Bragging rights.

Happy Boxing Day everyone! I had a fabulous Yuletide celebration. Party at KYā€™s was a blast but not as crazy as before. Yeah, all old already cannot party, damn sad right?

I canā€™t believe itā€™s almost 2007! In about 1/2 a year Iā€™ll be 23 and that means Iā€™m officially fast-fowarding to mid-20s. I still feel like I havenā€™t grown up one bit, which is bloody scary because I know damn well Iā€™m getting old (I can see it on my face, gasp) but I still dread the idea of making money, making babies, making up, making efforts and basically making anything at all.

This year, I was also certified by a doctor for having mental disorder. And Iā€™m telling you this because Iā€™m sickeningly addicted to attention, which of course is part of my illness so you have no place to judge me because this is also a disclaimer. The best thing about being sick is the extended ā€œholidayā€ and getting to spend time at home re-living my former life as a bum/spoilt brat. Oh man, car paid by daddy and fuel by mommy and when theyā€™re pissed with me leeching off, boyfriend as the chauffeur? Iā€™m not kidding you when I said Iā€™m about the luckiest bitch youā€™ve ever met.

So I came home to a bigass framed collage of photos taken throughout our two year relationship, made single-handedly by my Boo. The old-school scissors and glue method, mind you. I was so touched, my heart achedā€¦because I was such a self-destructive idiot with zero self-esteem (am still am) who never thought Iā€™d land myself on such a gem. It was a surreal moment (especially considering what a crazed ungrateful cibai I was to him prior). He would literally go the miles for me. Litefuckingrally. Itā€™s not easy to date someone such as myself (sloppy, perverted, gross, confused, moody + latest:mentally sick, w00t) and he takes it all in stride and he inspires me to be a better person everyday. I admit Iā€™d wear down any man with fucking jell-o for a spine, but my Boo is a rock. A true rock.

And he cooked Xmas dinner for my family. Stuffed bird, potatoes, boiled greens and all the trimmings (swoon now, ladiesā€¦thatā€™s my man). Iā€™m sorry I fucked up the custard for the pudding but as always, you saved the day again by whipping up super smooth custard with absolutely not a single lump in sight.

What about my parents? I donā€™t know how to express gratitude for my parents. Although being certified crazy has something to do with a tinge of Hainanese blood from Dadā€™s side (justttttttt kidding, daddy), I couldnā€™t ask for a better set of parents than mine. You guys had to deal with my teenage years, which were quite bad I admit (which is also why if given choice I would absolutely refrain from having a daughter cause if she turned out like me Iā€™d be seriously damned) and I donā€™t know how you guys did it but itā€™s a fact today I havenā€™t turned to drugs or vice and my most criminal achievement is the huge p0rn folder I have on my desktop.

My brothers brighten up my semi-dull days with their constant bickering and teenage angst. My darlings, please keep in mind that Iā€™ll always be the only daughter your parents have and only sister you have so I reserve the right to damn bully both of you whenever, wherever and however I like.

Itā€™s Christmas season and I just feel like bragging. I canā€™t help it as I havenā€™t taken my medicine. MERRY BOXING DAY!

Random regurgitation and Person Of The Year.

Affirmative action for the majority breeds gross inefficiency. It doesnā€™t only happen in Malaysia. I need to settle so many things before I come home for Christmas and bureaucracy is threatening to fuck up my plans. I am so pissed!!!!!!!

Iā€™m fat, sluggish and broke but I fucking love it. Tesco mushroom cuppa soup is the best thing ever.

I canā€™t wait to see my Mom and Dad. I canā€™t wait to see anything KL-related actuallyā€¦

On another note, Time Magazine has never selected a better Person Of The Year.

Hotel blooper: Wakeup calls.

Among all the hotels Iā€™ve stayed in, my favourite is the Sydneyā€™s Hilton. I love the view, the huge bed, the plasma tele, the night blind control at the bedside (omg, darkness in stark daylight at your fingertip!) and the location too, of course.

I have had several problems with its ultra-modern facilities though. One such problem is its wakeup calls. I usually arrange for wakeup calls with the hotel. Then I would set my own alarm clock to wake me up before my hotelā€™s wake-up call. Itā€™s a foolproof plan to avoid oversleeping.

One morning, I woke up to my own alarm clock and proceeded to prepare for yet another bloody day at work. I was grumpy and agitated. As I meticulously put on my eyeliner, the phone rang. I knew it was the hotelā€™s wakeup call. So despite being half-way through the make-up I went to pick up the phone. An automated voice greeted me.

Good morning! This is your wakeup call bla bla blaā€¦

I hung up, walked to the mirror and continued with my routine. Then, while putting on mascara, the bloody phone rang again. I thought it was an emergency regarding work, so I ran to pick up the phone. And there it was, the same automated greeting. I slammed down the receiver by that time.

10 minutes later, the phone rang for the third time. Half-way through applying lipstick (it sucks to be a woman). I figured it was another wake-up call. I picked it up and sure enough, I heard thisā€¦

Good morning! This is your wakeup call.. I cursed, ā€œWhat the fuck another wakeup call, tiuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuā€ huh, yes Miss Kimberly?

Just great! A real person this timeā€¦

So yes, if you were in Sydney for work, do put up at the Hilton. You will definitely be on time for that dreaded meeting.