yuene. Helping you question your sanity one marble at a time.

Ummm.... okay.

2008-11-21T09:54:00.003+08:00

As part of my efforts to earn free money, I created an account at AIP surveys. Basically, in return for answering lengthy surveys about everything and anything, you get points, which you can use to exchange for things like vouchers, or a personal cheque. Of course, don't hold your breath for the cheque, because you need to accumulate thousands of points for that, and each survey is usually 20 points, max. And getting surveys can sometimes feel a bit like trekking through the middle of the Sahara looking for, I don't know, polar bears. It ain't happening anytime soon.

And sometimes, the surveys are repetitive, boring and VERY long. Think of the worst 3-hour lecture you've ever sat through, where your clueless teacher droned on and on and on and on and... okay, you get the idea. Oh, the things we put ourselves through for free money.

Anyway, so I received a survey this morning on lifestyles, so I quickly pounce on it and start answering.

Before long, I start going WTF. Some of the questions are repeated (can someone enlighten me if this is a psychological tactic to weed out invalid responses?)--like, what's up with asking me a hundred times how old am I? Yes, I know I'm getting ancient! Quit rubbing it in!-- but the survey seems simple enough.

And then I come across this little gem:

Did I mention that this is so wrong on multiple levels? I mean, I've heard of 'divorced', 'living separately', 'open', 'swinging' etc etc, but 'deceased' as marital status? Are we talking about the 'alive-ness' of your partner's body, or is this some subtle indication of the status of the couple's sex life, or what? I mean, let's not be stupid and assume that the survey is talking about us personally; after all, dead people generally don't potter in front of their computers waiting for surveys to drop in their laps so that they can earn free money (ha, ha, I know someone out there's thinking "oh wait. Maybe they do after all" in an attempt to be self-ironic. CAUGHT YA!)

I guess you learn something new everyday, huh.

Need a lift?

2008-10-28T17:27:00.005+08:00

I know that I have been cursed with spectacularly bad lift karma. I'm serious, it's like, really BAD lift karma. I don't know what I did to elevators in my past life, like press all the buttons in the Empire State Building lifts, but whatever it was, apparently I'm paying it all back.

Imagine waiting at the lift lobby of the Old Admin Block, with one lift at Level 3 and the other just closed and headed upwards (without you, of course). What are the odds that the lift that you just missed will inch its way up to Level 7, stay there for what seems like aeons, inch its way down to Level 4, stop for another 1872149637864 light-years, and still reach you before the one that was on Level 3?

When you're with me, apparently the odds even out to 1-1.

And who else gets to enter a lift full of undergrads full of stellar 'A' level grades where the lift door closes and all the people outside staring at us incredulously as we stare right back. It takes me 1 second to realise that the lift was not moving because no one pressed the '4' button. This, when there are only 2 buttons--'1' and '4'. All the more unforgivable considering that just before the lift came down, no one thought to press the button to call it down. Except ME, who just arrived.

I let out a loud sigh and reached over. Someone quickly pressed the button, saving the bunch of us from any further goggling.

From the back I heard some random genius say:

"Actually, if someone press the button up there it would still go up, right?"

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

Like HELL I'm going to stand in there squished in that stuffy lift with you all and WAIT for someone to press the button up there while I slowly asphyxiate to death. In all likelihood by the time someone presses that button, when it comes up and the doors open, the lucky fella will be greeted by a whole bunch of stiffs falling out of that glass coffin.

I shan't even go into what happens with my house lift on a daily basis.

Needless to say, my reputation for bad luck with lifts has spread far and wide to the point that the moment my colleagues over at the other side see me waiting at the lift, they ask me to take the stairs.

.

So when I received the sms from Tian Hwee warning us that "Lift not fixed yet!", I inwardly groaned at having to climb 7 storeys' worth of stairs (I work on the 6th level, however, some flights are longer, so it's about 7 storeys) but put it down to the elevator god's personal grudge against me.

BUT! I knew of another way to get up (ah, the advantages of having spent 6 years here). So I headed over to AS3, where I could take the lift up to the 4th storey, and then cross over the rooftop to AS7, where I'd only need to climb 4 storeys! Congratulating myself on finally outsmarting the elevator gods, I pressed the button calling the lift down.

Except. this. lift. was. also. spoilt.

/sigh

If you can't beat them, join them.

Or grow a pair of wings.

Or take levitation courses.

Well done, fucktards.

2008-10-02T10:09:00.003+08:00

Prime Minister's Office
http://www.channelnewsasia.com/annex/condolence_letter.pdf

Senior Minister, PMO
http://app.sprinter.gov.sg/data/pr/20080930985.htm

You know, if you have nothing better to say, then DON'T. You guys just came across as rude and ungracious, not above a low blow even at the death of an enemy--and goddamn if that wasn't beyond low.

Thanks for giving us a reminder of why you will never be truly great leaders.

2008-09-30T15:13:00.002+08:00

I'm headed to Vietnam from 1-5 December, for a short solo trip.

