Celebrity

I don't usually get light headed, but when I do I need people to prick my head with a really sharp needle so that I will come crashing back to planet Earth. I inflate quite well given circumstances allow it.

I mean its like, I took down my blog for a while to do some adjustments and of course, I don't see the need to inform anybody about my disappearance, or why I'm taking the blog down. But no, within 24 hours of its removal, I received three emails, two messages on my web profile, four SMS, and two MSN messages (one offline message sent at 3.12am) asking me where my blog had went and whether or not I was okay.

Like, these people, avid followers of mine I presume, for some reason, had discovered (within 24 hours) that my blog was missing and sought to find out the reason to this. I must say, I felt flattered, surprised almost, that people would take the time to send me emails/messages to find out if whether or not I’ve fallen off an elephant and died or I just woke up one day and decided that it was time to DELETE the blog.

Ok so I'm getting lame. Who cares. I'm flattered, I really am. Thank you.

But at the same time I realise, I don't want to be a celebrity. I don't want mothers to tell their kids not to read my blog, or teenagers discussing my discourse about anal sex and pornography addiction. I don’t want gay men all over the world reading this blog and then abusing me for the things I say or don’t say. I don't want housewives and salesmen gossiping about what I have to say or the pictures I take on my blog. I don't want to hear about my blog on the radio, or in the newspaper, or the telly. I don't want people promoting my blog for any reason (even if it means more visitors) because I don’t like all the extra attention that advertising brings. I don't want little gay boys to become like me when they grow up just because they were fervent supporters of my literature and looked up to me as their ROLE MODEL.

Ouch. Those two words. Role Model. Very painful.

I don't want to become popular, because this blog really is about me and my sordid life, and making that something popular sometimes can be very disturbing. Look at Anwar Ibrahim and where it got him. Lindsay Lohan. Paris Hilton. Britney Spears. I don't want to end up like them!

Kennysia also experienced this form of celebrity-bashing, and you can read about it here. Just take a look at the number of comments. Past 1000! Shit.

The day my posts become as influential as Kennysia's is the day I will TRULY close this blog, because I know I was not born for stardom and will never be fit to deal with all the bullshit that comes along with being popular. I don't want to be popular, period.

Even if it means I don't get to name a perfume label after me.

Say

This, the powerful world of the blogosphere, is where one remains untouchable. Not talking about those people in India where they can't get jobs and can't ascend from their status from poverty etc. I mean, you can say what you like and other people who read it can either choose to listen and agree with you or they can get fucked.

You are your own person in the blogosphere. You choose what you want to say and how you want to say it, and nobody, not even the freak who keeps posting anonymous posts on your blog, can tell you what to say. You have the absolute power, more than Kim Jong-Il and Robby Mugabe COMBINED, will ever have.

Which is why I'm going to say what I'm going to say.

~


















I FUCKING LOVE TULIPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






















Haah. What, you thought I was going to say something scandalous? :P

Truth is, I've planted my first set of tulip bulbs. They should bloom in three months.

Is the end of the post?

Duh. I said what I wanted to say already right. Read some more for what.

Blogging

Funny. At that time again. Here I am when the rest of the continent is fast asleep, ranting away at myself on Blogger. What am I doing here and how did I get here, I can barely remember.

Reading blogs online gives me a whole lot of insight into the lives of the people whom I've never met or am willing to meet. Its not often that you can be in so many places at once without actually being there. Blogs give you that. It lets you live a life that you otherwise would never live, do things you would otherwise never do, and see the world in ways you would otherwise never see.

It lets you be somebody else for the day instead of your sordid self, and in many ways that can be a rewarding experience.

Then again if you are reading Xiaxue's blog, this rule does not apply.

Digressing a little, why do people post so many personal pictures of themselves on their blog? Or maybe the question should be, why am I so reluctant to post personal pictures of myself on MY blog? Is it a fear of rejection, fear of disclosure or just plain laziness? I've never seen myself putting a name to this blog, or a face, because I just don't need to.

I have received 6 emails from this dude asking me to send him a picture. Freaky. If you are reading this, then listen up: get fucked. I don't think it’s important whether or not my dick is larger than yours or whether or not you could launch a Boeing 777 using my chest as a runway. That's for me to know and for you not to want to know.

Yes I get it, some people are desperate for online attention, but I'm just not one of them.

Dinner

Then again, you can take the Malaysian away from the food but not the food away from the Malaysian.

We were recommended this Korean place in the City which apparently had good and cheap Korean food so we decided to give it a shot. The place was dinghy and smelt strongly of rancid oil, with the walls possibly covered in grime and centuries of unhealthy cooking.

