Call Me 'Mamadonna'

So the Brood has been very enamored by Madonna's Confessions Tour, and especially by the diva herself.

We weren't really quite there, as in "physically there". But we are easily self-entertained with the DVD.


Pi: you've been running and all?
ME Inc.: i've been swimming more in the weekdays, in the early evenings/late afternoons.
ME Inc.: run on saturdays
ME Inc.: bball on sundays
ME Inc.: i'm quite poofed
Pi: that's good. build the mean machine
Pi: it feels damn good that way
ME Inc.: yes
Pi: there are some days i feel like just ripping my muscles at gym
ME Inc.: i'll be the first one to achieve madonna status!
Pi: feeling is damn great
Pi: i bet
ME Inc.: ok you can call me mamadonna
ME Inc.: fatmamadonna
ME Inc.: hmm
Pi: leave tht fat out
ME Inc.: mamadonna sounds more fly

Got a new name.

Stoned

Today's one of those rare days when I wish I didn't have to crawl out of bed.

Now I think I might have overdone it over the weekend. And I am absolutely burnt - mentally and superficially.

I could've had my coffees today laced, and I wouldn't have known the difference.




There's been this silly theory going 'round the Brood, 'bout how sleeping hours, waking hour and senility are all correlated.

In a nutshell, the less sleep you can survive on, the earlier you wake up (regardless of the time you'd slept), the older you're becoming.

Well, it's probably right, and if I could expand it further, this would be yet another of Fatmama's crap theories.

The older you become, the more you feel time should no longer be wasted like it had been in your youth, the more latent energy you ironically leash out, the more activities you try to cramp within a short twenty-four-hour day, the less you want to waste your precious time on unproductive sleep time, therefore the less you sleep, the earlier you rise.

Tired

I am positively, absolutely, totally, utterly beat.

I can't hold my head up. I can't lift my arms. I can't feel my legs.

But I also can't complain about my weekend.


A babysitting session with the little man. A very timely phonecall from Hong Kong. A la-kopi session with my babe. A strangely girlie chat. A good forty-two minutes on the road. A Man United victory. A Chelsea draw. A new baby arrival. A favorite meal at Adam's. A chick who finally came home. A couple of chilled reds. A productive discussion about 'our' kid. A good sleep. A traumatic dream. A game with the boys in the morning. A "hot" shooting hand. A gorgeous tan. A cheap lunch of yong tau foo. A last-minute shopping trip with the hanny. A guilt-ridden acquisition of not one, but two new caps. A hearty chat over iced-skinny-latte. A new discovery in Far East Plaza. A game again, this time with the girls in the evening. A chat with the gorgeous one.

I can't wait to tuck myself into bed in a while.


I did well this weekend. I made it.

I didn't spare myself much time nor space to think.

Tired. Too tired to even think. And when you are too tired, you start to believe in everything you think.

I don't know if it is good advice, but I think it is working.


It is rather strange how twenty bucks can make me feel utterly rotten.

Hunger Begets More Hunger

I dreamed of little mounds and mounds of ice-cream, in a myriad of colors and flavors - pink, black, turquoise, yellow, yam, sesame and many others unidentifiable. I was back in my school hall, and the little mounds were just all over, everywhere - some between wafers, some in bread slices, most just sitting on their own.

I dreamed I wolfed down whatever I could grab my hands on.


Then, I woke up because I got too thirsty.

Had to gulp down mouthfuls of soya milk to stop the rumblings.


I swear I'll never go to bed hungry ever again.

Hungry

I think the metabolism's back up. Awesome.

Haven't hit the road in more than a week, but still, I kept it down to forty-two today. And I was so, so fooking drenched like I never had been in a long while. I shall only suppose it's a good sign.

Chilled out for a bit at home, only to watch the devils down by one, before I headed out to Adam's. Ah. I missed Adam's, I missed those freakin' juicy prawns.

Had my couple of reds, and a whole load of crap, at where-else. I demanded for permanent residency tonight.

And now I wish I had gobbled that last wing in the basket. I am so fooking hungry now.


Another tanning session tomorrow.

Hope the knees hold up.

Frivolous

Hmm. Let's see.

HerWorld: S$6.00
Milk: S$3.00

Yes, for that extra three-bucks savings, I have to learn how to read Canto.

Satirical

I seem to be 'talking' a lot tonight, don't I?

But really...

My life's a _____.

My mind's a _____.

My heart, sooner or later, will become a _____ too.


For a long, long time, probably much longer than it should've taken, I have been trying to fill in those blanks.

Some stuff, some people, some new experiences, they come along my way and as i deem fit, I try to fit them into the spaces but they just don't seem to fit.

But you know what's worse than that?

That the ones that finally seem to fit just won't stay around long enough to make it complete.


I am back to ground nought, rather resentfully, and I have to learn to grapple with some hateful realities.

Aahh, but what is my life without such 'interesting' experiences?


There are still some couple of stuff I have to decipher, and decide upon.

For the betterness of myself, and those that matter to me.


I realize. That I haven't actually had such spaced-out "me" time for a long while. Where I just sit alone, literally chill my brains out, and let my mind wander.

Which kinda explains why I am 'talking' so much tonight.

Then again, I am not what I seem.

I am rather good at hiding.

Speaking of 'hiding', I have this strong urge to disappear. Literally, physically, virtually, blogospherically, whatever-ly.


One day, when I disappear, you'd eventually forget me.

Disappointment

Disappointments, I've had a few. If not plenty.

What I have to learn is to get around them, and make myself stronger.

Which is really the tough bit.

Libero

I thank my God for Wikipedia.

For it has saved my ass from numerous potential incidents of embarrassment.


Like, without Wiki, would I have been able to act so cool in front of the polo dudes?

Without Wiki, would I have known that a shuttlecock that is tipped just over the net onto the opponent's court is called a 'drop'?

Without Wiki, would I have known that volleyballers, unlike badminton players, score a point on an error, regardless of service?


And my new word of the day: Libero.

The libero is a player specialized in defensive skills: the libero must wear a contrasting jersey colour from his or her teammates and cannot block or attack the ball when it is entirely above net height.

No wonder I keep seeing these kids who wear a different-colored jersey and worst of all, I go, "Wahlau, another kid who forgot to bring his jersey."


I know. You don't have to tell it to me.

I am rather ignorant for a sports-writer. But hey, I am only a wannabe.

Chickless

I am chick-less on a precious Friday night.

Which explains why I am still staring tearfully at my beloved laptop screen.

My Mac, the one who would never ditch me, even on a Friday night. If I could marry you, I would.

Tearing

I was wondering why my eyes are so tired, when I realized I have been staring non-stop (save for the toilet breaks and driving time) at the sometimes-dimmed laptop screen for the past thirteen hours.

It's already Friday, and considering I have been doing this since last Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday... hey, guess what?! That's every single freakin' day!

Let's take an average work-day (yes, now I actually qualify to use the term 'work-day'). I spend about 3 hours watching a game, an hour on the road (which is already a blessing since I can actually choose to skip rush hours), sometimes another hour at the pool, about 6-7 hours of zzz - yes, my math is right after all, I do spend about 12-13 hours a day keeping my eyes glued to the laptop screen. And yes, I don't eat. Or even if I do, I do it while continuing staring at the computer.

Of those 13 hours, about half an hour is spent in total reading a few blogs, maybe another half writing on my own. I don't really chat these days; neither do I surf any more. Heck, I haven't even visited my 'Favorites' page for the longest time. Some couple of hours is spent in frustration dealing with connection problems and other related forms of Internet cock-ups. A few more hours staring blankly into the screen trying to conjure up the juices.

I can almost claim no other kind of life except that of being an online stalker.

Anyone needs a freelancer to moderate your forum?


I can't taste it. Are those tears, or is that blood flowing down my cheeks?

Maaooo

Much as I'd hate to admit this, cats might really be a tad smarter than dogs.

Try asking a cat for its name.


