Have lots of ideas now of where NOT to build my house

Visited L**** last weekend and had an illuminating sing-along session with GH's 5-yr-old nephew. He learned "The Wise Man Built His House upon the Rock" in Primary and sang it for us. We didn't film him singing it (tragic) but here's a different cute Internet kid giving it his all. (I couldn't get the computer to just embed the flipping link. Will be pouring Tang inside said computer later while laughing maniacally.)

Anyway, so the sweet nephew is singing and does the verse about the Wise Man and his house and how it stood still, and then the verse about the Foolish Man and how his washed away, as it will do. He has a speech impediment that makes the song extra cute, so just imagine a kid singing & talking with a cold and you'll be close.

What we didn't know is that there are apparently other characters in the song too. There was Chopper Man, who built his house in the forest. His house stayed safe. But Builder Man, he built his house in the road. Because, as we were told, he listened to Satan (Say-ted). And during the song his house got run over by a truck. Which, come to think of it, is what would happen to one who heeded Satan's enticements and built his house on a freeway. There was another guy who built his house on the sidewalk, and another one who built in the jungle. We are told that he can keep going indefinitely, creating characters whose homes are about to come to a messy end.

Here are a few I would like to suggest to him, I think:

Octo Man, who built his house in the sea.

Fire Man, who built his house on a volcano.

Duck Man, who built his house in a pond.

Turtle Man, who already HAS a house attached to his back, Suckahs!

Utah Man, who built a house that was too big for his income and the bank came and took it.

White Trash Man, who did not so much build a house but instead moved into my apartment complex and started having outdoor fights with his wife and yelling at his children while somehow magically sending all his cigarette smoke into my apartment.

Oooooh, the rains came down and the floo-oods came up . . .

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Nightmarred and Dreamscarred? I hope not! Hell forbid!

Although tomorrow is a public holiday and I will be relieved of school and its related social ennui, I don't feel exceptionally jovial about it. Why?

Well, just fathom having your mother having almost 3 instances of fainting in less than 4 to 5 days, you might, then, have a vague idea of my current emotional state. One of which I can't do much to relieve her of the distress of a near collapse because I was away in school for another good few hours or more, the factor of not being able to see that she has regained equilibrium and me prosulating several scenarios in my mind was quite a torture. That is not inclusive of the text message she sent that reads - "如果妈妈一天倒下不起，你要好好照顾自己和好好爱爸爸。“, which translates to "If mom were to collapse for good one day, you must take good care of yourselves and love your dad." Not a very pleasant text to receive, at all. It just leaves a very bitter and sour aftertaste after you read the message and stare into the blank space in front of you while you stink in the speechless reverie for a good few minutes, while behind that reverie, your mind conjures all sorts of reasoning why your mom would send such a dismal text message. While the rational side of you vehemently rejects all possiblity of any reasonings your mind have just conjured up. It is a constant mental and emotional warfare over there.

That was not the end of it.

I had dreamt that something fatal that happened upon my mother a few weeks back. And I remembered so very vividly that I weeped in the dream and I could really feel my heart plunging into abyssal depths of my soul, pouring out acid unceasingly. The sense of acute wretchedness was so realistic and sharp that I was awoken by it. I continued to weep even after waking up, for at least a good minute, and then cursed to myself why does this dream have to manifest and condemned Sandman to the pits of Hell. This is, definitely, one time that I did not enjoy an ounce of my (usually highly creative and destructive) dreamscapes. That just added so much more unpleasantness in this whole incident. So everytime I dwelled upon this recollection of this dream, I was teetering between the gap of dream and reality and questioning myself, "Is this gap narrowing?" Which was followed by me cursing even more.

Let this be the full stop to this series of unplesant incidences, shall we? Yes, yes, we should. =)

--------------------------------------------------------------

On the brighter side of the spectrum of events, last saturday saw the largest card flourish gathering (and one of the best) I have witnessed in, arguably, years. Ever since the SMC era, anyway, so that led me to enjoy the session alot albeit I was pushed into joining a card flourish battle-styled compeition (of which I won) at the very last minute. I enjoyed it because the feeling of being surrounded by a good dozen card handlers has been lost for so long and to feel it again felt like I have met a long-lost friend. The feeling was all warm and fuzzy, and it seemed to have removed all the negativities I have long attached to the whole card scene and also restored a different and positive air to a card-flourish session - that is to enjoy flourishing and meet fellow enthusiasts, and not to suspect of closed-doors-talk and the subsequent feeling of isolation within friends. I have to thank Justin for organising it for it re-instilled a sense of optimism for the card scene, and a gale of fresh air as we have saw a few new faces who turned up. =)

And, in school, I have been introduced to a great life-long manner to plot down one's life in a simple and diagrammatic manner in the Developmental Psychology module. It's like constructing a timeline for yourself and marking down events that have changed your life, either positively or negatively. I realised I have had more of positive markings than negative, maybe I chose to filter out the negativities... And, I attributed more events to inner development like finding out Metal Music, card flourishing, Philosophy, which indeed contributed very much to who I am today and has injected much joy in my life despite the solitary quality of those activities... Anyway! Since I am so very impressed by this egocentric activity of autobiography, I have decided to do it once every few years and fill up a mahjong paper! Haha.

