Hedonistics Anonymous
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Cryptical happiness
rie tsuji ©2007 vignes balasingamShe's gorgeous.
He loves her.
All is right in the world again.
He loves her.
All is right in the world again.
Yeah I know I'm probably the last person in the world to know about this because I'm pretentiously blur, but that doesn't make me any less happy for them. Funny when I think back about how he would go on and on and on about Japanese girls and he finally hooked one. Heh.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Wok the dogDid you know that eggplants/brinjals/aubergines are members of the potato family?
I had no idea.
I'm beginning to resent Bobby. He's not very nice. It's not quite his fault but argh, somebody's got to be the scapegoat, right?
Yesterday I got it into my head that I was going to walk Bobby. Problem is, he has never worn a collar, seen a leash, or experienced life beyond the perimeters of the house compound.
It was a nightmare.
First he tried to chew the collar and leash. My father had to hold him down while I snapped on the collar and attached the leash. Then he wouldn't step out of the gate until my father carried him out. When he got out, he went nuts. Seriously. Like he was on speed or something. He wanted to go right, left, forward and backward all at one go. He lifted his leg to scent mark every five seconds (talk about being dominant). Everything HAD to be marked. He didn't care that his neighbour was watching while he lifted his leg on her flower pots. He didn't care that if it was just a mossy lump of brick. If we could read his thoughts it would probably be along the lines of MARKMARKMARKMARKMARK...
Bobby was sooooooooooooooooooooo bad at walking on a leash. It was like trying to walk an extremely drunk savant. He swerved right, did an abrupt turn and went extreme left, curling the leash around my foot in the process. Suddenly, he tugged hard on the leash and shook his head furiously.
The collar undid itself.
Immediately he shot off down the road. It didn't help that almost every house in the neighbourhood owned dogs. Bobby's antics set off a choir of barks and growls up and down the road. It was so freakin embarassing. I didn't dare to run after him because he might panic and bolt. But every second he isn't captured increases the risk of him being knocked down by the occasional passing car.
Luckily he found a particular bush (outside a house with two big dogs that were barking their heads off at him) which was, for reasons unknown, highly enticing to his doggy nose. I managed to sneak up on him and grab his forelegs until my father caught up and helped me to reattach the collar.
If it wasn't enough, Bobby refused to turn around to go home. He stood cemented in the middle of the road watching a pair of small dogs yap furiously at him from their cages. My father had to cajole him soothingly to go home because it was drizzling. And after carrying him through the gate (this time he didn't want to get in), he kept sniffing and rooting around the side gate in hope that it'll magically reopen.
I had no idea.
I'm beginning to resent Bobby. He's not very nice. It's not quite his fault but argh, somebody's got to be the scapegoat, right?
Yesterday I got it into my head that I was going to walk Bobby. Problem is, he has never worn a collar, seen a leash, or experienced life beyond the perimeters of the house compound.
It was a nightmare.
First he tried to chew the collar and leash. My father had to hold him down while I snapped on the collar and attached the leash. Then he wouldn't step out of the gate until my father carried him out. When he got out, he went nuts. Seriously. Like he was on speed or something. He wanted to go right, left, forward and backward all at one go. He lifted his leg to scent mark every five seconds (talk about being dominant). Everything HAD to be marked. He didn't care that his neighbour was watching while he lifted his leg on her flower pots. He didn't care that if it was just a mossy lump of brick. If we could read his thoughts it would probably be along the lines of MARKMARKMARKMARKMARK...
Bobby was sooooooooooooooooooooo bad at walking on a leash. It was like trying to walk an extremely drunk savant. He swerved right, did an abrupt turn and went extreme left, curling the leash around my foot in the process. Suddenly, he tugged hard on the leash and shook his head furiously.
The collar undid itself.
Immediately he shot off down the road. It didn't help that almost every house in the neighbourhood owned dogs. Bobby's antics set off a choir of barks and growls up and down the road. It was so freakin embarassing. I didn't dare to run after him because he might panic and bolt. But every second he isn't captured increases the risk of him being knocked down by the occasional passing car.
Luckily he found a particular bush (outside a house with two big dogs that were barking their heads off at him) which was, for reasons unknown, highly enticing to his doggy nose. I managed to sneak up on him and grab his forelegs until my father caught up and helped me to reattach the collar.
If it wasn't enough, Bobby refused to turn around to go home. He stood cemented in the middle of the road watching a pair of small dogs yap furiously at him from their cages. My father had to cajole him soothingly to go home because it was drizzling. And after carrying him through the gate (this time he didn't want to get in), he kept sniffing and rooting around the side gate in hope that it'll magically reopen.
Btw, I just realized that the opening line of this post has absolutely no connection to the rest of the story. But since Chef Wan says that eggplants belong to the potato family, I guess it must be true.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
My little white hellhoundBobby is bad bad bad dog.
