Oh my Fishing Gawd, we're Champions!

To take the day off or not, that was the question I asked myself. Mind you, making such decisions requires planning. So I sent in my leave form and said to my boss, “Gimme the day off or I’ll tell the rest that you enjoy watching…the stock market when you’re actually supposed to be doing work! Muahaha!”

Actually, I didn’t, but you get the idea.

The match was at 2.30 (Holy cow!!!) a.m. therefore it was imperative that I meet my friend at the not-so-trendy area of Sri Hartamas much earlier to get ourselves seats and most importantly, a good parking spot because neither of us wanted to pay to park our cars when we could just park at the side of the road, free of charge but with a much higher chance of being robbed. Yes, we’re stingy buggers. The agreed place to meet was called Souled Out, a rather clever play on words if I may say so. The atmosphere was, to put it mildly, f-2-da-c-king choking. Cigarette smoke enveloped the entire top floor where I found my friend who had managed to secure a small but strategic spot. There were numerous times where I was actually gasping for fresh air, but because this was the match of the year, I was bolted to my chair—and every second thereafter was torturous. (See what men are willing to endure for their passion.) Heck, I reckon a few of my nose hairs are singed from trying to block out the despicable smoke from entering my already poor lungs. But it was well worth it; my favourite team won but not before the opposition and a certain Ronaldo gave me the frights (there was more than one fright!) of my life. Fortunately, my constitution was up to the mark otherwise I would’ve passed out like a little girl at a Miley Cyrus concert. (Damn, I really don’t like that girl.)

On my way back home, I reminisced about my time watching the match. It was absolute fun and to watch it with a fellow (he’s a bit a more hardcore than I am) supporter of the best football club on the planet, Manchester United, was even better. But I just couldn’t shake off the feeling of how people could do this late night sojourns, week after week. I’m a fairly fit guy, but I was knackered after eating my third slice of pizza.

It got me thinking, do these kids (and dire wannabes) know what they’re doing to their bodies, and ultimately, their future as old cretins? Smoking and drinking from start to finish without so much as a pause. They laughed, cheered and jeered with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And that’s just for starters. I see them doing it with not a care for the world. It makes me sad that it’s these same people that will either suffer a disease or two or, heaven forbid, end up being healthier than I am. Which would suck tremendous amounts of orange juice. (I’m trying to cut down on my swearing, hence the euphemisms.)

I guess I’m too much of a prude when it comes to these things. My colleagues (not you!) find it very odd that I can sleep early, get up early and read a book. On a weekend. My friends know me too well to call me up for any sojourn that involves the words Clubbing and Alcohol. I will reiterate this again: I do not mind participating, provided it’s not every week and that there is a very valid reason as to why I have to fork out a lot of money where it could be put to better use. Like, for instance, buying rice.

Getting up at 1 a.m. to watch a football match takes a lot out of me. Literally. My wallet’s kind of thin now. I think I need sleep. Winnie the Pooh bolster, here I come!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: It’s almost June! Time flies fast when you’re underpaid, overworked, and generally bored with watching American Idol.

Urm...

Nothing much to say since there isn’t anything that’s needs saying.

Fret not, I shall be back and I shall be back with a vengeance. Or at least with a cleaner pair of undies…

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Sometimes the thing that you want the most is the thing that won’t make you happy in the long run. You might as well just do it.

Call me Chrisssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Nope, I have not turned into a can of 100Plus (I despise carbonated drinks but for the purpose of this post, I drank an isotonic drink instead) of which my gas is now seeping out into the atmosphere. The sibilant title refers to the reptile fair (the fair was housed in an enclosed area the size of a decent sized bedroom) that I accidentally stumbled upon when I was on my way buying buns. The clincher was the fact that they had not one, but two anacondas. Yes, those same snakes that tried to terrify J.Lo into wearing something less bootylicious were on display.

I’ve always been a nature lover (okay, maybe liker is a better word); I attribute my animal knowledge to the various National Geographic documentaries and countless other animal-related stuff that I watched near religiously when I was a wee lad. This was way before anyone heard of the word Crikey and that thought animals were beautiful Sheilas even when said animals were 20-foot long crocodiles.

Saw a King Cobra albeit a small one. As long as a nice sausage. Looked pretty harmless, but then again, they’re harmless when they’re not dangerous (Captain Obvious!). Then I saw another King Cobra. This was no small fry, this was effing big. While the smaller one looked like a docile noodle, this one was a 16-foot long muthafugga. Coming face to face with a deadly creature separated only by a glass wall an inch or so thick, makes you feel safe but just barely. A single bite would’ve left me dead in half an hour. As I was about to walk away, all of a sudden, it raised its body and out came its fabled hood. My sister and I were immediately taken aback. It seems that the caretaker inadvertently shook its enclosure, thus the cobra felt threatened and assumed its stance.

