jigglypuffs with ketchup

Question: When you find the pace of a relationship steadily declining, do you do a Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai and stay to fight the losing battle to the very last drop of pride and dignity, or do you end it to get a head start in moving on?

The phrase, "opposites attract" is becoming cliche. Where immense passion just as easily swings into intense dispassion, fights begin to take a toll on you. Our fights sure as hell out weigh the good times, but quoting Puan Mashuri, the art teacher clad in slippers with socks, "it's quality, not quantity". The thing is though, who ever processed her two cents worth?

It's sad really, when you realize love alone isn't enough to salvage a relationship. The two hands that intertwine are eventually forced to let go to enable productivity, and so it is. Each of our destined paths slowly, but surely diverge. And then it boils down to how many close calls it will take to separate us?

I'm trying my best to clench my fists, but like sand through my fingers, I'm watching you slip away. But until then, linger on, order up. Let me get drunk in the ocean that is your love, for the hangover's still a day away.

mashed potatoes and such

I've recently switched to bar soaps, having my shower gel reduced to the insignificant droplets that never seem to deplete completely. I get toiletries from Bangkok since the tabulated bill always seems to come to over a RM100, which unfortunately can't be accomodated by my wallet's interior. So until I get to the bottomless pit that is my parent's petty cash, it's bar soap for me.

They do leave you more thoroughly squeaky clean.

This morning, the bar soap diminished to a slither of a shaving. Embarking a life's first, I merged it with a fresh cake. It was difficult, considering the way it kept slipping off each other as I soaped myself, but by the end of the shower I managed to fuse the two together.

I have thus successfully promoted myself from Claudia, "Lord of the Throne" to Claudia, "Lord of the Loo".

On a more significant note, Happy 21st Birthday Ethan! *kiss kiss*

the pewter flasks of spirit

I caught Batman Begins this afternoon and besides dismissing immediately the casting of Katie Holmes, I noticed an element we Asians should take pride in over the Whites. Revolved around the plot is somewhat of a scarecrow of a mask, which together with a sort of gas brings you into a state of panic, making you envision your surroundings to be of your greatest fear.

Victims in the movie saw an American limited culturally void bunch of maggots, red-eyed monsters, bats... I thought about it, and I think if I were to play victim to the mask, I'd see pontianaks, toyols and Japanese/Korean paranoid girls ala Dark Water.

Point is, if you come to think of it, we Asians have a certain quality that makes us "Truly Asia" (yeah, I know this is beginning to sound a little too travel agency advertisement, but still); we have a certain cultural feel to us, which explains why Americans, Europeans and Australians thrive on "going oriental" or for a yogalates session.

So I learned today that I shan't cringe each time an American says karaoke anymore - I shall wave my heritage of an intangible Asian flag with pride.

falling off the horse

There'll always be a Mr. Big to an Aidan, a Jess to a Dean, a Ryan to a Luke; and for some reason or rather, it's always the more dysfunctional twit who ends up as Prince Charming at the end of each season. The one who'd ride up to your doorstep with a Heinneken in his left hand and a suit fresh off the RM1 salvation army store riding a horse that can't take a shit without swishing its tail in the way.

Why do we desire trailer park material over the knight in shining armour? The squeeky clean valedictorian would barely be able credit himself to a recurring thought of a time of day; the spot for the one that got away will always be reserved for the most emotionally confused ex. You know he loved you in his own futile little way, but he was bound to screw up somewhere; it was expected of him. You move on, but somehow a presence follows.

Yesterday, I dreamt I woke up to a Mr.Big who was listening to my rhythmic breathing, stroking my hair; waiting to welcome me to a new day. I hyperventilated upon opening my eyes to the too frequently regurgitated face; I had expected to see my present Aidan. I got up. I started to pace. I thought. I freaked.

If I am so very much in content with my present Aidan, why does Mr.Big still reoccur?

the burning of the bra

I've come to realize that I've just come out of a closet I never hid squatting with hands over my eyes in. Yesterday, I was labelled as a future andro feminine. An abbreviation from the word androgenous, it's basically a term to classify the lesbians that possess masculine qualities with a stronger feminine touch and who has accepted her jugs. I'm the type that'd go for the butch.

Quite the shocked was I. You see a girl exuding enough confidence to blow your socks off walking the walk clad in a figure hugging little black dress. You wish you could be her. That's as straight as you go. You tell your company, "Hey, she's hot!". That's being open. But to what extent makes you become a bi-sexual? I don't cum at every hot guy I see either.

Fairviewans, NST co-workers, Muffins and Commies know of my very sexual attraction to Angelina Jolie. I say I'm an exclusive lesbian. Given a choice, I'd leave my significant other just for a night with her; I hear she has a pole in her bedroom. But then again, can you blame me? She's the epitome of perfect. Mentally and spiritually I idolize her, and physically, no man comes quite as close. Which in my opinion, justifies the reason she's been labelled as a man-eater by the way; she's just looking for an adequate partner.

So anyway, apparently exclusivity is just another excuse. I tried to argue against this, but my mum, sister and boyfriend even both agreed that I'm just in denial; eventually I'd come to learn of my actual sexual preference. But I quite doubt so. Never have I been emotionally nor physically attracted to that of the female gender, save Angelina Jolie. Besides, I don't believe in bi-sexuality. Being straight or gay are two parallelly opposite extremes. Being open would be to love the person for who she or he is, not their sex. I have experiments to justify my statement! It's a fact, not a claim. So I think.

and so it is

So I've been tagged. Twice.

