On Hiatus

Almost two whole months of silence. What must the lot of you be thinking? Let it be known to all and sundry (especially the deeply concerned amongst you who feared the worst, i.e, kicking of buckets and whatnot) that life still has a death grip on me so fret not!

Being a kitchen slave for almost 14 hours a day leaves me little time for naught else.

I'll be back though. When, I really can't say. But this I promise you, even whilst cuts, bruises, blisters and burns threaten to render my hands useless forever, I WILL write again. That is the power of Me, lest y'all forget.

5th July 2008 @ Courts Megastore

There is an abundance of Stuff going on in our lives right now, suffice to say that I'm incredibly thankful for having in my arsenal of attributes the most dexterous of juggling skills and swiftness of thought too. Or I'd surely be dead by now.

Blessed am I.

More importantly (note the masterful segue), YOU and everyone you know should go down to Courts this Saturday at 1pm to lend support, whistles, cheers, oogles and whatnot to the finalists of Miss Sweetheart 2008.

And by that I really only meant HER.

Oh and come up to me and say hi aye? Till then.....

Dull, dull, dull

I could go on at length about the dullness of Euro '08 (I'm not only saying that because England is out and thus essentially leaving me rudderless and at a loss for who to root for, since I'm already firmly behind Spain and yea they happen to have the most number of players from Lfc. So what's your point?), the dullness of this season's Top Chef Finale (a reality cooking series which by the way was what Hell's Kitchen started out to be but have since sunk into the deepest, slimiest pit of gratutious drama and yet more gag-inducing histronics for the sake of *good TV*. ) Unlike HK, Top Chef is still ALL about the creating of awesome, kick-arse and of course, impossible to replicate-in-my-own-kitchen food) or even the dull staleness of what 8 days has become (which these days only seem to contain tiresome, repetitive gossip ripped off from the likes of TwoP, Go Fug Yourself and Entertainment Weekly. Then there is the embarressing way they fawn over shows that *are now making it's latest season debut on local TV!! Yeah!!!!* but which in reality are inevitably TWO seasons late. There is NO way you can get me excited over the acerbic wit of Dr Gregory House in the ALL NEW Season of House when I've already watched that like oh, only half a year ago. So please stop trying to make it sound like it is indeed a brand! new! season! Because that's just gross. And y'all come across as fluffing twits instead of the intelligent beings that I know you're capable of being!

But no, of course I will not. Instead let me use this opportune time to urge all of you who are IT Showphiles to make your way down to Suntec today and tomorrow for the best and biggest show of the year. Now why the sudden interest you wonder? It's not like I can actually afford that Asus notebook that I've been lusting after for the past 3 months so this is as good a time as any for me to live my life vicariously through yours. And also to garner a lil support for the baby sis who will be making an appearance with 3 other mates from Miss Sweetheart Pageant 2008 for Courts Auction booth. So go on. You know you want to. Gorgeous machines, even more gorgeous babes, what more could one ask for in these so very, very dull times of our lives?

And I mourn

If you, like me, were up last night watching the blasted debacle that was lasts night's Championship Semi-Finals between Liverpool and Stinky Shit, then I seek your understanding. I am crushed, gutted and devastated beyond words and will possibly need many, many days, pints of alcohol and brain-numbing TV (of course I really meant torrents) to assauge this pain.

I really hate to bring up the humilating mishap that involved Riise the Donkey but SERIOUSLY, boy's GOT TO GO. Useless, ineffective and mostly running around the field like a headless chicken and costing us the home game with his assholery of a head-butted OG, last night he proves once again, how he'll never, ever redeem himself.

Unlike the precious and the most adorable face in English football right now, skipper Stevie G who tried so hard but was thwarted at EVERY opportunity by Stinky Shit Blues.

I know that you who are inherently blessed with the sort of sweet understanding that I can't find anywhere else, will understand that I won't be able to post anything worth reading at this point and will instead heap upon me kindly words of comfort and maybe even a few dozen boxes of Royce Incomparable Champagne Truffle.

I too had a dream once

And that was to teach. Oh not just your run-of-the-mill, garden-variety primary school teacher, putting up with a load of crap from over-indulged, pampered twats but in a poverty-ravaged, god-forsaken tiny-ass village in Chiang Mai. First and foremost (the second, less important reason is that I've always loved to teach), I was badly smitten with the country and to a large extent still am. I cannot explain the whys and hows I became so enamoured of a place that is insanely polluted, tied up in the weirdest most arbitrary, ever-changing rules and worst of all, inhabited by my most hateful and feared nemesis, The Cockroach. Yet there I was, willing to do all that I could to stay there for as long as She would have me.

Alas, it was not to be and all those carefully nurtured dreams were shattered in one fell swoop when reality gave me a good, hard kick in the butt. This girl just ain't white. To qualify as a respected TEFL teacher in the Land of Fake smiles one has to be deemed a *Bloody Native English Speaker* which I apparently am NOT. Doesn't matter if I only think and speak and dream in the damn language coz who gives 2 flying fks as long as I'm not Caucasian. This heart-wrenchingly aching memory was dredged up to kick my insomnia up 24839849 notches by an old post that I'd unwittingly and most unwilling come across while looking up the email contact of a lost friend (where the fk are you aaron?! T'was you who started me on the post beneath and now you've simply vanished! Pfft).

QUOTE(realthaideal @ 2007-07-12 17:30:33)
You gotta be like, fully from some country, where like, they fully speak English all the time. You know what I'm saying ? I mean, like, you fully gotta speak how they speak in the streets, and also be able to sound like some full-on smack 'n stuff who could do some business or something. You know? If you can do that, you could fully be a teacher n stuff.