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Because cheapness is eternal

I tend to think ahead. Like years and decades and eons ahead. And then I speak these thoughts out-loud and expect to be taken seriously. GH usually humors me marvelously during such times. There are exceptions, though. A few weeks ago I wanted to talk about our teenagers and how much cell phone usage they should be allowed. Because it is Just That Pressing of an issue.

Him: "Look, they won't even have cell phones by then. They'll just implant something into your head and it will be AWESOME. Also? What do we do when they develop the technology for people to just start FLYING ALL ON THEIR OWN???? I mean, do we set flying limits??? How much flying per week should our children even DO???"

Humph.

Yesterday the subject of my death came up . . . somehow. I asked him where he would like us to be buried.

GH: Well, since you want to be cremated anyway it doesn't really matter.

Me: Yeah, but you could get me a headstone next to yours, still.

GH: Uh huh.

Me: OH! OH! Orrrr, we could just buy one plot, and then when YOU die they could put my urn in the coffin with you, write both our names on the headstone, and we could be buried together! It would be two-for-one! Think of the savings!

GH: Baby, we've already discussed this. I'm getting buried with my iPod. And there's no way you're getting cremated.

Me: I will if I want to be. And you can stick the iPod in my urn, I don't mind. Along with some comic books and action figures, whatever. Except if you die first, I'm taking that iPod, erasing all your stuff, and uploading all my Sumptuous Literary Adaptations on there.

I'm pretty sure that showed him.

So. What would you be buried with?



("die pod" image from the Rhys Mendes Gallery)

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Kept waiting to see this woman's grisly death reported in the news

On Friday we drove downtown to try our hand at the Wicked lottery. Again, some more. (Fourth time, if you're counting.) GH dropped me off so I could at least get my name in while he parked. And then without me seeing him in the crowd, GH made it with one minute to spare and was the last one to put his name in the cauldron. Some lady right by the front snipped, "Well, HE'D better not win." Except, um, why shouldn't he win? Because he didn't stand there as long as she did? I wish I'd been with him so I could have given her the Eyebrow and started something.

Only guess who did win? This lady. She won and proceeded to do this hysterical witch cackle laugh that may or may not have been an affected mannerism (although, considering what's to come, it wouldn't surprise me if she taught herself to laugh like that.)

And then? Three names later her daughter wins two tickets. And Witch Lady cackled some more. At which point the crowd sort of good-naturedly grumbled that it wasn't fair for two people in the same family to get tickets. Which is when Witch Lady announces that not only has she already seen the show three times, but she actually already has tickets to see it during the Salt Lake City run.

Seriously.

Not sure how she thought that little bit of information was going to endear her to the empty-handed crowd of people who were just hoping to see the show once. That's when they actually starting booing at her. She then shrieked, "No, you don't understand, I have a Wicked blog!!!" Which, I guess, means that she deserves to see it 8 times at the expense of other people.

Because she loves it more.

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If I had to look like the 80s threw up on me . . .

Recently I visited a friend at her in-law's house and noticed that her wedding pictures were up on the wall, as well as those of another couple. Judging from the woman's dress, it appeared that they'd been married sometime between 1984 and 1989. Wanting to see how close I was, I asked my friend when the people in the picture were married.

My friend kind of smiled and said, "Oh, that's my sister-in-law and her husband. And they actually . . . weren't married that long ago." I must have looked confused because of the awfulness of the dress, because she quickly added, "That was somebody else's dress. A relative came to my s-in-l and said it would mean so much if she would wear it, and since my s-in-l is really nice, she said okay."

Okay, seriously, relative-from-the-80s? Shouldn't it mean enough that YOU got to wear the dress back when YOU, in a fit of wrong-time-period-living, chose it? Why would you attempt to make some young bride's special day all about being an ode to this awful thing that YOU liked when YOU got married liked rather than, say, I dunno, a dress SHE might like?

I mean, it is one thing to say, "Hey, if you're looking for something used or vintage, I still have my dress and it's in good shape. No pressure, but you're free to take a look if you like." And this is an offer that should be made only by women whose dresses were designed OUTSIDE of the years 1980-1992.

These are the new rules, people. Mark them well.

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So you're caring about the Earth today?

I got you beat. I care about it ALL the days. Neener.

Did not even remember today was Earth Day until I started going through my Google Reader and noticed everyone else mentioning it.

