Bitch it's Karma

I'm down with the flu+sore throat+cough+fever combo.


It's been a while since I was sick. I always go to the doctor at the slightest sign of a headache or stomachache and ask for sick leaves. Now, I'm actually sick, it feels like shit. So this weekend I did absolutely nothing other than pigging out and watch TV.


I watched the entire season of Shinzanmono, 10 Promises to My Dog, The Guillotines, The Blind Side, and Hitchcock over the weekend.

It's pay day!!!

I hope a discussion with doc tomorrow will be a productive one since all the ones before are sort of like this.

How a discussion with Doc really feels.

Ubertension

Yesterday at the clinic my BP reading was rather high. The doctor said my BP indicates that I MIGHT have hypertension. 

I told my Deputy Director today that I'm suffering from hypertension. He said he has it too. I said "wow, you're totally not self-inlvolved... I'm so sorry Doc..."

To address this, I need to be mentally positive. It's hard to do that when you're a hater. Everything around me is wrong. Everything my manager asks me to do annoys me. Attractive people tick me off for being attractive around me.Tele-marketers send me off the edge with their incessant calls offering great deals I don't need. A sandwich that is not generously filled makes me upset - stingy cafeteria workers. What the hell? It's not like they own the cafeteria. Urghhh.  These people seriously have issues...

I stress too much. 

When I'm stressed out I eat. When I eat I get fat. Fat me feels stressed out. Stressed out and fat, I eat more. I get fatter. I feel like no one likes me anymore because I'm fat. I get stressed out because I feel lonely. So I eat more...

Next week I will tell my Deputy Director that I don't wanna work with my manager anymore. She's killing me slowly, if not with her attitude and incompetency, it's with the stress she's been causing me.  "Doc, do you wanna see blood on your hands?? DO YOU? No? Then lemme work with someone else." 

Let's see how Doc handles that kinda pressure on him.

Acid Rain on a Drought Stricken Land

Me and my coworkers agree that there is definitely a shortage of attractive men at our workplace. We just don't understand - just because all of you guys are intelligent (arguably) that doesn't mean you all can't be attractive. Is management intentionally picking mediocre-looking people to hire?

The very few attractive guys we do have at work were probably unattractive when they were hired and then blossomed into a yummy visual treat for me and my friends. But there are VERY few of them who get the unanimous stamp of approval. Dian may say that NJ and I wear desperate goggles when she doesn't see what so attractive about some of these guys. NJ would tell me that I like them boyish and that's why sometimes we disagree on either a guy is cute or not.

We are not self-appointed arbitrators of good looks but in a place where people talk about monetary policies and financial market expansion and growth... finding an eye-candy or two to serve as a distraction would be a nice escape from the soul-eating mundanity that is our job (mine at least).

Sure ogling in general is fun and I am shameless and unapologetic about doing it blatantly at work. I don't know if they feel flattered or just creeped out when I stare at them walking into the cafeteria, but I'm sure they look good for people to look at them, or else why bother getting those bodies all toned and begging to be sprung on. Don't want me to stare at them, then stop wearing slim fit shirts. hmmph.

This is also why I go to the gym in the morning. Because after work, the gym is filled by these guys. Incentive: Eye-candy feast. Disincentive: Barely working out. Yeah... I rather work out.

I do notice that there is an influx of slightly more metrosexual guys joining the organization. Years of studying abroad may have rubbed some fashion sense and appearance awareness on these guys. They look leaner and fitter than the guys who have been around here for a few years. Expensive hair cuts with products applied. Fitted shirts and matching ties and shoes. BUT unfortunately, they appear to me as rather snooty. They walk around acting like they're the shit. They walk around the place like it's a fashion runaway and they are modeling Gaultier's winter collection.  It is not a je ne sais qoui feel that they're generating. Je sais ce qu'est il! It's icky and annoying and I detest it.

I so wanna put them in their places. It's sort of what I do. Civilize people. Making the world a better place. Satisfaction.

Maybe I will get to. Maybe I won't. But by heavens I will definitely try.

Wigging Out Over Nothing

From Monday to Friday I will wake up at 6.00 a.m. and leave the apartment at 7.00 a.m. At 6.35 a.m. I will be presented with one of the biggest challenges of the day - "Should I do my hair or not?"

