and ping their blog posts several times in order to get more hits. Wait, wait, I understand there's the thing about editing your posts and then when you hit publish again, you ping PPS again, that's why some ppl get multiple listings of a single post in PPS...

But multiples just don't count if that ping is about two or three hours apart. We know... no-lifers like yours truly who has PPS on the screen like most of the time, we do visit interesting sites and we do know if anyone edits anything.

Both Ed and SL know how much of a judgemental bitch I am most of the time. Okay, it's not just them. I think a lot of people would paste that word 'judgemental' right flat on my head, and even myself. *Hands up* yes I make judgements, and I do them all the time.

Well, darlings, it doesn't help when you're doing what I do for a living. Every other day I deal with other people's writing, and it doesn't take an idiot in my line to sniff out something that doesn't sound right. Doesn't sound you. Doesn't sound real. Before doing what I do now, I didn't have this sensitivity, but now I deal with authors every other Monday to Friday, and maintaining originality just isn't that easy anymore when everybody is trying too darn hard. And I get to read letters from wannabes a lot...

'Dear XXX,

I have before you a sample of my work. I am certain that it will make a very good book. I am a bla bla bla, bla bla bla, bla bla, enclosed also are certifications of my qualifications and bla bla bla bla bla...'

Regardless of how fluidly fantastic and how grammatically fluent you are, you want to be famous and you suffer at the hands of judgemental bitches like me. Who are forced to become bitchier and bitchier with every single passing hour. And if you try too hard, oh boy, you try too hard, and we can sniff it out like how a cat sniffs out a fresh/dead rat.

You got to be FRESH. You need to be ALIVE. You can't fake yourself.

This is precisely how academic professors can sniff out plagiarized work.

And also precisely how you may get listed on my blogroll. All you have to do is NOT try, and be original. You don't have to write very well at all, because if you are original, you're you. It's like how we marvel at a 5 year old kid's artistic interpretation of a cat, even though it doesn't look like a cat at all.

Rant ended.

Now you might be interested to know that Dina Zaman (Yes, THE Dina Zaman) has joined the blogosphere. Her blog is excrutiatingly natural and you've just got to go.
  ¶ 23:51

  Just A Day Absence for a day. I'm sure it won't do much harm right? I know I'm supposed to do a 30-day archive... but then by the time I got home from the mamak it was already 12.35. So sorry.

Of course, the day was long, starting with my overdue meal that I promised SL, in conjunction with meesh's impromptu blogmeet. I'm not a very Minishorts person, eh? Now you know she's your everyday 'blah' kinda girl, who walks the tiled pavements with a little leap and a tiny skip to every step she takes because the person who adores her is just next to her doing some other 'short-term memory' thing, 'I'm blur because you're beside me.'

Oh yes, he is, isn't he?

So later we did our own labelling of the Longhorn Beta systems... there's the X and the P and I'm your favourite OS X because, because, and because... I'm aesthetically pleasing and I hardly ever crash. Longhorn seems to be tickled to bits, while there's another fours to this OS that remains hidden or yet to be discovered... that which someone said he'll spend 'a lifetime' to discover.

At the end of the day, we celebrated someone's birthday. Our chum didn't look too good, his hair flatter than usual, his face paler than usual. And he wanted to borrow my favourite sidekick for the night to fight the pains away, so to speak. I'm astounded, flattered and utterly proud ... but like SL tells me, we've only got so much time in a week, we're both ultra busy people, and 'I only have one weekend every week.'

We want to spend it with the people we love. We only have that much time. We only want that extra half an hour, and we promise we'll listen. After all, we're only human.

  ¶ 02:17

  My Exams Are Over Hip hip hurrah! Now I can concentrate on making money and making life make sense because money makes life make sense (I sound materialistic, don't I?).

Little plea to He-who-must-know-all: please let my mum loosen up a little. I'm only still young and have no intention of marrying the first guy I date, wait...I meant marrying the next guy I fall in love with... I have my whole life ahead of me and right now all I need to concentrate on is to get my priorities right. First things first, I need to complete my master's dissertation ASAP so that I can... concentrate on making money and making life make sense because money makes life make sense. Urm, okay I'm repeating myself. I think too much caffeine and a severe lack of sleep makes people do that. But still. I want to concentrate on making life make sense by making more money.