Fatmama (bending over talking to a stray): Hel-lo, mao mao. What's your name, hmm?

Cat (stroking itself against Fatmama's leg): Maaoooo.


Or maybe I, the dog owner, should be smarter when I name my next dog.

(No offense, Pipes.)

Morning Rush

Well, the good thing about not having regular or timely bowel movement is that you don't have to waste precious time, sitting out and waiting at the toilet every morning/mid-morning/after-lunch-hour/whenever, newspapers or email print-outs in hand, and end up hogging the bathroom/newspapers - like the men in my household do everyday.

In short, you just go whenever you have the urge to, and you're most likely done in under a minute.

The bad thing?

The bad thing is, you actually don't know when that urge might hit you, and sometimes real bad?

Like, it usually hits you when you're driving on the road - real bad - and you have to end up making a hurried stopover at the first gas station you can find, squirm your way to the cashier, ask for the key with all the politeness you can conjure up since she'd most likely be trying to scan some stubborn barcode on a can of chrysanthemum tea (yes, politeness is utterly necessary since you'd be stinking up their cosy little toilet), make two rounds of the perimeter because usually the ladies' toilet tends to be rather obscure-looking (either that, or your vision is just turning impaired with despair), spend the next thirty seconds fumbling with the keyhole and dropping the damned key - before you get your under-one-minute job done.


Yes, just another one of my occasional adventures on the road.

Self-restraint

'Self-restraint' is a virtue, says Fatmama.

With self-restraint, hurt could be avoided. Pain could be lessened. Stupidity could be ignored, if not cured. Heck, even lives could be saved.

And most importantly, with self-restraint, life would go on like it should otherwise have.

You, your words and your actions, wouldn't really be missed.

Wretchedness

"BAR MANAGER DIES IN PUB BRAWL"

The news have been striking an unlikely chord with me.

I can't really say I knew the victim, but if my memory serves me right, I had seen him around during my Ice-Cold days. He'd come around the pub, hang around Jason the manager, but he had never really been introduced to us.

I never knew his name. It's been eons since we hung out at Ice Cold. But still, he had been a passer-by in my life.


For a passer-by who had merely flitted before my presence now and then, who had never even spoken to me, much less toasted a beer with me, I am feeling strangely shaken by his sudden death.

Probably because it unfortunately happened at a time where I am experiencing a sudden surge of rude awakenings in my wretched life.

And then, I can't help it but start thinking about this whole inevitable phenomenon called 'Life'.

What it really means. What I really mean. What the people I think I love really mean. What the things I think I love doing really mean. How everything intertwines into an intricate mass of occurrences that manifests life.

Love. Time. Death.

Which do you fear most? Would you know yourself?


"Villa Bali Girl Dies In Pub Crawl"

I can imagine, with a wicked twist of humor.

After all, that's how the headlines in my life have always been written.

Chlorinated

I love the faint smell of chlorine that still lingers on my skin, on my fingers and in my hair.


P.S.: It doesn't mean I didn't shower after my swim, ok?!

Hiding

Well, I realize under certain lighting (very bad one, that is), my legs don't look that sickly bad. Hee hee hee.

Pardon me for my ignorance, but I've always thought the tan on the legs should cover up the "gor-jiam-zi-kak" to an extent.

Fatmama theory #93: If you can neither flaunt it nor rid it, hide it.

I am almost always good at hiding.


Hanging out with the kids almost everyday now really makes me feel like I want to be one again.

A pretty much perfect fantasy for a thirty-year-old girl-woman who rants about innocent ideals and simplistic ideas (for instance, read the above) and who lives like she'd always have time to grow up later, not now - much to the amusement, and sometimes bemusement, of her adult-friends.

If I could, I would live for fun and for laughter, anytime.

And I wish I wouldn't have to live it alone.

Pee Break

Ok, I think my life has taken another turn for the haywire again.

The blocks, the thoughts and the tiredness made me fall into a three-hour nap in front of the computer, and gave me a nightmare. So I woke up at two, got a little flustered, and decided to get cracking on the story.

Two hours on, I am still in the middle of it. I don't see how I might have a 'good Tuesday'.

I know. I am slow.

Or maybe just undecided. About everything in my life.

A Daughter's Woes

Oh dear.

The mother has taken notice, and finally spoken up.

"妹呵! 为什么你最近又这么黑?"

Yes, the mother who still complains about all the "gor-jiam-zi-kak" on my legs.

The mother who, I suspect, still harbors hopes that one day her daughter would become 'Miss Universe'.

Sigh. The woes of a thirty-year-old daughter, who has more to worry about than her unwhitening face.

FatGizmoMama

Ooh. Fatmama loves technology, and until the day when technology screws her up (again), she is proudly declaring her love and dedicating her life to technology.

Fatmama has been surviving on Starhub and Coffee Bean coffee for the longest time, when she was bestowed with Wireless@SG and the Starbucks coffee that came along with it.

Man, her base offices grew from a mere few to many others around the island. Nothing beats a Starbucks double skinny latte thus far.

And she thought her life was complete.

Then came along M1 broadband.

Can life be any more perfect? :)

Monkeying

Oh! Look!

Spot the dancing Red Sports Monkey!



=)

Crash

Just a week ago, the chick was complimenting me on my... erm... 'acting' and 'impersonation' skills.

Today, she went, "You don't have to act now. You already look like one."


Just two Sundays, and I am all dark again. Today's result's looking much better than last week's, though.

Still, just ignore the legs. I am baffled too.

On another note, I really admire those guys who run around the court bare-torsoed. Wah, like that can get a perfect, even tan on the upper body, I also want.


The weekend's been busy. Busy-good, but busy-tired as well.

And I have had the best of company with me, too.

Thanks to my babe, and my chicks. The young dudes with the tightest of tight butts. Oh, and how can I forget the Boss?


I had almost wanted to whine, "Oh, it's Monday again."

But I realize, (a) I no longer quite live by a normal work week nor by normal working hours, and (b) Monday is good (so is Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday...), work is good, being busy busy busy is good.

Uncluttering your mind by filling it with work stuff instead ought to be good, no?


I am going to crash.


P.S.: Mind-boggling question of the day - why is it that your legs don't tan at the same rate as your arms???

Back

Server's back up, though still a little cranky.

Yes, I now have a backlog of stories waiting to be posted, but it also means our show's back online. :)




If I could have a chance to go back in time, back to when I was thirteen, and do something different, I would pick up a second sport.

And it would've been softball.

超屌.

Tired

Suddenly, I am feeling rather tired.

I don't know why, or why I should even be feeling anything about it.

I just am.

I'll just let the clock run down to full-time.

Nostalgia

ME Inc.: hanny!
ME Inc.: did you go ringside?!
Hanny: yeeaaaahhh
Hanny: man next trip maybe u come
ME Inc.: awwesome right?
Hanny: in july
ME Inc.: yes yes i wanna come!
ME Inc.: i miss US!
Hanny: my pics sure nostalgix
Hanny: and I ran in 4 degrees this morning
Hanny: wah lan, farkin cold
ME Inc.: ah nice
ME Inc.: nice lah
ME Inc.: i miss cold weather too
ME Inc.: when you coming home?
Hanny: tomorrow
ME Inc.: if i ever make it to portland with you in july
ME Inc.: you have to take some days off after your meeting
Hanny: will try
ME Inc.: aww i miss you dude
Hanny: serious? y?
omehow when you're in singers and even if we don't meet, i'd know you're somewhere around near me
ME Inc.: should've asked you help me get some stuff
Hanny: what u wan?
ME Inc.: something from bath & bodyworks
Hanny: make sure next time u get urself hehehe
ME Inc.: i miss the steak in ringside
ME Inc.: i never ate steak in singapore ever since.
Hanny: i had new york
Hanny: prime
ME Inc.: i always go for the rib eye
ME Inc.: BEST
ME Inc.: i save all the fats consumption for ringside

And I still do.