He's got his little quirky moods. Most of the time he's really nice and he'll brush his head against your hands for attention, like a cat. Other times, he's Cerberus incarnate.
He does his hellhound impression mostly to my sister. Usually it starts with a snarl, upper lips curl ed to reveal his impressive fangs. Then he'll bark (more like a roar) and lunge at the fence. By then my sister would have fled for her life swearing that she'll never feed the damn dog ever again. But my parents are sadistically adamant that she build a rapport with Bobby hahahahahahaha.
Anyway, yesterday after work I went to the back of the house to feed Bobby. Usually I make him do a standard set of tricks (up, down and kiss) before I give him his treat. Then I petted him.
Suddenly he roared and lunged at my hand. I felt his teeth against my skin but he didn't clamp down. Still it was terrifying. My father always say that the dog's just playing, because if he really intended to bite us, we would've lost our limbs a long time ago. Still I don't think it's quite right for a dog to behave like this... :-/
How arh? I don't think there's such thing as dog obedience classes in Kuching. And I have no idea how to socialize him without risking the safety of other dogs/people.
He's got his little quirky moods. Most of the time he's really nice and he'll brush his head against your hands for attention, like a cat. Other times, he's Cerberus incarnate.
He does his hellhound impression mostly to my sister. Usually it starts with a snarl, upper lips curl ed to reveal his impressive fangs. Then he'll bark (more like a roar) and lunge at the fence. By then my sister would have fled for her life swearing that she'll never feed the damn dog ever again. But my parents are sadistically adamant that she build a rapport with Bobby hahahahahahaha.
Anyway, yesterday after work I went to the back of the house to feed Bobby. Usually I make him do a standard set of tricks (up, down and kiss) before I give him his treat. Then I petted him.
Suddenly he roared and lunged at my hand. I felt his teeth against my skin but he didn't clamp down. Still it was terrifying. My father always say that the dog's just playing, because if he really intended to bite us, we would've lost our limbs a long time ago. Still I don't think it's quite right for a dog to behave like this... :-/
How arh? I don't think there's such thing as dog obedience classes in Kuching. And I have no idea how to socialize him without risking the safety of other dogs/people.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
To Miss Koh MK in LondonDear Miss Koh,
I'm still waiting for my Dorothy Perkins clutch. But since it's probably NEVER going to arrive, let me give you an update on the religious situation in family.
My mother has taken to reading the bible EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. In between, she reads some spiritual literature. Kind of like Chicken Soup for the Soul, but it's written for women to aid them in their search for the Big Guy Above.
My father has taken to reading the spiritual literature too. My house is littered with Christian books at the moment. Even literature pertaining to sex has a spiritual slant to it. I call it God-approved Karma Sutra.
My parents say grace before every meal.
They attend bible studies every Friday night.
Strangely they don't go to church.
The religious shift is taking a toll on me. Especially when my mother "suggested" that I read more God books. I have taken to confining myself in the bedroom when they're at home.
I don't think I'll be surprised if one day my sister tells me that my mother has been preaching to the hamster while I'm at work. Not that it's a bad thing though, Bella can be as cranky as ten devils if she doesn't get enough sleep.
Speaking of pets, here's a picture of pug for sale in Perak. RM1,250 with MKA cert, dun pray pray arh.
My mother has taken to reading the bible EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. In between, she reads some spiritual literature. Kind of like Chicken Soup for the Soul, but it's written for women to aid them in their search for the Big Guy Above.
My father has taken to reading the spiritual literature too. My house is littered with Christian books at the moment. Even literature pertaining to sex has a spiritual slant to it. I call it God-approved Karma Sutra.
My parents say grace before every meal.
They attend bible studies every Friday night.
Strangely they don't go to church.
The religious shift is taking a toll on me. Especially when my mother "suggested" that I read more God books. I have taken to confining myself in the bedroom when they're at home.
I don't think I'll be surprised if one day my sister tells me that my mother has been preaching to the hamster while I'm at work. Not that it's a bad thing though, Bella can be as cranky as ten devils if she doesn't get enough sleep.
Speaking of pets, here's a picture of pug for sale in Perak. RM1,250 with MKA cert, dun pray pray arh.
I know you're missing Deedee now. And you're probably close to tears. Don't worry, I don't think she misses you at all.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Friday, July 11, 2008
What goes around...regex.info by Jeffrey Friedl is one of my favourite photoblogs because of the stunning quality of photos taken. Heck, even my desktop wallpaper - a stunning beach shot - was taken from Jeffrey's blog.
However, I felt rather annoyed when he made the following comment on this post:
"I tried a longer-exposure wide-angle shot to capture more of what it felt like to be there, but sadly, it doesn't pick up the deep dark blue that still existed in the sky, the cigarette smoke from the jerk who decided to stand next to me with his cancer stick, or the misquotes..."
