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Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tribute to

Now this is written a little too late since Hot Babe has sorted out the legalities pertaining to his blog. I am, however, glad that I am a little too late. Don’t you?

I shall write about my personal experience or rather lack of experience. The following article is written by a reader.

Tribute to Huai Bin, who taught me right from wrong.

I do not smoke. Yes, I have mentioned this many times but I shall mention this again. I do not smoke cigarettes. So logically I do not smoke weed (since it is often rolled with tobacco and smoked). As a matter of fact, I do not know how weed look like. If it was not for Hot Babe’s (erm, I mean Huai Bin's) blog, I would have just swept tiny specks of weed, mistaking it for tobacco.

And since weed is the most common of all drug whatever you want to call it (or so I think), it is therefore safe to conclude I have not a clue how any other pills/drugs/pharmaceuticals look like. Prior to, I actually needed my father to explain what these drug related things to me (so that I won't end up swallowing E, thinking it was vit C in a club). Till today, I am not entirely sure what they are or how they look in reality. Hence I am not able to write much here, what more name drop any garden herbs/pharma medics.

It is so not cool, I am telling you. Friends hanging out during weekends. Joints passed around, back and forth and no one passing anything to me. It was my choice from the beginning. But it is terrible to be left out as everyone was flying high while I was quite stranded on earth. When friends talk about experiences that I have not had, I appeared dumb. My choice but dumb nonetheless.

What Huai Bin did was to tell me how it was like. So I can relate to those high mile flyers friends of mine and I can participate in conversations without appearing more stupid than necessary. Honestly, I stick out like a sore thumb because I am about the only person I know who has not tried even a small puff. This sounds stupid because I know I am not supposed to feel pressured by my friends but hey – I FISHBALL* am, ok?

My close friends do not pressure me to join them in their green thumb adventures. They never rolled joints in front of me and I have never seen them pop. They just tell me that they do. We can co-exist because we mutually respect each other's decisions (that's why they are called close friends mah).

But it gets tough when you are out in a huge group; when you meet new people. When it is not your closest friends, some tongues can be sharp and hurtful. “Why don’t try? Why so goody two shoes? You weed virgin ar?” I know these people should not matter and they do not. It is difficult with not-so-close friends, you know? You don't want to offend them or appear dumb/snobbish.

In these awful and awkward situations, Huai Bin helped by offering me some information. I do not need to try because Huai Bin related his experiences. Okay, so the experience isn’t mine but heck, I needn’t tell anyone else. Shhhhh… It helps placate the social situation and I needn't explain to idiots my choices in life in the middle of FISHBALL* Zouk!

I am glad that the authorities have given Huai Bin some leeway. He deserves the chance. You see, I read his blog often. Okay, I admit. I have been stalking his blog for the pass two weeks or so. And I am sure that I represent an average reader of I do not take drugs and I am not influenced to take any drugs by reading his blog. Not today. Not yesterday. Not in the future. Thank goodness the authorities are wise and can see more than just his online persona.

Thank you for helping me cope better in social situations. That I need not feel stupid for deciding never to explore drugs ever. That I can know about all these things without actually trying any.

More than ever, thank you Huai Bin for offering me HONEST and unbiased information that is so lacking in our society. I always believed that knowledge is powerful and possesses the ability to free people.

And I am free.


* Am starting a new word: FISHBALL. Used in similar capacity as “fuck”, as in “What the FISHBALL?”.

Father nods in agreement. “More pleasant.”

NB: Somehow not comfortable refering to Huai Bin by his name. I'll stick to Hot Babe =)

Disclaimer: I apologize if you become more stupid after reading this entry because I failed to write the proper names for whatever above. As pointed out earlier, I lacked information. And I am a slow learner *tsk tsk*


Squatgate: I rather swallow a button!

I rather swallow a button than to be stripped, searched and have my naked body be recorded by strangers without my consent (then circulated through the internet and MMS).

Talking about men and women in uniforms and the power they yield.

I was relating to PY an incident last year when I was stopped during a road block. It was 0300 hours when my friends and I wagered that the last person to arrive at our supper place will treat the rest of us maggi mee goreng. So there I was speeding in my car zooming at crazy speed with an Indonesian girlfriend of mine. All the cars were going at really neck breaking speed down a tiny lane where we had to make a left turn.

Immediately after the left turn, there was a roadblock ahead. Indonesian gf panicked and asked if she should show her traveling documents to the police. I told her that she should only show if the police asked. So we slowed down and queued up. Police came and I smiled. Policeman asked for my ID card, which I promptly produced. He asked if I was Malaysian.

“Tentulah saya orang Malaysia. Kalau tak, camner dapat IC?” I said. (translation: Of course I am a Malaysian. How else would I produce an ID card?)

Mr. Policeman was not convinced and asked for my driving licence, which I also produced. He still was not satisfied, flipping the cards and trying to see if the cards were authentic.