I farking miss Oregon and the whole of US. :/

Pedestrian Day

Did someone forget to tell me today is "Pedestrian Day" or something?

I should've just left my bloody car and walk the roads like it's nobody's business. Just like what those people did today. :/

Strong

Someone actually checked me out on RedsportsTV. Hee hee hee.

But that someone, a friend of a friend, commented, "Wah, her muscles bigger than mine man."

@!$(*$@%*! ???

So, me being me, I went back and watched the past couple of episodes over and over again (sorry Boss, for taking up the precious bandwidth and distorting the statistics again).

And I have only one conclusion: Must be those arms man.

*****

I jumped into the pool today. Finally.

I haven't been able to - it's either the games, or the bad weather. Or, both. Or, neither. That's when the lazy bones hold the mind hostage.

But I unexpectedly had some free time today, because the server's been down and Boss declared a day off from the games. Technology continues to rule my life, yet at the same time be the bane of it - I am expecting a hellish morning tomorrow before we rush to the games. That is, if the server decides to get cranking.

But I digress a little. So no games to cover, weather was looking surprisingly fine. There was nothing between me and the pool - except the road leading to it. I even got myself that silly one-dollar coin by paying for a miserly can of soya bean milk with a ten-dollar note. Uh-uh, no excuses whatsoever today.

Again, I digress.

I am rather pleased with myself today. Not so much because I even made it to the pool, but because strangely enough, I actually had it much easier with the damned laps today. And lagi better? I am not even feeling tired now.

So I suppose, I must really be getting stronger again. Ok, the abs and the size-0 jeans are still some time away. But hey, if you were me, you'd also spend much more time these days admiring your own back in the mirror.

And of course, those arms.

Ooh.


Just as supermodels, or the wannabes, feel a compulsive need to stay skinny for the runway, the Redbabe does feel a similar urge to look toned and fit as a sports writer and a sports-show *a-hem* presenter.

Maybe not skinny, which a lot of people think I already am (but wait till you guys check out the scale), but more lean and mean like a real sporting machine, like I really know what I am saying or writing.

I mean, if I were flabby or if I were so weak I couldn't even run to three games in an afternoon without huffing and puffing and turning all pukey-green in the face, I might risk becoming a laughing-stock. Which I absolutely cannot tolerate.

Well, I don't mean I should look like those sixteen-year-old chicks who are still blessed with hidden fat cells and metabolism that isn't retarding. But I thought I should do us thirty-year-olds some proud.

Most of all, really, I just love being strong.

Ok ok... real reason?

TV is not forgiving at all. :/

Squid?

This edition of I-S is cracking me up abit at the cafe.


Most Bizarre Objects Singaporeans Have Masturbated With
Most Singaporean males seem to be fairly boring when it comes to their choice of objects to please themselves. We received more or less predictable answers like panties, lingerie, pillows, toilet rolls and socks (we hope they're washed). But we did get a few puzzling answers such as frozen watermelon, CDs, face masks, wheels, lamb and even, erm, a squid (it's dead, right?) that really got us scratching our heads (no, not that, the other one).
On the other hand, Singaporean females seem to exhibit more variety - and imagination - when it comes to playing with themselves. We had dildos, vibrators, bananas, pens, carrots, cooked sausages, markers, shower heads, screwdrivers, remote controls, combs, test tubes and beer bottles (careful there), but the answers that blow us away were Barbie dolls, dad's belts and Spiderman figurines. Gosh, one even confessed to using a porcupine (ouch!).


Hmm. I don't know. I'll just have to think thrice now before we order our 'whole squid' again.


And while we're on this topic - unintentionally, let me jot down a resounding Fatmama-quote.

"Sometimes, self-help is no help."

Omen?

Everytime I chance upon the freewillastrology, courtesy of the I-S magazine, I get astounded.

Today's no exception.


LIBRA (Sep 23-Oct 22)
On Dec 10 last year, 36,000 couples got married in Delhi, India (erm...). The mad rush to the altar was prompted by Vedic astrologers (hmmm??), who decreed that day to be an auspicious time to wed. I don't know enough about the Vedic system to judge whether its practitioners would also regard the coming weeks as propitious for ritual unions (wahlau! kong jiao wei!). But my reading of the omens says that from the perspective of Western astrology, it's very favorable for you Libras. If you've been thinking about deepening your commitment to a trustworthy partner, you've got cosmic mojo on your side - not just for romantic mergers, but also for business deals, artistic agreements, mutual oaths, and just about any splashy adventures in togetherness.


I just hope it's some One who's trying to send a message across to me.

Satisfaction

ME Inc.: hope you like this paparazzi here =)
The Married Woman: YAAAAAAAAAAAAa
The Married Woman: i LOVE the write up.. hahaha
The Married Woman: so farniii
The Married Woman: ya.. i did
ME Inc.: haha
The Married Woman: i feel like printing all, then do one album.. ill even print ur blog entry.. haha
ME Inc.: hey, i've been thinking the whole day one ok.
The Married Woman: really mann... farniiii
The Married Woman: haha
ME Inc.: about how to write it... cos that's how i plan the pictures to take.
ME Inc.: i like the ... "helllooo? where are you??"
ME Inc.: i was imagining the exact way you'd say it... hel-looo

This is why I do it all.

For that happiness my friend feels with the end result. :)


Thank you, babe, too.

You single-handedly spiked my readership for the day. Haha! :)

World Exclusive! Vaporubs Turns Ding!

The Fatmama is real pleased that she garnered the exclusive rights for the photo-coverage of the all-anticipated wedding of Vicks the Vaporubs.

Yes, you're reading it here first... possibly before the Bride herself does. Hee hee hee.


Late Monday night...

22:43:54 The Bride-to-be: anyways.... but tmw still can go see ur stylist??
22:44:13 ME Inc.: oh!
22:44:25 ME Inc.: i didn't know you were planning to use him
22:44:32 ME Inc.: didn't make appt!
22:44:34 ME Inc.: you want?
22:44:36 The Bride-to-be: :$.... i also didnt... :$:$...
22:44:38 ME Inc.: i try to text him now?
22:44:39 The Bride-to-be: yaa... i wan :$..
22:44:45 The Bride-to-be: wah.. now? not too late?
22:47:16 ME Inc.: aiyo
22:47:42 ME Inc.: if he can't?
22:47:50 The Bride-to-be: then jus walk around find one lor :$

Couldn't, and still can't, believe it. *smacks forehead*


Tuesday afternoon, fourteen hours later...

We made it! Well, she made it.



That's my man, by the way. The one I can trust absolutely, and the one I've been with for the past six years or so.

Got her pretty brown hair all curled and flicked, and we zipped across the road to Bobbi Brown. Not bad, huh? She's got the big names fussing all over her for her wedding. And of course, she's got the Fatmama to publicise her big day. Smart girl.



"Got a lot of make-up on my face!" The poor thing never had so much colorful stuff piled upon her face in one week. The Fatmama empathized totally; it's like your face desperately needs some oxygen supply.

But the girl tried too hard to plead with the lady who refused to have anyone mess with her work of art, and so the Fatmama was asked to butt in again: "Honey, yes there's a lot of color, but it's looking good, you're looking pretty and you definitely need the colors to show up pretty in the pictures." Snap snap snap, and she was convinced.

The Fatmama did tell the lady though, "I think let's just skip the mascara..."


Two hours later...

We zipped back across the road to the Fatmobile who was all ready to zip the bride to the registry, where the groom was awaiting - or, was supposed to be awaiting.



Hmm. Curly wurls and a full palette complete with the lined eyes and penciled brows. Fatmama said to the Bride, "I think today I can call you 'Jie Jie' for once."


Twenty minutes later...

"Hellooo?? Where are you?! Where's my dress?! We're getting married in five minutes!"



Fatmama really ought not to, but she was sniggering away at the back.

Couldn't, and still can't, believe it.


Five minutes later...

