Bragging rights.

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

I can’t believe it’s almost 2007! In about 1/2 a year I’ll be 23 and that means I’m officially fast-fowarding to mid-20s. I still feel like I haven’t grown up one bit, which is bloody scary because I know damn well I’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 I’m telling you this because I’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 “holiday” 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 they’re pissed with me leeching off, boyfriend as the chauffeur? I’m not kidding you when I said I’m about the luckiest bitch you’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 ached…because I was such a self-destructive idiot with zero self-esteem (am still am) who never thought I’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. It’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 I’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, ladies…that’s my man). I’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 don’t know how to express gratitude for my parents. Although being certified crazy has something to do with a tinge of Hainanese blood from Dad’s side (justttttttt kidding, daddy), I couldn’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 I’d be seriously damned) and I don’t know how you guys did it but it’s a fact today I haven’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 I’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.

It’s Christmas season and I just feel like bragging. I can’t help it as I haven’t taken my medicine. MERRY BOXING DAY!

Random regurgitation and Person Of The Year.

Affirmative action for the majority breeds gross inefficiency. It doesn’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!!!!!!!

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

I can’t wait to see my Mom and Dad. I can’t wait to see anything KL-related actually…

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

Hotel blooper: Wakeup calls.

Among all the hotels I’ve stayed in, my favourite is the Sydney’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 hotel’s wake-up call. It’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 hotel’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 bla…

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 this…

Good morning! This is your wakeup call.. I cursed, “What the fuck another wakeup call, tiuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu” huh, yes Miss Kimberly?

Just great! A real person this time…

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.