Note to self: Never, ever, provoke a King Cobra. Never.

Then there was this tiny cobra. The caretaker, a laidback chap with a penchant of blowing his cigarette smoke into my face, then opened the tiny cobra’s box and dropped a small, cute mouse. Nothing happened. The mouse literally ran circles over the cobra. Obviously this particular reptile is stupid. Sensing that the audience (my mom and I) wanted to see some action, the caretaker nudged the mouse closer to the snake and only then it started to make a move. And boy did it make its move. Like a scene from a Sir David Attenborough (minus the droll) documentary, the cobra struck the mouse with lightning speed. The mouse dropped dead in 2 seconds. 3 seconds earlier it was alive but now it is dead.

The death of the mouse got me thinking about 7how life can be so easily snuffed out. Especially when you have the power. Humans are—let’s be fair now—pathetic; we require weapons in order for us to decimate Mother Earth and her creatures. Then there are cases in which humans are treated far worse than one could imagine. The recent Josef Fritzl case comes to mind. The man is an animal but calling him that would be disrespectful. The man is a monster. Frankly, humans (I use the term lightly) like him do not, I repeat, DO NOT, deserve to live another day. People are suffering all over the world, most recently, the people of Myanmar, and here is this old man, still breathing.

Alas, the power to eradicate scum lies only with a far superior being than all of us. I believe justice shall prevail. It just sucks when justice comes late.

I want my buns now.

PS: Finally watched Iron Man and while I thought it’s a bajillion miles better than the entire Spider-Man series (I enjoyed number 2 a lot but it’s child’s play compared to this) I’m only going to give this a solid 6/10. Robert Downey Jr. is Tony Stark/Iron Man. The flying part where he tries to evade two F-22s was simply awesome. Gwyneth Paltrow, looked amazing and this is coming from a non-fan. Until now.

PPS: CHAMPIONS!

Yes, folks, I am old.

Jay London said it best: Thank You.

By the time many of you read this (you know who you are, many thanks), I would be older and a lot more cranky. But not that old, as told by my (old) colleagues.

Which, is funny, since I’ve always felt old.

This year I turn 24 (!!!) and it’s as though I’m turning, urgh, 42. I’m, at present, semi-contented (I’ll get to the other not-contented part later) with my life; I’ve a job where I don’t feel like quitting anytime this month. Or the next. I’ve great colleagues that make it more interesting and the fact that I get paid (poorly) means I don’t have to scour the newspapers and various recruitment websites for a job with the title “Good Pay” in it for days on end. And before I forget, I am now entering my seventh (7) month of being employed! Kudos to me. I’ve good friends who I don’t get to see often. But that’s my fault, to be perfectly honest. I’m busy (I’m not fond of this word because the minute you say you’re busy, people automatically assume you’re going to give birth or perform some extraordinary feat with your feet) throughout the weekdays (Boss: I’ve done ALL my reports, just waiting to send them, hehe) and by the end of the day, I just want to go home, eat my mommy’s cooking and sleep. Weekends for me are packed with familial and other commitments and since now the price of basically everything has gone up, so has my legendary parsimony.

Alas, there are some things that do not jive (this is an old word only old-timers like myself know how to use without sounding like a college nerd who has just discovered braces) with me. I really don’t know why I’m saying this, but I’m just going to say it anyway:

Ladies, I’m still available.

I’ve always been a Lone Ranger of sorts. I got this from my dad, I guess. I’d rather go about doing my things by myself than drag along a friend. I wouldn’t even consider bringing my best mate for something that I’d rather do myself because I know I’ll do it much quicker and with less expenditure. I don’t eat lunch when I’m out by myself, you know. But sometimes…sometimes it would be nice to have someone special holding on to you while you’re both walking in a shopping centre. I admit, I miss that feeling. Maybe it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s all the rom-coms (WTF! Chris watches rom-coms???!?!?!?!) I’ve watched recently. Maybe, just maybe, I would like to be—I can’t believe I’m going to say this:

Wanted. (Not in a criminal way, of course.)

I know, I know. My time will come and yadda yadda. Thankfully, those emo days are far and wide. Sometimes, I’ll say, “Thank God, I’m single.” Parsimony is a wonderful thing when you’re pampering yourself.