There you go... a bride ought to be in white. Hey, it rhymes.

She ran to the car the moment it turned into the carpark, then ran to the bathroom to get all changed, then ran back to the car to dump the stuff, then ran to the office where we were all waiting, then ran back to the car again to get the flowers, then ran to the office to register, then ran out to the car again to get the her identification, then finally ran back to the office again.

She couldn't even stop running on her own wedding day. Sigh.



Looking all pretty, but holding on to a... work file?

Yeppers, she was rummaging through all her work papers, frantically looking for the "print-out of our online application".

And then, "Shit, I think I got the wrong file."

Couldn't, and still can't, believe it. *smacks forehead*


Some ten minutes or so later...

After all the nitty gritty bits of the registration were over and done with, the Bride was looking all relaxed and goofy again.

But you're starting to lose your curls, babe. :/



More snap, snap, snap. With the folks, with the buddies. With all but the Fatmama!

Hmph!!!


Another fifteen minutes or so later...

Just what the Fatmama had been waiting for... the air-conditioned waiting room. Just about another four more couples to go.

The Bride was starting to get all excited and really giggly, thanks in part to the Rod. But the Fatmama spied some nervousness beyond her lens.



And you know why the Fatmama loves her girl so?

She remembered her usual goofy, monkey-faced self on such a big day like today. :)




Ah. It's tough to be a paparazzi.

You snap away all afternoon and all you get is ONE picture with the big-shot, just before the battery runs flat.



And yes, it's a rather big embarrassment for a paparazzi to have run out of battery just before the actual ceremony gets underway. It did, and I was.

It must have been these damned pretty flowers I kept snapping away at. I don't know what's with me and those flowers, but I must have been feeling a tad furious for not getting that one million pound I demanded for today's exclusive coverage by the Fatmama.



Pretty pretty.

Especially you, my babe.

Congratulations, and be happy everyday always.


Er... la kopi tomorrow night hor?


Post-script: This photo-story coverage thingy is becoming an occupational hazard! Aaahh!!! Click on the pictures to see more.

Natural Selection

No wonder!

This kinda makes sense to me.

Why I drink :
Well you see, it's like this: a herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and the weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members.

In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive intake of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. And that is why you always feel smarter after a few beers.

Cheers!

Four Old Chicks

Four old chicks named Pi, Sasy, Ash and Fatmama were sitting at the Bali having quiet drinks and silly conversations when a flasher approached from across the carpark.

The flasher came up to the chicks, stood right in front of them and opened his trench coat.

Fatmama immediately had a stroke (but of course). Then Ash and Pi also had a stroke.

But Sasy, being older and more feeble, couldn't reach that far.


Adapted from some joke over the email.

Weird

My cell is really acting weird.

I think it's been hibernating. And all of a sudden, like really all of a sudden, it's functioning like normal again.

Thank chickness. Please stay that way.

Darker and Weaker

Whatever meagre efforts I've spent trying to "whiten" my skin have been rendered useless by the two mere hours I spent under the sun just twenty-four hours ago.

Blody 'ell.

My face is a tone darker, which is rather bleh. My arms are two tones darker, which I like. But the thighs now look two tones lighter by comparison, which is TOTALLY BLEH BLEH BLEH.

And the body is screaming for help.

My back is terribly tired. My ankle is pained. And so are the two knees.

=(((


"See you next week!"

Hmm.

Vital Statistics

Les has turned into a monster. A figure-churning, statistic-crazed monster.

He's becoming half-mad too. Well, I make up the other half. :)


Anyhoos, we're really impressive, aren't we?

143,000 hits
31,000 unique visitors

We started 74 days ago.

Technorati.com ranks us 85,950th in the world and we have 83 links from 50 blogs.
Alexa.com ranks us 2,268 in Singapore based on traffic (mr brown is around 1,000 by comparison).

*figures tracked by Les as of Sunday, April 15, at 1902h


Go tell it to anyone, everyone if you think we're cool too. :)


In the meantime...

red shooter: People are watching RedSportsTV.
red shooter: After the gallery and the front page, they go to RedSportsTV.
red shooter: Good lah.
ME Inc.: hahah!
ME Inc.: awesome.
ME Inc.: i must really go to town this week and get myself some BIG shades
red shooter: yes yes.




Some guru once wisecracked: "Humility will go a long way."

I know.

I just don't subscribe to it. :)

"I Wanna Fall In Love"

ME Inc.: wassup with you?
Gorgeous: kinda feelin like i need love
Gorgeous: i wanna fall in love
ME Inc.: don't you have loads?
Gorgeous: love
Gorgeous: nope
Gorgeous: havent fallen in love for over 2 year
ME Inc.: no kidding
Gorgeous: yup no kiddin

So some gorgeous-looking, happenin' dude I know tells me he wants to fall in love.

But of course, because he is a rather gorgeous-looking babe-magnet, and is really a very happenin' one, I tend to wonder if he was just talking shit to me, like he usually only does. Just to make small talk.

Not that it matters to me, but the divulgence, if taken for real, recalled some thoughts back in my head.

That there are indeed people out there who, after some time of dabbling with emotions for fun, would really like to fall in real sweet romantic love again. No matter how much everything seems like good fun every now and then, there is nothing better than the real thing.

When all has been played and drunk and done, there is really nothing better than having someone to snuggle up to in your couch on a Saturday night, not having to worry about anything else beyond that one warm moment.

I don't dabble with emotions for fun. I just fall too easily.

I just can't recognize what is, and what is not, real sweet romantic love anymore.

My bad.

That someone to snuggle up to in my couch on Saturday nights? Heck, I don't even have my own couch. That should rightfully come first before anything, or anyone, else.

I Made It

I am a very pleased Fatmama. :)

I didn't quite wake up on time; in fact, I woke up very late. I am very impressed I didn't pick up the phone and send a "Sorry, I can't make it" text and slump back into slumber. Instead, I jumped up and out of bed, showered, packed the bag and dashed out. I might have been an hour late, but I still had two hours to go.

Sweet.

Aaahh... It has been months. I actually rather miss it. I long to return to it, but I fear something about myself as well. What if... ?

Watching the kids at it on some afternoons with Les over the past few weeks, I remembered a lot about it, especially about how much it used to be a big part of me. I suppose that was when the itch and the urge really started getting to me.

I said to Les, while we are trying to motivate the kids, the kids have inspired me in turn.

So when the invitation popped up on my screen unexpectedly Friday evening, I didn't resist.

Wally: bball sunday morning?
ME Inc.: ok!
ME Inc.: morning...
ME Inc.: wat time
Wally: 10am
Wally: play until about 1 pm
ME Inc.: ... ...
ME Inc.: ok
ME Inc.: i try
ME Inc.: hahaha


Nothing has been lost. It's still in me, a big part of me. :)

Rain Run

I hate it when people swagger and take up the entire pavement, can't seem to understand "Excuse me!", and don't have the decent brains manners to move aside when I need to run past.

But I love it when I run into the rain. :)

Another forty-three tonight. Would have been another ten, if not for the sudden downpour that drenched me through and through and made me look somewhat indecent.

I am getting good-er. Slicing off the minutes bit by bit. :)


Now, if I could wake up by half-past-eight tomorrow, I'd be a very pleased Fatmama.

Broken

I don't mind imperfections. I don't mind old, broken down stuff.

If you know me well, you'd know I really don't mind. In fact, if you really know me well, you'd know the older and more imperfect it is, the more I love it.


I love my Doc Marts.



But I know a lot of people don't. 'Cos they're so old, so worn, I have to hold the buckles up with safety pins. And I still insist on wearing them. Every other day.

In short, they are so unglam they probably serve only to embarrass anyone in my company.

But like I care.

If I could find a new pair anywhere in this world, I would gladly pay a thousand bucks for them.

Ok, maybe minus one zero.


So it struck me today that I really shouldn't be so bothered about the broken car.