At 7.05 a.m. my brother comes to pick me up and send me to the train station. I hate having to wear the helmet, but I guess it's the law. So, if I need to wear a helmet, what's the point of having a perfectly coiffed hair with a magnificent bouffant that takes 15 minutes to set? Yet if I don't do anything at all and just blow dry my hair, then at the train station I would look like a homeless person who just robbed some fashionable guy and stole his work clothes.

Then there's the gym.

Upon arriving at the office at 7.30 a.m. I quickly turn on my laptop, scanned through emails to confirm my held belief that nothing important gets emailed before 8.a.m. and then I would rush to the gym downstairs.

Naturally after some work out (if it even qualifies as that), I would hit the shower. If I'm going to shower, what's the point of having a semi-okay coiffed hair with a half destroyed bouffant (damn you helmet) that takes 15 minutes to set? Yet if I don't do anything at all, it would look like I come to the gym un-showered with all the out-of-bed nastiness. People would certainly think that about me if they see me with unkempt hair at 8.00 a.m.  I know I think that about some of the people at the gym. I mean it does make sense. Showering twice in the span of 3 hours is not very optimal. But it's not like I can just leave the house without a shower just because I will shower after my work out.

In the end I still haven't decided what my standard operation procedure is. Some days I deck out in my fancy work clothes but decided to go with the hobo hair do, no product no comb. Some days I do my hair twice in the morning because I don't want to appear in public looking like I just got done giving a quick head to an aggressively handsy guy.

I don't even have a standard hairstyle. Sure I would like to think that after spending 15 minutes doing my hair I would crown myself a perfectly coiffed hair with a magnificent bouffant. I like to think that I walk around at work with an amazing pompadour that is the envy of the office. The reality is probably isn't that colorful. I have been told that my hair looked like a hair of a Yakuza member when I combed it slick back. I have been told that my hairstyle belong in the Vatican where I should be an altar boy. Once someone asked me If i was chased by a dog on the way to work because on that day I tried to experiment with a ruffled hairstyle. Sigh~

I should just pull a Sinead O-Gonner. God knows I'd save so much on hair products and time. But especially, I would save my brain power and attention from worrying and thinking too much about something that in reality no one cares about, except me.

Growing Concerns

If there is something I know about myself is that I like talking. But if there is something I am certain about myself is that I LOVE talking about my weight.

I used to be slim...boney... Auschwitz-skinny. In grade school I was so skinny that during recess people started offering me food while clutching the shirts around their chests as if it hurt them physically to be in the presence of such an emaciated child. Truth is, I probably just finished a plate of noodle and a few chicken nuggets when they offered me that plate of chicken rice. The right thing I should have done was to say "oh no thank you, I already ate", but I was hungry and I was young and I was hungry...

In high school I was still skinny. Not hey-wanna-see-ribcage skinny but skinny enough that a size S shirt looked like a space suit on me. I actually loved the way I looked in high school. I was slender and had a body of a twink. Puberty just hit  and narcissism was at an all time high - which led to the most sluttacious phase of my life. I also enjoyed making fun of fat people...I still do actually but it feels so hypocritical to do so nowadays.

Then college... I was still a twink in freshman year. But all those amazing american foods... Growing up here where we only have Pizza Hut and it's rip-off brand competition - Shakey's Pizza, as far as pizzas go, I was indifferent to pizzas. In the States, I was introduced to a Willy Wonka world of pizzas. Aside from pizzas, there were pastas and three thousand different fried food stuffs that I was introduced to. In short, I was in for a gastronomical adventure. Mexican food was so good I considered being Mexican at one point in my freshman year. I don't know what the hell is Kung Pao and who the fuck is General Tsao but his chicken dish is orgasmic. I can go on and on about food but my point is, I ATE A LOT. I WAS A PIG. UNASHAMEDLY SO!

I have never used the word jiggle to describe any part of myself until sophomore year. Freshman Thirty-five hit and I found my ass being described by J-ho as jiggly. I was so stressed out by that comment that I went off to eat a chili dog and a bowl of clam chowder. urmmm...clam chowder...

