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I sit here and ponder, if you’re really ever coming.
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November 2, 2009
boss said, boss did (021109)
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Laurence, a tenant, wanted to borrow a pair of berms from the boss.
“Everyone thinks I have so many pairs. The reality of it is, I only have three. I just wear it so often people think I don’t have anything else.”
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October 29, 2009
somebody said i should document my boss’ misadventures
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There were the times he left his underwear on the office floor, cooked (term used VERY loosely here) sweet potato porridge, asked me to make a new lampshade from old soft drink bottles because “it is nice and you are smart” and when he decided we should keep a snake because we had a rat problem.
If you missed these, I’d be glad to repeat. With gusto and rabid hand gesticulations.
By the way, my favourite is the snake episode.
But lets start with today, when Kim needed to buy an image of a mackarel for a pet food thingy she is designing. And my boss said,
“Mackarel is a bird! You know, the colourful one like a parrot.”
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October 29, 2009
the doctor celebrates
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The Misfits took Vig out for a dinner to celebrate his birthday at District 10. The poor thing was so exhausted already (his eyes started turning a faint shade of red by 9. usually he can hold out till 11.) and he was due for a 36 hour duty at the hospital the next morning.
36! Hours! Of no sleep! No! Sleep!
Clearly, this bothered me the whole night. The whole injustice and overworking of doctors. What if a wrong prescription was made? Or a fatal diagnosis? Not that Vig would of course. He is the most competent quack, ever. He might be though (a little bird told me), a wee bit afraid of probe examinations and might (another bird’s version) conjure up a perfectly legitimate reason to avoid doing it. But otherwise, very competent!
Reservations courtesy of Kamzie. “We cannot lose it guys! It was VERY difficult for me to get a slot!”
Lovely place. Lovely company.
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Before the eyes went crimson.
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Flowers from Kausy!
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A seat left empty in honour of Zee.
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With Ibby the mummy-to-be!
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Us who entertained ourselves after the birthday boy’s lids gave way.
Happy Birthday Vig!
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October 27, 2009
determined to have a good day
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Its not that I don’t care because I am happy,
I am happy because I don’t care.
Wooooooooo!
Hello world!
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Anyway, Monday nights are made of pain. Where I stretch myself like Chinese noodles and suffer from soreness in muscles I never even knew I had. (That teeny place between your knees and nethers. A twitch and a “ohmyGod what the fuck was that?!” sensation when you try to walk straight but all you can afford is a sad groan and a walk that clues to recent childbirth.)
And of course numbing aches alone aren’t enough to cap my day. There is always a klutzy story that comes with it.
Last week I had on the flare pants I have been donning for jazz classes. Years, I’ve worn these with such uneventfulness. Years! Black, flare pants. Boring, black flare pants. But oh, what was I thinking tempting fate like that?
(This is ME we’re talking about. I get the inner pockets of my shorts caught in drawer knobs. I know. I know. It isn’t normal so now, each time I sense a possible accident, I do triple takes and view every object and person as a potential threat. These drawer knobs are pretty sneaky though. They look like they are just there, innocently jutting out, apparently having a real purpose. But the minute they think I let my Gurkha-soldier-type guard down, I swear they stretch out that extra bit, reach for my pockets and rip my self worth apart.)
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I am a dainty little princess. I am a dainty little princess. I believe I am a dainty little princess.
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So, on with the pants (I am a master of digression).
They slide down (or ride up) when it comes to kicks and battements. The holy mother of all things dainty obviously took her eyes off me for a bit to run her delicate little errands (she has been slacking off a lot on me. I blame her for me being the way I am).
I was trying to kick with all my might, listening to Derrick saying “Your knees should be behind you ears!” (oh what a kidder. haha. that cannot be even humanly possible. oh. wait. he is serious.) and generally, just trying not to die. And then, it happened. Like an opened banana peel, my trusted (no longer) boring black pants slid down and exposed my entire thigh and risked showing waaaaaaaaay too much.
It didn’t help that the next set of exercises had us facing the mirror for some strangely positioned push-ups.
Down.
Up.
Yank pants.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Yank pants.
Up.
Yank pants. Why can’t these things just behave?!
Down.
I was a very busy girl.
The only good thing was, there were only two guys in the class; Derrick (who laughed at my predicament) and Fredy. No loss on both counts. See, context is everything!
The rest of the slim-thighed women in the class are probably suffering from corneo burns right now.
I apologise.
And to prove my sincerity, I wore a different pair of (non-ridey-uppy) pants for class. No klutzy moment, yet.
Ahhh, but on the verge of sounding like a motivational poster, isn’t the pain from dance a special kind of pain?
I am such a sucker for those and I love it.
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October 22, 2009
deepavali at kavi’s
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My Malay mummy and her yeeeIndian daughter.
I like colourful heritages. Bit confusing at times, but otherwise, lotsa fun.
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My love-love relationship with bangles.
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With the beautiful hostess.
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October 20, 2009
just for moi?
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Wasn’t feeling too good, got fed expired herbal pills (not the ED variety. hurhur) by the boss, was late for class, felt my inner thighs screaming in pain, threw up dinner afterwards (what a waste of good Maggie goreng and shhhhiok iced milo) and walked home with waging a personal war with my heavy eyelids.
Sounded like one of those days.
Then I got to my room and saw this . . .
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Perfect ending to a not-so-perfect day.
Thanks Mooches. You know you shouldn’t/didn’t have to. Don’t be silly.
And I love you too my cow!
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