QUOTE(fennielyn @ 2007-07-12 19:20:43)
What realthaideal says is like totally foreals. I'mma spread the word. No, I mean, like seriously man!! Because ya know like how the media and the TV and the radio and the movies teach us how to, like, speak? And hey I'm down with that! Coz, dude, who can deny such a totally awesome truth, yo. Heck, chyeah. AND if you've got a somewhat *White* look to go along with that then hurrah!, completely *white* looking, even better! I guess then, we don't need anymore evidence to reinforce the fact that this weird-ass, reverse semi-racism is rampant in the teaching (English) realm in Thailand, things ARE just the way they are and I don't see the situation taking a turn for the better anytime soon. Having said that, somehow I can't seem to work up any sort of genuine indignant outrage as I normally would under similar circumstances. It could be that I've grown up, grown older, grown tired of the constant struggle, grown resigned...or it could simply be that I've fallen irrevocably in love with my very real and very sweet Thai friends whom I know don't have a single prejudiced bone in their bodies. What they do have though are some very deeply ingrained ideas and ideals about certain things and how they *think* should be done. Even if they understand how wrong these concepts are, it's hard for them to actually FEEL the wrongness of it and believe me, I've tried to explain so many freakin' times and given so many freakin' examples. After much beating of chest and pulling out hair, I gave up. I still love them though despite the mulishness. They honestly can't help it. =(

A little anecdote. For illustrative purposes only. =P A few weeks ago I tried to explain to this Thai guy whom I'm rather close to how ridiculous I think it is HE thinks that he is *allowed* to have another girlfriend if he happened to fall in love or whatever, with another girl while still in a relationship but a girl, say maybe me, is completely forbidden to see 2 guys at the same time, well just make dam sure he doesn't find out coz he'll freakin' KILL the guy. His words, not mine. (And I know he would too.) Then, something about Thai men being warriors back then blah..blah it's how they've been for hundreds of years, they will not stand to be cuckolded etc..etc.. So that's when the indignant outrage spilled over and threatened to flood my insides with pure rage. We argued back and forth and he even admitted to how UNFAIR the whole debacle is and in my fury I said then the girl should damn well have another bf too if she so fancies and he said, "Mai dai...you're a girl, people will not respect me if my girl has another guy, means you really look down me. I understand that it's not fair, that you will be mad and I don't blame you but cannot. YOU don't understand coz you from farang country." I'm like," ...the hell?? I'm as bloody asian as you are!" Guy getting all exasperated, " Mai chai! Your country already like farang one, cannot compare with us, so you mai Kao Jai" Uhm..kay. And that was that. It slays me still when the memory of that comes back as it does now...but there really wasn't anything I could do to make him FEEL and not just know that it's unfair and so so wrong.

I learned a couple of things that day. That you could argue til you're blue in the face and you could patiently smile until your lips drop off but you can never convince a Thai who's dead set in his/her ways and ideologies of the truth in yours. I'm still trying to deal with that. All this crap has been passed down from generation to generation and also perpetrated by the people they have the utmost respect and love for: the people running the country. How can I possibly hold this against them then? And so I don't. But God, don't even think for a moment that I'm not thoroughly pissed off, because I AM. There is a whole lot of anger and frustration in me, I just don't know WHO and WHERE to direct it at anymore which probably explains the drunken stupor I find myself in more and more each night.

SO, moving along now...I know that try as I might, it'll probably be a bloody hard, uphill task finding any sort of teaching assignment even if I were passionate about and am completely dedicated to the job AND have a truckload of experience to boot. Who gives a rat's ass that I don't speak with any discernable accent and the darn pronunciation is crisp and the only language I dream in, think and speak with is English? In fact, I'm sorely ashamed of the fact that I'm not as effectively bilingual as I should be, considering that I studied my 2nd language for ONLY a good 10 years. If I choose to be completely honest, I really shouldn't consider myself even remotely bilingual. Yea, it really is *that* bad, the 2nd language. Perhaps I'm just not much of a linguist or perhaps it's just that my heart and my mind recognized and fell in love with what I was truly in tune with. I remember also always being singled out by my 2nd lang. teacher who took un-natural pleasure in taunting me with my less than stalwart grades and complete lack of interest. Maybe I found the contempt in her eyes when she looked at me so fking inspiring that I started hating the language even more and in doing so become utterly lost in my 1st language to the point that I had no eyes or heart for anything else. Literally. Who knows.

But because I've been cursed with the ass-luck of NOT bearing even the slightest bit of Caucasian likeness, I'm forever deemed not quite worthy of teaching a language that sounds *that* much more palatable coming out from Drew Barrymore's pretty lips than say...Lucy Liu's little pout.

So yea, I'm still trying to make peace with that and come to terms with the fact that I may never be able to do what I love to do, in a place that my heart wants to be, because of an outdated stereotype, so bear with me here if you detect a whiff of bitterness. I'm completely counting on "And this too, shall pass", to work it's magic.

Maybe schedule a colonoscopy to take the mind off such dreary thoughts and oh to make sure that I don't DIE from the ass-cancer. See, it's working already. (I'll be needing that single-malt now, yo)
[End]

Well, have I completely managed to let go of this strangely deep-rooted longing for the country? There are times when I thought that the desperate yearning had begun to ease, but then I'd hear some go,"Sawadee Krub, sabai dee mai krub?" And my heart would skip 32 beats and then take this godawful plunge somewhere down south and I know. Sigh. I know then that this unwanted, inexplicable attachment I have for this country is still as strong as it was before. My heart had just somehow devised a makeshift shield, a shoddy, cloaking mechanism of sorts to seemingly make the pain invisible, but it just ain't enough to hoodwink this heart forever into believing that it isn't there, nor stop it from creeping up on me at the most unexpected, unforeseen, unforewarned times. And and when that happens, I am robbed entirely of my breath, my whole being suddenly poised and centred around a pain so sharp, so all-consuming, I thought that, this is it, surely Death is now upon me.

