Words Don't Cut It

...but still, I've gotta try.

Taking A Breather

When life gets a little too rushed for comfort,
it's sign that it's time to drop the stopwatch,
kick off those running shoes, and get off the racetrack.


----------

It's been a crazy week. In fact, it's pretty much been this way since Raya. So technically, that effectively makes it TWO crazy weeks in a row. Ugh. I so can't wait for the post-Raya rush to be over. It feels like forever since I've had the chance to enjoy a borderline lazy day at work. Or, wait... perhaps it is already over! Maybe I've already entered the speeding zone of another rush altogether and I'm just branding it wrongly and blaming the wrong holiday! Hmmm. Maybe.

*pauses*

Wait. Whatever lah. No time to ponder such unnecessary things. Trivial thoughts are not to be entertained at a time like this. I shan't put my brain to work under grounds of such minor muses.

*groan*

I can't believe I've only just made it past Tuesday. Today totally felt like a Friday to me... minus the pre-weekend buzz, of course. (So no fun, right?) Gosh, how will I ever survive the rest of the week?! Pleeeease let Wednesday be relatively anxiety-free. Please, please, please, please, please? And after that, why not just let Thursday and Friday make up for the Monday and Tuesday I just endured?


You know, I'm excited about Thursday, actually. More so than I am about Friday. Odd. Very. But, oh well. I was never one for following the crowd or sticking to convention. I heard it'll be an experience, though. I suppose so, I guess. I wouldn't know. I'm a newbie.

I know. I lost you, didn't I?

Don't worry. If you're not working where I am, or doing anything remotely similar to what I'm doing, you probably won't get what I'm going on and on about anyways. And that isn't necessarily a bad thing, okay? Okay. So, yeah. Enough about work. It's time to smell the flowers. Cos, well... they're flowers. And flowers always do the trick.

The sunlight was glorious and these white blooms looked so pretty bathed in it that just I couldn't resist snapping a picture (or two).

Hello, Wednesday! Be nice. Thank you.

Jia Lat

I'm on a bus. On a highway. Headed Southwards. How bad is that? Not bad at all, actually. The ride's fine, I'm on a pretty new bus, and I'm sitting by myself. But how bad could it get? Very bad, actually.


The last stop was one and a half hours ago so that makes me one and a half hours shy of my destination. TECHNICALLY. And if you've been observant while reading Tinki Talks, you may have already picked up my very-publicly-displayed negativity towards getting technical. I don't like getting technical. Period.


And this time, my dislike is justified. One and a half hours away? Pfft. You lie, Logic. For Malaysian highways are doing what they do best – they jam up for absolutely no reason at all. And if you remember me saying it could get bad, you'll be glad to know that things have officially stepped up a notch. They just got real ugly. Why? Cos I need to pee. And I need to pee BAD.

AAARRRRGGGHHHHH!




Stupid highway. Always jammed.
Go ahead lah. Crawl and leave us
pee-holding people in agony.

Ugh.

We're nowhere near a rest stop and we've already made our predetermined stop. How la now!? Jia lat lah zi pai.

----------


NOTE: Post written six hours prior to publishing.

Who Cares About Politics? I'm Into Saving The World!

...so says the imaginary Al Gore in my head.

I can so see him frown disapprovingly at me and everything I do. Haha. Every aluminum can not sent to a recycling plant, every switch left on and unused, and every drop of water wasted – oh, such unspeakable crimes, those are. Go ahead and frown, Al Gore. Your Nobel Peace Prize gives you license to. You have earned that frown.


But really. Takkan he so self-righteous meh? He can cast the first aluminum can my way if he doesn't use air-conditioning, a fridge, electricity or water. Hah! So some days I wonder... Is there anything behind this previous candidate for President and former Vice President of the U.S. of A's (seemingly) righteous intentions? It got me thinking and I came up with these:

If I can't rule it yet, you better
make sure it lasts till I can.

. . .

I want to rule a dying world so that I can be its last Emperor.
There's much glory to be had in becoming a last Emperor, okay.
Look at the last Emperor of China – Pǔyí (溥儀)!

. . .

Save the world!... so I can rule it.

Feel free to add to the list should you feel inspired to pen down an ingenious line or two. And don't forget to have fun while you're at it.

=)

Randomness

Looking back at my last *click* few *click* posts *click*,
it has come to my attention that I'm just sooo random.

It makes me sick. Ugh.

How in the world do you guys stand me?!

Why I Work As Hard As I Do

"It's not that I want to... I have to."

I said that. In a conversation with a friend whom I haven't seen in ages (because I'm always working, I have no life, and I'd very much rather sleep whenever I find free time on my hands). It's true, though. I don't work as hard as I do because I want to. (The anal perfectionist in me continues living life in denial. Just let her be.) It's only because I feel that I should, and that I have to.


Firstly, I don't think there's a need for me to explain why I should work for what I earn. If you even bother asking, I'll know how hard YOU work. Hah. But really now. Nothing comes free. (Oh, don't we all know that.) And anything that does, eventually comes with a price. Ironic, innit? So, yeah. That's all I have to say about this. I shan't elaborate further. Good to have clarified why I should work.