I have become a bit more eccentric, if that’s possible. I tend to say and do things that a few years ago were impossible. I won’t name them here, partly because I don’t remember the exact details or the nature of how it happened, but suffice it to say, it has gotten me into some pretty awkward and not pleasant situations. I’m a bit bolder. I’m probably known in the office as the court jester. Which is fine by me. I’d rather be the jovial, funny dude than be the office asshole that everyone detests on sight.

Thanks to all who wished me and may your week ahead be blessed with good things.

I hope mine will, too.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Orkay, I wrote this whilst partially under the emo spell. Darn, I hate it. Must listen to Slayer now. Ahhh…

Like, oh my gosh, I likes pink!

Caveat: this is my attempt at writing a girly girly post. Sue me if I get it wrong. Actually, please don’t.

A day that sucked. I hates that!

Fcuk! I broke a nail. And it wasn’t even long! WTF! The stress, TEH STRESS!!!LOL

Alright, I went to the mall with mai gurls and we just saw the latest handbag collection from Coach and I must say this:

IT’S SUCKS!

Like, c’mon, who’s gonna buy that shizz huh? It’s so gawddarn fugly! The colours are all out man. Black and pink was sooooooooooo yesterweek.

But on a different note, I saw that cute guy again. Man, he makes making coffee an art for true aficionados such as me (ooo, so modest I am!). He’s oh so cute and yummy. He’s a godsend. And what a name too.

His name is Chris.

PS: Rihanna rwks!

Phew! Enough already!

I was going to try and come up with a whole girly post but the more I kept thinking like a girly girl, the more my never-had-before-migraine kept bugging me. And my manness started to take a big hit in the clothing department. Seriously, some of these girls are so ditzy, it actually surprises me sometimes that they’re actually Malaysian and not a blonde American girl called Britaney.

The last few days have been pretty much slacktastic. (Boss, if you’re reading this, I’m doing the report right now. Really.) Been doing my work lightning fast; I’ll get my reports done in the morning and solve any ad-hoc issues with as much pace as a tennis ball aimed at your head. The days go by really quick when I’m busy and they go even quicker when I’m trying to be busy. Hmm…Anyway, I’ve stalked checked numerous blogs by girls (aged between neurotic and silly), and by Jove, they are sickeningly saccharine, the colours are epilepsy attacks waiting to happen.

And they all feature bountiful amounts of pictures!!!

Topics vary from boys to food, bitchin’ to booze to whatever a girl does. It’s really interesting. Like this one blog I chanced upon: the girl’s about 20 and she goes to a party, and she gets hammered. She laughs about it by writing a million LOLs, saying she shouldn’t have eaten so much chicken wings. And laughs again, this time with ROFLs and a couple of profanities. Then I click on her friend’s blog and guess what? She’s drunk as well! And is laughing with the same three letters!

Okay, this post is starting to sound like a diatribe on crack. A blog is a personal thing and people blog about things that are true to them. That I get. But what I don’t get is how can these girls rehash the same thing over and over again yet still make it—I’m going to regret this later—interesting? Hmph. I’m just being my cranky, irascible self, aren’t I?

I started this blog as a means to let loose my inner thoughts. The writing then—if you are willing to read drivel of the highest order—does not reflect the current incarnation’s leanings. Which is good, if I may so.

LOL.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: To lose is one thing, but to lose because someone gifts you the winning blow, it’s something that’s really hard to stomach. Much like green tea-flavoured steaks.

The day Chris went to court and the week of oddity and non-torment

No, I wasn’t under arrest because I accidentally pushed an old lady down a flight stairs.

It was an old man. Hah!

Jokes aside, I went to court for the first time in my life to settle a few family matters last Tuesday. (On Monday, I went to the dentist’s five years since my last visit. The dentist said my teeth were nice!) Again, nope, none of my relatives are dishonest enough to commit CBU. It’s funny that when you say you have to go to court, people would either assume you’re going there to:

a) Free an incarcerated cousin who was at the wrong place and time or

b) You’ve been charged with possession of some funny-looking toys. And I don’t mean the children variety.

Funny how much Law & Order re-runs can affect the mind.

Located at the other side of the world where I live, the journey to court took approximately an hour. My family and I arrived two and a half hour early. The case itself? Let’s just say that my warm-ups take longer (read: not that long at all!). It was that short! Only my sister was required to be present in front of the assistant to the judge person, and there I was with my mom, all dressed up nicely and smelling of food (the cafeteria food was horrendously pungent). All the worry, all the doubt and all the sleepiness (we all woke up at 5 a.m. to beat the dreadful morning rush) was gone in three minutes. By then I was hungry and strangely craving for a burger.