But then it passes! Lleaving behind only a whisper that makes me finally kao jai, that it's never going to go away and that I'll have to brace myself for the next time I pass that fruit stall in Geylang Lorong Uneven Number that is run fully by a Thai family and I'm tempted to stop by just to ask them," ah ni mango, tau rai ka?", the next time I see Kao Pad Ng'er sold at some random hawker stall, the next time I spot a bonafide Katoey at some dodgy area which knowing me, I'll probably find myself stumbling into, I'll just have to brace myself for the onslaught of that thing that feels like death yet isn't.

Time heals? Pfft. Fking load of bullcrap.

In which Steven Gerrard kicks arse

In all honesty, I hadn't made an appointment with Stevie nor the match but apparently serendipity and the stars were all so perfectly aligned last night (it is still night to me even if it's bloody 4 a.m as long as I haven't slept yet) that lo and behold, when I turned to the FC, there were the my beloved Scousers playing against Arsenal! Despite having to put up with Monsieur Wenker's ferocious frowns, my eyes were glued to the screen and Oh man, my boys played such wondrous, magical football.

Needless to say, I had the sweetest of slumber this morning, well, as sweet as it could get with it being fragmented and fitful.

Stevie's penalty goal was entered with such finesse and awesome accuracy that it left me and the Gunner's goalkeeper, undoubtedly breathless.

Did you see the look on Wenker's face? There couldn't have been a lovelier sight!

Whilst I savoured the glorious victory that Liverpool and I deserved, it was only ever so slighly marred by the lacklustre and lethargic performance by the Gunners, even with Adebayor's equalizer; they just seemed to suffer from match fatigue and many a times their passing seemed sloppy and half-hearted. I'm sad to see them out of the Champion's League as I'll always have a certain fondness for the team but of course the euphoria of knowing that the Scousers will be in the semis against Chelsea just makes everything in my world alright again.

I love these lil critters

What? You didn't know that I've got a thing for creatures that can flick their tongues out in lightning speed and yet look adorable while doing it too? Well now you know. I love lizards and geckos. I really do. And simply cannot fathom the fear and *eeeeeee* factor that these lovely babies seem to inspire in most girls and sometimes, guys too. You'd think they were being faced by my eternal nemesis, The Cockroach. Geez .

And Hey, these lovable ones don't fking judge you for stuffing your face with chocolate cookies all day and watching Hell's Kitchen and NOW Hustle instead of bloody posting.

So this baby was lurking in one of the many boxes I have in my room which is now, for obvious reasons have been converted into a store room (literally). Don't ask me how he got there but through some fateful intervention (not that I believe in that crap), our paths crossed and despite the terror in his eyes upon encountering my none too benign countenance, I trust that he will soon learn to like me as you have and even perhaps enjoy the captivity that was once so lacking in his life. Oy, at least he doesn't have to scavenge for food nemore okay?

And in other uneventful news, I made a batch of nasi lemak chilli which although was kick-ass, tongue-numbingly hot, still lacked that certain something which of course means MORE tweaking. I swear, Gordon is getting to me and raising the standards of my fking palate which is already astronomically fussy and that, my friend, is NOT a good thing.

Okie, being an absolute stickler for honesty as you should very well know by now, I will admit that all I did was fry the chilli and season to taste (meaning adding heaps of sugar and a coupla spoonfuls of tamarind juice, assam to most of you, to acheive that perfect state of sweetness, stickiness and slight tinge of sourness), t'was not as effortless as only I, can make it sound. I sneezed a billion times, cried copious tears throughout and elicited many, many wtfs! from neighbours who cannot grasp the idea of cooking food that tickles your nose and makes you tear (yes, frying dried ground chilli does that and if you don't believe me, have a go at it) at ridiculous o'clock where regular folks, like you, are probably sleeping. But because you know the sort of sane hours I keep, you, unlike them will understand instead of judging.

Oh, this lovely, fragrant and oh so lemak (coconutty) rice was of course cooked by the Mom, who rocks so hard at manipulating complex dishes and coaxing perfection out of them. That is not the only reason why I love her to bits, there's also the little fact that she's ever so fking long-suffering and patient where my short/hot/violent tempered daddy do-Little is concerned. More on that some other time.

So you already know what my favourite biscuits are. But what about my cereal? I know your insatiable curiousity about the smallest minutae of my life must be getting the better of you since I've been holding out on this rather earth-shattering tidbit for so long, so without further ado, this, my darlings, is the cereal of Princesses.

I cannot abide over-sweet cereal that is coated with sugar and that evil thing, you know, HFCS (high-fructose corn syrup, duh) which is pretty ironic if you think about how addicted I am to my Arnotts shite since they're only drenched in HFCS.

Actually that is my number 2 favourite because in my heart of hearts, I really just long for some of this.

But since I'm in no state to, well okie, not me but my pocket, to spoon these delectable grains of yumminess into my yearning mouth, I've got to make do with Post which really, by all acounts isn't too shabby.

Lest y'all think that I'm only good for ingesting mind-altering, body-wrecking pills, I will have you know that you couldn't be farther from the truth. Being a pill-popper through and through, let this graphic, henceforth dispel every doubt that I only do bad stuff.

Oh, and for those of you who keep bugging me about wtf Rohpynol and zolpidem (aka Stillnox/Ambien) are, here are some pictorial elucidation. Now, can we move along from this rather tiresome and non-productive queries?




And to further discourage you from ever even thinking of going near these evil crap that has no business lurking about in our peaceful, lack of terrorists-running-amok-in-our-midst and non-existent inflation-plagued lives, here are some truly horrifying graphics that will burn your retinas and impress upon you forever the assinine assness of consuming said drugs. Because this is how you will look tumbling out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom whilst weilding your camphone. May these pictures be permanently seared onto your memory and come back to haunt you should you ever be tempted by ingesting rotten, nervous system damaging shite.

