Wednesday, January 25, 2006

You're It!

Why can't someone give me this type of tag?

Got tagged by the Sifu himself!!! Got some shoes to fill...hehehe...

The Rules:

1) Write an entry of between 100-200 words which integrates these words once :*
a. I
b. Me
c. Blowjob
d. Grapes
e. Random
f. Power
g. Loneliness
h. Water
i. Robot
j. Blue.
2) Out of the ten (10) words, only two (2) can be substituted with other words.
3) The essay must be logical.
4) Nominate five (5) other victims. My victims are : a. The Kimster, b. Disco-very, c. Mommy in Denmark, d. Shobshob, e. My Bestfriend!

Right after a strenous day at work, my colleague and I went to Starbucks to chill. After indulging several minutes of small talk, Peter lighted up his cigarette and began telling me an interesting event that occured at HR. Apparently, earlier that day, he interviewed this lady who listed blowjobs as her favorite pastime on her resume. “Why is this so?” he asked the lady.

“It’s because I love lemon and grapes,” she responded.

Ok, that was random, Peter thought. At that moment, he knew that he was dealing with a nut, as the lady was wearing bright green sneakers along with her black power suit. Peter continued staring the lady in the eye, and said, “I senced a lot of loneliness in you.”

The lady turned her head to the side, and whispered, “I’m really thirsty. I need water.” But before Peter could call his secretary, the lady stood up and started dancing like a robot!

“What happened next?”

“You see this?” Peter pointed to his left cheek which had a blue imprint of someone’s hand. “This is what happens when you tell a ding dong she can’t dance!”

Word Count : 188

Happy Chinese New Years everyone!!!

Monday, January 23, 2006

Never-Defeat Comrades

Sometimes you need to go BLONDE to have fun

Saturday night rolled in and a deeply close friend texted me saying that she was feeling lonesome. Immediately, I called in my allies to go out, even when a) I was exhausted, and b) they were already halfway in bed.

But when your deeply close friend tells you that she is feeling lonely, you cannot help but reflect on those nights when you were as well. And how it sucked. So, under the spirit of never-defeat comrades, we made our sleepy heads go down to Bar Blonde.

And I was glad that we did. Because when you see your deeply close friend smile, laugh, hug you and the glimmer in her eye reveal that things are indeed okay, just for that night, at that moment, among the warmth of deeply close friends, you cannot help but feel good.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Mind on the Money, and Money on my Mind

"Look what I found!!!"

Yesterday, while I ran on the treadmill, one my friend’s comment rang in my head: “Muddy, saving is for losers.”

What? You don’t save up for rainy days?

“I am not saying you should not,” my friend told me, while he sipped Alexis Hot Chocolate. “What I am trying to say is you should be investing instead. In order to be wealthy, you must try to make your RM1 into RM100.”

When it was already 10 minutes on the treadmill, I realized that I have been struggling, like a fish caught in a net, with my finances. Every month, I immediately clear my fixed costs, and try to at least save 10 percent of my salary. This is because them damn financial magazines, and I think even an FHM article, told me so. In order to be financially free and be richer, you need to clear off all debts and save up! But, alas, this is an obstacle too great for me. That 10 percent of my salary is always used up for other reasons e.g. birthday gifts, sneakers, dinners, CDs etc. etc. etc. And every month, I find myself broke like an unwanted mangkuk.

So, how do I get out of this hands-to-mouth cycle? How do I change RM1 into RM100? And while we are at it, how the hell do I turn water into wine???

Perhaps this is what differentiates the normal people and the extreme rich. The wealthy know exactly how. And obviously, they don’t tell you how they do it, except dispense questions for you to ponder. But all I do know is that, after 20 minutes running on the treadmill, I will find some way to unravel this hocus pocus. Because, damn it, I want to be wealthy too!

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

When There Is One Too Many


I have noticed that the simple mode of transportation, more commonly known as the car, is used as references to sexuality and relationships. Such references are especially laced in music; for instance, R Kelly’s grinding ballad for a girl whom reminds him of his “jeep”. There’s also the common phrase of wanting to ride with someone all night long, which perhaps could mean an innocent night cruise, but let’s be real here. However, of all the references I know, the most interesting does not refer to the car specifically but what is found in the boot. And that is the spare tire.

The spare tire is kept at the back of the car for an emergency. When one of the four tires goes flat, the spare tire acts as a substitute, but only temporarily. Once the driver gets to the workshop and replaces the flat tire with a brand new one, the spare tire is automatically put back into the boot until the next hoopla.

When it comes to human beings, spare tire equates to the hidden girlfriend or boyfriend, mistress or concubine. However, unlike the car, there are those who have more than just one spare tire! The question is: why is there a need among those to have spare tire(s)? Is it because, like sneakers, having just one partner is never enough?