Now I sense bombs flying my way. *Ducks*

BTW, who was it who said he was going to KLCC tomorrow?   ¶ 20:42

  Crossed-Eyed Headaches Stephen C. Levinson's Pragmatics has got to be one of the driest texts on the subject around. I can't imagine how somebody can actually imagine that long paragraphs of commentaries on single utterances will enable the fellow student or researcher to actually understand what he is trying to explain in simple terms. Of course, I have always believed that academic study is in fact the study of 'how to plagiarize cleverly'; which other field emphasizes so much the importance of the literature review as the academia, I ask you? And then you have scores and scores of pages teaching students how to 'paraphrase', i.e. plagiarize legally.

Levinson, you're smart, I'm not so smart, and its a hell lot of pain trying to transcribe whatever it is you are trying to say, which actually, in fact, we all know, not really what you say, but a paraphrase of what Austin and Searle have recorded.

I'm supposed to talk about life, relationships, sex, bla bla bla...but obviously, the entire day has been spent, helplessly, trying to decipher the higher, academic-stylized language of linguistics. And Levinson is begging to be clawed. I can't wait till the clock strikes 12 tomorrow.   ¶ 19:45

  The Rooms in My House I had a pretty strange dream a few hours ago. It's one of those dreams that keeps you on your feet, keeps you wondering whether it was real, and what was the significance of it. You know how it is that you remember some dreams, and you don't remember some. The idea is that some dreams are purposely built to be remembered, and the fact that they stay in your memory so fresh, there must be something about them that has to be significant.

And you know what? It probably is. Dear me, I ought not to be talking about dreams, after all, being freshly accused of being unaware of the real world and all that shit... plus the fact that some people actually walk on in and tell me that the fact that I blogged that particular chat shows that I'm concerned about SL not being the right one. You know what? Maybe you are right. Maybe you are wrong. But more importantly, the morale of the story was to tell you that people like myself do not appreciate loving help from people who walk out of your lives, and then all of a sudden walk back in pretending to know all there is to know about you. Because that's NOT NOT NOT true.

It's really true. Look, me, September 2002. Different from me, March 2004. Time flies. 22 years old vs 23-going-on-24. That's a one and a half year of difference, and with the events that I have sped past, undergrad thesis, graduations, breakups on Valentine's Day, false alarm alerts, the many-time changing of the blogging domain... well, well, THAT's my real life. Now who are you to argue with me, you, you and you, you who have only begun to know Minishorts in the short few weeks that you've stumbled on me, you who've only begun to synonymously identify Choo Ki with Minishorts, you who have maybe known me for the past 3-4, you who are so smart, OMG I simply sympathize with you for saying something such as, 'I don't know everything about you, but I know everything that can be seen.'

Friends, Family and Countrymen (was that the tune? wtf it doesn't matter)... I don't know everything about me, but I reveal everything there is for you to know... and you know what? Thank you for your time, thank you for taking a look... and welcome to my house, but please don't tell me the carpet is dirty. There is no carpet, if you see any it is only an illusion, and there are rooms that I forbid you to visit.

That sorta applies to every other facet of life you know. Things you can and cannot say. To friends you hate, enemies you love, and lovers you detest. Give us our space, and we will give you your respect.


  ¶ 20:40

  My Friends, You've Just Been Insulted This stupid conversation somehow ALWAYS, ALWAYS crops into the picture when I speak to this certain friend of mine, he of the gang that I used to hang out with when I was still with PY. And everytime, it ends up in a stupid senseless debate, where I'm left fuming because I always feel as if my friends have been innocently insulted. In the first place the manner the conversation was carried out was insanely rude, he accusing me of not choosing 'the right person'. Boy am I pissed, and if you're my friend, I think you'd be too. And yes this is a very long post.