It is still running fine. It still brings me from one destination to the next. So what if it doesn't look perfect anymore?

If I could run around in broken shoes, if I could have even lived with a broken heart for so long, what's a broken car really?

:)

Fatmama Detox Tip #1

Drink a cup/glass/mug/whatever of hot water first thing in the morning. After you pee and brush your teeth, of course.

Have it HOT, not warm nor lukewarm. And try to gulp it down as fast as you can, not while reading the entertainment news. You'll feel like your stomach's literally corroding, but that's ok. That's supposed to be the way.

Immediately, you'll feel like all the dirty stuff stuck onto your intestinal lining is being flushed down all the way your gut to your large intestine to your colon and finally to your rectum. And eventually, within the next half hour or so, it should all nicely end up in the toilet bowl.

Tried and tested, trust the Fatmama.

The one morning I forgot about the hot water, I felt so literally full of shit the entire day.


It's a simple logic.

You get all muddy playing in the field, you only yearn for a good warm bath after.

So get your gut all cleaned out before you want to get it mucked up again.

Kiasee And/Or Boliao

This came from some "What Baby Are You?" stuff.

I am an October baby who...

Loves to chat.
Loves those who love them.
Loves to takes things at the centre.
Possesses inner and physical beauty.
Lies but doesn't pretend.
Gets angry often.
Treats friends importantly.
Is brave and fearless.
Is always making friends.
Is easily hurt but recovers easily.
Is a daydreamer.
Is opinionated.
Does not care to control emotions.
Is unpredictable.
Is extremely smart, but definitely the hottest AND sexiest of them all.

Repost this in 5 mins or you will not meet the love of your life for 10 years.


I wouldn't have posted this here... if not for that bolded statement, and if not for...

ash says: have u received the email on the baby analysis thing
ME Inc. says: wait i check
ME Inc. says: eh!
ME Inc. says: mine quite zun leh, i thought
ash says: ya
ME Inc. says: wah, impressed
ME Inc. says: wahlau
ME Inc. says: repost this in 5 mins or you will not meet the love of your life for 10 years.
ash says: ignore the crap
ash says: the love thing
ash says: haha
ME Inc. says: wahlau purposely must scare me like that lor
ash says: i never read the last sentence one lah
ash says: i also never repost in 5 mins
ash says: i repost in 15 mins
ME Inc. says: yah lah
ME Inc. says: my point is
ME Inc. says: every month got different advice one
ash says: i cannot meet new love in 8 days
ME Inc. says: yah
ME Inc. says: october is TEN FUCKING YEARS LEH!
ash says: how come ah
ash says: i never noticed
ash says: wait i read again
ash says: so funny
ME Inc. says: purposely one lor
ash says: why urs so shiong
ME Inc. says: i know i is suay my whole life one
ME Inc. says: no need to console me
ash says: then u better repost now
ME Inc. says: siao
ash says: hurry up
ash ays: i won't interrupt ur reposting
ME Inc. says: 5 min already up
ash says: hurry
ash says: where got
ash says: no no
ash says: now only 4 mins
ash says: quicck
ME Inc. says: repost mean i must send email?
ash says: i dunno
ash says: haha
ME Inc. says: or can i repost on my blog?
ash says: i tink can
ME Inc. says: okok

That's why... :/

55

Happy birthday, Aunt Jessie!

Not my real aunt by blood, but closer to me like a second mom, Aunt Jessie is probably my favoritest adult in my life - that is, if I can still count on the kid-in-me.

Best friends with Momma for almost forty years, she was the girlfriend in those times. She's always been there for Momma, forty years ago and forty years on since. She was there when Momma was still dating my Pa. She was there when I was born. She was there when my Momma needed a babysitter for Kor and I. She was there every other day for us before she became one of the first few Singaporeans to head to China in the late eighties or early nineties, I can't remember.

And she's ten whole years younger than Momma.

It amazes me tremendously. When I think hard about that age gap, like I did just last night, I start imagining myself becoming best friends with any of those 18-year-old chicks I see at the games everyday. Er... how can? They are so... I shall reserve my comment here. And when I do my math, I am pretty certain Aunt Jessie must have been just all of sixteen or so when she first met my Momma.

It is a feat. Especially when I think about how hard I have to keep up my own chickships, after having gone through school and all the similar life stages.

It is definitely a feat, especially when I know Momma and Aunt Jessie have never once fallen out with each other. Momma goes through rather crappy relationships with her own sister - but never with Aunt Jessie.

My Aunt Jessie is like the coolest chick I know in her fifties. Never once married, she has no kids (I think she dislikes most other kids because she can't stand their nonsensical behavior) and I have never seen her needing a man in her life. For as long as I've known, she has been on her own. Before she got herself a bigger place, she had this tiny little one-roomer in which she used to hibernate for 72 hours straight. Momma used to worry tons when her phonecalls never got answered. And when she finally woke, she'd taxi a few blocks across one street over to my place for dinner. Yes, that's my Aunt Jessie.

Aunt Jessie is never lonely. She has plenty of friends, some scattered across the world, and she always comes back to my Momma. Most of all, Aunt Jessie is always cheerful, always happy, always so full of energy she puts me to shame at times. She's like the only adult I can pull my crap wit on. But I suspect I love her best because she's playful like me. Yes, at her age, all she still thinks of is having fun and a well-lived life.

Aunt Jessie sails the seas. In faraway exotic places in Europe and the Middle East. She names me French towns I have never heard of and tells me stories I can only fantasize of in my own dreams. She drinks the purest of waters from the streams and eats the best of caviers any Sultan could afford. Yes, she gets paid tons while travelling and experiencing life. She isn't home for months, and Momma and I get to see her maybe two or three months in a year. Still, she and Momma are tight as ever.

I know what's gonna happen in time to come. Me and Aunt Jessie, I'm gonna love and take good care of her like a daughter would her own mom.

I remember when I was a small girl, I used to look at Aunt Jessie and listen to her stories, and think, "I want to be like Auntie Jessie when I grow up."

Come to think of it, I am still captivated by her stories exactly the same way I was more than twenty years ago. If you'd ask me, I'd still want to be like Auntie Jessie... when I grow old. :)


To everyone else, happy Friday-the-13th.

Suckers

Some bugger was having a good time sucking on my right boob last night.

Dammit.

Otherwise, tell me why else I would find five mossie bites on that sweet spot. Yes, not one, not two, not three nor four, but FIVE!

Or, were there five mossies at the same time?!

Damn, I was trying so darn hard not to scratch my boob in public today. :/

Wannabe

This has got to be my favoritest episode by far. For obvious reasons. :)




I was at the volleyball finals today when I decided I needed to take a leak and I walked into a crowded toilet full of volleyball girls half-changed into their jerseys.

The minute I walked in, I felt it. The eyes, the fingers, the whispering. Which was really more than a whisper.

"Eh! Is it her?"
"It's her, right?"
"It's her meh?"
"No leh, it's not her lah?"
"It's her!"

Since I can't really stand people talking, or literally whispering loudly, behind my back, I turned my head around and flashed my mega-watt Hollywood-celebrity smile.

"Yes, this is 'her'. Confirmed. 'Cos there's only one 'her' in Red Sports." =]

Ah. Boss is right. The mini celebrity thingy. The eyes, the fingers, the whispering.

I ought to practise flashing my "mega-watt Hollywood-celebrity smile" to natural ease and perfection.

34 Minutes

The short run felt good, I kinda needed that so I'm glad I managed to haul my ass outta of the house even though it was already nine in the evening.

Momma said, "Huh? So late still want to run? Safe or not?" Well, I wouldn't do this anywhere else in the world. And I really miss those midnight runs up and down the slopes around the Nanyang Avenue campus.

Anyways, night runs are bad for me. I am always feeling so oxygen-less and it makes it so much tougher than usual.

And not forgetting those pitholes that make me look like I'm prancing around like a monkey when I should be running like a gazelle.


"Ok, now I need a run."