I spoke in English and asked if there was anything wrong. Mr. Policeman asked some private questions, such as where do I stay, what is my profession etc. I replied everything in perfect English.

Satisfied, he then waived me away.

Now with the squatgate incident, I realized that I might have been the one hauled into the lockup if Mr. Policeman was not satisfied with my ID card and driving licence. I could have been the one doing the squats naked.

Men and women in uniform has great authority and I respect that. I am a law abiding citizen who do not even litter in public. So if I am hauled the lockup because a Policeman is not satisfied with my citizenship, what am I to do?

Does that mean I will have to strip because a person dressed in police uniform asked me to? I personally will not strip. Not in public and definitely not for any stranger, not even if it is a woman. Not even if it is the correct Police procedure. This is my body and it is my right to protect it.

There are ways to look for foreign objects other than stripping and doing ear squats. Surely there must be. Malaysia has the Petronas Twin Towers. We have the Malaysian Tourism Board showing beautiful scenes from Malaysia with a tagline that says, “Malaysia Truly Asia”. We have the biggest this and the greatest that. And still strip and squat is the normal and PROPER POLICE PROCEDURE? It is atrocious!

For me, I dare say that I object to being stripped and searched. It is inhumane to put anyone through this. Imagine the embarrassment and indignity. Strip search and squats are degrading and susceptible to abuse of power as proven by the Squatgate video.

In its place, may I suggest that the police either send the person for X-rays in hospitals (yes, even if it’s at 0300 hours) or use an ultra sound machine. If there is a real need to strip search, then it ought to be done in private, in a hospital and in the presence of a doctor as witness. And no squatting is necessary.

To put this debate to rest, I have a simple question: How do we check all boarding passengers at airport terminals? Do we strip search and squat? Do you not think that an air passenger possesses greater danger and poses greater risks? That he/she is able to board a huge airplane with more than 200 passengers with the risk of slamming another airplane into a building and killing thousands upon thousands?

If strip search is not the general procedure at any international airport for the greater risk it poses, I think it is not necessary to strip search anyone in a lockup. Especially not for suspected illegal immigrants. Period.

Someone said "airport scanners cannot detect drugs or ceramics, X-rays give cancer and even people that go for MRI scans are stripped first because any metal in their pockets becomes dangerous flying objects in the very strong magnetic field".

Fair comment.

So I will end this entry with the following questions:

  • How do we maintain the dignity and rights of a man/woman during a strip and search?

  • How do we prevent the abuse of power by those in authority during a strip and search procedure?

  • How do we educate the public of their rights during arrests?

  • How do we compensate the woman whose face and body is now circulated through the internet and mobiles?

  • How do we prevent another incident similar to this video from happening again?


Monday, November 28, 2005
Makes You Change

If everything you think you know,
Makes your life unbearable,
Would you change?
Would you change?

~ an excerpt of Change, Tracy Chapman

Last Friday turned out to be one of the most depressing days I ever had! It was my ‘stock keeping’ day; a day when I count all that I have – material things, friendships, relationships with my family members, work related stuff and more recently, it now includes the progress of Nude, Not Naked.

You know you are in trouble when you feel pathetically sad when you had too many clothes to store in the cupboards, more g-strings to put many lingerie shops to shame, enough books in collection to warrant another book shelf. It feels shitty when you feel lonely when you have 6 different Alex-s, 4 Eric-s, 3 Jenny-s and 2 David-s in your phone book. When you feel that you can’t tell them what is making you feel sad. When you stand on a busy road and everything moves at great speed but you are still stationary.

And the thought of self-mutilation is new – something that I have never experienced thus far. The thought was real though as in my mind, I have cut myself several times during the course of the day. Just to ease the pain – real and then magnified in my mind – with a wish to free myself from this earthly body.

Speaking of freeing myself from this earthly body – I do not take any mind altering substance. Yes, I know I am a bore, now shhhh! AB volunteered to take me on my virgin space trip but I am yet to take up the offer. I am a rather curious creature but till today have never been curious about any form of alternate universe.


Probably on a night out drinking, I see more than enough swirls of colors with my eyes close and therefore never felt a need to do so.

But heck, last Friday I needed more than just some medicinal backyard herbs. The feelings were so strong that I would have dug a hole and buried myself, if it could make the pain go away.

The last thing you should do when you feel like burying yourself in your thick duvet is, to bury yourself in your thick duvet. I asked PY to accompany me for dinner. I had been working the whole bloody day, arriving home at half 6 in the evening, getting dressed and ready by half 7. So it was a mad rush to get myself all prim and proper for the dinner in a secret Northern Indian restaurant.