Remember that one time when we were in Elementary School and they aired that big ol' Earth Day special on TV? The one where Michael Keaton pretended to be an executive confessing to dumping toxic waste, and where Dana Delaney chewed everyone out about their water use? Yeah, it was awesome. You should go watch some of it. Here's a taste.

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Warm weather is not conducive to blogging, turns out

But here's my feeble attempt.

Over the weekend we had a little reunion of people who were in certain editing trenches together at the Lord's University back in the day. It was fun to see people I'd lost touch with and it made me reminisce about the good ol' days and the things that made our office great and also insane.

Treat Days on Friday. We took Treat Days to new heights. Fondue Day and Soup Day were my favorites. Everyone else got to smell our food and suffer. We even created a cookbook in Adobe FrameMaker, which I own to this day.

Promotional Fridays, wherein we were blessed to wear awful, hideous shirts every Friday but no jeans. Year 1 (in what was clearly a post-9/11 move) was a long-sleeved navy blue polo top with American flag patches on the sleeves. Year 2: The Safari Shirt. I spent every Friday for a year looking like I was about to vomit. Oatmeal is just not my color. Year 3: The light denim button-up--they finally asked for estrogen input. These tops were all so massive that there was no way to wear them without looking a) pregnant, or b) like you just raided a fat man's closet.

Office Cleanliness Raids. Every now and then The Power That Was took it into his head to mandate an office clean-up which usually involved removing absolutely everything from our desks, including the various tools we used to perform our jobs. We usually played along, with the exception of my Last Act of Defiance before leaving for England.

The Chicago Manual of Style. Oh, how I miss that lovely thing.

That One Time I Was Told to Send Cicada Home to Change. Apparently her skirt was too short. Because she's trashy like that. Arguing with the Power that Was was getting me nowhere, so I told her not to clock out. And to walk slowly.

Working with Word Nerds. Because we are the best.

The Sock Rule. Women and men absolutely could not wear shoes without socks or nylons of some kind--it was part of the office dress code. Which led to me wearing things like striped toe-socks with open-toed sandals. While conducting job interviews. I imagine this may have kept people from taking me seriously, but I was more interested in proving my point, which was that the Socks Do Not Necessarily = Professional. (Note: I do hold my efforts at least partially responsible for the repeal of said rule. You are welcome.)

Making BFFs like Daltongirl, Cicada, Sakhmet, Jonboy, and many, many others.

Getting picked to be in promotional materials. Except for when they stopped picking me because they had enough blond-haired whiteys. If you happened to be a black student employee you were pretty much chum in the water, though.

That one time the girls convinced Jon Boy to grow out his hair, and it turned out that he was a curly-haired stone fox.

BYU Creamery runs. Nothing like getting an ice cream cone every single day in the summer if you want one. Also jalapeno poppers, which are the nectar of the gods.

Delivering calendars. Every year our department produced a calendar that was delivered to every office on campus. We few, we happy few, got to spend a day or two delivering them. Which was kind of fun because it wasn't actual work. Except one time when the then-BYU football coach Gary Crowton thought I was following him. Which, hi, like I'd follow any football coach around, much less one who was about to get the sack. And then the other time when some old person who clearly had clout complained about how a woman on the calendar was wearing open-toed shoes and that he found her toe-cleavage offensive. So they Photoshopped over her feet and then reprinted all the calendars and made us redeliver them--this time without the toe porn. And we weren't supposed to tell anyone the real reason behind the change. Woops!

Wacky things aside, I probably had the best campus job ever, and it's because I worked with the best group of people.

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Paradise Lost?

So my 6 week long school vacation has sounded its death knells and I am now almost halfway through the first week of the second year of my studies in Radiography (still trying to grasp the concept that I am really in this career).

I am mostly glad that I am back in school, to shift my attention away from certain *negative* emotional upheavals pertaining to one of my favourite hobbies that involves finding ways to shuffle pasteboards and largely, underhand, very unemotional ways of fellow hobbyists to their lofty projects and what not. Sigh. So yes, it does feel refreshing to momentarily forgo that sense of emotional aridness and utter isolation, and to immerse myself in simpler tasks like learning and idle chit chat with classmates. Even that latter option is appealing to a person like me, usually so hateful of idle social situations, that tells you alot of the severity of the emotional aridness and isolation I am facing right now. So, I am on an online website detox that is pertaining to any aspect of that above-mentioned hobby. No. That will not be the end of the hobby for me, unfortunately, fellow hobbyists. =)

I was attending the first Communications lecture this afternoon, and one line from the lecturer (whom I thought was a great lecturer already) that hit a very very deep and well-timed chord within me. It goes something like this "I realised something, if you tend to strive for nothing but the truth in any relationship or situation, you are very very likely to be alone." I was sitting there, half reclining with my arms crossed and went speechless mentally for like a minute. Not very easy task to make LingNemesis go speechless mentally for any given amount of time, by the way. Not only did the lecturer gained immediate and utmost respect from me, besides already impressing me alot, this is the rare few times when I felt that I am not going insane from feeling so misanthropic so often. Thank you so much, for that one line. =)

I can't wait for her next lecture. I know great lines will descend from her. I hope I can have a little conversation with her at some point of time.