I desperately need to recharge my batteries and just go do something by myself. It's been a very long while since I've had time alone, with salsa dancing and all, and I've found that if I'm in Singapore, the urge to go burn my heels on the floor is usually too great to ignore. In this way, I've found myself at Union Square upwards of 3 times a week (as I will, again, end up doing this week). And while it's all fun and good exercise, I am starting to weary of human company once again.

It's not that I'm not sociable--far from it, really. People tend to think I'm a social butterfly. Perhaps I am. On top of that, I also have a few good friends from the salsa circle. And I'm very thankful for them; really, having known what it was like without friends, I am truly grateful that people find my company enjoyable enough to want to continue their acquaintance with me.

In recent months, however, some things have happened that make me want to re-evaluate my life, especially who I am, what I believe in, what I want from my life. Thus, the need to get away from company and the noise and chatter; escape the familiar and place myself in a completely different environment. I need this time to gain a better understanding of myself and to learn how to deal with the changes I've been experiencing.

Vietnam has always drawn me and I spent 3 weeks in the summer of '06 with a few of my classmates traversing its length. I just want to go back and walk around again, have another feel of Ho Chi Minh City, and this time I will head out to Vung Tau. If I have time, I will also go to Da Lat for a day. Just to walk around, remember things that I did and do new things, just by myself.

Chinese Politics

2008-08-02T14:29:00.002+08:00

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/asiapcf/08/01/china.politics.ap/index.html?eref=rss_world

While I am not exactly well-versed in world politics, I just found this whole plea for a non-political Games a huge farce. The Games are meant to be political. They are meant as, according to the IOC's own website, a respectful and peaceful affirmation of "universal moral principles". I'm sorry, I didn't know that buying people off to stop them from asking about their dead children buried under metres of rubble is in any way a 'moral principle'. Or shutting out alternative points of view is one, either. Or that not living up to one's promises and then telling everyone not to talk about it is one.

What example are we giving to our next generation? That pride is better than conscience? That the ascendancy of a formidable economic and political power is more important than inalienable human rights?

The IOC shames us all by allowing the Games to run under such displays of thuggery. Berlin 1936, anyone?

Gas balls

2008-07-31T16:07:00.005+08:00

Image from http://www.xoospace.com/index.php?go=graphics&img_id=20735&ctgy_id=1074&sub_id=1030&p=1&order=views+DESC

Of all the beverages that I've consumed, milk ranks pretty high up my list of favourites. Ever since I was a kid and milk came dessicated in yellow/red Nespray tins, I'd always loved the taste of milk. It's creamy, creamy and...well, creamy. Smells nice. It's also smooth when it slips down your throat, and it tastes great both hot and cold (the same, unfortunately, cannot be said for Coke. Nor 100 plus. Eww that's kinda gross).

And which other drink lends itself so easily to bubble-blowing competitions? My second sister and I used to stick those curly psychedelic-coloured straws that 7-Eleven gave away with their Slurpees into the cups of milk my grandma prepared, take in really deep breaths, and blow as hard as possible to see who could create the thickest 'milk foam' layer before our mum would hear the bblp-blpp-blpp sounds coming fast and furious from the dining table and yell at us to stop being so disgusting don't play with your food and just drink it down. On hindsight, I would probably have had great potential as a milk steamer on a coffee machine, except for the saliva bit (think about it, though. It's exactly the same principle. Water jets mixed with air sprayed into milk= milk foam. Voila). I would definitely have been cuter than an overheated steel pipe by a light year.

And I've probably just entered your list of weird people to avoid from today onwards.

Anyway, I really love it. There's nothing better on a hot day than to kick back with a tall glass of ice-cold milk. And since Singapore is infernally hot most of the year, you can imagine how often I crave it.

Which really sucks because I'm lactose-intolerant.

I suppose I should think of it as cosmic karma for putting bubbles in unnatural places, or for stealing from the babies of the world's greatest flatulence generators, but every time I drink milk these days, I end up producing loads of gas. I'm serious, it's loads. Enough for Powergas to tap into and reduce dependency on foreign imported LPG. And if you think it's just gas production, you're wrong. Not only does my stomach make the most embarrassing rumbles as it merrily attempts the impossible (that is, to digest the 9% lactose), I can assure you that the feeling of bubbles rising up in the stomach is terribly uncomfortable. You know that old butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling? It's something like that. Just that it feels like an entire butterfly park got transplanted in there. A butterfly park during metamorphosis season. It's disgustingly ticklish.

And you know how milk just doesn't go with chilli? Well, today I made the big mistake of drinking a whole carton of milk. And then eating rendang for lunch.

Oo-er. Any moment now, I'm going to balloon up and float off haplessly into the sunset. And then explode when the volatile gases in my stomach ignite.

That's my boy.