While waiting for our lawyer, I dozed off. In a really small and smelly chair. If you must know, I’m training myself to doze on command. I did wake up sporadically to shift my position lest I want my neck to be in a 44 degree angle for the rest of the day. I also saw my first prisoners. They were chained with the police were escorting them. Behind them all, were the families of the accused, solemn and silent. It was at that point that I said to myself, luckily I have a job.

As were heading home, when things look like they were getting brighter, (the weather certainly did) we got into a massive traffic jam. Fate sure does have a wicked sense a humour.

Went back to work on Wednesday, and while everything seemed familiar, they also seemed out of place. For example, the laptop where I do my work. The keys were all there, none of them missing (why would they go missing in the first place?) but hitting them felt weird. I’ve been working almost non-stop since the New Year, covering all the public holidays since. So to take two days off and coming back felt irregular.

Thursday came and just as I was about to finally settle down and get back into the (torturous) groove of work, I was hastily called into training. As one by one the initial participants pulled out, others (the ones with not much work, hehe) were called into the board room to replace them. Since the training lasted two days, out of 3 days I was in the office, I only did a day’s worth of work. Those who attended got free lunch (read: fast food, urghs) and two days of non-work. Our 10-minute breaks were actually 15-minute breaks. We laughed and joked even though the trainer was a very nice old woman but I knew that if we were overly enthusiastic we would suffer the wrath of a nefarious sorceress. I must lay off the fantasy books, I know.

And what was the training all about?

Professionalism.

It was a very tiring week, what with me driving all over the damn country and then getting work done and clearing some more family matters. The only thing that could make it better would be a date with Kristen Bell.

Yeah, right! Have a great weekend, y’all!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Manchester United better win it tonight. Or else I’m going to be really, really upset next week.

They’re out there. Somewhere. Hopefully not there.

Space Kitty will invade your world!!!

George Lucas must’ve been an odd little fella growing up. And I don’t mean his goitre. Was he a typical geek who would be in a world of his own during class? Did he make all the noises of a Deathstar destroying a planet? Actually, who cares? I certainly don't!

Ever wondered what lies beyond the stars? Are we alone in this cosmic universe or is there an invisible spacecraft encircling the Earth as we eat our roti canai? (Something like a tortilla, only tastier. And a lot more fattening.) What if we are attacked by aliens seeking to destroy Earth because it’s in their way and that they want to build an intergalactic highway like in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Do they have huge bulging black eyes, a slit for a mouth and when they speak, they do it directly to your brain? Are they humanoid and share the same look as us but are much smarter than that average know-it-all you’ve always wanted to push down a flight of stairs? Or do they resemble Jeri Ryan from Star Trek: Voyager? (I so wish that.)

I wasn’t one of those kids who grew up wishing he were an astronaut or a space traveller of sorts. I’m not sure why, I mean, I grew up watching Star Wars, Star Trek, and many other space-themed shows (Mork and Mindy bored me to tears). Heck, I was even the youngest member of the local chapter of Geeks United Star Trek before it sadly got decommissioned. Yet, I never developed a strong fascination for it. I was more into fantasy (and still very much am): knights in shining armour, princesses with big bosoms (ahhh), wizards with grey beards who spoke in riddles and in cryptic tones, smarmy dragons with jewellery fetishism, and liberal doses of magick to save the day. It’s no wonder why I quite fancy women with pointy ears (damn elves, why do they have to be so sexy?).

Movies like Independence Day (Jeff Goldblum once again rocks as the intelligent and witty geek who helps to save the world from aliens nowhere smart as he) and Signs (the buildup was immense, the ending a total shitfest), whilst highly entertaining, merely perpetrate the notion that, if aliens were to launch an all-out assault in the hopes in of annihilating the human race, we would be able to defeat them with the power of our imbecility and ignorance. Look, they travelled all the way here from God knows where, therefore I think their technology is definitely better than Intel’s. Sometimes hope won’t save the world, you know!

To me, there’s definitely something more to the stars, planets and the Milky Way. We can’t be the only “intelligent” (for want of a better, more appropriate word) beings. Do aliens have religion? Do they have their own pontiffs? Do they have currency? Do they have Alien Idol? Do they *GASP!* have intercourse? These are questions with no straightforward (heck, I think there are even crooked ones) answers or at least ones that won’t be discovered at least in my lifetime.

Is the cosmic universe governed by aliens in fancy dresses? As long as it’s not sequin.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I do not doubt the existence of life outside our world I just doubt them aliens are prettier than us. An alien equivalent to Angelina Jolie with two extra eyes and arms and legs? Yikes!