And for good measure, here's a truly gobsmacking pic of a bruised vein that happened whilst typing out this post. How the fk it came about, I have NO bloody clue.

*Please do not question the weird-ass font that is a all over the place, I too am as befuddled as you are but don't have the patience right now to go bloody *edit html* because every other way just seemes to fail so screw you and your ever-changing font size and span and height, blogger.

The Suckage of RSS subscription

NOT yours. So you don't have to get all indignant and outraged and sulky now. In fact I do subscribe to quite a few of your feeds and it is solely because of them that I am shown the utter slothfulness and error of my blogger ways. I am also astounded by how quickly and frequently you are all able to update your blogs, almost on a daily and for the super-humans amongst us, bi-daily basis too. It is enough to put this girl to shame.

After much gnashing of teeth and the downing of gallons of Caramel Baileys later, I made the grave and final decision to remove forever, the RSS *subscribe to me* box. It just doesn't seem to be serving any sort of purpose and worse, it leads to unrealistic expectation swhich I could never, no matter how willing the spirit is, be able to fulfil. I know what it's like to be let down and why would I do that to you? YOU, the paragon of all that is sweet and good. I could never.

I hate Wordpress. I really do. Not to be repetitive or anything (which by the mere mention of my absolutely justified, negative feelings about WP, I already am being, so just fking bear with me here) but even after spending hours heaped upon hours heaped upon days, I'm still no where near grasping it. I never claimed to be css/html-savvy but rumour has it that WP is such a piece of cake that you could master it with one hand bound behind your back, watching Boston Legal (if the show ever stopped, I might just cease to exist) whilst prying apart durians that being the loser that I am, always usually are opened by the durian uncle in a half-assed manner which is why prying is required of you in the first place.

It is a lie. An outright deception of the most devious kind. You see, you'd never know they were lying when you look at their blog, which in all their elegant, multi-bar, widgetized glory, belies the effort that goes into putting it all together and making it look so fking simple and simplified to the nth. And they don't want you to know either. After spending x amount of hours googling theme installation, plug-ins installation, widget-installation, you spy that just-kill-me already button and feel almost tempted to grab it, but wait! you then spot yet another site that promises to be The N00b guide to all Things WP and unable to resist the siren call that is the WP helping hand, of course you had to pop on over. I'm sure Tim has helped thousands along the way since the article appeared in 20o6 but as stoic and earnest as I am, he failed where I, an obviously sucky, unteachable WP student was concerned. I'm sorry.

But hope! springs eternal. Right?? I mean, if I am still able to blab on chirply as I have after being sleepless for 29.65 hours and counting, then surely, this is hope talking.

Definitely hope, most definitely not Flunitrazepam because I am apparently, impervious to most benzodiazepams and no I was not told that bloody Rohypnol (which just occurred to me that since roofies don't affect me at all unless consumed in mad quantities, I am thus date-ravage-proof, now how many of YOU can lay claim to that?) is part of the benzo family until after I had it in my grateful hands, which by then, I couldn't care less; even if I did and still do abhor almost all benzo pharmaceutical shite. Sadly, Zolpidem is not something I can afford. Not at the amount I need. What?

Back to hope and whatnot, if this wtf-inducing graphic is not irrefutable proof of sunshiny hope in full, glorious bloom, then damn, I don't know what is.

I have been feeling out of sorts the past couple of weeks. A strange, foreboding heaviness that I cannot place my fingers on plagues a heart that that is already burdened with...IT that shall not be named. [SOL]

I fear for my sanity, which if you don't know by now is hanging by a silvery, gossamer-thin thread. It clearly behooves me and all those around me for me to remain somewhat uncrazy because when madness takes over, I just become a puddle of murky, suffocating melancholy.

Here is but a wee flashback to how I can be when the heart and mind are weighed down by a 1-tonne millstone. 'Tis not a pretty sight, I assure you.

An Excerpt from a darker time...

....It appears that I'm in one of my melancholic bouts. Those of you who know me will know that it is during times like this that I can't help but give the proverbial permanently stitched heart on the sleeve a good airing for all and sundry. And I don't even care if you don't give a damn satang. Not anymore.

Do you know how much I hate tears? People who say that crying is good for the soul, that it's in fact a positive form of cathartic release are just full of B.S. I'm typing this through a fog of water+salt and trust me, I'm not feeling any sort of release here.

Why does nobody place any sort of value on friendships and relationships in this city? No, seriously, I really want to know. *out of sighT, out of mind* seems to be the adage of the day here. Friendships forged are transient and superficial at best and most times casually dismissed when one's tangible presence isn't around anymore. At first, I was appalled and beyond hurt at such cavalier attitudes towards relationships and such but now that I'm wiser (chyea) and been through the whole hoopla a dozen times over with unkept promises of *I'll keep in touch*, *no matter what happens, I'll always have your back*, I now ASPIRE to adopt this same flippant, lassire fare attitude about anything that even breathes.

Having said that, I am still anti-facebook and will not despite mounting peer pressure from all fronts, sign up on the shallowest and most superficial and FAKE *social networking* site to sprout up on the internet ever. As with all fads, this too shall pass. Anyone even remember friendster? 'nuff said. [note the self-righteous, holier-than-thou spirit here, yes you don't want to cross my path when I'm drowning in a pool of pain, disillusionment and severe let-downess.]

I shall strive my darndest to treat folks who pass through my life as disposible, dispensible and replaceable. [she says with such passion, such gusto, such blustering bluff, only at that time she believed she would/could do it]....