2008-07-23T15:42:00.002+08:00

From time to time, Mr Fuzzy-Wuzzy likes to give me surprises, especially when I least expect them. It can be for no apparent reason, and can range from the pleasant, like taking me out to our favourite sushi joint, to the not-so-pleasant, like telling me "Dear there's a cockroach over there I'll leave you to handle it tell me when it's safe to come out" before barricading himself in the bedroom, leaving me to face said creepy-crawly alone. I suspect it's got something to do with the fact that I was his first and only girlfriend. It makes you just want to pull out the stops to impress the girl. And it does, which is a lot coming from a very unromantic girl.

But anyway.

I'd had a bad day on Monday, and I'd gone out to salsa the irritation off both Monday and Tuesday. When I got home yesterday, I greeted him as usual and then headed to take a bath. When I opened the door, there on my pillow was a nice little bouquet of flowers to cheer me up. It was a very nicely composed bouquet, with a rose and carnation.

And of course, not-so discreetly stapled onto the crepe wrapping, was the price tag which he'd forgotten to detach.

To borrow a phrase from Pioneer Woman, we're just keepin' it real.

Is it me or...?

2008-07-14T21:34:00.005+08:00

I don't know if there's something up with my olfactory nerves today, but for some strange reason only known to God, I'm getting this whiff of shit. Not the evacuate-the-building-it's-mustard-gas type, more like the at-least-it-blends-in-with-the-soil-around-the-bush-i-did-it-next-to-because-there-wasn't-a-loo-and-i-was-urgent kind (if you haven't had that experience, well then lucky you). Which would be all fine and good if this was a toilet.

Unfortunately, it's actually a coffee joint down in town.

Mr Fuzzy-Wuzzy says that it's the smell of coffee beans, but I'm predisposed to discount his opinion, since his snout is stuffed up more often than not. Or maybe he's right and it's those Kopi Luwak beans, which would probably form a plausible explanation for the shitty smell in the middle of an atas coffee joint (read http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kopi_Luwak for more info on the most expensive cup of joe you'll ever drink--what is it about us Asians and eating animal waste-infused THINGS??? Seriously, people.)

Alternatively, it could just be the poor ventilation in here, especially when they are heating up food (I'm starting to detect this undertone of chicken breast in some vinaigrette in the air). Certainly not as exotic as the earlier hypothesis, but a lot more appetizing.

But then again, that wouldn't explain why the cookie that came with Mr Fuzzy-Wuzzy's macademia-flavoured coffee has Mama Lemon Dishwashing Liquid as an aftertaste. oO Aren't we taking the idea of hygenic food preparation a little far here?

So I guess my taste buds got wired up a bit wonky this morning. I'll just keep telling myself that because, if anything, the alternatives are kind of disturbing.

Just a little.

Not too much.

... Alriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight

2008-07-10T19:26:00.004+08:00

Am I the only one here who finds the facial expression on the bean hilarious? It has "WTF?!?!" written all over it. Which is kind of funny, considering that the advert is about 'soy+fruit= so joyful together!'

He looks anything BUT joyful.

In fact, he looks like he's about to call for a paternity test.

I have to admit, though, that I'm not quite sure what he was expecting as the final product. A fruity flavoured soy bean (don't ask me how he's going to find that out; let's not go there, shall we)? A pale berry that when squeezed, oozes milk?

Whatever it is, I guess he can take comfort in the fact that they won't be banning his offspring on the grounds of it being a genetically-modified food.

2008-07-03T12:18:00.003+08:00

On Monday, our water dispenser broke down. Not in the sense of 'not being able to dispense water'. Neither was it crying because the boss yelled at it for slacking. Nothing of that sort, really.

In fact, it was taking its job so seriously that it decided to get us to lead healthier lifestyles by sending the water right to our cubicles' metaphorical doorsteps (I mean, who wouldn't want running water laid?). Either that, or it'd been inspired by legends of worldwide floods. Whatever it was, the water had almost reached my cubicle when my colleague, who'd gotten up to wash her cup, screeched, "OMG the dispenser is leaking water!!!!"

We hurriedly got the cleaner auntie to mop up the mess while Pauline called maintenance. Turned out they were shorthanded and could only make it on Wednesday. We eyed our little artesian well-wannabe.

The maintenance guy came on Tuesday. The hot water was still fine, so we could use that. Turns out, though, that the cold water compartment had sprung a leak and had to be shut off until it could be repaired. As for people like me who prefer our water cold, we would have to walk over to the nearest dispenser at the secondary area for that. Which would be pretty nearby if not for the wall inbetween our workspace and the secondary area. And since walls are mostly impenetrable, that means that we have to walk all the way around.

So for the past 2 days now, I've been making the trek across and back, and I can't help but feel a little like I'm some sort of tribeswoman, walking for miles to the river and filling up my jar before placing it on my head and swaying back. Okay, maybe not the head-jug bit. My cup is a bit small for that sort of stunt. But you get the idea. This is way too much work for a cup of water.

I can't wait till the machine gets fixed.

After a long hiatus

2008-07-03T12:11:00.003+08:00

Well, I'm back.