Moving on.

Why I have to work.

Now, this is something I don't expect many of you, males, to understand. Believe me when I say this: I'm not being sexist or feminist. I'm not! But PEOPLE ARE. All I'm doing is responding to the situation. Reacting the way I am – by working hard – because of other factors that have somehow affected my worldview and ultimately, my approach to work.


My theory is this: men do not have to work as hard as women because comparatively, they have less to prove... or disprove. (It really depends on how you look at it.) In spite of women empowerment at the workplace and whatnot, there is still a need for us to strive harder in a coed working environment to disprove all negative theories held against us that are illegitimate and untrue.


We know that life's unfair and we're well aware of the cards that are stacked against us. Most of what matters is not in our favour and if you'd just open your eyes to the discrimination that still stands in many societies and workplace arenas today, you'd see it. This knowledge of our disadvantage is what keeps the hard-headed, determined, never-say-die ones among us competitive. It's what keeps us fighting for our place in the workplace and our fair share of the income pie.

-----------


Will work for gummies.

Berry Wed Soogary Bearies

Me likey wikey.

See? Even gummies have mummies.

Me loves me mummy.


p/s: Both Mummy and Baby tasted equally as good, by the way.
Just thought I'd throw in a little bit of trivia for kicks. =)

Dear Yummy Gummy,

You keep me hanging on.

XOXO,
Me

It's A Guarantee

I realised something today. I wouldn't say it's something I've never known because on some subconscious level I must have known it, experienced it or talked about it at some time or another. So I'm putting it this way: it's just that it's something I've never realised and then consciously tried to remember before.

Today, I realised that
no matter what people say,
they always let you down.

People. Will. Let. You. Down.

Even if they say they won't, and even if they themselves believe that they won't. No matter how close you both seem to be and no matter how much you both think you care about each other, it happens. If not today, then someday. They'll let you down eventually. That's the one thing in life you can count on. It sounds like I'm jaded and badly gutted but I've already been deadened to the pains that come along with this realisation and I'm ready to face it.

People will let ME down.

And they have.

So, do we – those who have been let-down – just take it as it comes? Pick ourselves up, nurse our wounds and pretend that nothing's amiss? That nothing's happened? That nothing's wrong with anything at all? What does one do in the event that one experiences a let-down? And what does one do if that let-down is dispensed by a member of the close-to-heart? What does a let-down by a significant person really mean in the big picture? And what does it show at the microlevel? Essentially, does a broken heart represent a broken relationship, too?

Too many questions with no answers.

I have the answer if you don't ask any questions.

What you do is this: you count on nobody. Cos if that's what you do, you'll never end up disappointed with anybody.

&*%$#@!!!

*slams keys with each letter typed*

Curse stupid MS Word for quitting
before I got to save my document.

*punches pillow HARD*

Taxi Drivers Are The Worst Drivers

Imbeciles.

Morons.

Donkeys.
(For lack of a better description.)
[EDIT: It's THE BEST and MOST ACCURATE description yet.]

Taxi drivers in Malaysia are, by far, the worst of their kind. They spend more time on the road in a week than some of us spend sleeping in a whole month! (How's that for killer ratios?) These people accumulate the highest number of drive-hours as compared to the rest of us, but turn out being the worst drivers ON THE PLANET. Terrible lot, they are, really. Comfort Cabs, Sunlight – any cab company! They're all the same in the worst of ways. These drivers are the most uncivilized lot to roam our streets, highways and byways.


Such backward mentality. Third world thinking. Oh, so primitive and totally primeval. It's a shame that they are points of contact to the throngs of tourists visiting our country. They kill our already-dying reputation and guarantee us no return tourists.


When I think about it, though. I can't say I blame them (and them alone) for being the way they are. They are products of the education and upbringing they receive from those who held the power to influence their lives when they were younger. That's what we have produced, my friends. And that's what we will continue to produce if we don't change our ways. (Whoa. I should have become a politician!)


You see, the thing is, they get away with doing what they do and driving the way they do. Over-charging without running on meter, for one... and two, driving like madmen with bumper cars at the arcade. Hooligans on four wheels, I tell you. Badly-behaved barbarians.


I don't mean to generalise but all most some taxi drivers really cannot drive. Like so so cannot lo. Tak pass at all. And the worst part is this: they drive like they think they can drive. Menaces on the road who endanger the lives of all us other road-users, pedestrians and drivers alike. I say strip them of their licenses and take away their cars, then strap them to the insides of the circuit-side barricades at the International Sepang F1 Circuit, the next time F1 season hits town.

In the event of that ever happening,
I chup the best seat in the house.
Fight me for it and I'll mow you down with my Satria.

Groan In Me Bones!

It feels like I've been hit by a truck and dragged across the desert for about a hundred miles at a minimum speed of 180kph. Or maybe this is what the human body feels like after it's been mauled by grizzlys grizzlies (I can't spell for nuts, I know), and then by wild cats, and then pecked to the bones by vultures.