Everywhere, objects from the distant land of Korea, be it the fuckinghugearse plasma screen (the brand was LG... what else) playing soppy Korean dramas, to the scrolls on the wall and even the cute-sy water bottles that they used to serve us chlorine-tasting water. The waiters were, of course, 100% Korean, judging from their accent and horrible command of English. Trust me I'm not being my usual racist self; they didn't even know what 'stir-fry noodle' was when we asked them.

Not only did they have really flattened faces, they also had the nastiest personality ever. Like, when we were sitting down they pulled an extremely bitter expression. Not that 18 people entering an eatery at one go was anything to be frowned upon especially considering we were ACTUALLY bringing them heaps of money.

Then when giving the menu they just chucked it onto the table. So unbecoming of a waiter. Didn't bother to come back after that to see if we had done picking amongst the gazillion-and-one dishes on the menu. They just fucking left us.

We had to stand up and do the Y-M-C-A dance before they noticed that we were ready to order, and even then it took them 100 years to locate a pen and paper.

Giving us a cup each for water, I realised mine had an Angelina-Jolie sized lipstick mark on it. Bloody idiots. I called them for a new one and they replaced it with another cup which had some black stuff at the bottom. Possibly some rat must have snucked into their cupboard and shit all over the cups.

I had to help myself to a clean cup from one of the waiter’s stations. I got a glass one that said “Best Best” on it.

~

After a much heated debate with the waiter about stir-fried noodles, the first plates of food came out - Kimchi!

Free flow kimchi is every health-conscious person's worse nightmare. Not to mentioned pickled everything-else, like pickled radish, pickled onions, pickled ginger... yum

Bloody idiots forgot to give us any chopsticks. What, expect us to eat with our hands ah??? Again, we had to do the Y-M-C-A dance to attract their attention. Jeez.

What better way to spend the evening than to get a bottle of Chamisol Soju (참이슬 소주), Korea's own version of wheat alcoholic beverage. Bloody $18 for a bottle, tastes like jet fuel too. Only after we had a bottle each did we realise it was 45% alcohol.

Diao.

~

Bulgolgi (불고기) in true Korean fashion. Full of chilli but never enough for the average Malaysian. After adding one tablespoon of chilli powder from one of the shakers I couldn't taste the bulgolgi anymore. All I tasted was just chilli powder.

But without the chilli all I tasted was salt. So, I put more chilli loh. Better taste chilli than taste fucking MSG. The 'chicken' bulgolgi was the best; damn a lot of vegetables in it. I love vegetables.

I'm not sure why they were so stingy with rice. I mean, come on, its just rice. After asking the waiter for extra rice to go with the spicy chicken (which was not spicy at all), we waited more than 30 minutes for the rice to come. Thankfully one of us who still hadn't already feel like jabbing the chopsticks into the waiter's eye, decided to ask again.

His face was very sour. Come to think of it, he looked more angry than us! Another 10 minutes for one stupid bowl of rice to come. By that time, all the samgyeopsal-gu (삼겹살구이) and saengseon-gui (생선구이) was finished. Only a bit of the kimchi was left so we decided to make kimchi rice salad using our chopsticks to toss the kimchi and rice together like yee-sang.

In the end, it looked so disgusting that even though we were still very hungry we did not dare eat it. So we just arranged it on the plate in neat rows, with rice grains alternating between bits of chopped and pickled cabbage. Joy!

We were running low on water and they still never came to our rescue. I know we are in a drought here and all but you can't expect us to eat all your MSG then refuse to give us water! We helped ourselves to the cute water bottles in the fridge across from where we sat without bothering about the ghastly stares we were starting to get from the waiters. Well, they asked for it!

Other people in the restaurant also went berserk and helped themselves to water out of the fridge after that. We must have started a trend.

~

I must have eaten the food really fast because at the other end of the table they hadn't even started on their main course. Then again, girls are usually slow eaters. So we just sat there talking about vibrators and The Pill. I think the angmoh lady sitting in the table near us must have choked on her food when we were talking about using condoms to store our spare change. Oops did we say it too loud? :P

~

When they want to get rid of you they slam the bill on your table. Whoa, so rude. We left a trail of sesame seeds (carefully arranged using two chopsticks) from an empty water bottle to a half-full one. I thought it was funny.

Stepping outside into the cold, I realise how stinky I smelt, full of grease and dirt from the particles floating in the air. Fucking Koreans.

I later realised that apart from the angmoh couple who sat near us, 100% of the people in that place were of Asian descent.

Hmm. I wonder why :P

Smooth

I love guys who are smooth. I think that smooth is the new Black. Not that I myself am totally smooth. I still have a tiger-trail and hair on my hands (and on some other parts that you do not need to know about!)