Hell, bleeping Hell. It has been years and years since I felt that affected by a teacher. The last one being Mr. Dalvey Neo around 5 years ago, back in my secondary school. Amazing.

Too bad it's just a 30 odd hour module. =\

And, tomorrow, we have a National Education lecture which I reckon will be very much like the lower secondary's Social Studies subject. What the hell? I shall enjoy myself by their rendition of Singapore history and what not, and largely by playing out songs and movies in my head, which I am getting exceptionally well at. If my mind proves to be malfunctioning, I can always abuse the free SMS Twitter service. =D

Aus,
LingNemesis

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Look away if you hate the schmoop

But I would be truly ungrateful if I didn't stand here before you today and bear my testimony of how I know my roommate is true.

Last night I slipped into A Funk and wasn't sure what my problem was. I felt sluggish and super-emotional and cranky. GH suggested that I could be getting sick. And since he has been sick of and on for about the last two weeks, and since he was chugging straight out of the bottle of really nice fresh-squeezed orange juice I got us, this was possibly a good guess. (And no, I'm not pregnant, but thanks for playing.)

I took Vitamin C and garlic pills, passed on the Zyrtec swabs because GH said he thought they might possibly have been recalled due to a side-effect of wiping out all sense of smell (which, hi, would hamper my ability to fully appreciate European cheeses), and went to bed hoping for the best. GH went to work.

Woke up this morning when GH peeked in the room and asked how I was feeling. (Answer: cautiously okay.) Was then presented with Starbucks hot chocolate and a big blueberry muffin. Because he is The Sweetest Man in the World III. It was a great way to start a Friday morning. The good feelings have lasted so far through all manner of computer and printer problems at work, with the resultant frustrated patrons, and might even get me through the Friday teen crowd, including the kid who is not supposed to come back today (but most assuredly will try). Turns out I'm not okay with junior high kids who keep shouting the word chlamydia in the library. I'm uptight like that.

Happy Friday, everyone!

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You're still you

Yesterday I drove downtown to the Capitol Theatre to try my luck at the Wicked tickets drawing that takes place before each performance. You show up, put your name on an index card, put it in a cauldron (because hi, witches), and 30 minutes later they draw 10 names. If your name is called, you can buy 2 tickets for that night's performance. You pay $25 in cash for each ticket, which you then wave in the faces of scalpers while you tell them what they can go do to themselves.

I knew there would probably be a big crowd. What I forgot was that the crowd would be made up of Utahn cultural-performance-goers. So, you know, pretty much my most favorite people in the world, right up there with suicide bombers. (Motto for both groups: Let's go ruin it for everybody!)

I must send out a big thank you to Daltongirl and Lola, who waited in line with me and kept my brain inside of my ears and my claustrophobia at bay while we chatted about things like knitting and Facebook and junior high courtship rituals, which consist of girls hissing things like "Just go talk to him!" and "Ohmygosh not so LOUD, I will!!!!" at each other repeatedly. I'm sorry you two didn't get tickets.

And now for the other notes of thanks.

Thank you, families who brought every single child you own (and remember, this is Utah, so that number can get quite high) to the theatre so you could submit more names into the bucket than anyone else. That didn't suck of you at all. Never even mind the part where there's no way you planned on actually taking your five preschool- and elementary-aged children to the play. Unless, of course, you actually did, which leads us to:

Thank you, parents who fully planned to take 3, 4, 5, and 6 year olds to the performance. Because that is absolutely who the show is for, and there's no way your kids could ever bother anyone else by getting bored, or tired, or antsy, or insane between the hours of 7:30 and 10:30pm.

Thank you, dad who urged your 10-year-old daughter to gaze soulfully into your eyes while singing Defying Gravity right next to me. That was a highlight. Also, I suspect that you might be creepy.

Thank YOU, red-scarfed old lady who never once moved from her spot on the sidewalk even as theatre employees were pleading for everyone to please make room for those who needed to exit the building, like me. You're lucky I'm a gentlewoman, because you were SO very close to getting elbowed. Thanks again for ignoring the fact that an actual ticket winner was trying to make his way around you to get to the front, and for just standing there determinedly in his path. I'm sure that helped your chances.

Thank you, Wicked employees, for drawing the name of a lady who looked like she was not at all excited to have just won, and in fact possibly did not even know what the drawing was even for.

