Return of the Lazy Author

I’m… back. That’s it. I just felt like posting on this blog again so there. Oh dear, I just checked my clock and it’s 2017 already. Fuck me.

Here are some life updates:

1. One year closer to death. A.K.A. A-Levels.
2. Somehow, I managed to croak my way to being a singer in my school’s Jazz Club.
3. Finally, I became a conservation ambassador for the zoo, and to be honest, I volunteer there to impress foreign strangers for a self-esteem boost.
4. Get Out is a really, really good horror film. Must watch.
5. Just completed my very first junior college exams. Can’t wait to get the remedial classes’ schedule.
6. Recently got hooked on The Sound of Your Heart, a Korean comedy webcomic. It never fails to make me audibly laugh in public (Oh the horror of attracting attention). I may try making comics again some time soon.
7. To satiate my need for recklessness and (injudicious) adventure, I literally found a restaurant looking to hire on a Singaporean equivalent of Craigslist, WhatsApp-ed the employer a lengthy request to recruit me as a “kitchen apprentice”. Apparently, my good command of the English language and clever inclusion of “no pay needed” within my job application landed me my very first culinary gig. In fact, very first career position.

Me, screaming internally:

I want to go to culinary school. The Culinary Institute of America. 

I will show ’em. I will hone my knife skills, read Kitchen Confidential without getting intimidated, and do my homework to Gordon Ramsay swearing on loop. I will experiment in the falling-apart kitchen and memorise every cut of a cow, pig, sheep, horse, dog, cat, whatever.

Now that I have written this here, I will do it.

Advertisements

Another Award?

Thannnnnnk youuuuuu Small World, Smaller Girl for nominating me for the Versatile Blogger Award! I do, indeed, pride myself in being wonderfully adaptable to all the nonsense and bullshit in my life, and frankly, getting an award for putting up with shit is freakin’ amazing. Unless this award means a completely different thing, then oh well. Ain’t nobody got time for finding out what this award actually is for (oops).

Look at that aesthetic award thingy, though! LOOK AT IT. THE GRADIENT IN THE GOLDEN EDGES. I’M SATISFIED. VERY SATISFIED.

So, with this award, I gotta write some stuff. Here goes:

Seven Random Facts About Myself

1. I’m a big horror fanatic, and I periodically dedicate time to passionately sing “Ave Satani” from The Omen.
2. I absolutely detest people fingering my forehead. No, as in, using their pointer finger to forcibly poke it, not that kind of fingering. How the hell does one even do that? Well crap, a very Alien-esque image just came to mind. 
3. I cut my own hair when I’m bored, and my mother hates it.
4. I spend a lot of time on the subreddit r/confusedboners. Go look it up, and don’t worry, I totally understand if you never want to read my blog again.
5. My favourite animated show is Bob’s Burgers.
6. Once, a creepypasta story I read kept me awake for a full night. And that was a night before an exam. What story was it? In The Walls. Read it and you may have to throw out all the mirrors in your house.
7. I have small feet, and my childhood friend nicknamed me, “peanut feet”.

Welp. That’s it I guess. Sorry if those facts have ruined some of your lives.

Tuition Centres.

I went to the movie theatre a few days ago to catch Deepwater Horizon, and came across the first sign of the humanity’s impending demise-goddamn tuition centres. They are EVERYWHERE. It felt as if somebody snuck in a couple of tuition-centre-rabbits past airport security from an exotic land, and BOOM-they bred like wildfire and now we have a one in every corner, except they aren’t furry and they don’t have long ears.

The fact that it is a homework-churning factory  and a prison with weekly two-hour sentences isn’t the worst part of it all, no, it is the fact that there used to be a gaming arcade in its very location. 

Places of good old dazzling contraptions that fill children’s hearts with delight no longer have a place in this country today, and instead we submit to fulfilling standards of full GPAs and being scholarship-worthy.

Don’t get me wrong, though, I fully support the idea of helping children not doing as well in school to receive tuition or eager higher achieving kids to attain greater heights (jesus), but this isn’t the case here. Way too many parents send their kids for more than three tuition sessions per week, as they feel pressured to do so with the increasing number of tuition centres and stress placed on excelling in school. The thing is, these parents think that the more tuition their child gets, the better their grades will be, which is a sad myth. Now I can ramble on and on  about this issue, but I shall spare you from enduring my frustration.

When I peered into the uninspiring sterile reception area of the tuition centre (yes, a bloody reception area), the immaculate counters and sofa with edges too sharp to be appealing to twelve year olds made my blood boil. I then proceeded to make  the ugliest face at the receptionist through the glass, terrifying enough to make anybody require therapy. Yes, fucker, I’ll make you spend all that dirty money you made out of torturing children on your medical needs, guess you won’t be able to purchase that hot red Ferrari you saw in CarBuyer after all. What a tragedy. 

 

Til’ Death Do Us Part (Or Food Poisoning)

I attended a wedding lunch last Sunday. Correction: I was forced to attend a wedding lunch Sunday because it so happened that the invitation card my father received was addressed to Mr Han and Family. OH, what I would’ve given to not be my father’s daughter for one day, though I’m sure he would accept anything for a teenage pain in the ass to disappear.

A few years ago, this young sprout would have been overjoyed to be attending a wedding- the impressive fairy tale ballroom filled with dapper guests, the towering white fondant cake with intricate icing laces, the adorable couple in their best gown and suit giving a wonderfully witty speech and toast.