Ugh.

My back aches. My neck aches. My arms ache. My muscles ache. My skin feels raw. And my bones feel like they're more fragile and delicate than marshmallow. And darn it, now I actually feel sorry for myself. How sad is that?

Bah, I feel old.

5 In The Morning

So brain drained but still running on overdrive.

I'm making it official. Working weekends is a curse of the worst kind. If only you could see the ugly (but very deserving) snarl snaked across my face... and ugh, the dark rings that line the underside of my eyes. Read: Perfectly good, very expensive eye cream made totally useless.

*grumble grumble*

This weekend had better not cost me any pimples.

The Colours Of Vanity

It's been 4 months since I did it.

And I still love it to death. =)

NOTE: I did NOT take these pictures for the heck of posting them here on Tinki Talks. (You think I so free ah!?) They were for other very-valid, extremely-licit, uber-personal reasons. Reasons, which I hereby choose not to declare online, publicly... or even to anyone who asks in hushed tones, for that matter. All I'll say is that the rest of the pictures (not shown here) were of great assistance to me. I was enlightened.

I Need To...

Be more productive. Concentrate better. Write faster. Work less. Play more. Shop more. Spend less. Make more. Waste less. Eat better. Eat less. Grow fatter. Get smarter. Read more. Strain my eyes less. Frown less. Smile more. Hang out more. Chill more. Stay home more. Relax more. Sleep earlier. Sleep more. Sleep more. Sleep more.

Just. Too. Many. Contradictions.

Regret Nia

Ah Pau is so slowing down my connection.

And my MacBook isn't as smart as I thought it was.

With Streamyx and Ah Pau, both screaming for her undivided attention, I thought that she would have automatically chosen the louder (or in this case, faster) voice. Well, too bad for me, she didn't. And she didn't do it all night! And how do I know that? Of course I know – my torrents didn't go anywhere with last night's connection.

Bah!

I mean, what I'm saying makes sense, right? It's just logical to go with the faster connection, right? But, noooo. That'd be asking for too much. Faster connection? Hah, fat chance. Go ahead and lag away, Mistress of the MacBook. Lag away. Mwahahaha.

*blink blink*

Sigh.

I think my MacBook was born in Penang.
She's as cheapo as the rest of us. Haih.

Although I'm connected by cable to my own ALREADY-PAID-FOR Streamyx account, my comp has been free-riding on Ah Pau's super-slow-and-comparatively-totally-useless WiFi all night. What is the meaning of this lah!? It totally defeats the purpose of stealing anything from Ah Pau. Ish.

Free The Handcuffed Thief!

I stole something today. From a guy whose name is... are you ready? His name is Ah Pau. Or at least that's what he calls himself. Haha. Talk about lame names, yo. Haha. Ah Pau. Haha. Haha. Haha.

-----------

I have the right to laugh at Ah Pau
cos I'm making up for all the times
my name was jeered at when I was a kid.

You stop laughing. You cannot laugh.
I laugh. You read.

-----------

Honestly though... you can't hold me to it. I mean, it's not like I stole his car or his (wait, is Ah Pau a girl's name or a guy's name?!) girlfriend, okay. (Or boyfriend, whichever have you.) What I took from him was something so intangible that I doubt he/she even knew I pinched some. Plus, I had so much fun stealing it that I foresee myself doing it again sometime in the near future. *grin*

Thank you, Ah Pau! You da best!
(Does this make me less guilty?)

Who Say I Talk Only?

I also got do.

p/s: Don't expect much from the pictures that follow. They're super-low res cos it's really late and I wasn't bothered enough to wait for the files to take hours and hours to save like they always do. *frown* Didn't expect them to turn out so grainy, though. Hmmm. Oh, well. Too bad. Anyhew, I'm just too lazy to do anything about it now. The jacket rocks. Nuff said. Pictures don't mean crack.

...but they do give me good reason to smile. =)


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


Shopaholic was right. Retail therapy is good for health.
And I, in turn, was right. I do deserve this. Happy!

I DESERVE It

I've officially been told that I've got more work coming my way... on top of the load I'm already holding up by the lead of my Limited Edition Writer's 2B pencil. Sigh. There goes an entire weekend. Ugh.

I deserve to be perked up.
I deserve to be made happy.

I'm getting that jacket.

When In Doubt, Ask The Shopaholic

...for she tells you what you really want to hear.

*snicker*

Pam Song: You. Me. Shopping. This weekend. Set?

Shopaholic: This weekend cannot la. Got exam. Takpe. Gives us ample time to save money so that we can shop. Hehe.

Pam Song: Haha. Tell me about it, man. I've got this Nike jacket I'm dying to have but it's 289, yo! Crazy. (It really is very, very, very nice, you know.)

Shopaholic: Wah. Serious? No worries. I will be forking out 2k from my account for pay for an upcoming trip. (Nothing like a bigger, super-wowzza! number to put things in perspective. *grin*)

Pam Song: Aisay. Holiday lo. Dun play play. So nice! Makes me feel less lousy bout 289. Haha. Maybe I'll get it later. HAHA.