Fucking hell, I saw a guy on the train who was smooth-as. He was wearing this really short sleeved T-Shirt which had a low low low V-neck and you could see all the way down to the end of his sternum. Upon careful observation I found that he had not a SINGLE FUCKIN FOLLICLE OF HAIR all along his chest, or arms, or legs. DIU-NYA-MA-H*I. He had even shaved his head so he looked quite close to being on chemo (but you could make out the hairs struggling to grow back on his sideburns so I ruled this possibility out)

It’s just that I find it so sexy to touch a person with no hairs on their skin and feel the baby-soft texture of every inch of their body without worrying your finger might get lost in the Amazon.

Kinky.

Guys with lots of hair tend to smell a certain sort when they sweat. The next time you have sex, press your nose against the other person's chest (preferably if he is already sweating), and you are bound to be confronted with foul-smelling volatile organic compounds that only the kinky people would find attractive. Now if the person has huge dollops of coarse hair scattered strategically around the 'hotspots' (pardon the pun) you are bound to get even stronger odours. Trust me, I know from experience. There is nothing more gross than a person with bad BO and lots of chest hair.

To me, Greek people tend to smell sweet but at the same time musty, and Italians have a strong sourish tangy flavour to their sweat (presumedly from all the tomatoes and olive oil they consume). Chinese people too seem to smell shockingly sour (though there are some exceptions)... and the typical angmo guy smells like the cross is between something musty like an old jumper out of Granny's closet, and something that is wet and stale, like rotten fish. FYI I pick up smells easily. That's why the boyfriend calls me The Snuffeluphagus.

But coming right back to my point, I find smooth skin totally hot.

Then again smooth skin seems to be confined mostly to people who are of illegal age, and most of the legal-aged smooth guys are either girly or cunty or a combination of the two. Am I being unfair? Haha. Maybe it has to do with the correlation between the mediocre concentration of hair-producing testosterone and the unusually high concentration of oestrogen present in their blood. I don't know, I've never read any scientific studies about it.

But because they are so few and far in between, these smooth guys, it makes them even more 'desirable'.

I've considered going for laser treatment although the boyfriend has pointed out thousands of times that contrary to popular belief, it is not 'permanent' and could even resort in side effects such as pigmentation and redness. But I think the pain and complications are worth it. After all beauty ALWAYS comes with a price. Look at Paris Hilton. Even she’s going to jail.

And it sure as hell beats shaving plucking waxing clipping and trimming. Big time.

Smooth guys are hot, especially if they have hair in very tiny amounts and at strategic places. Not that I mind guys who have hair, though. Just as long as they know how to keep it nice and short, well trimmed around the edges and frequently cleaned.

Back Off

If you touch me in the wrong way, I will bite.

I am that angry a person. My self integrity has been challenged to a degree where I will bite one's head off if they tried to hurt me.

And for those whose heads have been severed by me, don't take it personally. It just means you've crossed the line.

Some know this better than others, but most take to heart what I say even though I don't necessarily mean it.

Text message replies to my handphone are unnecessary. I do not say sorry for the things I say though I may retract from further assault. I just want to get this across to you, that I am dangerous to mess around with and I will say the most hurtful things I can possibly say if you are not careful with the way you 'handle' me.

When I become like that, it just means I'm building a bubble to protect myself, a defense mechanism almost, and I don't care how many people I hurt in the process so long as I myself feel safe.

Don't take it personally. It’s not meant to stir you up. I just want you to back off.

Dissatisfaction

I have the worse self image of myself. I constantly look at the mirror and go snigger at every single intimate detail I pick out, be it the shape of my eyebrows, the size of my lips, the pimple scars on my cheeks, the width of my forehead, the size of my ears, the length of my nose bridge... etc etc etc.

I am also extremely critical of my body size, albeit it being almost natural. My best guess is that 179cm and 71kgs of flesh and bone is not good enough for me. Even after working out at the gym when my muscles are all tensed up and firm(er) than they really are, I am extremely critical of them and I will not let go

So yeah, I have no six pack, my arms are flabby, the chest is like an airport runway, legs are too hairy and too skinny... la la la

Then again at the same time I'm not eating well enough to sustain any mass. I am constantly skipping meals and sleeping at 5am (right now I've been awake for more than 36 hours) so any muscles that I DO put on during my regimented routine at Colts Gym is sucked back into my skinny frame to compensate for my poor diet and sleeping patterns.

Right now I just feel really insecure and fragile, partly because I keep looking at myself in the mirror and commenting in the most horrible way possible about the things I see.

Perhaps, for now, I will never be satisfied with myself.