Thank you, parking garage, for charging $4 to park for one hour. That was awesome.

Much love,

Nemesis

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Not-so-extreme makeover

I don't know about anyone else, but during General Conference there are always several talks that hit me right between the eyes. One of the between-eyes-hitting talks was from Elder Gary E. Stevenson during the Sunday afternoon session. He was talking about the temple, and the relationship and similarities that should exist between the temple and our homes, which are also meant to be sacred places.

He issued this challenge:

Recently, in a stake conference, all present were invited by the visiting authority, Elder Glen Jenson, an Area Seventy, to take a virtual tour of their homes using their spiritual eyes. I would like to invite each of you to do this also. Wherever your home may be and whatever its configuration, the application of eternal gospel principles within its walls is universal. Let’s begin. Imagine that you are opening your front door and walking inside your home. What do you see, and how do you feel? Is it a place of love, peace, and refuge from the world, as is the temple? Is it clean and orderly? As you walk through the rooms of your home, do you see uplifting images which include appropriate pictures of the temple and the Savior? Is your bedroom or sleeping area a place for personal prayer? Is your gathering area or kitchen a place where food is prepared and enjoyed together, allowing uplifting conversation and family time? Are scriptures found in a room where the family can study, pray, and learn together? Can you find your personal gospel study space? Does the music you hear or the entertainment you see, online or otherwise, offend the Spirit? Is the conversation uplifting and without contention? That concludes our tour. Perhaps you, as I, found a few spots that need some “home improvement”—hopefully not an “extreme home makeover.”

Whether our living space is large or small, humble or extravagant, there is a place for each of these gospel priorities in each of our homes.

I started thinking about my apartment, and about how I feel when I'm there, or about how people might feel when they come over. (I mean, other than the awkward feeling they might get when GH and I start making out right in front of them.) Here are some things I thought about:

1. Right now we have no pictures of the Savior on the walls. This is kind of lame of us.

2. We have a watercolor of the Logan Temple that someone gave us as a wedding gift, but I would like to print and hang one of the pictures Ed took of the temple during our wedding.

3. We have no wedding pictures printed or displayed yet.

4. I read my scriptures while Benjamin Linus stares down at me--creepily. He is also the last thing I see before I fall asleep. It's a lucky thing Jack Bauer is there too, over on the bookshelf.




5. The first thing I see when I walk into my apartment is a pile of boxes to be dealt with--items that need to be taken to DI, an Amazon order that needs to be returned, recycling that needs to be taken to the recycling bin at my work, papers that need to be shredded. In fact, there are a LOT of "need to be dealt withs" in my apartment. Pictures leaning against walls waiting to be hung, clothes waiting to be put away, laundry waiting to be done, letters waiting to be mailed, a big ol' Tupperware bin of GH's stuff that we haven't gone through since we moved in.

What I'm starting to realize is that the thing that is probably affecting me more than the lack of temple pictures and the excess of Ben pictures (and yes, one is excessive) is the clutter. Specifically, the clutter that nags me by its very presence and reminds me that there are things hanging over my head.

So. On Saturday, GH and I cleaned our apartment, or at least the visible-to-guests portion (baby steps). I hauled DI bags out to my car and even hung up the two framed pictures that I've been meaning to hang up in the dining nook for the last 8 months. Now I keep finding myself staring at the dining nook in admiration. It is my new favorite spot now that it's not surrounded by things like bags of stuff to be recycled. It is still, sadly, a wood laminate nook when you consider the table, chairs, and pantry/laundry room doors. It's the brown corner. Of course, I've also been meaning to get a nice bright tablecloth to counteract the Laminate Curse for the last 8 months. I thought I'd found a nice white clearanced tablecloth on Saturday at Bed, Bath & Beyond that would solve everything. The opened tablecloth looked like the crappiest polyester temple dress fabric ever. It went right back in the bag, and the tablecloth hunt continues. Will likely end up buying fabric and attempting my first tablecloth hemming project. Maybe something cute like this one by Amy Butler:


Point is, it was amazing how much of a difference clearing a few things out made. I suddenly wanted to spend lots more time in that spot because it was so neat and nice and uncluttered and there was nothing in it that made me feel guilty. So I need to start there, I think. And with a Jesus picture.


Did anybody else come to any realizations during your "virtual tour"?

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Easter Weekend Highlights

Not only did we get great sunny beautiful weather yesterday, and I got to watch cute kids in their Easter outfits at church, including our favorite Hobbit child in a white hat and gloves, but I'm still pretty much on a high from how well my Easter dinner turned out.

