this is beer typing

So I was driving to the hospital that is half of the LDP from my house. It was raining like one of those irregular tropical thunderstorms that we get so often at this time of the year. And you know the LDP — one massively long curvy road that will have cars going at 20kph if so much as a cat harakiri-ed in the middle of the road. This was at around 3.30 p.m., after lunch break and before the dreaded peak hour and not quite the time for government servants to head home. They were all out having tea anyway.

I was on the fast lane — don’t give me the crap on how fast lanes are not really fast lanes and there shouldn’t be any difference when driving bla bla la di da la. There is a difference, I was on the fast lane and I was going at 30kph like every poor sod stuck on the LDP for their own inane reasons. There was this white Wira on the slow lane next to me, the dude signaled to go into my lane. Alright fine, whatever, not like it would do any difference. No one would let him go, not the car in front of me, not the car behind me. Being a paragon of virtue embodied with so much patience and loving kindness that Lucifer would shit himself at the thought of welcoming me to his turf, I let the git go in front of me. He did and gave an appreciative wave. I felt like Mother Theresa without the habit and wrinkles. My halo perched proudly atop my glowing head. This is driving in KL/PJ, remember?

Then the git decided to return my good deed of the day by going at 10kph. In front of me. On the fast lane. I could fit two long Merz and a cement lorry in front of his Wira. There was no turning to the slow lane for me or any of the poor sods behind me because the slow lane drivers were going at 30kph. Like normal people. Naturally I was pissed off and pretty much bewildered. I could feel the rage aura from the drivers behind me, hitting me all over like an invisible bat to my head. My halo fell off and got trampled to useless bits.

And THEN, the indecisive git signaled to the left, wanting to go back to the slow lane. He managed this feat by swerving his car to the middle of the road, pretty much blocking every other driver on the slow AND fast lanes. What The Fuck. Everyone was pissed off. I looked into the rear mirror and saw the dude behind me gesturing something obscene. He then turned and looked at me, but I was not about to get into an eye staring ‘what, this is not my fault!’ contest with him. The rain wasn’t helping.

I reached the hospital half an hour later and borrowed an umbrella from the guards at the waiting zone. Didn’t want to get wet walking from the parking lot to the hospital building, did I? I parked the car, flipped open the umbrella and stepped out into the open. The rain stopped. I am not shitting you. Great timing eh? Story of my life.

The nurse said that my hole has closed, you can view a photo here. No need for more dressing and bandage. The doctor removed the now-softened ear wax that had been clogging my left ear for maybe a year. In defense of my personal hygiene, that piece of hard wax was deep inside my ear, alright? I couldn’t have reached it without busting my eardrum. The damned perforated ear drum in the right ear is still there, and the doctor suggested a simple surgery to fix the problem. This is done by sticking two needles behind my ear to numb the area hence relieving me of any pain during the surgery, and removing some fat from my ear lobe to be patched onto the offending hole. Easy peasy surgery, done in 20 minutes, no need for general anesthetic, no need to stay at the hospital overnight, RM3000++. I told him I’d think about it. It’s not life-threatening, it’s just annoying because I can’t hear all that well with my right ear. But the hearing loss is only 10%, it’s like listening to gurgles when you are underwater. No biggie.

I went to pay for my dressing session. The bill came up to RM30.50 . Huh?!?! Why is it so expensive, I asked. Well actually it’s not ‘my last piece of bread in the world or I’d die’ expensive. It’s just that all my previous dressing sessions came up to RM26.70, tops. Though RM4 could buy you a loaf of Gardenia bread with change, but that was not the point. It’s the principle of It, so I had to ask. The cashier looked at me like I was a monkey let loose from the zoo asking why bananas grow on banana trees.

“I’m just following what they gave me”, she answered with a nasty smirk.

I coughed up the money. She handed me my bill. As she was withdrawing her hand, she scratched MY hand with her pinky nail. I stared at her. She looked away. Bitch.

I paid the parking ticket at the automatic machine and walked back to my car. It was slightly drizzling. Of course. I sat in the car for a full 10 minutes, listening to Babylon Zoo’s Spaceman. It sounded different, clearer. More crispy. My left ear is cured. Good. I killed a mosquito that had been buzzing around inside the car for the whole day, and proceeded to drive home.

It rained harder. The LDP was a mess. For the 10,000th time, I silently thanked my eldest sister for the use of her zippy auto car. I thought of my old manual Iswara and shuddered. It didn’t bother me that much before, but then I didn’t have a choice and lived with it. I was lucky to have a car to drive. I still am.