I have never been a comfort food eater. Rarely snack between meals with main meals starting heavy during breakfast and lighter as the day goes by. But I swear that 1 Saag Paneer dish (yummy cheese and spinach mix), 1 Baked Brinjal dish, 1 plate of Fish Masala, 1 piece of tandoori chicken, 1 plate of Briyani Rice and 1 basket of Plain Naan later, both PY and I felt all warm and glowing. I even managed to giggle and smile.

If you remember my entry Public Property dated 23rd November, you’ll recall my asking on how best to deal with a situation where photos are taken without your permission (by a total stranger). The 4th episode happened at the restaurant when a guy at the next table took his camera phone out and proceeded to take a few photos of me. Now this time, I am 110% sure he was taking a photo of me. He sat facing away from me, so there was no reason why his phone was facing me. Plus he checked the photo each time it was taken.

My solution came about quite by chance. I stared into the camera. Hard. It was the “I know what you are doing, you blardy inconsiderate fishball!” stare. He stopped when he realized that I wasn’t posing with my two fingers “So damn cool” look (a skill that was perfected by Malaysian Alien over Thanksgiving.) I stared straight, unblinking into the camera. When he saw the photos, I think Camera Guy got the hinted.

So there, the perfect solution to politely stop unwanted photos of you taken is to impolitely stare at the person until he freaks out.



Friday, November 25, 2005

I am not in a happy mood these days. I am not sure why it is so but I woke up today, feeling so depressed that I did not know what to do with myself.

I find myself quick tempered, flaring easily at the simplest things. My voice raised each time the maids fail to understand my instructions. I feel bad three seconds later. It spirals downwards from there. And yet I am less forgiving of others and my patience is running out. For my friends, my family, my everything.

I ask myself time and time again, trying to convince myself that I should be happy and contented. Everyone else would be contented in my position – with my everything.

No one understands why I am feeling the way I am. I guess some might think they can do a better job being me. “Freaking wasting the talent and resource,” I guess they would say. But what everyone does not understand is, I am all that I am because of how I feel. Change one bit of me - my hair, my eyes, my tears, my insecurities, my triumphs, my pains - and you will not be me.

So why did I wake up this morning wanting to mutilate myself? So I felt it would stop whatever inner pain I am feeling inside? No one would understand why I feel such amount of pain. Even I don't.

Probably I am too sensitive. Probably I am a doormat. Probably I am just a retard.

I am so angry with myself although I do not know why I am angry. I put so much pressure on myself. I expect great things from myself and yes, to many people's eyes, I have achieved quite a few things. But I ultimately do not feel great inside.

Probably I think too much. Probably I should just drink my thoughts away. Yes, I think that is what I will do tonight. I am supposed to go out with them friends but all I want at this very second is for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

Did I imagine all the pressure I am experiencing? Is there actually pressure from society? Or did I just make it up in my mind? Am I feeling paranoid? Why am I behaving this way?

Some shots of vodka for this evening and I will see how the night end. I don't want to feel.

I want to be numb.


Thursday, November 24, 2005
Just Call Me Passionate

Have you frequented a pub so often that you recognize its regular patrons? You do not know each other’s names but you recognize and acknowledge each other whenever you bump into each other at the local watering hole. Have you wondered what do they see in their eyes and what do they call you when you have not introduced yourselves?

Well I have that pleasure. Before I knew AB’s real name, E and I called him Blondie. He had a short mop of blonde hair then. Then was a time when we were both extremely naïve. Now AB sports an Afro, so unmistakable 50 meters away. Then again, AB is not unmistakable because it is AB after all.

AB once mentioned what they (all the fine people who faithfully served E and I in our favourite night spot for many beautiful nights) called us when they did not know our names. I was called the Ice Princess. Five years on, this name still lives on.

(Seriously how many of you guys give your details away like a newspaper reporter whenever you are out on a night of dancing and drinking – and you giving your details away just because some random chick/guy asked you for it? Am I so old fashioned? Damn it!)

It takes me a real long time to warm up to new people (hint to people whom I might meet in near future). It is just my built up. I am naturally quite reserved and shy with strangers. I am traditional in this sense - I believe that friendships that are built over time, not over beer, hiccups and hangovers.

I am also called the Ice Princess because I am one of those rare species who makes it clear whether I like you. Or not. I make no pretence otherwise. Consequently I am not one of those girls who smile continuously in a bar or a pub. I am not the girl who is friendly and happening. I am the quiet mice in the group. If I do not like a person, he/she will know it immediately. And I am unapologetic for my behaviour.

Consider it this way: I am honest. At least you know that I don’t like you. I am not one who will backstab a person. If I do not like you, believe me, you will know.

Inversely I am affectionate and loving towards people whom I care deeply for. These are the people whom I will pledge my blood. I will do anything to protect and support my family and close friends.

Just call me passionate.

I received a rather unwelcomed sms from someone I bumped into this morning at the breakfast table. He is an acquaintance of mine; one you might consider a friend of a friend of a friend type.