A good friend once confided in me that she is now in a stagnant relationship. Like the swamps. “Everyday is the same. It is a routine. Predictable. No longer exciting.” As such, she has been secretly seeing someone she met through Myspace. According to her, meetings have only just been drinks at Starbucks or dinner at Dome. “We never have sex though,” she said, “although I have thought about it.”

So you don’t love your current boyfriend anymore?

“No, I love him. And I know he loves me. But Muddy…”


“What if I am kidding myself? What if after years and years throughout the relationship you realize one day that he is not the one?”

So, perhaps in this case, having a spare tire is completely based on practicality. It is like having a backup plan. Sometimes, it is almost a plot. Because one fine day, a breakup materializes but you know you won’t be alone. In fact, there’s already a replacement next in line, which you later advertise as your brand new tire!

But yes, I know there are among us that do not agree to such concepts. Having spare tires clearly means: You. Are. A. Cheater mangkuk!!! It also means you have commitment issues, and/or have problems in appreciating what you already have. It is relationship sin and cannot be tolerated.

So how can you avoid having spare tires? Especially when your relationship seems to be on the rocks?

I am unsure with the answer. I am no relationship guru. But all I do know is that do talk. Do deal with whatever problems you have. Do try to put yourself in the others’ shoes. And try to understand why having a spare tire may not be the only solution.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Model Behavior

She's a Bad Girl

Post mind-blowing New Years’ eve celebration at Westin in the morning and post scrumptious-buffet at The Shangri-La with family in the afternoon, I went to a birthday party at night. However, this is no ordinary party.

The thing is, The Birthday Girl is famous for conjuring up themes for her parties, and for Jan 1, 2006, it was Hollywood Glamour. Determined that everyone stick to the theme like glue, she called me five hours before her party and threatened that if I did not dress like Oscar material or at least MTV Awards, she would slaughter me and feed my carcass to her cats. Damn. So I did, and felt like a complete pimp in my Tom Ford inspired gear (minus the two blond Russian girls in short, red kimonos by my arms though). Double damn.

When I arrived at the hotel room and surprisingly strolled down an actual red carpet, The Birthday Girl immediately greeted me, kissed me on the cheek and pulled me to the balcony. There she said, “Muddy, meet Ash. This is the guy I was talking about.” Oh, THIS is Ash, I thought. THIS is the guy that The Birthday Girl swooned all over YM. THIS is the guy that the other girls in the party whispered about, and their respective boyfriends booed against. And all of this is happening because he is a model.

As I listened to the flirtatious conversation between The Birthday Girl and Ash, I could not help but ask myself: why are we obsessed with models?

It is because they are hot, stupid!

Yes, honest-to-the-core speaking, the model industry is the only industry where you know your colleagues are a hundred percent guaranteed girl or boy babe. Models are also society’s definition of what it means to be physically beautiful, and for this odd reason, they are credited to be almost superior against everybody else. They are sexier. They flock among glamorous people. They lead exciting social lives. They even smell better. Hence, by perception, they are almost untouchables, so it makes perfect sense that the majority of us mortals fawn and secretly dying to date them. Shallow but true.

For example, despite my busy schedule, I have been going home early every Monday to go watch two episodes, back to back, of America’s Next Top Model. Besides the obvious reason of the joy of watching hot women dress in almost nothing in every episode (tee hee), it is interesting to go watch and understand how models behave. After watching the show, I was quite surprised that these women actually have feelings. I have always thought that extremely beautiful women, especially the ones in KL and what more models, are nothing more than money-sucking vampires.

So, a thousand apologies on my side. Because the truth is, I have friends who are dating models or even models themselves, and they are the nicest people I know. I even give tremendous credit to one of them for building my self-confidence. For example, walking into a club or even in a crowded boardroom used to make me nervous. Then one day, a model friend gave me some advice. “Just remember that everybody out there wants to fuck you.” Now, whenever I feel that same nervous feeling, I repeat that to myself and smile. Everybody wants to fuck me. Everybody wants to fuck me…

So, it’s settled. Models are after all human, but are blessed with better genes. But despite that some may come across as bitches or, for the male counterparts, mere meat that are just good for sex, there are models out there that are intelligent, caring and cultured babes. But, where are they? Where do they hang out? And most importantly, how the hell do you attract them?

According to Sky magazine, one of the safest options to get attention from a model is to ignore them. The illusion is to make it look like you haven’t noticed them at all, until you happen to be standing right next to them at the bar. The magazine also advised that it is important to take the target’s looks on the side, treat them normally and they’ll be intrigued. Be confident but not cocky. And most importantly, once they tell you that they’re a model, act slightly surprised.

I called up a model friend of mine and asked, is this all true? Is this what it takes to go date a model? She said, “Just be yourself lah Muddy. You got the goods.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by my goods. But hey, if she said I got it, I got it. Because after all, I can’t argue against the advice of a model, can I?