Now I'm at 155lbs. People tell me "you look okay", " what are you talking about, you look fit", "yeah you have a badonk-kadonk but you are not fat" and many other things that are supposed to be comforting. I applaud them for their good intentions. I would be a bit different. If anyone ever complains about being fat to me I only have one of two responses - it'll go along the lines of:

1. Shut up Mary Kate, go eat a cucumber or something so that you can double your weight; or
2. Yep, you're fat.

I want to lose weight so terribly much but I don't know how to do it. It concerns me a lot that I'm gaining weight slowly especially since I also believe that my metabolic rate is declining. Both my parents have been in and out of the hospitals due to diabetes. I feel fat like 75 times a day. And to add salt to my wounds... urmmmmm salt...yum....anyway, to add salt..urmm..salt to my wounds, my closest friends (who all love to ask me to go eat at KFC) have been calling me names. Fat-ass is still acceptable but just this weekend Arif called me nangka. =(

Will I be one of those men who can't see their penis anymore when they stand straight looking down?

I refuse!

A lot is at stake here...urmmmmm steak....

I want to return to my former skinny self.

I don't want the salesgirls to tell me to go for Chinos instead because the slim fit jeans couldn't make it pass my thighs.

I don't want the server to tell me that the restaurant has a low calorie option "in case I'm interested".

I don't want my belt buckle to feel warm throughout the day because my belly warms it up.

I don't want my bed to look like a cushy bathtub.

I don't want some precocious 9 year-old to call me "thunder thighs" because I was in her way at the mall.

I don't wanna be fat. I want to be in shape again. I just don't know how.

Random week.

Thor was meh.

As usual hanging out with Arif was enjoyable despite the many spiteful things he said and do to me.

This week started off with heavy emotional weights on my body. My mom. my infatuation with that one guy in the office... and with work as usual. But as the week progressed it felt lighter. Talking bout it with NJ and then Arif and then Neena definitely helped. This infatuation would eventually die and I will go back to being uninterested.

Mom is doing a lot better. She actually looks like she has blood running through her body, finally. She's eating and being the old talkative her again. I'm very glad and definitely hope that she'll fully recover soon.

I spent my entire Sunday playing trivia on my computer. I managed to name 90 capital cities in 20 minutes. There are a total of 197 capitals altogether. I didn't even manage to name half of them. I was struggling in getting the spelling of Ulaanbaatar (the site did not accept Ulan Bator for some reason) and Ouagadougou right. I knew the answer but god the spelling was so odious.  I also played a bunch of other trivia games that reminded me how much random information is available in my head. It also reminded me that the US is annoying because it calls Ferum iron and Plumbum lead. urghhh...

On saturday I watched The English Teacher. Julianne Moore was amazing as usual. I think if all fails, I wanna teach English. I can teach till 3pm, then I can leave school and actually do stuff. I don't want another 8-6 gig if possible.

November is here. Somehow this month I don't have any plan made. Maybe I should just relax since December is gonna be crazy (fun) anyway. Maybe I should brush up on my Japanese... Maybe I should write more. Read more? Video games? Family time? Daydreaming?

See New Things, Have Fun

I went to bed at 3 a.m. last night. Despite that, I woke up early enough to run 4km this morning. For that I gave myself a pat on the shoulder. Because that's what one does when he or she has done something commendable.

Neen bailed on dinner tonight. It seems that every time she bailed or said no to our dates, her family was the reason why. I admire her commitment to her family. A devotion so admirable I could never feel disappointed by the rain checks she had taken and the no-can't-do she had given me. I can't blame her for putting family first before anyone or anything else... unlike myself.

Last night, the first time I went to bed was really at 10.30 p.m.

My phone rang at midnight, waking me up. My brother was on the other line telling me that my mom got a high fever and that he was taking her to the hospital. He needed my help because he didn't know how the administrative things go, as if it requires a college degree to be able to deal with the front desk of a hospital. I grunted and told him to hand in the insurance/medical care card to the front desk and they'd take it from there. He wasn't very happy and hung up.

I was lying on my bed for a good 10 minutes before I started feeling guilty about the whole thing. What the fuck was wrong with me? My mom had septic diabetic fever and needed to be rushed to the ER and all I cared for was that I needed the rest so that I can run an extra k or two this morning. I called my bro and told him that I was putting on clothes and that I would go with him.