Transcript of sms (which he obviously wanted to send to another person but was mistakenly sent to me instead – God has a sense of humor, I am telling ya):

“Went to XXX for breakfast. Saw this Chinese girl, very familiar. Went over to ask whether she was who I thought she was. It was Otto, remember her? Got her number blah blah blah.”

But since he was a friend of a friend of a friend, it is quite difficult to remain steadfast on my Ice Princess principles. I imagine “You snob!” would be the remark I will get from him if I did not give my details. After all, it was a friend of a friend of a friend.

In the die/die situation, I gave my contact number, so “we will catch up, ok!”.

And this is what I get for warming up a little more to people. Some nincompoop bragging to his friend that he scored a bloody phone number.

Bloody hell.

It is moments like this that I swear by my Ice Princess philosophies. You see, my father is always right.

The Origin of the Ice Princess
My father brought me up quite differently, I think. Which explains all my fucks up (I have a long list of that) and my unconventional Ice Princess persona. He taught me while I was still sitting on his lap, listening to him singing nursery songs to me, that it is my right as a girl/woman not to divulge personal details to strangers, especially men.

“You never know what sick people are lurking out there,” he said each time as I dressed up to go out clubbing years and years ago. (Father used to sit in the living room, waiting for me to come home. He could not shut an eye till I set foot through the front door.)

Variety is the spice of life and therefore there will be some people who do not take “NO” for an answer.

“Why,” they ask, “why can’t I have your number?”.

“Because my father said I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

They laughed. They thought I was trying to be funny.

I was not being funny.

Or sociable.

Or smartass.

I was just being my father's daughter.

The photo for this entry is taken from Thomas Hawk's Photoblog.


Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Public Property

Okay once is a mere coincidence. Twice is a unlike chance. Three times is totally uncool.


I have spent the last 10 minutes writing and deleting whatever I wrote, simply because I do not know the proper way to start this particular entry. I just do not know how to do it!

So I shall just mumble along and cross my fingers that you guys understood what I was trying to say for the pass few minutes.

After StarBucks at lunch break today, I decided on a quick look around the shops.

I was and still am looking for a pretty pair of shoes to wear during my god bro’s wedding (known as the very important function where photos are taken at lightning speed and framed in my god ma’s living room forever) in December. I had a nice dinner dress tailored for the occasion, so I have been trawling through various shoe shops looking for a nice pair of shoes (black, preferably leather ballet pumps with some cutesy ribbon, as high as my little feet can trot along on). I was in a particular shop looking through their selection of shoes when I realised a man doing the funniest thing.

He had his mobile switched on and started to snap photos. Of me. While I was trying on shoes. Bloody hell. He tried to be discrete about the whole thing but hey, I know when a person is taking my photo. Period.

The sales person found it amusing. I wished I did. I was borderline thinking whether I could nicely tell the gentleman that I do not fancy having my photos taken indiscriminately (or having some unknown man with a shoe fetish wank off to a photo of me trying on shoes). Neither do I find it a compliment. I actually find it quite scary.

This is the third time it has happened and I am feeling uncomfortable about the whole thing. He was less than 5 meters away from me, with the damn photo camera pointing at me. Is it wrong if I tell the man that I do not feel comfortable that he is taking random photos of strangers? How best to go about this?

Are we really public property?


Back Back Back!

*run up and down the blog with arms wide open*

I am back! Back back back! I was showing bloody internet withdrawal symtoms! Like reading two Candace Bushnell books in 4 days. Then highlighting certain words and phrases. Like thinking what Malaysian Alien is over the long weekend in the states. Like thinking what Hot Babe has snorted or smoked in the pass few days.

Like visiting AB on Friday night and not telling anyone about it because I know everyone will nag me because everyone knows AB fucks my mind terribly. *crackling evil laughter*

But you see, seeing AB was just what I needed. It made me reflect on my life and think of lots of things. And a new idea for Nude, Not Naked. Consequently I am glad to announce that the last five days of internet deprivation has successfully made me do more rewarding things. Like actual writing, instead of nonsensical rubbish – which is not appropriate to mention here.

I am sitting in a quiet corner somewhere in StarBucks. Coffee and internet as salvation for the afternoon.

Let me get to my stories and I shall come back to you guys.



Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Paisay Liao: The Blog Wars

I suspected as much that the current blog wars were a mere creation of a few. Mainly I imagined their MSN chugging on this way two days before yesterday:

1st He: Wah so boring *drum fingers on table*

1st She: Ya lor. Ya lor. Our bloody stats also not up-ing. Everything so quiet. Bloody talking abt Dawn this, Dawn that.

2nd He:WFT abt Dawn lah? She pretty meh? My grandmother prettier wor.

2nd She: Now to gain some attention back and create traffic.... we pretend-pretend a blog war, how's that?

1st He: ... but... but, we not really war what...