Shopaholic: Haha. I will tell you to buy it! Make yourself happy. Hehe. Retail therapy is good for health. (Notice how she said "good for health" and not "good for the bank account"?)

Pam Song: Haha. Set lah. You, woman, are a bad bad influence to the financially challenged.

Shopaholic: Haha. Me also financially challenged. But it's okay. Worry bout the debt later. Haha. :) Just make sure bank account got enough to cover. Haha. (And Shopaholic's an accountant, mind you. Tsk, tsk.)


So, yeah. I'm caught in a shopper's dilemma. I don't know if I should get it. Butbutbut it's so, so, so very breath-taking-ly gorgeous! And I love it so. Aaarrrggghhh! I can't even think about this without getting palpitations! It's that fab. Sigh. I tried forgetting about it, though. I tried. Gave myself 3 days to mull it over. "No impulse buys!" I told myself. Well, 3 days later and I'm still as obsessed. =(

Nice bo? Wan buy ah?

CakapBanyak-itis

I have so so so many things to say
but not enough time to say them!

Aaaarrrgghhh! So frustrating!

Will find (more like make) the time to sneak in a post or two between JRs, okay. Patience is a virtue. PATIENCE is a virtue.

But only when it comes to some things.

And blogging ain't it.

Goodbye, Yesterday & Hello, Today

Some people, great as they are,

end up leaving us sometimes.

And sure, it's tough... but life goes on. We cry at each and every one of those dreaded Goodbyes. But really, we all know deep down inside that those tears do nothing to take away the sadness that inevitably sweeps over us. What it does in actuality is drown us in the misery of knowing that we no longer have who we want (who we've grown comfortable with) by our sides forever and for always... for there is no more Forever and Always just doesn't exist.


But somedays, Life brings others along to take the place of who we've lost. We try to make it work. And sometimes, by some miracle, it does. But is taking the place of a kick-ass predecessor ever easy? Never. It's tough being next-in-line. And it's tough when next-in-line is called forward to advance and become Today. It takes a lot of courage. It takes bravery. It takes pure pluck and good ol' spunk... especially when what you're up against is the memory of good ol' faithful, never-let-me-down Strawberry Watermelon.




Bravely stepping up to the plate and hoping to make an impression stronger and better than the one Strawberry Watermelon left.

Meet Jellies.

Career Interest Inventory

Time flies. It's been 6 months and 2 days on the job.

There's personal deliberation to be made, folks. Time for some serious evaluation – a little reflection. Lotsa things can change in half a year. Like interest, for one. I need to ruminate. Be mused by the one activity that absorbs the most hours of my day. I shall not be found stuck with a flat tyre on a career path that's heading nowhere.

This calls for a Career Interest Inventory Tickle Test.

It's a (dun play play)
so I'm just gonna assume that it's accurate.





YES!

*Chun Li super-quick lightning kick*

Holiday Derangements

I can't decide if holidays are good or bad.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I love holidays. It's kinda like the world finally realises that you've been slaving your life away like a sorry ol' dog and decides to give you a good time off from your daily routine in a thankless job. You, then, proceed to do nothing productive whatsoever while on holiday, in an attempt to make up for all those late nights at the office and the many stressful times you've rushed to meet a crazy deadline. Pfft. A vain attempt, really, if you ask me.

But but but... before I get into that,
let me explain myself.

I guess that, in essence, there is some measure of good in having holidays. But let's not be narrow-minded or blinded to the other issues that arise prior to that holiday we love so much, alright? There's more to going on a holiday than meets the eye. The problem is the amount of pre-holiday preparation that goes into actually having a holiday in the first place. It's insane, really! Downright insane.


There's the mad rush to meet all holiday-season deadlines before the suppliers and clients head off for their break. Why? Cos if you don't send your stuff over before they leave, it's YOUR FAULT, not theirs. Gosh, it'd be a crime to think otherwise. Didn't you know? Client's are perfect and always without fault, while suppliers... well, they just couldn't care less cos it ain't any of their asses on the line.

Agency Rules: Client wins. Supplier laughs.
Suits steam. Traffic blows his top.
Creatives cry... or just buat tak tau.

*grin*

So, yeah. That's the sucky part. Plus, there's no vacation after the holiday. That doesn't help in the least because it's not as though things go back to the pleasant way they were before the pre-holiday mad rush. No, no. That would be asking for too much. Upon returning from your holiday, you're greeted by a glorious mountain of JRs, clearly signifying that nobody has any respect for the sanctity of post-holiday stretches. (They also don't care much for the trees or for saving the environment, from the looks of things.)


And of course, with JRs, there's work. So with that begins the SECOND mad rush to meet those blasted deadlines you've missed. Missed!? Yes, missed. Thinking you're not supposed to have missed any deadlines since you rushed everything out just before the hols? Well, my friends, you'd be surprised at what them necktie people have got up their sleeves to hound you no end. Right till you're crying synonyms and throwing up adjectives. Sigh. Plus, post-holiday rush always puts clients right smack in their element and, boy, do they shine.