"But why?"

Well, I needed to calm some senses and tame the butterflies. And yes, I needed the workout too. :)

First

Things suddenly didn't seem that bad yesterday. Not when I had other stuff to focus on.



Mm-hmm. I know. Check out those rippling muscles.

And then, there was the dude who Les exclaimed "looks like a Hong Kong movie star". And whom Les insisted I should grab hold of for a post-game interview, a suggestion I didn't resist. Especially not when the dude dropped his candy-pink Speedos right in front of me before the game and left it right there, literally in my face.

"Should I steal it and auction it off on our web site?"

*POW* Idea rejected by boss.

I recognize I do have a problem. I don't quite behave my age sometimes. And worse of all, sometimes I think it ain't that bad a problem after all. :/


ME Inc.: hi, i got the story out late last nite
red shooter: hi yeah cool saw that.
red shooter: we beat st...
red shooter: haha.
ME Inc.: yes, and i think the video will come out before their PRINT report.
red shooter: maybe more people died.
ME Inc.: hahahahaha
ME Inc.: maybe, ST's target audience lies within the 60-80 years old folks
ME Inc.: it's ok then, they're not our competitor then.
red shooter: one obituary worth more than 30 live kids.
ME Inc.: OOOoooooh
ME Inc.: that's a low punch
red shooter: economics, economics...the obituary spilled out into the sports pages what...


We do have loads of fun while we're at this.

At least, I do. Even if it means I risk losing all my nails after another two weeks. :)

Stork At Work

The message first came last Saturday over the phone: "By the way I am confirmed popping on Monday."

And true enough... *beep beep*: "I have popped!"




Meet Baby Pending.

She, like most girls in this world, gave her Momma no problem at all, so I heard. Only thirty minutes, and all of three pushes.

You go, girl.


In case you're quite 'duh'... NO! That's not her real name.

I'm just calling her Baby Pending, 'cos Momma Angeline said, "Name's pending..."

Amazing Stuff

Oh yes. You bet I am.

Man, this has got to be one of the nicest invitations I've received so far in recent times.

And I'm flattered. I mean, apparently I do make a good partner. I can speak perfect English for sure. I can run, I can starve, I can travel rugged terrains. I can manoeuver a manual vehicle. But most of all, who else other than moi would be indefinitely available for forty days?

And I can't be wrong as a teammate. I am VERY motivated by the prize money, the sum of which I am actually still clueless about.

Big money... big money... big money... big money...


Anyone else up for grabs?

Aftermath = The Math After

2000 = 50 x 40.

Sigh.

The Sensitivity

I am a Rowan Tree, apparently.

And what it means is that I...

... am full of charm,
... am cheerful,
... am gifted without egoism,
... like to draw attention,
... love life, motion, unrest, and even complications,
... am both dependent and independent,
... have good taste,
... am artistic,
... am passionate,
... am emotional,
... am good company,
... do not forgive.


Let's see. Maybe eight outta twelve, I'd give the score.


And how come none of the above alludes to the fact that I could be mildly prone to depression? Maybe the 'emo' bit.

I feel like biting someone, anyone recently.

Early

Wah. The Gods must be crazy today. Either that, or I am.

I actually decided to wake up to the alarm this morning. And it actually feels a tad more pleasing to have an alarm clock that is set to run fifteen minutes ahead of the actual time. Makes you feel like, hmmm... I am so damn early today I can afford some doodling on the pbook before I start on the official wake-up ritual.

I can't decide, though, what made me pop up to the irritating tune of my alarm this morning. Maybe it was sounding really irritating today. Maybe it's the anxiety from the dreadful trip to the workshop later this morning. Or maybe it's the impending schedule ahead today.

Or, perhaps it was the message left on my screen that greeted me the moment I opened my eyes.


Please, God. Please give me a good lobang this week.

Potholed

Bys the ways, the it-is-getting-too-dark excuse is not really an excuse - for me, at least. I really do have to think real hard the next time I want to run in the night.

I planted my foot into a mini-pothole-that-really-shouldn't-be-called-a-pothole-if-I-had-bigger-eyes, twisted my damn ankle and kept on going for another twenty minutes.

And it is fooking aching now. :/

I Will Be No One's Spare Tire

Another forty-five minutes of pounding on the cement. Which almost didn't happen.

First, there was the oh-it's-raining excuse. Then, it was the oh-the-ground-is-too-wet excuse. After that came it-is-getting-too-dark and a bit of I-think-I'm-hungry. But most of all, there was the usual big fat I'm-too-lazy-to-move-my-arse excuse, as always.

Then just right at that moment, some little bird buzzed, chirped me up and told me to relax, to chill, and to not think about stuff.

Ironically, I thought I should heed the advice - and so I put on my running shoes almost immediately.

Well, I'm glad I did. I almost forgot I could easily chase after - excuse the pun - some happiness just by getting my lazy arse out on the pavement.

Let me see... I think I'm feeling 56.4% better than I was hours ago.

"Chill-lax"

Oh. Someone did manage to crack me up like a dotty nut today.

I think this chatting-with-the-kids thingy is really doing me some psychological good. Or, maybe not.

Jerome says: so u are looking for photographers?
ME Inc. says: yes yes
ME Inc. says: esp this week first.
Jerome says: no prob..
Jerome says: i will be one of the photographer you are looking for.
Jerome says: but i dun have camera..
ME Inc. says: yay thanks!
ME Inc. says: oh er.
Jerome says: can i use leslie body and lens?
ME Inc. says: wat happened to yours?
Jerome i dun have one..
ME Inc. says: WAH YOU WANT TO USE LES BODY AH!?!?
Jerome says: CAMERA BODY LA!!!
Jerome says: DUN THINK ABOUT OTHER THINGS NOW LA..
Jerome says: I JUST NEED HIS 30D AND 100-400mm..
ME Inc. says: haha... sorry lah, say properly next time. i am auntie.
Jerome says: NO!!! U ARE JIE JIE..
Jerome says: haha
ME Inc. says: wah, so nice

Jerome says: so can i use Les equipment?
ME Inc. says: wait, lemme check with him, but i dun think there should be an issue
Jerome says: ok.. thanks thanks.. i can keep it.. i be with you everyday..
ME Inc. says: WAH!
ME Inc. says: now you want to sian auntie.

ME Inc. says: tell u wat, i give you my mobile
Jerome says: then?
ME Inc. says: then wat?
ME Inc. says: you dun want ah?
ME Inc. says: then we can contact about the confirmed schedules every time mah!
Jerome says: want

But I think he got scared by the auntie.

Hee hee hee.


This is kinda scary for the auntie too, to be honest.

You know those articles you read in The New Paper about overaged perverts preying on underaged kids over the Internet?

Yeah, now I know how it all got started. I'd better rein in my intense wit before I appear on some mass-circulated print media again.

Buggered

The mood's still not good, I can't lie.

Something's bugging me and I'm getting pretty upset about it but I really shouldn't be, yet I just can't stop the feeling today so I'm getting doubly upset now that I'm even letting it get to me in the first place.

Never mind.

Mine's not a biggie, someone else out there somewhere must have had it worse. Mine's not a biggie.


Just another one of those I-can't-stay-home Sundays.

Trouble

I am such a troublemaker.

I am. And I will go on being unhappy with myself today. But only today.


URGH!

Fatmama Poem

Ah-hem. Finally someone decides to write me a true, honest poem.

咱们慧菁了不起
说到本事没人比
舞娘保安样样行
教书炒菜也第一
烟雾厌恶分不清
跳舞K歌最尽兴
醉酒驾驶她也拼
不忘朋友讲义气
好动好玩是本性
没有杰伦良伟替
没有酒精却不可以

I love this one.

You pass, dearie.


P.S.: 良伟 is the boy I eye at my haunt. Very lovable, but that's another problem I'll have to address in another post.

FatAuntie

I have an incurable disease : an irrepressible weakness for supermarkets. And kitchenware and D-I-Y stores.