1st She: Haiyoh, I teach so many times, why you don't remember?! Pretend lah!

1st He: Pretend? Pretend to fight? With you?

2nd He: No lar, fight with me. I visit your blog and say nasty-nasty stuff...

2nd She: And I come up with huge article about hating you.

1st She: Yeah - then we hate-hate each other ok. How's that?

1st He: Logical oso what. Then we all get high traffic for few days.

2nd He: And get femes...

Now that the beans are spilt, it turns out that 1st He and 1st She were the main people planning this blog war thing. 2d He and 2nd She weren't part of the dialogue. So now I imagine their MSN to be:

1st He: KNN....

1st She: Looks like bad publicity liao...

1st He: You kena called PSM-ing summore ar.....

1st She: I thought we are here to find a solution to this stupid mess we've created for some traffic. Since when are you allowed to make sarcastic remarks? You cannot use the PMS trump card wor.

1st He: Better find solution or else we look stupid during 3rd PPS bash.

1st She: Not to mention, we might not (GOD FORBID!) get nominated for Best Blogger next year because of bad publicity...

1st He: How about, we say we only playing prank? Say we teaching ppl how to blog war?

1st She: Ya hor, first time you come up with smart idea...... at least cover our asses lah... This doesn't mean I like you though.

1st He: I know. I also don't like you what... but what to do? Last minute trying to save our asses from the public calling us stupid no life..... for starting a war out of nothing lah...

And so 1st He and 1st She agreed to praise each other on their blogs.

The end.

Wait a minute. That story might have ended but I have a little more to share.

I am a fence sitter. Namely because I hate spending 2 hours writing a blog war article when the same amount of time can be used to do other things. Like sleeping. Or shopping. Or reading. Or writing a chapter in Nude, Not Naked.

But since I have been reading everything everywhere, I have been rather slack in terms of the Nude, Not Naked stories. My only consolation is that I am writing a lot - just that the pieces aren't about Nude, Not Naked at all.

I need to shift my attention to some other blogs. Through an older link, I found photos of Hot Babe and realised that he not only had a tattoo on his right wrist, he had another on his mid lower arm. Today Hot Babe played doctor, dispensing medical information.

Wahhhhhhh I didn't know paracetamol could do wonders...


The Dawning

Slitty eyes. Tan skinned. Flat nose. Chinak face.

These are but a few of the remarks I received as a child. If impressions are made at a young age, I have quite a few impressions of beauty. You see, when I was a child, I was tan. I had small, slitty eyes and a nose bridge so flat, I could be mistaken for a Persian cat.

Imagine going for wedding dinners and nothing good can be said about your facial features? The only one adjective not used to describe me was “fat” because I was neither fat nor thin. I was just average.

Mother was very kind and she comforted me often (in my presence). “Don’t care what they say. What is the most important is that you are smart.” However while I was out of ear shot, she’ll reel at my father for it was often his side of the family that made fun of my physical features. Mother was the one who encouraged me to look beyond my physical beauty and look into my mind and my heart – that beauty could only take me to a certain level. But if I wanted respect from society, I need to use what sits on top of my shoulders: my brain.

However I also possessed the most pragmatic of mothers. After comforting and encouraging me to excel academically, she would add, “In any case, mummy has allocated a portion of money for you to go for plastic surgery. Fix your eyes like Aunty L and fix your nose like my friend, Mrs. T. Both married successful businessmen and are happy.”

So I grew up not only with a study fund. I grew up with a beauty fund too! It was the very thing that will save me from taunting from my aunties and paternal grandmother.

The most ironic thing happened. Everything changed as I grew – from teenage years to my 20s. Somehow my facial features changed as I grew! It is the most ironic thing. Now I have the largest set of eyes in the family, with deep double eyelids and a balanced nose. My jawline slimmed and my forehead just did its thing. Nature took its course and voila! I am no longer fugly.

So now while we sit at reunion and wedding dinners, all the relatives go on and on about how much my features have changed. “Oh my, Otto. You looked different! Remember last time you used to have such a flat nose?” Okay my relatives are still rubbing the old wound but I really do not care anymore.

I literally don’t fucking care about what they thought about me anymore. I knew who I was and it took me some years to realize that I am fine just the way I am. I am still tanned, compared to my fairer Chinese sisters but I am actually very proud of that.

Yesterday while I was at the petrol station filling petrol, the lady boss came over for a chat. She commented that the day was very hot and that I should have worn long sleeves. I replied that it would only make everything feel hotter (especially over my mop of hair).

“Long sleeves to keep the sun away from your skin mah. Fairer,” she said.

“Aunty, I don’t want to be fair. I am happy just the way I am,” I replied.

She then mumbled the compulsory courteous, “Yeah, you look much nicer with tanned skin anyway. Hitam manis.”