I'm on my first day at work after Raya
and I already need another holiday. =(

Note To Self... Topic: Bacteria

Bacteria breeds at different paces in different environments.

Yep, it breeds pretty well in 6-day-old,
pre-Raya, vending machine ice lemon tea.

*swirls leftovers in mug*

Hmmm. Got jelly jelly summore.

Today's Monday

Okay, fine. I know it's Wednesday. But it feels like Monday.
(Don't get technical with me ha. Last warning, I tell you.)

It is, after all, the first day of the week, isn't it? The first day of this week, at least. The first of three work-days in this 3-day week. Oh, this beautiful, God-given 3-day week. I love 3-day weeks lah. They bring me joy like none other. I love any week that isn't a 5-day week, for that matter. Heh. Love it lah. Luuurrrvvvveee it. Love. It.

Meaningless, Meaningless

Aaarrrgghhhh! Everything so kelam-kabut!

So very many things to do and no time to do any of it. No time! But the problem is... no time also have to make time cos things that have to be done, have to be done. How now, I ask you. HOW NOW!?

Wa beh siao liao.
(English Translation: I'm going crazy already.)

So Off

It's interesting how the human mind has the ability to make things up as it goes along. Such creativity in our blood, expressed by means of frantically-firing, incredibly-purposeful, little iddy-biddy neurons, don't you think? Sometimes, you may find yourself in an enlightening experience by just observing and paying attention to how the brain rationalises thought and makes predictions based on simple logic.

Problem is, there's nothing logical about this one.

-----------

Pam Song: Eh, why this soup drink then mouth ba (English translation: numb) wan?

The Other Party: Cos your bum tingling wat.

Pam Song: o_O

-----------

Like, wud?! I ain't getting it, yo.
Can someone please explain that to me ah?

My Mind, My Playground is perfectly fine by me. My Mind, YOUR Playground... well, that's not so okay, okay?

It's Time To Get Married And Have Kids

It's been too long since we've done this but it's all good fun meeting we-only-meet-once-a-year friends after... well, a whole year. (Shame on us, we know.) Such meet-ups are definitely on my ever-increasing We-Should-Do-This-Again-Sometime To-Do List but whether or not that ever comes to pass is an entirely different thing altogether. (Oh, don't we all know that.)


But wait. Before you point your fingers and proceed to judge me, understand this, dear friends. What matters is the Intent and the Motive behind the Action. INTENT and MOTIVE. Remember that. And so you know, I've got those two down pat. *beams bangga-ly* Am now working on the Action part these days but am not making much progress, I'm sad to say. (Sorry guys, self-help just isn't my thing.)


ANYHEW... let's not focus on me and my going-nowhere self-help agenda. There are more pressing issues on the table. Today, I discovered that I am not alone. YES! *punches fist in air*


Was having a good chat with some old pals when talk of marriage and baby-making came up. (Don't hold us to it. We were just being typically female.) It was a topic of conversation that was bound to come up sooner or later, really. (Our biological clocks had begun ticking.) I just didn't expect it to come up as soon as it did. (Ticking fast fast summore, apparently.)

You see, we're barely 21 (oppose and I'll wrestle you to the ground before I shove a butter knife right up your nose) and we realised that most of our friends are either married, mothers or married mothers.

*blink blink*

So cepat, right!? Siao eh.
Wait for the rest of us laggards can bo? Ish.

This marriage thingy seemed pretty sudden to me, though. In 2005, I wasn't personally invited to any weddings. None. Nada. Zero. Zilch. (Those I attended with the parentals don't count cos I didn't have to fork out any money for the customary angpow.) In 2006 alone, the tide took a swift turn towards the positive and FIVE wedding invitations found their way into my hands. This year, I've been invited to THREE so far. Quite sudden, right?


And babies. Oh, don't talk about babies. I know a girl two years my junior who has two kids of her own and, mind you, the younger of the two is already WALKING! Another girl who sat beside me in Form 1 is currently pregnant with her second child, and this one girl who was on the Prefects' Board with me already has a 5-year-old to pat to sleep at night. Like hello, these people are not much different in age as I am, okay! Takkan I so lag meh?

*frowns*

So where does that leave us
band-less, baby-less folk?

Alone on the inside with nobody
on the outside – that's where.

It's people like us who end up sitting on rugs, sipping juice, eating moist chocolate cake and watching incestuous Indon dramas while griping about the unfairness of it all. Heck, we want kids, too! (*snicker* And here I was thinking I was alone in this craze for kids.)


And amazingly, we all agree unanimously when it comes to the perfect age for baby-having – 28 (for the girlies)! Ideally lah. That gives one just about enough time to date, get to know one's partner well enough to get engaged, plan a wedding, get married and enjoy a couple of relatively stress-free honeymoon years before being eternal slaves to the King/Queen in Diapers.

Good plan, no? Good.