So, in the spirit of Good Friday and Easter, I shall strive to shake off this impending, n'er-bode-well feeling that only signals the oncoming rush of something So. Much. Worse.

rescue.me

Tim Tams and other Aussie goodies

I've rediscovered my love for these childhood, chocolatey morsels of pure bliss. Just make sure you get the real stuff. As in the Original Tim Tams and not the *made in Indonesia* shite.

Herein lies the difference.

Tim Tams that you get directly from down under has that unmistakeable and supremely fragrant chocolate aroma owing to the hint of caramel in every Tim Tam slice that the fake-ass ones lack. In fact the fakes smell and taste almost rancid and just plain nasty on the first whiff and only gets worse with every bite. It also lacks the crisp crunch that accompanies every Tim Tam Originals, be it the Double Coat (my current fav), the fancy Love Potion series or the spanking new Tim Tam Crush, which has amongst them some of the most luscious chocolate-coated biscuits, studded with crushed hazelnuts and honeycomb (which I'm pretty much a slave to), and to add to all that chocolatey goodness lies that smooth layer of chocolate cream that had me at first swirl. Yes, I swirl chocolate cream in my mouth before swallowing. What? Bunch of perverts. Really.

Quite possibly the best vanilla cream/toffee biscuits I've ever tasted.

I can polish off one pack of this in one sitting.

I am consumed with lust for this but can't find it anywhere damnit.

And this. Come on, you don't expect me to be able to resist tart lemon cream sandwiched between two melt-in-your mouth slices of buttery shortbread can you?



Vegemite. Now, I can certainly understand where the haters are coming from. It looks and smells like a pile of vile dog pooh that's been left out in the sun all week and thus now posses that over-ripe reek that you can't imagine smearing on your hot toast. Right? Yea, only if you've got such unrefined olfactory senses.

I cannot even begin to articulate the sublime yumminess of Vegemite thinly and evenly spread on a slice of hot, generously buttered toast. Seriously, this might call upon that that thing, what is it now, oh yea, *acquired taste* but damn once you've aquired it, it's bloody aquired you for life. Or maybe I'm just weird like that. After all, I can't think of anyone that I personally know who likes Weetbix as much as I do.

+ + = a little taste of heaven. I jest not.

If anyone knows where I can get my lusty fingers on some Double Devon Cream butter, I think you will have my utter devotion for the rest of my life. And please, before you suggest some ulu town in Doncaster, South Yorkshire, I will send Gordon after your ignorant arse. I will traipse all over this island if I have to but to send me to England, you damn well be ready with an air ticket in hand.

I demand to know. WTF happened to the supply of Violet Crumble here?!


I literally grew up on this stuff. No, you don't understand. When I say literally, I mean this shite, fcuking aided my growth spurt and I owe at least 20lbs and 1.56cm to the countless bars of VC that I consumed daily for many, many years. How do I make you comprehend and appreciate the kind of bond that my precious and now decidedly extinct Violet Crumble and I shared? I have no choice but to show you I guess and THIS truly does epitomize the essence of the relationship that was between VC and I.

Do you know the song Through the years by Kenny Rogers? (I am not ashamed to admit that I listen to Kenny Rogers and even rather enjoy his overpriced, herb-encrusted roast chicken). This is how it goes for those of you who incredibly don't know the song. Dudes, don't you know that this song is a karaoke LEGEND? Geez.

I can't remember when you weren't there.
When I didn't care for anyone but you.
I swear we've been through everything there is.
Can't imagine anything we've missed.
Can't imagine anything the two of us can't do.

Through the years
You've never let me down
You turned my life around
The sweetest days I've found
I've found with you
Through the years I've never been afraid
I've loved the life we've made
And I'm so glad I've stayed
Right here with you
Through the years
I can't remember what I used to do
Who I trusted whom, I listened to before
I swear you've taught me everything I know
Can't imagine needing something so
But through the years it seems to me I need you more and more
Through the years
Through all the good and bad
I knew how much we had
I've always been so glad To be with you
Through the years It's better everyday
Honeycombed my tears away
As long as it's okay, I'll stay with you Through the years
Through the years...
When everything went wrong
Together we were strong
I know that I belonged Right here with you
Through the years I never had a doubt
We'd always work things out I've learned what love's about By loving you Through the years.....

And I weep.

I'm still alive

Yea, so, for those of you who care, I'm not actually dead yet, despite what the lack of posts may have implied. I do have a life outside of blogger ya know? However hard it is for some of your brains to process. It's just this blogger lethargy that has insinuated itself into my life that's hindering me from coming on here. This time, I cannot blame it on Gordon, bless his michelin stars (and yes, I'm still as obsessed with the man as I was before), well, not entirely anyway. It's a whole other thang that I was not heretofore privy to and thus don't know where to begin, heck, I just don't want to k. So go bug someone else.

In other random news, I am still reeling from the sheer Stupidity that is Paula.
No, seriously, I'm talking about dumbness of monumental proportions. Don't you pffft me, I know she's usually in possession of all of ONE brain cell but this just has me gobsmacked. Sounding even more befuddled than she always does (I know, hard one to imagine), she had to ASK what Simon meant when he said that the choice of the bottom 3 idols was spot-on. Omfg.

Excuse me while I go recover.

And on that note, I'm off to catch that ever elusive thing, commonly known as Slumber or Sleep depending on your level of non-insomniacness.

p/s see, I too am capable of succint and not just long-ass posts. Be thankful.

The sporadicness of me

Seriously, did y'all really think that I haven't been writing because of lack of something to say, an opinion to give, a grievance to air, a grumble to murmur or perhaps being suddenly taken with the twiddling of thumbs? Which only goes to prove once again, how very little attention you actually pay to the things that I say and also further reinforces the fact that you'll probably never, ever figure me out. As hard as you may damn well try.