It is also ironic that I am giving hope to my close girlfriend. She gave birth to a daughter three years ago and since then, has been having deep conversations with her husband and family, on how the little girl looked. It is the same comment all over again: Flat nose and slitty eyes. She was worried her daughter is fugly and could not be married out later in life.

It goes without saying that in her family home, I become the celebrated comfort factor.

“Wah your daughter has such a flat nose,” Aunty 1 said.

“But Otto had a very flat nose too and look, her nose is fine now,” my gf said.

“But your daughter also got such small slitty eyes, so Chinak!”

“Wah you won’t believe how small Otto’s eyes were! Now her eyes look fine what,” came the swift reply.

The conversation went back and forth, back and forth between the grandparents, the parents and the busybody relatives. They basically condemned my childhood self to death, only to redeem it by saying I don’t look that bad these days. I don’t think it was meant to be a compliment and if it was, it sounded bad.

But back to my gf’s daughter: I told PY that features will change as the child grows up and that my girlfriend need not worry. “So don’t worry dear, Otto last time was so ugly as a child, nowadays look quite pleasant what. So our daugher got hope,” is the sentence that the couple use to comfort each other as their daughter grows up into a healthy and smart 3 year old.

The morale of this ugly duckling childhood story is – our facial features change as we mature. Dawn could have just changed, just like I did. She could have also gone under the surgeon’s scalpel, that I do not deny. My mother had a piggy bank in place for the day I would get my nose and eye jobs done. But those days did not come to pass. Maybe Dawn's mother had a little piggy bank too? Maybe Dawn's day did not come and she decided to take matters into her own hands, quite literally.

So whatever happened to “Otto’s Beautification Fund”? I used my plastic surgery fund for something far more beneficial - to study in London.

I think more people are curious about Dawn’s surgeon (as compared to Dawn). I for one, am! Whoever that doctor is, he deserves a pat on his back for creating such a beautiful creature to walk among us, mere mortals.

Growing up thinking that one day I will became beautiful when a doctor makes me pretty, I am quite adjusted to the idea of plastic surgery. However, unlike Dawn, I won’t have one when I am in my early 20s. Why, you asked.

What else is there to look forward to in my 40s, if all the surgeries are done now?


Monday, November 14, 2005
On Cows And Pigs

This was written by Andy Rooney from CBS 60 Minutes.

Andy Rooney says:

"As I grow in age, I value women who are over 30 most of all.

Here are just a few reasons why:
A woman over 30 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think. If a woman over 30 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it! . She does something she wants to do. And, it's usually something more interesting. A woman over 30 knows herself well enough
to be assured in who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom.

Few women past the age of 30 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing. Women over 30 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it. Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.

A woman over 30 has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn't trust the guy with other women. Women over 30 couldn't care less if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her.

Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 30. They always know. A woman over 30 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women.

Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 30 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.

Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one! You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.

Yes, we praise women over 30 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of 30+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress. Ladies, I apologize for all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free".

Here's an update for you. Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage, why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig, just to get a little sausage."

Andy Rooney did a bloody good job writing this article. It very much sums up a lot of my feelings, though I digress on the red lipstick. I am not a fan of any lipstick at all.

I am much happier now that I am in my late 20s. I feel more in control of myself, knowing what I want and not, knowing what my weaknesses and strengths are, knowing what I am willing to sacrifice and what I will not put up with. This realization is self-empowering because I feel freed of emotional baggage that came along with being an early 20s child.

While I might have been fazed in my 20s with questions such as "Do you love me?", I now know not to ask the question. Same goes with the, "Do you think I am pretty?" or "Who's prettier? XYZ or me?" or "Do I look good in this pair of jeans?" or "What do you think of me?".

When it comes to SEX I proclaim to the world that sex only gets better for the girls. I feel comfortable in my own skin, able to accept myself just the way that I am. Able to feel sexy just being me and not wanting to be anyone else. Not the model in the magazine. Not the latest super singing sensation. Not anyone else but me.

I no longer feel that sex is sinful (parental hang up). I feel that sex is an expression of love between a couple and it represents part and parcel of a relationship. I don't have to feel ashamed of liking/doing it.

Yet at the same time, I know how much I am worth. I do not feel pressured to give more than I am willing to give. If you want to call me a prude, then so be it. I take my time and I think I am worth my time.

I know what makes me feel good and I won't give two seconds thought to let my love know how to please me. "Do it like this... do it this way... yes, that's right..." No blushing from me, I can assuredly tell you.

The quality of my relationship also jumped a kazillion points as I mature. You won't find me nagging my love whenever he wants to watch football. Go straight ahead and watch football. I'll just jump into the bath and splash about. Have my own private time. Play dress up with my closest girlfriends and go out for some coffee and a chat. Catch a movie or give myself a little present every now and then.

I promised myself that I'll buy myself a diamond bracelet on my 30th birthday. A gift for myself for being older and a little bit wiser.