*grin*

*blinks*

*frowns*

I so need to stop thinking
wedding bands and milk bottles.

*narrows eyes*

You should know that I blame all you
happily married 20-something-year-olds,
with (or without) kids in the backseat.

I. Blame. YOU.

*huffs*

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

Just realised something. Funny how there was no mention of The Husband throughout our orange juice conversation. Haha. We jumped the gun a little there. Maybe cos it's so much easier having a baby these days than finding a real good husband. Just maybe. *grin*

Raya Greetings

Dear Muslim readers (and all other readers of different creeds, ethnicities, types and colours known to mankind, who're simply enjoying the long weekend as much as I am *grin*)...

Selamat Hari Raya!

Semua jelak makan ketupat,
Cakap-cakap saling bersampat,
Tak kira berapa masa you mau jimat,
Jangan lupa untuk pandu selamat.

– pamsong, 13 October 2007

*blink blink*

Whoa. I can't believe that I still have it in me.
I! Still! Have! It! In! Me! UH-UH-UH! Terrorness.

I amaze myself sometimes. I really do. Haha. Berpantun-pantun summore wei. Unbelievable. I always knew that my baju kurung would peek out from behind my cheongsam one day. (Yeah. Right. Konon-lah.) China girl rhyming in Bahasa Melayu (Bahasa Malaysia?) here, yo. Dun play play. So muhibbah. Clap lah.

Pn Yeow would be so proud of me.

*beams*

If only she reads my blog. Dang.
SOMEBODY TELL THE WOMAN!

Diam Diam Ubi Berisi

Hi, guys! My apologies for the recent 31-hour hiatus. It wasn't deliberate, nor intended in anyway. I pwomise. Newer bluff you. Nevertheless... Ugh, you don't know what I go through to get online.


Being the brainiac I am, I brilliantly left my comp charger behind when I shut the door to my working life and dashed out to catch the Raya train. First thought: SHIT! How to blog lah now!? 5 days wei. Second thought: Noooo... I so planned on catching up with So You Think You Can Dance over the long weekend! Third thought: Uh oh. There goes my plan to get started on next week's jobs before Next Week hits. (I have no respectable priorities. I know.) So tension.


But perfectly on time as always, the never-say-die diva in me stepped up to the plate and worked her magic. In 31 hours, I discovered she thought me that plots, schemes and devious works have the ability to work wonders in getting me far, my way.

*evil glint in eye*

I shamelessly confess to having hijacked an iBook G4.

Tee hee hee.

So, yes. My little barely-a-problem problem has now been settled. Issue remedied. Tension dissolved. I am so very deliriously happy that I could giggle rays of sunshine and fart moonbeams. *blink blink* Gosh. Please tell me I didn't just say that. *groan*


Anyway, you should know that yours truly is now very comfortably seated on her bed with pillows propped up behind her, a comforter covering her shivering bits, her legs marvelously stretched out before her, and a certain seized technologically-advanced electronic device majestically sitting on a cushion on her lap.

Ahhh.

Here I am, back where food just appears on the table, beds somehow miraculously get made and water fills up by itself. It's a good life, my friends. A good life indeed. Stay tuned to find out if it's a good enough life for me to blog about. *grin*

How Are Your Eggs Today?

Had one of those nights yesterday.
It's another one of those days today.

Ugh.


--------

Colleague: How are you this morning?

Pam Song: *groan* My brains are still fried.

Colleague: Mine are half boiled.

Pam Song: Haha.

Colleague: Not yet masak.

Pam Song: Haha.

Colleague: I'm just going through the motions.

Pam Song: Ha... *cough cough* I see. *uncomfortable silence* I haven't even started going through the motions. *groan*

--------

6 hours to work. 7 JRs to respond to. 1 fried brain to rescue.

Sure. Die. This. Time.

Life's Too Short

Life's too short not to do some things.

Smell the flowers. Fly a kite. Count the stars. Watch the sunrise. Catch moonbeams. Race time. Do what you've always wanted but never dared to do. Cut class. Show up late. Steal a cookie. Speed. Play hard. Dream big. Be different. Smile. Take pictures. Shake hands. Meet new people. Visit new places. Try new things. Paint nails. Get haircuts. Take hour-long baths. Pamper yourself.

Life's too short not to know what you want.

Graduate. Be top of the class. Get that dream job. Climb the corporate ladder. Sit comfortably at the top. Find new associations. Keep old ones. Rekindle lost friendships. Find a man/woman. Fall in love. Stay in love. Get engaged. Plan a wedding. Get married. Buy a house. Build a home. Have kids. Retire young. Always have enough. Save some for next time. Have grandkids. Go for holidays. Be happy. Feel contented. Live happily ever after.

Life's too short not to live before
tomorrow becomes another Yesterday.

Let's Go Makan

Who decides who goes where to eat what
with whom when lunch break comes around?


-------

Colleague: Hey, what would you like to have for lunch? *without a second's pause* ManhattanFishMarket! *wiggles eyebrows*

Pam Song: *pause* -_- Why do you even bother asking? You don't even wait for me to respond.