So bad that I find myself always having to restrain myself from walking into one. Well, it's not like I have much business to do in there anyways.

And I feel a tad ashamed to admit, but the more 'atas'-looking the supermarket, the more irresistable I find it.

Sometimes I do succumb to the weakness.

I'd walk into a supermarket, loiter around, and walk out with twenty bucks' worth of stuff-I-want-but-don't-need. Like I'd buy one whole tub of Philadelphia's cream cheese when all I want is to have ONE sesame-bagel-with-cream-cheese, and that same tub seldom gets to meet the twenty other sesame-bagel friends it deserves.

Or, I'd saunter into a hardware store and spend the next half-hour or so browsing through every aisle and shelf, imagining the stuff I could buy if I had a needy kitchen or a broken toilet. And in worse times, I would go home with some 3M stick-on hooks and my Momma would give me a "huh-what-for?" look.

See, I think that's why I enjoyed my HK trip so much.


The weakness is becoming er... stronger.

I don't know if I really need it, but I really really want my own Fatmama pad. :(

Dead Mossie

So so irksome.

I feel a mossie biting on my arm, I turn my head slowly to see if the bugger is still there... and I see the mossie lying motionless on my arm. I can't help but think the mossie died while sucking on me.

What is the meaning of this?!

Hanabi'd

So I was writing sometime last week about sitting out at the sushi bar alone 'cos I was simply missing sashimi too too too much. And then almost immediately...

vaps: hey heyy
vaps: u like sushi??
vaps: i mean sashimi
ME Inc.: yepssss
ME Inc.: luuuuuv
vaps: u tried this place hanabi??
ME Inc.: yes i did
vaps: best!! haha
ME Inc.: this lil hole at bt timah right?
vaps: sorri, i like it a lot.. haha
vaps: yaaa.. haha
ME Inc.: we can go do that!
vaps: eat sushi till serously come out the other end
vaps: yaaaa
vaps: one day go
ME Inc.: sashimi in the buffet?
vaps: yaaaaa
ME Inc.: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
vaps: BEST!! haha
vaps: one day go la
ME Inc.: yes yes
vaps: :D:D:D


So we did. And I got my new babe-friend to join us.

But it was supposed to be an all-babes night out. And then...



Still luv ya la, sista hanny.


I am so protein-overloaded. =)

Greatness

No work today, no game to cover, though I had plenty of stories and stuff to catch up with still.

Instead, we popped champs and had a mini Subway-sandwiches-and-Katong-laksa party instead.

All to celebrate the significant "100,000" milestone.

No, not the revenue dollars, but the hits on our page.


I love my boss. I love my boss's son as well. I love being able to laugh everyday while on the job. I love being able to be my creative and crazy self everyday. I love being a TV host, experimenting with different looks everytime. I love being able to write for my job.

I love being able to dream big.

I love being loved for being me.

We are going to be great.


You and I too, we're going to be great.

Altruism

HDYHTBTTFTTSITTGYTWCYU*: so still helping your friend?
ME Inc.: yeps
HDYHTBTTFTTSITTGYTWCYU: are you paid?
ME Inc.: yeah
HDYHTBTTFTTSITTGYTWCYU: chey
ME Inc.: not a lot, but just about surviving
ME Inc.: ??
HDYHTBTTFTTSITTGYTWCYU: for a while i tot you so altruistic

*HDYHTBTTFTTSITTGYTWCYU stands for the actual nick 'how desperate you have to be that the fact that the sun is there to greet you tomorrow will cheer you up'.

See. People around me can be so funny.

When I want to be passionate and altruistic, they laugh at me and tell me to wake up my idea.

When I decide to be practical finally, they diss me.


Altruism is great. I think.

But no one else apparently thinks so. At least not the ones who would feed my stomach. Unless, of cos, he happens to be my fucking-rich-old-and-dying husband, maybe.


What's with all these long nicknames?!

Long, never mind. But long and meaningless?

Really funny.

Gullibility

Maine Coon Maine Coon Maine Coon Maine Coon says: hey, this ben and jerry thing real one ah?
ME Inc. says: think so

Hmm... well, actually I never thought about it, if it's a hoax or not.

That's how gullible I usually can be. And 'gullible' doesn't usually have a positive connotation to it, easily has 'stupid' as a synonym.

Sigh.

Sucker

I think I suck damn well.

Yes, with no offense to the older folks, I think I do suck pretty well.

Pop one whole chicken claw into my mouth, and within seconds, all the tiny bones of the claw will be spit out. Entirely clean. And I mean single-digit seconds.

I am that good.

Bonked

I've been sitting here and trying to work on some thoughts, work-wise and otherwise, and things just got to me.

And things just really got to me.

While I don't appreciate some treatment from some people in my life right now, I am trying to figure out what they really mean to me.

Some, necessary. Some, not at all.

The necessary ones, very unfortunately, are the ones that don't make my life easier.

But then again, without this shit going on in my life, I wouldn't be ME, would I?


So, I will just do tomorrow what I've been doing for the past donkey days.

I will tell it to myself, that i am good. I am fine.

I will be the babe I'm so proud to be.

Hiao what. What to do?

Miss, Not Mister

I found a way, just tonight, to cheer myself up.

Talking to the kids on the chatterbox. Yes, kids as in I-don't-really-know-how-old-they-are kids.

It just takes my mind of my phone, my worries, my thoughts. Though I still gotta get started on the writing. 'Cos my boss appears on the cbox too.


Rohn: Mr Cheng, wats your full time job?
cheng: wahlau.... MISS cheng lah.

KNN.

Numb

I am tired, from my daily activities. I am, I really am.

It probably only goes to show my real age, but I don't think I should complain much, especially not when my boss reads into this now and then.

But I do feel the brunt. Mentally, at least.

Things happening, things not happening. They are all right there to burn my brain cells.


I had only hoped that things would turn out well.

Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. It depends on what exactly I'm trying to pinpoint.

And the problem is, I can't.


Damn this freakin' PMS.

Ha. This does feel good.

PMS

I thank God that I am born woman.

For I will always have something to blame every once in a month when I feel shitty.

Damn that PMS.

100,000

So after filming one sequence at the basketball court, where I appeared with my hair tied up in two bunches again after my self-inspiration, Boss approvingly commented, "Yes, I think you should tie up your hair this way for every show from now. You really look quite cute like this, and I think it will appeal to the seventeen-year-old boys."

:) I know. I also think so.

Then again, maybe Boss wasn't quite talking coherently. He's been feeling quite high from the 100,000-hits-in-62-days euphoria.

I kinda think we're AAAAAWWE-some.

(This is my web site, so even if I quote misappropriately, I am entitled to.)

I Love Me

Damn! I look so cute.




ME Inc. says: haha i'm squinting in the first sequence
ME Inc. says: but i look so cute!
red shooter says: hiao

Yes, yes, I don't deny. I am 'hiao'.

People keep telling me to love myself more. So, I'm just following kind advice.


By the way, eighteen-year-old waterboys are definitely a sumptuous feast to the eyes. Much better than the sixteen-year-old ones.

37th Twin

"Eh! You model ah?!"

I wished I was Bonny-Hicks'ed too, but I wasn't.

No, it didn't come to me from some blessed stranger on the streets of Orchard Road. Instead, it came early this morning before I could even get the bacteria on my teeth brushed away, in my worst state of grogginess, right in the middle of the cramped kitchen of some eight-storeyed apartment in Block 332.

I was stumped by none other than my own Momma.

"Hah?!"

Immediately, my mind raced frantically, "Shit, what unglam stuff have I done in the past few days that got myself captured by the paparazzi?"

Momma then pulled out the life! section of the Straits Times, flipped some pages and then stuffed the papers in my face, "Neh... very look like you hor!!"

Hmm...

This one, I have to concur too. That veil over her eyes does help with the shameless resemblance. Ha.



I might risk being deemed shameless.