The previous week, I had fallen prey to this and this and this and was handicapped as you may recall. This week however, my right brain and 3/4 of my left were unceremoniously kidnapped by Gordon Ramsey. Yes, he of Kitchen Nightmares, Hell's Kitchen, and recently, The F Word fame/notoriety.

I know, his gutter of a mouth is legen-DARY (god, I can no longer look at this word the same way after Neil Patick Harris, go watch this if you still don't know who he is, loser. Because it's only THE best show since Friends.) but I just cannot tear my eyes away from the screen whenever he's on (and there are only 4 seasons of KN, UK version for me to catch up on, which translates to roughly about 40 hours of TV-gazing, if you're the sort who keeps tracks of things like that), what is it about this craggy-faced, absolutely obnoxious and abrasive fella that has me thus enthralled?

Damn if I know. But I promise that YOU will be the first to know when I find out.

Want to have a little taste of him and the yummilicious dishes he whips up?

Gotta love a man who just can't, for the life of him, comprehend how any red-blooded, sane human being, doesn't love eating meat. Exactly.

What the heck is wrong with y'all? The rich flavour of pan-seared kobe beef is just out of this world and SO worth clogging up those arteries for. Somehow, eggplant and carrots and gluten( oh, the horror) just can't compare. Sorry but I'm just not a salad girl aye.

In other news, I lost my atm card for the the billionth time (I know I'm telling you this as if you care) and am now in even more dire straits than ever.

Obviously, Ignoring that 10-cent coin carelessly dropped by someone (obviously richer than I am) is now no longer an option.

Today, I shall dedicate at least 2.35 hours to penny-fishing/picking. And yes, of course, you will be kept abreast of the results of this utterly brilliant, cash-cow idea. I am nothing, if not generous and sharing.

Until then.

I seek you, yes YOU

Let's all just pretend that THIS didn't happen. That I didn't actually expect the lot of you to heed me. So, knowing how you all rock at blatantly ignoring me, let's move along now, shall we?

I need to know. And this time, I implore you, HELP ME. It is considered good in certain circles, Heaven, for example, to partake in a little charitable act now and then.

How does one make a sticky post? Is it even possible on blogger? Can I make a post that will be annoyingly THERE and in your face, each time you log on to PPP? The post that never goes away, never dies, never gives up, despite being flung your loud and probably obscene curses?

I know that amongst you, walk that rare breed of bloggers, you know, the ones who scoff at wiki for it's inacquracies, who scorn those who use Go0gle as a verb (hey, I'm not judging, coz Lord knows I *Google* everything), the Ones who are born with a Microprocessor that can beat Intel any day, embedded within their brains or some other anatomy (don't think I don't know what and where you're thinking about, you gutter-minds).

And to you, O Know-it-all, I come before you and humbly seek your expertise. I promise to make it worth your while to mentor me, because I, understand and appreciate the distance you'll need to travel, from the upper echelons down to where, mere mortal (read : blogger n0Ob) that I am, reside.

Your compensation shall be great. On this day, four years from now, you will remember how you once reached out a hand to one, less worthy, inexperienced but oh-so-willingly to absorb being.

I await you, O Know-it-all, with the greatest of anticipation and heart, clutched in hand.

You like me. You really really like me.

I've been thinking (my brain tends to do that when my fingers are idle and YOU of all people should know the evil that rendered my hands (yes, both) practically useless, save for the cable remote control), you sure are one silent lot.

I don't know whether to be deliriously thankful (for the lack of flames; though since I've not yet written anything salacious yet, there's no reason for any so that's moot really) or manically depressed because you obviously don't find me worth those few minutes of your precious time.

Please, if you will, and I'm asking ever so sweetly (which you all know is not something I'm used to, being the egoistical, bossy creature that I am) and with the sincerest of sincerity, why? Why am I met with this dead silence over and over again? With the exception of my food god, nobody deigns to even drop a measly HI!. Pfft. The two letters aren't very far apart either, so now that you know, do something to rectify your transgressions. If you're contrite enough, I might even forgive you.

And don't think I haven't drawn my own conclusions (because you know I rock at that) about why with a couple of million bloggers out there and another million blog purveyors, there is no bloody sign of life here. It boggles the mind. And when YOU boggle my mind, you bring to fruition these thoughts.

Possiblity #1 : I've been remiss in putting up tantalizing pictures of scantily-clad female bodies writhing on the bed/sofa/computer table/floor.

Possiblity #2 : You have no idea at all what the heck I'm always going on about, ergo no reason to comment. (Don't go thinking that I'm going to accept ignorance as an excuse coz I'm NOT.)

Possiblity #3 : Alright, this actually is a fact; my posts are usually too damn long and with no clear and drool-worthy pictures to alleviate the monotony, your brains can no longer function. Which of course leads us back to Possibility #1.

I don't know what you people are thinking but I swear I do NOT know Edison nor hang out with the likes of him. SO can you really blame me for the lack of pictures of me, half-clothed lounging on the bed and purring like a kitten? Think about it.

In OTHER news, the folks dragged us to Vienna at Thompson for the last day of CNY. I know right, yet more feasting. And no, my ever-expanding girth is really none of your business.

I wasn't too impressed with the quality of most of the food available, my steak and lamp chops came to the table charred and tougher than aged leather.

The vegetable dishes were cooked to death. The salmon sashimi was a little too salmony for my taste. And get this, watered down WINE. Dudes, you have to BE there to fully appreciate the extreme monstrosity that was the diluted wine. God. Have they thrown all pride to the wind?

But I have to give them props for the divine selection of cakes. Guess what sort? Awww, you really do know me! Yes, cheese cake of the Chicago, NYC, Orea and Blueberry kind. My heart fluttered and I thought I might swoon but since I was quite nicely cushioned between an overly-eager auntie and her daughter, swoon I could not.