-------


So, who decides?

The one who speaks first. That's who.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

I didn't come from an ancient lineage of primates. I don't have apes as ancestors. There's no monkey blood running through my veins. My brothers aren't baboons and I'm no chimpanzee. My cousins and relatives walk upright, and in spite of what the common folk may think or say, no gorillas live among us. I know so and I'm sure of it.


That being said, don't get me wrong, guys. There's nothing wrong with monkeys. They're as fine as they come – long limbs, hairy backs, pouty lips and all that. It's just that I'd rather have them in cages forests than have bits of them floating in my DNA. In deep, dense, forests of unfathomable depths, rather than messing with and dipping their opposable thumbs into my biological make-up.

I didn't slowly BECOME the way I am
over millions and millions of years.
I was MADE the way I am.

I don't mean to sound cocky, arrogant or conceited in any way; but really... I don't care if they say that Darwin was smart. I don't care if he was made famous by his Theory of Evolution. I don't care if he wrote extensively about it and published books and papers on the subject. He could have single-handedly planted the Amazon forest and resurrected the dinosaurs, for all I care. All that matters is that I know that the man was wrong.


To you, Darwinians, who believe in the gradual process of human evolution with the passing of many moons: I'm sorry but you're on your own, mates. For from monkey, I didn't come from; and a monkey today, I most certainly am not. Enjoy the evolution pie if you must. And go ahead. Have my share while you're at it. I ain't eating the stuff. I don't have to. I've got better things to chew on.

AAARRRGGGHHH!!!

I'm losing it. I'm losing it. I'm losing it.

I've got way too much work to do and way too little time to get any of it done within the specified time period. I so need to whip my thoughts together RIGHT NOW or I'll be a dead dog by morning. But (bad timing as always), unfortunately for me, my brain has officially gone into Sleep mode and I've begun spacing out, like, big time. In the last hour, I've given my comp more blank stares than smart lines or brilliant copy. Haih. Just chop off my fingers and take away my MacBook lah. Beh tong nia.

I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.
I shouldn't be blogging. I shouldn't be blogging.

I. REALLY. SHOULDN'T. BE. BLOGGING.

You Are My Salted Peanut

And I'll be your kacang masin.

Thank you. You never fail in making me feel loved.

*big big hug*


---------


FLASHBACK: Little Packets of Heaven

It's Complicated

Friendster has killed our generation.

No longer are our relationship statuses as simple as they used to be. No longer are we merely Single, In A Relationship or Married. No, no. Life's too simple that way. There are those of us who find ourselves in It's Complicated™ relationships, too.

For some, it's a highly complicated (and particularly painful) case of used-to-be-lovers-want-to-be-lovers-can't-be-lovers. It's sad but stuff like this happens sometimes. In fact, it happens all the time. Things happen, times change, and people drift apart. Difference finally takes its toll on the relationship and people who once promised to love each other entire lifetimes... eventually break-up due to environmental and emotional stress factors. That's the sad side to Friendster's It's Complicated™.


For another bunch of intoxicated smiley-faced Others, it's the supremely exhilarating, incredibly engaging and immensely thrilling more-than-friends-less-than-lovers territory they've stepped into. (Hopped, skipped and jumped into, more likely, if you ask me.) With that, they giddy-headed-ly long jump – olahragawati-style – their way into the arms of their It's Complicated™ lovers, with hopes of living happily ever after... till their happily-ever-afters come crashing in because of the commitment-less nature of their relationship, of course. Like long-jumping, there's always the risk of over-stepping that blasted white plank.

So, yeah. This is what I want to talk about today.
The more-than-friends-less-than-lovers people.
Friends with benefits, they sometimes call themselves.

But is there really such a thing? Aren't all friendships potentially beneficial? Aren't all friendships, at the very least, supposed to be? So isn't it redundant to say that? Or is it one of those little white lies people tell themselves? Perhaps to ease the pain of not being in a real relationship. Perhaps to pretend that they really can be fulfilled and be truly happy being with someone who wants them but doesn't want them enough to commit to them a hundred percent.

I don't know. But this I do know.

Not many women are able to be "involved" without being emotionally involved. Emotional attachment is unavoidable when there's emotional investment involved. And when any of the love languages come into play, there IS emotional investment. You may not share physical touch. You may not give each other gifts. You may not even provide any acts of service. But quality time set aside for someone is already a demonstration of love. And believe you me, it's especially difficult for us girls. We are emotional creatures who constantly strive to build and maintain the many relationships around us. Heck, even maintaining the balance between the relationships we share with the people around us is important.

So tell me.

How is it possible that a woman invest her time,
mental energy and emotion into a man without at least
wishing for more in return than just his friendship?

It isn't possible.

Not for women, at least. We're not capable of that. In fact, not many PEOPLE are capable of that... not that it's anything to be proud of even if they are capable of it, anyways. Oh well. To every man his own complicated relationship. May it bring them the kind of joy and fulfillment I'll never come to understand.