Well Mr Friedl, the jerk had every right to be there as you had. Until smoking becomes permanently outlawed, I don't think smokers should be labeled negatively. If you want to be judgmental, blame the government first for allowing the sales of cancer sticks.
I bet somewhere in cyberspace, the jerk is probably lamenting on his blog about the white devil who was hogging more than his fair share of personal space with his huge ass camera.
Karma's an unforgiving bitch who'll bite you back in the ass one day.
Mr Friedl, wouldn't it be ironic if your sweet little boy grows up to be a cigarette-toting miscreant?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
My adventure of driving to work in the morning(Yes, I shamelessly ripped Mr 9's style of title-ing my post today. De Neville brothers ay wankers, la)
Anyhoo, I drive myself to work every morning because my salary doesn't allow me (yet) to buy a BMW 7-series complete with a chauffeur in tuxedo. But it's okay because if I manage to leave the house at the right time, which is usually between 8:32 to 8:42, chances of me meeting The Guy who Drives the Red Toyota Vios is significantly higher and that's makes me a very happy girl.
I have no idea who he is but he's hot. Hot as in the YA I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABIES kinda hot. And he smokes every morning in his car while driving. A few days back, I was parked behind his car at the traffic lights and he oh-so-casually dropped his cigarette butt onto the road and it took me quite a fair bit of willpower not to hop down to pick up the ciggie and send it for DNA testing.
I think I've been watching too much CSI.
Anyhoo, this poses a problem because:
1. Extremely hot guys are usually gay.
2. Guys who drive the Vios are usually metrosexuals. Now, metros are just one step away from gays. This guy drives a RED Vios. What am I suppose to think?
3. Now the smoking part is abit disturbing and it fucks up the entire metro equation. You see, metros are usually well-groomed and have ridiculously lofty hygiene standards. This guy is extremely well-groomed (from what I can see through my rear view mirror) but metros do not smoke while driving. God forbid if a single speck of ash lands on their clothes or their car upholstery.
4. I think he's single because no girl would wanna sit in a car that smells like an ashtray.
5. I think he's gay because no girl would wanna sit in a car that smells like an ashtray. So it's got to be a guy.
Anyhoo, I drive myself to work every morning because my salary doesn't allow me (yet) to buy a BMW 7-series complete with a chauffeur in tuxedo. But it's okay because if I manage to leave the house at the right time, which is usually between 8:32 to 8:42, chances of me meeting The Guy who Drives the Red Toyota Vios is significantly higher and that's makes me a very happy girl.
I have no idea who he is but he's hot. Hot as in the YA I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABIES kinda hot. And he smokes every morning in his car while driving. A few days back, I was parked behind his car at the traffic lights and he oh-so-casually dropped his cigarette butt onto the road and it took me quite a fair bit of willpower not to hop down to pick up the ciggie and send it for DNA testing.
I think I've been watching too much CSI.
Anyhoo, this poses a problem because:
1. Extremely hot guys are usually gay.
2. Guys who drive the Vios are usually metrosexuals. Now, metros are just one step away from gays. This guy drives a RED Vios. What am I suppose to think?
3. Now the smoking part is abit disturbing and it fucks up the entire metro equation. You see, metros are usually well-groomed and have ridiculously lofty hygiene standards. This guy is extremely well-groomed (from what I can see through my rear view mirror) but metros do not smoke while driving. God forbid if a single speck of ash lands on their clothes or their car upholstery.
4. I think he's single because no girl would wanna sit in a car that smells like an ashtray.
5. I think he's gay because no girl would wanna sit in a car that smells like an ashtray. So it's got to be a guy.
Blehhhh.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Vampires are out. Zombies are in.Yesterday I gave up a whole day of OT to stay at home and actually enjoy a real Saturday.
As a result of spending 10 hours in the office from Monday to Friday for a few weeks + 8 hours on Saturday, I've stopped trying to figure out what day of the week it is, because it's all the same. I don't remember what the sunset looks like anymore. Worst of all, I've taken to dreaming about the office and work.
It would be extremely hilarious if it happened to some other people, but it's so not funny when it happens to yourself.
So yes, I took time off yesterday.
Last night I didn't dream of the office.
And today I feel less like a overly paranoid zombie and more like a normal human being again.
As a result of spending 10 hours in the office from Monday to Friday for a few weeks + 8 hours on Saturday, I've stopped trying to figure out what day of the week it is, because it's all the same. I don't remember what the sunset looks like anymore. Worst of all, I've taken to dreaming about the office and work.
It would be extremely hilarious if it happened to some other people, but it's so not funny when it happens to yourself.
So yes, I took time off yesterday.
Last night I didn't dream of the office.
And today I feel less like a overly paranoid zombie and more like a normal human being again.