The first one's from Truds. The jist of this is to basically randomly select 5 occupations to complete the sentence:

If I could be a scientist
If I could be a farmer
If I could be a musician
If I could be a doctor
If I could be a painter
If I could be a gardener
If I could be a missionary
If I could be a chef
If I could be an architect
If I could be a linguist
If I could be a psychologist
If I could be a librarian
If I could be an athlete
If I could be a lawyer
If I could be an inn keeper
If I could be a professor
If I could be a writer
If I could be a llama rider
If I could be a bonnie pirate
If I could be a service member
If I could be a photographer
If I could be a philantrophist
If I could be a rap artist
If I could be a child actor
If I could be a secret agent
If I could be a comedian
If I could be a priest
If I could be a radio announcer
If I could be a phlebotomist
If I could be Paris Hilton's stylist
If I could be a movie producer
If I could be the CEO of Microsoft
If I could be an astronout
If I could be a world famous blogger
If I could be married to a current famous political leader
If I could be a dog trainer

If I could be a llama rider, I'd start saving up to get a camel for economic reasons including that of lower water consumption.

If I could be a phlebotomist, I'd be weary of explaining what my job is based upon.

If I could be a priest, Pope Benedict wouldn't be very happy.

If I could be an artist, I'd never paint abstract to call it art.

If I could be a child actor, I'd tell Lindsay I can take it from here and whack the shit out of Hilary. When I'm done, she'll be the packaging of nasi lemak (cos it's like old news!).

I'm only gonna tag Yokie for tagging me. Oh, oh smell that Yokie? Smell it? Smell it? It's the smell of revenge, muahahaha!


The next one's from surprise, surprise, Yokie. I think it's pretty self explanatory.
THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Claudia
2. Clauds
3. Hippo (I eat, sleep and stink)
THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. Little Miss Scribbles
2. Clauds
3. nutballeegoofster (claudee, claudster and clauds were taken on yahoo!, so...)
THREE THINGS THAT YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. I'm fat! Wahaha!
2. I'm quite the self involved
3. I can't piss standing up
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. Bunions (bleh), courtesy of my grandfather.
2. True to my culture, my Indian side dies off when I smile to reveal chinky eyes.
3. I've got my dad's body - Broad shoulders and a small ass. My panties are size XS for crying out loud!
THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. Judy telling ghost stories (make it stop!)
2. Japanese and Koreans (not Judy though; she's cute). A Tale of Two Sisters and The Ring have scarred me for life!
3. Denting Sunshine
THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Water!
2. Lipbalm!
3. Anthony!
THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. A Timex
2. A blue band from Mother
3. A pair of black chandelier earrings
THREE OF YOUR FAVOURITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS:
1. Michael Jackson because he's innocent
2. Damien Rice because he got dumped by Renee Zellweger
3. Ethan Lim because he sings "Guilty" at Redbox
THREE OF YOUR FAVOURITE SONGS:
1. Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap
2. The SpongeBob Square Pants Theme Song
3. A Simple Kind of Life by No Doubt
THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. Playfulness
2. Mutual trust
3. Different opinions/beliefs to keep it interesting
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. Eyes
2. Lips
3. And apparently skinny-ness - all the guys I've thought to be hot are thin.
THREE OF YOUR FAVOURITE HOBBIES:
1. Playing tennis
2. Watching The OC
3. Reading The Thorn Birds while on the throne
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Drive to McDonalds to get myself a cuppa orange juice. I'm lovin' it.
2. Look for The Thorn Birds - nature's calling.
3. Blow my nose
THREE PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO TAKE THIS SURVEY NOW:
1. Trudy
2. Rochelle
3. Javier's girlfriend

pass the ridsect

Sunshine gets driven once a day, with a little extension of distance to the next. The point of which is so that I won't dent the car. Basically, I'm on probation, I should say, for about two weeks. The INT1010 exam marks Sunshine's official debut.

So in the meantime, my wallet remains to fail to accomodate anything save a daily mini bus and KTM ticket.

On the way back last Friday, a mat pweeped at me. With his girlfriend sitting next to him. Well, I could've been wrong, but one would assume so if that particular mat sat within 10cm of a peer of the opposite sex of whose fingers are intertwined with his... So anyways, yeah. That pissed me off. What's more is that she didn't respond to his insolent behaviour.

Mat's piss me off. All kinds of sorts. Mats with their only pair of converse shoes, mats with their pathetic strand of a janggut. Everywhere and everyhow. Mats in mamak stalls with their teh o'ais limaus, mats perched on sides of the road with their cigarettes.

Excuse me for the little Dr. Seus outburst. Some times I just lose it (ah ah ah ah ah). Anyways, yes, mats piss me off. Mats and tudung girls who have selective beliefs in the Koran. The kind that wear shear tudungs with skin tight super super low cut Levi's.

As I got off the KTM and was walking to the taxi stand which is strategically placed behind a polis pondok, I felt a sense of reassurance. Okay, at least I have some form of authority near me; I'm safe from rape. The policeman begins to pweep at me. And then it hits me: Malaysian policemen are just mats with bigger motorcycles.