But my Momma can't possibly make a mistake about her daughter's gorgeous looks, no?

Lost and Found

WaaaaAAAAAAAaaaahhh!!!

This is unbelievably unbelievable!

I thought I dropped it in the bathroom of the pool. And there I was, looking like a deranged nut, squat-walking around with a towel around my head for a whole fifteen minutes.

And then, two hours later, I stuffed my hand into my left pocket only to find... my pearl!!!

I am fuckin' spooked!

Flee Ice Cleam!!!

Good stuff ought to be shared, good news ought to be spread.

So there...



Ben & Jerry's annual Free Cone Day is just around the corner!!!

Join us at 8 selected Scoop Shops for FREE ICE CREAM on Tuesday, 17th April from 12pm -7pm.

If a single serving doesn't deliver enough of a sugar rush, join the queue again for seconds or thirds!!

It's our way of saying thank you to our loyal fans!

Please help spread the word.
See you there!!! :)

Peace, Love & Ice Cream,
The Ben & Jerry's Singapore Team


P.S.: No, I did not find work with Ben & Jerry's, though I would think that'd be awesome.

P.P.S: I am so going to be a chao Singaporean, and have an all-ice-cream diet on April 17.

P.P.P.S: Hmm. I have the perfect wedding gift for my baby. Two cones... enough?

P.P.P.P.S: No, this doesn't cheer me up still, maybe not till April 17. I still want to cry. :(

Lost Pearl

I am so going to start crying.

I lost my pearl earring. For good.

No, don't bother to console me.

Tickle Me Elbow

I am actually not quite used to having hair this long, I realize.

My elbows feel tickled all the time. Haha.

Simple Shoes

Well, I'd rather like my shoes to be Simple.

So does that make me a simple woman then?



I have loved Simple shoes, from way back. I had been so darn proud of my huge chunky sneakers.

And then, some years later, I met this dude who would eventually become my brother, who swore by Simple too.

I think that love for Simple probably sealed our fate. :)

I wonder if he still remembers.

Simple

So the hanny said, "Maybe you know, men really just want simple women."

'Simple' read 'simple-minded'?

I don't know, let me chew on that for abit.

Rain

Oh. Strange.

A thunderstorm has literally brewed all of a sudden. Heavy downpour, crazy thunders, the trees looked like they might just be blown away. The folks sitting outside are moving inwards. The cleaner is mopping away the rain that has crashed into the building. Hmm, never quite seen before in a long while.

Don't cry lah.

Don't cry.

Things Aren't That Bad

Well, on the fllp side, I do have something going on that may turn out good for me!

Pray for me, whoever-loves-me-out-there!

:)

Bad News

Ah well... some things are fated to be, no matter how hard you try to, or you think you can, fight against the evil forces.

The longer it persists, the clearer your heart and mind become. I hope.


I hate this thing called disappointment, really.

It goes all out to kill you.

It's worse than that ugly bug known as 'cockroach'.

Urgh.


But you know what I hate most?

That fate misleads you, albeit for a short fun while.


I am still cool.

Fatmama has other stuff to really think about.

Driving Songs

I've always suspected something's been wrong with me these days, especially when I'm behind the wheel. And I think I've gotten it figured out today.

I have been driving, very contentedly, at eighty-clicks per hour. I would be listening to my resident CDs which, yes, play my favorite tunes from my favorite man, but I would be stoned out, mind fleeting off somewhere else far away. So yeah, eighty clicks sound very prudent.

Yes, that coming from someone who used to pride herself for driving a pseudo Ford rally car.

The Speedy Fatgonzales poofed from the roads suddenly. In her place was an auntie who wouldn't go anything beyond eighty, and who would be happy staying in the second lane and who would no longer drive silly Toyotas off the first.

Today, I popped in a different disc, one that played awesome rock. And suddenly I found myself bobbing my body to the music, and driving Lexuses off the first lane at a hundred and ten.

Ah. I love dancing while driving.

And I love speed.

I am back. So back.


I need to buy new CDs and burn more 'Driving Songs'.

"Stranger (With Benefits)"

Much as I know people think I'm strange, I also can't help but think people around me are strange themselves. At least, some.

Sometimes, they are so strange, it actually irks me. And for that, I admit, I am indeed strange.

But I'm cool, I'm chilled. I'm very 'relaked', too 'relaked' for my own good.


The sun has gone to my head.

I will surely die in this weather one day.

HW Said

I haven't bought any magazine in a long while, but I had a sudden foxy urge to see if I still fitted into the fashion world and I thought one cup of Starbucks less wouldn't hurt.

So I did.

And within minutes of flipping through the pages, I got a bit spooked when my eyes caught this subheader:

Learn to say "no"
It is sometimes difficult to be assertive as we like to be obliging and helpful. Finding ourselves trapped by obligations often results in feelings of anger and helplessness. Learning to say "no" is very important - practise your assertive response in front of a mirror. So is your body language. Stand or sit up tall with your shoulders back and give good eye contact. Speak in a calm but firm tone of voice.

Hmm. Spookily apt as it may be, this sounds a bit too advanced for me.

If I could even learn to say "no" over MSN or over phone-texts now...


Spook spook spook.

Things do happen for reasons. Everything.

The Birth of Fatmama

Just in case anyone else wonders as well...


MAYMDKDWAH*: ehh.. y u call urself fatmama
ME Inc.: er..
ME Inc.: dunno, can't remmeber
ME Inc.: since many donkey years ago while i was still in school
ME Inc.: hha
MAYMDKDWAH: ohhh.. ok

*'MAYMDKDWAH' refers to some ridiculously long nick that really reads "me and yo mama drinking kopi downstairs without any hanny". Sigh.


So anyways, the answer is that there is no answer, 'cos I really don't remember the answer.

I think it's got to do with some Eddie Murphy movie. Or, maybe it was Martin Lawrence. Yes, somewhere along that genre.

Ran

I love the flush on my cheeks, the dewiness of my skin, the deep rosiness of my ice-cold apple-juice-stained lips.

I love how I look after a good hard run - yes, despite the sore muscles. :)

New Homes

So my pi-chick, the second of the lot, has finally gotten her place up and running, and I popped over last night for an impromptu house-warming of sorts.

Very new, very pretty, very DINK'd.

My quick eyes have already spotted the perfect table for four, which could easily edge out any of those at the villa. The entire night, well almost, I was imagining the four chicks sitting 'round the classy marble top, glasses of whites and whiskeys outnumbering the human count, killing one another with a mean game of bridge or tai-tee. Or, when we are really bored and brain-dead, we could just sit and stare at the magnificent Swarovski-crystal chandelier that hangs right above.

But of course, only when we are very sure we have the whole place to ourselves.


And then, my baby Vicks has also just inked the papers for her very first home, just weeks before she is to ink the papers that will deem her one-half of a matrimony.

Of course I wouldn't have already seen the place, but from the excitement in her tone, I know it'll be something awesome.

Vicks: The bedroom in my new place is bigger than my living room!
Me: Awesome, you can either put six double-decks in the living room and rent them out to squatters or transform it into a cat compound with kitty litter all around.

I can't believe you're moving ahead faster than me, girl! And damn, you own a 29" before I do!

But I am delirious for you, babe. And I am so gonna miss having you sit with me amongst all the ah-ceks at the kopitiam. :/


Someday.

One day... :)

Sunday Morning Bleh

Me too.

No No No

So I conclude. That I do find it hard, very hard to say "no".

And I deduce. That much as I hate to be rejected, I hate to have to turn people down too. Especially when you have to explain the "no" or at least deal with some disappointment.

Solution?

Minimize, if not eliminate, the chances that I actually have to slam the door in someone's face, or be slammed upon.

How?

Go out less. Talk less. Suggest less. Initiate less. Appear less.

Maybe I could run more. Read more. Sleep more. Disappear more.

Or perhaps, really, the first move to saying "no" more is to start saying "yes" less.