My sister Spitfire and her Special Friend came over for the feast. And for the first time in my roasting life ever, I planned well enough (along with some smiling from the oven gods) so that everything finished cooking at the same time. This never happens for me. Ask anyone I've invited over for dinner ever, and ask them to show you the bite marks on their arms from when they finally became too hungry to wait any longer. The oven gods, unfortunately, were busy somewhere else when my oven started smoking enough to make our normally comatose alarm go off, which startled me so badly that I dropped my half-eaten deviled egg on the carpet. Alarm's lucky I didn't kill it right then. You do NOT mess with my deviled eggs.

This was our menu:

Jamie Oliver's Roast Chicken with Lemon and Rosemary Roast Potatoes (I added carrots and skipped the rosemary. The chicken carcass is in the fridge waiting to be turned into stock.)


Barefoot Contessa's Roasted Broccoli--really is possibly the best broccoli you will ever eat in life

Nem's Deviled Eggs (half garnished with fresh thyme & black pepper, half garnished with nutmeg & sea salt)

Sourdough Bread (the leftovers are waiting to be turned into a goat cheese panini and yes my brow is starting to sweat just thinking about it)

Spitfire's Raspberry Italian Cream Sodas

Spitfire's Chocolate Zucchini Cake (because zuchinni = healthy!)

The table decorations were a bit basic this year. I thought I'd found a nice white clearanced tablecloth for dining room table at Bed, Bath & Beyond earlier in the day, but then when I opened it and put it on the table I started having mental images of really, really crappy polyester temple dresses. It went right back in the bag. Instead contented myself with a vase of pink blossoms stolen from the tree outside my apartment building. The pink flowers + my pink plates = Easter bliss.

The only thing marring the celebration was the starling vs sparrow gang war going on over who gets to nest and poop in my dryer hose. I am not okay with this, especially since I called management last fall and asked them to cover the vent with a grate. They did not do it, and now there are loud bird scuffles in my crinkly, crinkly dryer hose. Expect any time to open the dryer and have a deranged starling fly out into my apartment. Called management and told them they'd better get on it. And they'll know which vent is mine because of all the bird poop stains dripping off it. Grr.

Anyway. What did y'all eat yesterday?

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We're going to make it!

Forty minutes to go! A nine-year-old boy just gave me a hug and officially made my heart grow 3 sizes.

Happy Weekend, everybody!

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Stay on target

My weekend starts in exactly 2.5 hours and I could not be more excited. I really need me some weekend.

GH claims that back when we used to work at the same library, back when I was just his boss and also occasionally the girl who stomped on his heart in cruel, cruel ways, he could always tell which week of the month was Danger Week. And that sometimes he and the rest of the staff would discuss it, and warn each other of when to lie low. I am going to choose to believe that he is making this up.

Whether or NOT it was true in the past, this week has absolutely been Danger Week. First ever, I am sure. Some of these kids (and adults) don't even know how close they came to death, and some of my colleagues have wondered aloud what happened to the nice girl they used to work with, and who is this new person who is busy spitting venom into the eyes of evil-doers.

I'm pretty sure it's just hormones. Or people are just being more irritating than usual. Also there's the part where I need it to stop snowing now. And how I need the next 2.5 hours to pass in, like, 15 minutes. Because then the world will be a whole lot safer.

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How to get good customer service at the library

I am going to impart this knowledge to you now, because I am a giver.

If you are planning a trip to the library and anticipate that you will need more than 5 seconds of help from a librarian, do not go during the hour after the local junior high gets out. You will get less-than-stellar customer service, because that is actually the hour that the librarians morph into babysitters. They will try to help you, but their attention will unavoidably be pulled from you to things like:

Is that group trying to break into the vending machine?
Is that boy stealing DVDs?
What's that noise in the back corner?
What's that other noise in the other back corner?
Is the kid I already told to leave trying to sneak back in?
If I snatch that one girl baldheaded for being such a mouthy little piece of work, will I get in trouble?
Is that group a bunch of friends, or are they ganging up on someone?
Is anyone trying to destroy library property right now?
How many warnings has this group had?
Was that a snowball?
Was that a homemade dart gun?
Is that kid high?
Do I dare leave the desk to find this book or will they kill and eat my coworker while I'm gone?

Yeah. That's what we're kind of focused on right then. So it's really not the time to request a 15-minute individual tour of the audiobooks section. Do you even know what they can DO in 15 minutes? (Picture a school of piranhas and a bloated zebra carcass.) I'm sorry. Come back in an hour and I'm all yours.

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Not that I'm a vengeful person or anything, but . . .

Dear People Who Bought up All the Wicked Tickets and Are Now Attempting Unsuccessfully to Unload Them for $200-$300+ a Pop Because You Are Vultures Like That,

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

I hope you choke on them.

Much love,

Nemesis

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Back in my lover's arms

I am, of course, speaking of the Costco. You know how some families are Ute fans and others "Bleed Blue" and still others refer to themselves as "Aggies" and don't realize that the rest of us have no idea who they even are? Well in my family we're Costco supporters. I tried the Sam's club thing up in L**** when my job came with a business membership, but it just was not the same. GH, of course, does not get this, and does not understand that Costco is The True Store and that Sam's Club is just Satan's Counterfeit.