I stopped by an open-air restaurant near my house and tar-pau-ed sing chow mai fan. Reached home to find the gates wide open. FUCK. I remembered closing it when I went out. Luckily Erna wasn’t home yet. I had forgotten to close the gates yesterday and she called me on my mobile, sounding a bit worried. I turned the key to open the grill door to find it unlocked. Good, it wasn’t me then. I always lock the grill door. I would stumble home slightly drunk, mildly incapable of walking a straight line with a nearly bursting bladder and I’d lock the grill door.

Wasn’t really hungry, but I gobbled up the sing chow mai fan. There were 2 small prawns and bits of egg in it. My first ‘poisonous’ food in nearly 3 weeks. I didn’t die. Tomorrow I will get a cream puff.

I would write more about the inconsequential details that happened after, but the cold beer in the fridge is screaming my name, Suanie Suanie drink me drink me!!! I just had my left ear fixed. Can’t turn deaf to plaintive wails now, can I? Laters.

fighting over peter

Suanie and Reta fighting over Peter Tan

Crap audio quality — no idea why the audio quality becomes ‘zing zing’ using Microsoft Movie Maker… oh yeah maybe ‘cos it sucks. But I’m a noob, so bleh. 2.03 mins btw.

Nyeh nyeh nyeh.

Thanks to Jack the phone camera man. Related posts by: Reta, Peter, Reta again and Peter again.

the run-around guys

For some unknown reasons, this past weekend I’d been having a lot of conversations on the topics of being single, being in a relationship, being a male and being a female. The eternal incomprehensible tangles of having different organs and functions that make sad love songs top of the charts and people like me bitching about it.

I don’t know what it means, maybe all it means is that when you talk, someone else will talk back. I don’t know, it’s not like there’s a big big mystery waiting to be uncovered. Despite assurances that I am still young this that, despite my overplayed dramatisation of singlehood, I am not overly worried. Maybe I *should* be, maybe I should start thinking about worrying.

Meanwhile, drinks all around!

Back in high school I used to hang out with this circle of friends, and over the years I noticed the ‘changing partners’ game. Girl A goes out with Guy A, they break up, Girl A gets together with Guy A’s buddy Guy B, Guy A gets together with Girl B, everyone breaks up, Guy B and Girl C gets together, Guy A then has interest in Girl C bla bla bla… the point of the matter is, everyone was dating everyone else within the same circle. Not my cup of tea but it seems to have continued on till today, Girl B and Guy N finally got together.

Then I came to KL to discover a whole new breed of men — the ones who would try their luck with every girl within the same circle. There may be a proper name for this type of men (desperate, horny, asshole, jerk, slut), but I call them the ‘Run-Around’ guys for lack of a more polite better term. Single girls worldwide may know of this situation — you get to know a guy, he seems nice and all, then you introduce him to all your girlfriends and he hits on them. Some do it discreetly, some don’t even bother to cover their tracks but you, the single girl is most likely to remain ignorant until you exchange notes with your girlfriends.

Quite sad lor. I don’t know if those guys realise it, but once notes have been passed around over and over, the circle of girls that they try so hard to infiltrate would mark them as history. Adios, tata, goodnight and goodbye. Or at least that is what I would do. So don’t bother, thanks.

There are also the girls who attempt to steal her friend’s every potential male in sight, but that’s another story.

While on friendships, I was still a kid in primary school when I experienced my first non-friendship friendship. A toddler my age and I mutually agreed to cease all communications.

“I don’t want to friend you already.”

“Don’t friend, don’t friend lah!”

Behold the cold war! How glorious it was back in those days to give the cold shoulder because if you even give the slightest hint of looking at the other person, there goes all your 8 year old credibility. Your friend who dared lend the other warring party a pencil would be semi-permanently marked as belonging to the other side, unless she comes back with her tail between her legs offering some juicy gossip for sniggers and laughter, such as the other one got into trouble with so-and-so teacher. Until then she is not worthy of your mighty attention. Feel free to look the other way and completely ignore her even if she was still standing in front of you, pretty much bewildered at the change of situation.

It was cute. But when adults still do it, it is downright stupid and childish and marks you on the losing end. You are no longer 8 years old. Grow the fuck up, why don’t you?

On another note, a big hi to Jazz Mamma of The Top Room! The place was nice, the music better.

And happy birthday eyeris! May your balls never sag till the end of time.