The whole trip to the hospital I felt like a horrible son. My mom asked me how was the Treasure Hunt competition and how did I do.  I told her we placed worse than last year and she told me "It's not really bout winning, it's about seeing new things and having fun, no?" (she said it in Bahasa Melayu of course). She was shaking, sweating and feverish... and yet she wondered how I did for the a competition that happened 4 days ago.

I had just realized then that the Treasure Hunt competition was my first time in Port Dickson. Everybody I know has been to PD, seriously who hasn't? I was so caught up with the race that I had forgotten that I was in a place that I had never been to. When I was in PD all I did was stay in my room while my team mates were doing jumping photo shoots by the beach with the sunset panorama in the back.

Tomorrow mom is undergoing a minor surgery to remove the septic in her back. I pray for her speedy recovery so that I could take her to do exactly what she reminded me to do last night in the car.

Tues Blues.

Today I actually worked. Maybe 7 out of the 8 hours I am expected to work. The remaining hour was toilet breaks, quick breakfast, making tea, casual chats and checking out a certain someone in the office.

I was explaining to Sazz (not a real name but close enough) and Vang (also not a real name) during lunch, as I gobbled up my mashed potato, that if someone suggests KFC for a meal when I'm hungry, I can't say no. It just always seems like the best of ideas when I'm hungry. My brain and heart (and belly of course) would just agree to the proposal. The only time I can say no to KFC is when someone says McDonalds instead or when I'm not too hungry. This is because fried chicken is my weakness and the key to my heart alongside durian and a well made tiramisu.

I really worked today. Even my IM chats were about work mostly. But somehow I left the office feeling like shit because it was insinuated that I didn't do enough. I obviously disagree but at this point I'm tired of trying to civilize a delusional person. I have tried doing that, other people have definitely tried longer and all the efforts are for naught. So why bother? But yet fucking ennui followed me home. Thankfully I got Bernadette Fox with me to make me smile and giggle on the way home. That bitchy ennui was just staring and waiting for me to put away Bernadette before it hit me back. I told myself, "I just need to either vent or sleep this off"

So I vented...

to multiple people.

Thor is set for Friday night while Las Vegas is for Saturday.

I want so bad to cry because I believe I would feel better after. But I can't justify any tear. Is crying something you decide to do or it just happens when it happens? I have cried before but I honestly can't recall the sequence that leads to that first tear. I remember usually having an overwhelming feeling of some sort and then...floodgate.

I don't even know what to focus my blues on. The delusional diva, the certain someone in the office, or the fact that I miss J-ho and Judo. Maybe all at once and that's why my tear ducts were confused.

I also watched the first episode of Hunting Season and I hated it. If I ever move to New York I won't visit a single gay bar ever. I'd read the Twilight series before these feet step into any gay bar in NY. And I sent the link to Neen even before I myself watched it (>_<). I should tell her not to waste 10 minutes of her life on that piece of garbage.

I found myself talking to Bernadette while I was showering today. As if she's my friend and I was giving her advice and telling her how much of a riot she is, that I 'get' her and how hilarious I find her.  It felt like she was there shaving her legs, talking to me as I was lathering my tired skin with my bamboo loofa. Then I rinsed my body and *poof* I snapped out of it. Bernadette was there no more.

I know that once I finish the book, I will pick up another book and that Bernadette will stop being my friend. Someone else will take her place. That thought alone is depressing and it warrants another piece of fried chicken.

So many things, so little time, too many places, too little resources.

I'm about to re-embark on this journey where I document my thoughts and experiences. For what reason, I'm not sure. Do I care if there's any grammatical error in my posts. Maybe not. naaah... definitely not.

So here goes the story of Fuzz and his life. Mostly recent stuff but I'm sure I'll be walking down the memory lane once in a while. As cliché as this may sound, it is also very true - Your past makes your present.

 My love, my hatred, my joy and my frustration.
 My excitement, my insouciance, my curiosity and my disinterest.
 My jubilation, my sadness, my gutsiness and my fear.
 My infatuation and my abhorrence.

My life.

 Here's to the things I did, do and will do.
 Here's to the places I was at, am now living in and will be going to.
 Here's to the people I have met, know and will probably forget. Here's to the story of me.