Last night a lovely friend offered to meet me at Costco because she has a membership. (The reasons why I do not currently have one are varied and complex and are soon to be irrelevant because I just cannot fight the love.) I swear, the moment I walked through the heated doorway I felt like I was back home. All the memories came flooding back.

The time my Dad announced that his retirement dream was to run a forklift at Costco.

The Calvin Klein Mom Jeans I wore in high school, courtesy of Costco. Thanks for that one.

The time my parents tried to set me up with the Seafood Guy by inviting him home for Christmas Eve Dinner. They were ecstatic at the idea of 1) Marrying me off, and 2) Having a Costco seafood supplier in the family. ("What!? You say there are no guys to date! We just found you one!")

The year Amyjane and I shared a membership as Domestic Partners and I warned her that if anyone questioned me I was fully going to state that we were lesbian lovers and so she'd just better get her poker face ready.

The year Amyjane and I bought the hugest, most hideous Christmas cards known to man and then actually mailed them to people. It was because our sense of size gets thrown off in that store. Suddenly an 11"x 17" red velvet Christmas card starts looking downright dainty.

All the 6-lb brie wheels, and the tire-sized pumpkin pies, and the cheap books, and that amazing greeting card set.

My gorgeous, lovely bed with its Egyptian Cotton sheets. (Big warm male sold separately and may take longer to arrive.)

So yeah. It was a bit of a Marcel Proust moment, and before I knew it I'd been in there an hour and had dropped $150. But I got such wonderful, wonderful things, like food-supply water and toilet paper and a 4-pack of shaving jel and frozen edamame and trail mix and Lehi Roller Mills flour and goat cheese the size of a baseball bat. Did you know the Kirkland brand now makes environmentally-friendly cleaning supplies? They've classed themselves up with the environmentally friendly stuff and the natural peanut butter and the IZZE sparkling drinks and I know not what. It's like they want me to love them all over again but MORE.

(Note: I got the dish soap and the laundry detergent. The dish soap smells lovely, the laundry stuff just smells soapy. I might put in a few drops of lavender essential oil to kick it up a notch, since I have become used to thinking of laundry as "my time to huff laundry detergent for its aromatherapy benefits.")



So. Anybody else want to share their Costco love? Favorite products, happy memories, size-perception-errors-which-resulted-in-lack-of-judgement, I'll take whatever.

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Best thing I've read all week

My new guilty pleasure is Not Always Right, where I get to read about customer service interactions that are (sometimes) worse than the ones I get to be a part of. It also occasionally makes me think that the aliens probably should just head on over and enslave us all, because holy cow we are a stupid race. This one the other day was priceless.

(A woman came up to my counter in the clothing store I work in. She has a very distressed look on her face.)

Me: “How can I help you this morning?”

Customer: “What is this red sticker on the tag of this dress?”

Me: “That is a clearance sticker. That dress is 40% off.”

Customer: “But I was here yesterday and it wasn’t on clearance! I’ve
been eying that dress for weeks!”

Me: “Well, today is your lucky day - it went on clearance this morning.”

Customer: “I can’t buy it on clearance. Can you take that red sticker off the tag?"

Me: “Are you going to buy this dress?”

Customer: “I’m going to buy it once you take off that red tag. I don’t want to pay the clearance price.”

Me: “Even if I remove the sticker the register will still ring it up at clearance price.”

Customer: “Do I look like I’m the type to buy a dress on clearance?”
*holds the dress up dramatically*

Me: “Are you planning on buying this dress?”

Customer: “Are you planning on taking off that red sticker?”

Me: “Not until you pay for it.”

Customer: “You don’t understand my world.”

Am now going to start ending conversations with a deep sigh and a, "You don't understand my world." What made this extra awesome is that it happened in the world of Utah. Any chance the customer was TAMN?

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Do not get misguided by the lack of activities here as a sign that yours truly has became a total misanthrope and wallowing in the cesspool of ennui, because I am not at all!

The previous week was pretty much neat, especially the weekend. On one of the weekdays, me, Valerie and Stuart went off to a phototaking trip to Lim Chu Kang area and Marina Barrage. A good change of events from my usual sitting around at the laptop on weekdays during holidays. Unfortunately, the area we are heading for at Lim Chu Kang was occupied by the military for their mission, nonetheless, it was a great trip to the side of Singapore that got me in a very calm state of mind as it was an extremely rare sight here that you don't get to see any vertical buildings within the proximal radius. It almost felt that I was out on one of those bus rides in Malaysia where you see nothing except road and trees. Bliss. Thus, I concluded that you can find some surprises here and there in Singapore too. Amazing stuff.