I too wondered what the heck these were. Like you, I have the inquiring mind and natural curiosity of a 3 year old. So I took the lot of them and sampled the entire rack of test tubes. What a complete waste of bladder space. Yet more watered-down liquids. This time, apple juice, lime juice, pineapple and lemon.

You should all be so proud of me. Because despite having a pair of hands that can't do squat, I am 1) able to stuff my face with such classy dexterity, 2) operate the TV/Cable remote without resorting to my tongue, 3) finally take the pictures of the masks that I said I would.

For the sake of brevity (which by now you know how I rule at), I'm gonna run. Things to do, (yes, like basking in the fawning of my legion fans), asses to kick, yet more clicking to perform now that my fingers are all healed, ya know, just my usual daily shite.

P.S Hi, now how hard was that? No, seriously. Do something.

PPP closed until further notice

Fret not, my hordes of adoring fans, for I shall be back...soonish. Surely you know by now that I would never abandon you. My devotion to you is as unquestionable as my addiction to my abundant and rockstar-esque masks.

Due to the maniac clicking that I've done (you can read more about it in the post prior to this for those not in the know), my wrist is right now useless and I can only type with one hand.

Do keep me in your thoughts and prayers, God knows I need all that I can get right now.

Stock for the Placenta and Hydro-gel masks are still available for ordering. But until my wrist heals, I will not be able to write/type/do anything useful.

In a couple of weeks, I'll be receiving brand new and super-awesome, bio-cellulose masks from Korea. You may pre-order in advance as I've only placed a very small order due to high costs and limited funds.

And to further reinforce your love for me, please promote your blog/website here and here. I promise that you'll soon be addicted to TE and you'll find your blog/site hits double in 1 week. Just remember to sign up and submit your site and then start surfing for credits. If you sign up under me (I'm a rockstar clicker as you all know by NOW), I will transfer 100 credits to your account which you can use to promote your site. TE sites are FREE to join and there's no better way to get traffic to your website. And as an added bonus, I will send each of you one piece of the latest MAP+Arbutin Brightening Mask. I've got only 15 pieces left so, first come, first served. Send me an email at fennielyn@gmail.com with your details, either TE site ID and full mailing address. Please put in the subject line : Trafficera/TS25 sign up (Done!) and I'll mail out the mask ASAP. HOWEVER, if you can't dedicate at least 30 minutes each day to surf on both sites, there really isn't any point registering. The only way to earn credits and drive traffic to YOUR site is to be willing to invest time to earn credits so that every member on both sites is able to access your site. 'nuff said.

Until we meet again,
love and huggles!

P/S Affliate programmes are all an incestuous pool of slimey bullcrap, so forget about clickbank and all the scam E-books. Forget about the long-ass sales-pitch letter ( aka Squeesze page) that is auto-generated by a sly and sneaky software that invariably always ends with a P.S, PP.S and PPP.S. To clickbank and all affliate programmes, you guys suck major ass.

End.

I have been possessed.

By the most malevolent, unrelenting clicking spirit ever. Do not blame me for my absence and the lack of any sort of update or activity as promised (I know that you, being so compassionate and fully aware of my handicap, an ailment that goes by the name of Procrastination, will surely not accuse me of recanting on my word but will instead empathize and lay upon me, gentle words of encouragement.

If you could have seen me frenetically working my mouse, eyes glazed over, hopping from tab to tab (I had at least 10 tabs opened and 3 browsers) trying to squeeze in as many clicks as I could in between the 10-sec and 20-sec timer, forgetting the grumbling of an empty stomache and full bladder for 6 hours straight, you too would look upon me piteously, shaking your heads and give thanks that you, yourself are not mired in this quandry.

Actually, this habit of losing myself when I get too enthusiastic (you might call it a crush) about something (or someone) started way back, when I was but a wee child. I just throw myself into it (whatever it is that caught my fancy at the time and become seriously engrossed and nothing can distract me from said obsession. This has been the bane and archilles' heel of my life since time immemorial.

When I was in Primary school, I picked up my first Enid Blyton book. I can't remember which one exactly but it was part of the Wishing Tree Series and of course I would read long into the night, disregarding the health of my eyesight, which goes a long way in explaining why I'm blinder than a one-eyed bat without my glasses (hint : any contributions towards my lasik fund would be most appreciated). So yea, reading became an addiction. And then later there was writing. Gosh, let's not even go there. Being lil Miss Perfectionist, every sentence was analyzed, reworked to death and deemed never good enough. I was 11. I guess you could say that I have a bit of the obsessive in me, sigh...

And now it's the damn masks. It's not that I don't want to put pictures up! If you could just pop your head out of your screen and have a peek at the state of MY room, you'll know that they are HERE. Sitting forlornly in a 24/7 temperature-controlled room (never over 22 degrees, mind you) and begging to be USED. Ohh trust me, I have been using them, and that is NOT a good thing in the *business* point of view. And if this is my sole source of income (which bespeaks much of my addiction) and I'm digging into my inventory for personal use, I will soon have to feed myself on Kayley's grass. And occasionally if I'm feeling a little rich, I might allow myself to share a carrot or two with her.

Oh, I didn't explain what the clicking was all about right? Well, if you take a look around the site, you'll soon be enlightened. The once minimalistic, zen look has all been shot to hell and is now cramped with every possible TE and PTC site out there. Of course, you know that I, being most discerning and wise to all possible scams, have researched, tested and reviewed each site most meticulously. I will report back in a month (that is, if my finger hasn't dropped off) if the clicking pays off in anyway or not. The reason I started looking out for TE sites in the first place was to increase site traffic (not just for blogger but rather for a long-term purpose (yes, the online store of course), how was I to know that, I had inadvertently opened Pandora's loathful box and am now buried so deep that if one of YOU don't do something, I don't think I can ever claw my way out.