Ha. Not in this town. It was nothing but a dull, rehearsed affair. Rowdy friends of the bride and groom made up half of the party and the other half of the discounted hotel function room filled with relatives that you vaguely remember from that family gathering that happened at that time and at that place.

I fished out my kindle reader like a pro from my mother’s handbag and returned to The Picture of Dorian Gray, but still paid sufficient attention to the chattering at our table to know that my cousin sister was not going to university but instead planning on running a fashion blog shop, followed by various other gossip about an uncle that became obese and  then quarreling about who should take my grandmother to dialysis on the weekdays.

The bride and groom were no prince and princess either. Their kiss was a brief peck on the lips, their jokes were mediocre and they simply looked as if they wanted everything to be over quickly. What else was wrong with this romantic ceremony? Many things. The waitstaff’s dance number was not good, the food was ordinary and several balloons burst, almost giving the fairly large elderly population cardiac arrests.

What was even worse was that everybody knew that it was not a good wedding. The awkward silences screamed so. I have a terribly big family, and many relatives who are at that age. I dread the next invite that says save the date. More like save yourselves.

Shake that Booty(mus) Because I Got an Award

I woke up to some burnt toast and a blog nomination today. So how am I, you ask? Pretty damn great.

A requirement for this nomination is to include the origin story of your blog, so settle down kids, it’s time for a tale. I woke up one day and decided to threaten my already-dismal school grades even further by committing to a wordpress blog. *bows* 

Like what drdrdog , the saint who nominated this hardly competent blog, has mentioned in his award post–I am guilty of owning several blogs and throwing them in the trash really quickly. Lost hype and worries about readership are the main culprits for their brief lives. Drdrdog, really, thanks for your prompt encouragement. And hey, apparently you are funny.

I nominate…

Reviews Rants and Revelry (Alisha’s Gaming Blog)  – Personal opinions on your favourite video games! *flashes toothy white smile and violently thumbs up*

Fear No Weebles  – A blog that is way out of my league and attracted me in the first place because its header image is from The Birds (Hitchcock is a genius)

The Problem With Young People Today Is…  – Ok, this hilarious old man rambles on about why young people are the vermin of the human race, but he hasn’t posted since 2012 so right now I might be nominating a blogger who’s six feet under… still, read his stuff

Ok so now y’all nominated kids (and possibly the spirit of Don) have got to do the shizzles as stated below:

1. Write a post to show the award 
2. Give a brief story about how your blog started
3. Give 2 pieces of advice to new bloggers
4. Write about the person who nominated you and leave a link to their blog
5. Select a few other blogs you want to give the award to

Judgement Day is Done and Gone (And The First Time I Said “Fuck You” To A Complete Stranger)

FUCK YES. Exams. Are. Over. There are no other three words that could be any more satisfying. Wait, let’s stop. No more talk of assessments, school and the impending doom of receiving my final grades. Instead, the culmination of sweet long-awaited freedom should be celebrated with a throwback to an achievement of mine.

Here is the story of the first time I said “fuck you” to a stranger. Now, I come from a place where swearing is frown upon (no shit) and especially so when you are a teenage girl from a pretty respectable institution. Don’t get me wrong, I am not some kind of Asian puritan who strictly  abstains from swearing to reading mildly-erotic manga (smut is my bread and butter oh no I can feel you judging me), but I do most of my “fuck” this and that at home and in the company of my hooligan friends (yeah we totes cool yo). So throwing a huge “fuck you” to a complete stranger was a big accomplishment for me. Wayyy too big. But hey.

Ok, now to the story. I was walking my dog with my mother and we were exiting our housing estate when this shitty lump of a middle-aged man came waddling toward us. Our dog, which rarely gets uncontrollably frenzied at humans, gets uncontrollably frenzied at that douche. My pooch could barely reach the oaf and he starts hurling insults at us. And before that idiot gets away with ruining our pleasant mother-daughter-dog stroll, I gave him a terrific “FUCK YOU”. It was, honestly, the best feeling in the world. My heart was racing, my head was whirling, but most importantly, my cherry has popped.

I am no longer a profanity virgin.

Ok this post just got a bajillion times weird. Excuse me for my poor choice of words, but I think it depicts my feelings very accurately, which is also not very assuring of my sanity.

Anyhoo, after the f-bomb was dropped, all that came out of the jerk’s mouth was a feeble I-don’t-want-the-police-to-be-involved-because-I-did-some-scandalous-things-prior-to-offending-a-feisty-teenage-girl response, and then he shuffled away quickly like the shady-ass-dick he was. That’s right.

My mom still managed to grasp onto some parenting basics and told me off a little for swearing at that idiot, but I could tell she was glad as hell that I rebutted his unnecessary discourtesy. Hohoho.

That moment was special, though. In all seriousness (who am I kidding), it helped me get a taste of standing up for myself, no matter how petty the incident was (I am literally just bullcrapping at this point).

---

TL;DR: Cussed at a stranger and it felt like opening a fresh jar of glorious nutella (oh, the sweet, gooey world of spewing expletives at other human beans)

Daily Prompt #1

 

Passionate

Yes, yes of course I’m passionate about something. It’s there. Sitting squarely in the back of my mind, occasionally paying a visit to remind me of things unaccomplished. I swear, I will get to it when I have the time. Don’t worry, it won’t run away. I mean, yeah, I am racing against time, but that’s another bastard altogether. Passion will stay. Passion may never have the chance to take shape, but it’s there.

Sorry.

via Daily Prompt: Passionate