The result of the photoshoot can be acquired from here.

Saturday saw another public display of the glorious cacophonies of Meza Virs, this time at the Esplanade Outdoor Performing area, under the Baybeats 2009 Final Auditions. Unlike the one I attended at the Hereen which I was alone, a group of us went there together this time round, thanks to my new friends from the local metal music community from Facebook. Of which, I am extremely grateful for, since it has been years and years of hiatus in the local metal scene for me. Anyway, Meza Virs permeated the air of Esplanade and the Singapore bay with awesomeness, needless to say. Although their slot lasted less than a grand total of 15 minutes, I thoroughly enjoyed every cell and pore of myself whilst me and my newfound friends lodged ourselves at the metal barricade between the stage and the audience area, and headbanged with pride and joy. It is a real joy to headbang in public to good live music and to do it together with a group of friends. Almost a privilege. A sheer luxury. I only wished the female vocals microphone's volume was higher since her part wasn't really audible which diluted the performance slightly. Nonetheless, I really wish Meza Virs would make it to the actual Baybeats itself, and that I am rather certain of. It is about time to raise up that Singaporean metal flag high in the Singaporean skies and unleash the prowess! After the performance, I heard other audience saying the headbanging was very neat as we all did it in perfect synchronization. Haha! Well of course! That is what metal is about; beauty in chaos!

All Hail.

Sunday saw the return to the Lim Chu Kang area as I felt very much compelled to explore the place fully instead of just observing from far. This time round, accompained by Kafoosh instead, equipped with a camera, a deck of cards and a tripod and some determination to disregard the mosquitoes' presence, filming was done instead of photo-taking. The results of our endeavours are as follows;

Kafoosh's edition:


My edition:


Very fruitful!

Sunday ended with a late night outing with my sister, which is a rare one due to her unflinching schedule. Bumped into Cedric (the frontman) from the metal band (Meza Virs) I saw on Saturday, pleasant to have met him by accident and told him the performance was top notch. Played Left 4 Dead for around 2 hours until 1am at Serangoon Gardens, and had some prata and Teh Tarik and listened to my sister and her friends talk about music while I felt like complete idiot.

And, today, in a spur of avoiding ennui having to stare at the laptop screen all day, I convinced myself out of the house by 10am which is an hefty accomplishment considering I usually get up around noon during holidays. Went to watch Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino at the new cinema at new Bugis mall - Iluma, which led me to my first experience of watching a movie entirely alone and the subsequent feeling that I own the damn place which was very much regal. I then entertained the thought of the possbility of having such a cinema in my own house, that must have been hellishly luxurious. I got very comfortable until the point of placing my feet up on the seat and sitting cross legged. One word suffices the experience, which will confuse non-Singaporeans, but I am going to say it anyway - shiok. The film itself was alright, it just lacked the subtle quality that I was accustomed to as a film watcher, with the plot being rather explicit and obvious. Nonetheless, the final showdown was rather tight.

After the movie, I decided to head to the bookshop I found out at Facebook called GOHD Books at Serangoon Road, since their email at Facebook seemed to have me interested:

"Hey all! I've decided to let anyone rent the attic space during the day, if you need somewhere very, very, quiet to write, draw, meditate or conduct unspeakable activities. It goes at $5 per hour or $30 for the whole day, until the shop closes. You get free instant coffee/tea, too.

Also, I finally made a website I'm VERY satisfied with, and no one's allowed to comment on the design. It's www.gohd.com.sg.

By the way, occult activities are NOT allowed in the attic; there was once a rumour of a ghost up there, and we've verified that THERE IS NO GHOST, so calm down people. We won't want to check for ghosts AGAIN.

Anyone who wishes for a secluded place to write, draw, meditate, etc etc, can use our very, very, very quiet attic space for $5 per hour or $30 a day. However, the attic may collapse if any more than 4 people go in at a time, so enter at your own risk! "

~ GOHD Books

Hahaha!

Indeed, the attic is so fragile, I could feel the floorboards beneath my feet pressing down as I stepped on it, and the steps leading up to the attic are heinous. The shopkeeper (Deyana) said, "Live dangerously!" when I mentioned the steps were heinous. Haha! So Nietzschean, which made it so awesome. The collection there was impressive as well, stored alot of my favourite reads. Chatted with the Deyana for abit about favourite reads and I am very glad to find that she likes Nietzsche as well, although to a less fervent degree than myself and that we both loved the works of Camus and Keroauc. Amazing. I would definitely head back there again, to use the dangerous and very quiet attic to conduct unspeakable acts and to overcome that heinous flight of steps. Very cool place indeed, if I were to feel an onslaught of mental drought coming my way or in severe lack of inspiration, I will head there to introduce myself to new authors. I have no idea what GOHD stands for though.

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