Here lies the little secret: Men will love you more if you know how to love yourself a little.

Anyone in their early 20s might be guilty of the following conversation:

He: *silence*

She:Why are you so quiet?

He:Nothing. I am just tired.

She:Tired? Are you sure?

He:Yeah, I am. I just want to be quiet.

She:Was it something I did wrongly?

He:No, not at all. Just tired.

She:Surely it's something. Tell me.

15 minutes later, the whole conversation sinks into paranoia. You think up a thousand reasons why he's quiet. Both of you argue and there is a feeling of resentment. Took me some years to realise that he's what he said he was: tired. These days I just bring him some juice/food/goodies, give him a hug, let him know where I am (Hunny, I think I'll take a bath) and just leave him be. It's amazing how he'll turn around, eyes wide open as he knocks on the bathroom door, "What are you doing in there?"


If it is indeed true that all things get better as we mature (at least for the girls - and I am certain that it does) bloody hell, bring on the 30s!

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Thursday, November 10, 2005
Hello Hot Babe

All you guys know by now that I have been secretly stalking a blog. I hold my breathe as I type his URL (no, I am yet to bookmark it - not that addicted YET) hoping and hoping that he has something new to say. But he is yet to update his damn blog... bloody hell, it's the 10th November now and he has left his blog unattended since the 7th! The 7th!

The nerve of Hot Babe!

Another random thought - Men and tattoos (oh you naughty, naughty boy).
Perhaps it all started when I was over at MalaysianAlien's blog. There were some photos of him and his hunny. There is a tattoo on his left shoulder/upper arm area. Just take a look....

Do you agree that MalaysianAlien has a rather nice looking tattoo? Have to see it in person though to be doubly sure.....

Don't really fancy Hot Babe's tatt design (because I can not really see it clearly) but I found where he placed it very seductive: his right wrist area. 'Nuff said...

Lots of things are going through my mind these days. Over the Deeparaya weekend, I drank too much, danced too hard, slept too late, woke up too early and rested too little. Commonly known as flu. I detest days spent in bed. Makes me think more than I ought to....

Dear readers, how am I going to spin the next chapter for you? A happy story or a soapy tale? Sometimes I wonder what you readers are thinking and what you are secretly yearning to read. Whether you are happy that all the stories are happy-lovey-dovey kinds or you'll like some spice added to the stories as I cook them up?

Wanted to end this with a little tale of an indecent proposal I received today. However I am still feeling a little under the weather, so I will skip it for the moment.

Night people.


Look What You've Done

Take my photo off the wall
If it just won't sing for you
'Cause all that's left has gone away
And there's nothing there for you to prove

Oh, look what you've done
You've made a fool of everyone
Oh well, it seems likes such fun
Until you lose what you had won

~ Jet's Look What You've Done

What do you guys think of this title? I was thinking of redesigning this blog/site/book/whatever...everyone seems to have a fancy and unique header, so I thought why not myself? And since I suck big time at all things related to computers, the header is not the best around and I don't even know how to design this place.


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Monday, November 07, 2005
Read All About It

You left your smell, you left your taste,
You left me here with my mistakes.
And I can't relate to what you say I've done,
But just for you, I'll bite my tongue.

~ Eleanor, by Low Millions.

The next chapter of Nude, Not Naked is yet to be named but it will be out tomorrow. I promise.

I must apologize that it is taking so long. However I hope tomorrow's chapter will make up for your patience.




Taken from MahaGuru58's posting dated October 30th 2005.

MahaGuru58 said:
"Where else can you find the numerous temples, churches , gurdwaras and other religious establishments that Malaysia allows to be built and expanded as in this Malay heartland?

We have the largest Hindu temples in practically every state of Malaysia. We have the tallest statue of Kuan Yin in the state of Penang, Malaysia. We have the largest reclining Buddha statue in the only Islamic Party controlled state of Kelantan in Malaysia. We have so many churches in Petaling Jaya, you would think that this is a Christian land. We have Gurdwaras in every state in Malaysia , yet we see these groups clamouring for more leeway in their expansionist ideas!

What more do they want? Ahhh...yes...I see what's on their minds. They want the Malays to succumb to their desires. They want the Malays to close their eyes to all the social decay taking place amongst the youths in the name of freedom to do as they please!

They want us to shut our mouths and keep quiet when the society goes down the drain in the name of modernisation. Freedom to pull in the impressionable Malay youths to becoming Christians or just allow themselves to be abused and destroyed in the name of social freedom!" - unquote -

I am offended by the word "THEY" used by MahaGuru58. The word "THEY" divides Malaysia into two groups, "WE/OUR/US" and "THEY/THEIRS/THEM". I assume "WE" includes people who are like-minded like MahaGuru58 himself and "THEY" are the people who do not share similar views as him. So as you can see, I belong to the "THEY" group.