Friend: there's a possibility ur emotional feeling now is being manipulated by the new person because of the last breakup? you see..... when a person cycle of life is at its lowest.... people around will seem to accept anyone who can revert that cycle.
Friend: first sign:- u wanna have his baby?
Friend: does he want u to have his baby?
Friend: i tell u this: when i hold my gf hands.... i told myself i m gonna marry her.... do u c it like that?
Minishorts: i know for a fact, that when i was dating py he kept on telling me that he wanted to marry me, but i was never secure.
Minishorts: i know also for a fact, that when i hold my current bf's hand, i feel more secure than I have ever felt in the entire time I was with py
Friend: that's all craps.....py is not a case for you to justify
Friend: its all a nightmare since day one.
Friend: as a friend I see the best in u and I know u can go far more than what u now! is this what u want now? or just another bus-stop? waiting 4 the next right bus to hop on?
Minishorts: i don't think of seeking 'the right person. i think the 'right person' is who you want him to be.
Minishorts: and there's no such thing as 'looking for further'. when it comes to relationships. cos think about it. where do i stop? until i find a datuk's son? a prince?
Minishorts: in your case... don't tell me you keep on looking further for better? now think about it... what if, you get married, and 5 years later you still can't conceive? what do you do? seek another 'more fertile' woman?
Friend: well, its up 2 u 2 decide..... remember, whatever decision u made today, will make a difference to the future

Friend: since we're in this topic... u wanna know ur real friends opinion?
Minishorts: since you're going to tell me anyway go ahead lor.
Friend: the real friends u n py knew did advice u too at some point in time... and I gave an advice that was neglected.
Friend: i said that its gonna be an ugly ending if things goes out of hand
Friend: i made this statement is not for py.... but was more to you, as a girl/woman
Friend: u r the one which need to see more of the real world.

Minishorts: maybe, but true friends support their friends no matter what and where... friends don't feel bad if words of wisdom were never taken
Friend: I may not be the master of love, but i m the one who see thru the real world
Minishorts: if i don't take the road you tell me i should take, you should not label me as not taking you as a true friend
Friend: its not about that.... wat i wanna say is sometimes, as friends, we had to let you decide right?
Minishorts: true friends don't claim they know everything, just only that they will be there for you.
Friend: we may not know everything, but we can see everything can be seen
Minishorts: that is so thick. how many of you actually stooped to find out how i am, if not for me messaging you once in a while to say hi.
Minishorts: i don't recall a moment that you come online, and say hello to me voluntarily.
Minishorts: if i never updated, would i have disappeared, and u wouldn't even know?
Friend: i m speechless if you put it that way.... Its up to you to define the 'true friends' concept. For me.... my hands and mind are open... facing the real world is much more 'ideal' in defining the fundamentals.

Minishorts: i din't say anything about you mah. its just that when you said 'your real friends' to me the impression i got was that you were telling me that my friends are not my friends.
Minishorts: and that's truly, truly hard to swallow. i didn't grow up in a CHS- alone environment you know
Minishorts:i'm just angry that you're accusing my friends of not being true friends.

Friend: nope.... i m telling you that you don't select true friends. they select you
Minishorts: i don't select my friends . they're just there for me.
Friend: think the other way.... why some friends don't accept you?
Minishorts: then they're not friends.
Friend: just remember this, we want u 2 c more things.... the real life.... not just BRATs

Now since he's not here to defend himself, I'd like to say this in public: anyone who really knows me, or even knows me as just an acquaintance, would know that I do NOT worship any of the organizations I participate in, nor in particular that organization that I joined more than 6 years ago. I can't find even the word to describe this particular friend of mine, you may do the honours for me. But he's a friend, and I can give him that much. Just very chauvisnistic, and thinks that the real world revolves around him, while I float blindly in a sea of fantasized, mistaken virtual reality.
  ¶ 11:15

  Thirty Days its about the coming thirty days. please be warned that its all part of a research programme that i've agreed to be a part of. i'm not going to go overboard on the voyeurism, i know someone who will probably be shocked out of his wits if i do. but there's going to be quite a bit of 'cryptology' for the uninitiated, for the initiated you'll probably understand every single thing that i'll be trying not to convey.

on the past post. take that as a starter to the coming days. question: what is your wildest dream?

mine involves mirrors, and lots of mirrors. you know, the flashes of skin and stuff, it doesn't work that well even if you had a DV... but you know, try mirrors overhead. very sexy, very kinky and very addictive. almost like watching yourself in a porn movie.   ¶ 15:42