Yes, this is a plea, a beg, a desperate cry for your help. Do not stand by and do nothing as you see me drowning in a swarm of murky traffic exchange, PTC, PTP sites. You don't want the taint of my blood on your hands. Do SOMETHING, for the love of me.

Mourning the loss of me only when I'm gone is hardly going to do any of us any good.

Think about it. Grasp this fleeting opportunity to be a Good Samaritan. Prove to yourself that YES, you can extend a helping hand willingly to help the needy (regardless of what the powers that be may think and have thus schemed a rather contrived campaign to *teach* us the ways of being Gracious.

After which, you can proclaim righteously,"I don't need campaigns to tell me how to be gracious. I don't need little stickers of pictures and words urging me to give up my seat to the elderly, the very young and the very pregnant. I don't need HUGE posters of No Spitting, NO Littering, Stand in line obediently and the 5 minute played-to-death adverts lecturing me on why a cellphone should be switched off in the cinema. I am very much capable of being gracious without being *told* or *taught* to, because I was brought up well".

And you and I both know that graciousness cannot be forced upon someone who's mind is set to be as boorish and obnoxious as possible. Being the sages that we are, we recognize that it comes from within. And a large part owing to upbringing.

But let's not digress now, shall we? Back to more pressing and urgent matters...my fate lies in your hands and I know you will do the right thing. (She says, with the guileless belief and hope of a 5 year old)

Deleting and Editing Posts go against the principles of the blogger in me so...

The previous post with all those awful and horrifically fugly banners annoy me so damn much when I log in that I figured I had to do something about it. And no, I will not, under any circumstances delete or edit said post. If you don't already know why, then there must be something very wrong with you, since the reason is ONLY stated in the SUBJECT line.

The only way I can think of to push that embarrassing eye-sore further down so it's not the first thing that gets in my face, is to write a new post, something that I'm totally NOT up to as y'all should know. Am I raring to go and ready to sit down for the next hour and write what I promised to after I got my 27 hours of sleep?

Hell, NO.

Just because 27 hours have passed doesn't mean that I actually got to SLEEP for 27 hours. Unlike you normal, blessed beings, who can fall asleep the minute your head hits the pillow (fellow insomniacs exempted), it takes me forever and a half for my brain to eventually shut down and even when it does and sweet slumber takes over, I wake up automatically every 3 hours (and damn if I know why), ergo I still have another 12 hours of sleep to catch up on before I can fully function and be ready to talk about events of the past week. And because you like me that much, I know I'll be getting nothing but sheer, unadulterated understanding and compassion from you.

So yea, to get rid of those nightmarish images, let me introduce you to my daughter, Kayley, possibly the cutest and sweetest thing in my life right now.

Now, don't you go falling in love with her, because we all know how I can't stand sharing your attention and affection. So focus people. ON me. Because gosh, I'm so in vogue right now.

Chyeah, like I'm seriously going to put this picture up here for more than 24 hours. In the words of Simply Red (sing along now if you know the tune)(where the fcuk are they now anyway? And if you ask me to wiki or google then all the more this song is for you, and play it on loop in your head if necessary), " If you don't know me by now, you will never, never know me. Ooooo" (The Ooo part is optional but if you're the meticulous sort, like myself, feel free to sing away; falsetto, vibrato, soporano, hey, if you've got, flaunt it, I'm all for showing off and one-upping, so please do. I will respect you more for it.)

This is a test post - you can choose to ignore but because you adore me, you won't

Click Here for your Free Traffic!

What's up with all the flashing and blinking words?? Who thinks up these ideas anyway? Eye-catching my ass. Why can't a banner be clean, simple, minimilistic and pleasant to look at? That's the reason why I've disabled Google Adsense. They make my site look icky and eww. Bah!

I want to be HER. She looks too happy to be real. But seriously, can someone tell me how I can get that sort of JOY that just radiates from one's visage???! Can happiness be guranteed if I sign up now? Some input here would be great people, instead of your usual dead silence.


Uhm...What do YOU think?



Nice banner, no? =p Flash Flash again! Bah.



I'm burning up with jealousy here. One of YOU go try this out and let me know how easy it is to actually make money online without actually SELLING anything at all. I too want to make $563459 a month just sitting on my butt doing diddly-squat, damnit. So help me.
Know that I am eagerly awaiting your response, do NOT let me down.

Gold Affiliate Program - Make Money!
Wooohooo! Let's all cash in on the Gold Mine that is the Internet NOW! What are you waiting FOR? My command?? Pfft.



I think I like this one the mostest. Gonna give it a try. Since I spend like 98873 hours a week on the computer, what have I got to lose? Definitely not my mouse-clicking time. Those torrents can take a backseat for awhile.

So yea, I know how I was going to give you the low-down on the aftermath of CNY (speaking of which, please understand that CNY is a NON-religious festival so shut up already about why I'm Christian and still *celebrate* it, well if you can call collecting free $$ and stuffing my face with belly-busting, ass-expanding food celebrating it then yea but it's just bloody Chinese New Year for crying out loud and doesn't involve worshipping of idols or whatnot. geez) but all the endless rounds of visiting house after house, mingling with people (supposedly relatives, so I WAS told) that I don't know and eating a truckload of various CNY goodies (you know what I'm talking about, the cookies loaded with 34445 eggs, 97767grams of butter and 35946096kg of flour) have left me drained and feeling bloody FAT and according to Vidal Sassoon (whose products have gone downhill and the man being at least 100 years old probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a pair of scissors and a pair of shears), IF you look good, you FEEL good. And since I definitely am looking the worse for wear, I feel like crap. So don't go expecting another long-ass post describing my wonderful CNY experience or griping about how the ang pows get lesser each year or even the insane amount of calories I con