THEY are people who love Malaysia. THEY are the people who cry for the nation when THEY see injustice served at their table. Malaysia is striving hard to form THEIR identity, one that includes everyone - not just you because you are rich nor you because you are of a certain desirable ethnic. THEY are trying to live in harmony. THEY are trying hard to be good, law abiding citizens serving THEIR communities, irrespective of race or religion. THEY seriously do not need someone to divide THEM once again into "WE" and "THEY". What difference would that make you from the Colonial masters who chose to divide and conquer?

How long more must Malaysia cry because its people is still divided into "YOU", "ME", "HE", "SHE", "WE", "THEY"? Is 50 years not enough? How many more does Malaysia need? 60 years? 100 years? 200 years? Is the nation still on its knees, unable to rise up to the occasion? 50 years is long, it represents two generations. Are Malaysians so weak that they cannot stand up on their two legs and compete with the rest of the world?

Instead of going on and on and on, commenting on his article, let me challenge MahaGuru58 to find out the answers to the following questions:

1. Using your own quote, please list down the number of churches, temples, mosques and etc places of worship found within PJ. Please note that the official name must include the word, "church", "temple", "mosque" etc. Words like "persaudaraan", "persatuan" and "kesatuan" cannot be accounted for.

2. Quoting MaharGuru58 "They want the Malays to close their eyes to all the social decay taking place amongst the youths...." Are you therefore saying that only the Malays are Muslims? Is Muhammad Ali (an African American) not a Muslim brother too?

3. Using the same quote (and MahaGuru58 is using race to separate the "WE" from the "THEY" and mentioning social decay), please list down the percentage of rape cases according to race. How many incest cases involve the Chinese, Indian, Malays and others? What about the racial percentage for drug related offences?

4. Last of all, I would like to see what are your suggestions to combat "the society goes down the drain in the name of modernisation". It is easy to condemn and to throw stones at others. What is your proposed solution?

Although I am classified as "THEY" (since I do not share similar views as MahaGuru58, especially not on this topic) I want to let you know that I love you. You are no different from me because blood flow through our veins. We are born of mothers and though we might not believe in the same God (or some who don't even believe that there is GOD) we are all related. We are related because we queue at the same line at the immigration in KLIA. We are related because we have the same passport. We are related because we smile when Malaysia does well (Woohoo Nicol David won!). We are related because we cry when the nation suffers (like during the 1997 economic slowdown).

You see, we are related because we are Malaysians. Not we. Not they. Not you. Not me.

Just Malaysians.

And like all Malaysians with a fascination for food, I say, "Apa macam, MahaGuru58? Set minum teh tarik kat mamak?"


Friday, November 04, 2005

Her name is Pebbles. She adopted me more than 4 years ago when she was found in my porch, recovering from shock. When we first brought her to the vet 4 years ago, the vet commented that she was approximately 3 years old when she came to our house and she mostly was ran over by a motorbike.

I took her in and nursed her. Bought her kitty kibbles, a bed and a litter tray. She was never locked up in the house but was free to explore the garden in our old house. She soon got better but out of her own free choice, she chose to adopt my family as her new human family. Sometimes I wondered how her previous owners must have worried for her. I knew she had another family because she was house trained. That was why we have never restricted her movements because we thought she would one day recover from her accident and return to her old family.

But she stayed with us and she brought us so much joy. She was truly lovely as a cat, very affectionate and responsive.

I cannot write. I feel pain when I think about Pebbles. You see, two evenings ago my maid found her hidden among the bushes. She loved lazing in the garden and catching lizards and birds. But two evenings ago, she collapsed with a nose bleed. I took her to the vet immediately and the vet said that it was likely that a dog or a pack of dogs attacked her.

Damn the old man who walks his three dogs each evening without leash. Damn that man for allowing his dogs to terrorise my Pebbles since we moved to this new house. There were never dogs around in our old house.

The family said our last good byes to her. The vet suggested we bring her home and observe her for the night and should she recover, I was to bring her to the vet yesterday morning at 10 a.m.

Suffice to say her internal bleeding did not stop and blood dripped from her nose until the moment she died.

This was a beautiful cat who would greet all of us when we came home. She was a great conversationalist, often "talking" to us whenever she sat with us on the garden bench. Each time she caught a lizard or a bird, she would bring it to us, mewing away loudly, as if to say, "Look, look! I am doing such a great job as a cat. I protect my human family from pests!". We would look at the lizard/bird and praise her, "Well done, Pebbles". And as if she understood, she would pick it up and took it back out into the garden.

The maids dug a hole under the jambu tree. The Muslim call to prayer resonated on the first day of Raya. It rained and I did not know whether it was because of the monsoon seaon or because the skies were crying with us.

The household is quiet. Everyone is affected by Pebbles sudden death. Even Milo, my red smoke domestic long hair is more quiet than usual.