I blame Friendster.

Knock Knock

I'm not a big fan of knock knock jokes. In fact, I'm not a fan at all! I think that they're downright stupid and unbelievably juvenile. An insult to my intelligence, if I may say so. But this morning, I heard the BEST knock-knock joke EVER.

Person A: Knock knock.

Person B: Who's there?

Person A: Hitch.

Person B: Hitch who?

Person A: Bless you!

Please tell me you got it. If you tak dapat, read it aloud with the right intonations and be sure to add some expressive highs and lows in your voice. You'll get it then. If you still don't... uh, then sorry lah. Can't help you there.


But IF you got it... so cool, right? I laughed my head off when I heard it on Hitz.fm this morning. As always, the Hitz.fm Morning Crew was at it again lah. Haha. Those in the car next to mine must have thought, "What is that freak doin' laughing alone in her car?! Being stuck in a jam really so funny meh?" Haha.

Toothpaste My Toothbrush, Please?

Toothpaste on a toothbrush says a lot these days.

I mean, it's not just toothpaste on a toothbrush, okay. (Shallow, much? Tsk tsk. Shame on you.) Heck, it's TOOTHPASTE ON A TOOTHBRUSH for cryin' out loud! I mean, how often does that happen? Uh, I don't know... probably like, NEVER?! So yeah, when God-sent angels take time out from their busy schedules to come to spread minty, white gunk on my green toothbrush, it says a lot.

This pretty pea-sized smear of toothpaste says "I love you".

But wait! I'm not done.
Toothbrush wants her say, too!
She says, "I miss you."

Love Comes In Pink & White

Pink with a nice touch of fuschia;
white with a slight tinge of green.

Two flowers; two colours.

Two mortals; two lovers.

Two lives; one love.


---------

"Love is stronger than death, fiercer than the grave.”
– Author Unknown

. . .

"Death ends a life, not a relationship.”
– Robert Benchley

It Rains

...when angels cry.

*blink blink*

Oh my goodness, guys... look what I just discovered!

Interesting?
...The ego says, "Yes."

Female?
...Oh, most definitely.

Sexy?
...Not a word I'd use by choice but... close. Very close. =p

Fierce?
...Subject to debate, so let's get on with it. The floor's yours.

A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

5 pictures, 5000 words, and somehow... still so lacking.

-----------------
2 Timothy 4:7
-----------------

"I have fought the good fight,
I have finished the race,
I have kept the faith."

– New International Version (NIV)
Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Kill Me Now

When you travel, you meet lots of people. The nice ones you remember, the weird ones you never forget, the one-off oddballs who just don't fit into any regular Travel Remembrance Category, and of course... the kind *cough* ones who bring you back down to Earth to remind you why traveling isn't exactly everyone's cup of tea.

*in mock surprise* Oh, look at that!

That last one sounds so much more interesting
than the others I mentioned before them.

Let's talk about those people today, shall we?

I'm in a bus (again), making my way back to the heavenly place where family resides (again). And I have to say... I'm happy to be headed that'a way. But if I was to really come clean and be honest with everything, I'd tell you that I can't help but be a grouch and complain in misery right now.

Why?

Because lousy me just had to go choose seat 3D for the ride. Ahh, yes. 3D, the seat of all seats. But guess what? My brilliant choice had me sitting next to Mr I-haven't-had-a-bath-in-32-years. Perfect? NOT.


Listen to me for I speak the truth this time. The stench coming from the man is SO bad that I can tell when he sits up, lifts his arm, or even breathe, WITHOUT so much as a glance his way. I swear. (And I never swear.) The smell is THAT bad and THAT concentrated. Kau kau kit kit eh ah. And sure... sometimes I practice using my Literary License for an added dose of spice and aroma to the mix but this time, I promise you, I'M NOT EXAGGERATING. Not in the slightest bit.

Ugh. Talk about bad choices.
Of all the rotten luck. Bleh.

People with odours of any kind should be prohibited from utilising any form of public transportation services until they have officially been stamped "De-bau-ed" by the authorities. Otherwise, they can walk their way back to wherever it is they wanna go for all I care (which, if you must know, I don't). At least it stops them from killing the rest of us sweet-smelling / smell-free folk with their stink and making us want to stuff tennis balls up our noses and deep into our nostrils. Or better yet... rip our noses right off and permanently disable our highly-sensitised, acute sense of smell. Quick and painless – that's how it's done, guys. Quick and painless for very instant results.

*blink blink*

Gosh! What am I saying?

Ban the busuk, I say. Just ban the busuk.

Ugh. I think I need a gag bag.


-----------


NOTE: Post written three hours prior to publishing.

Say What?

My colleagues talk funny when they're hungry.

I can prove it.


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

Pam Song: Wah, very hungry lah.

Colleague 1: Yah. *with a straight face* I many hungers. I can give birth to many alien children.

Pam Song: *blink blink* Oh-kay.

. . .

Pam Song: Isn't he coming for lunch with us?

Colleague 2: Eh, he puasa lah.

Pam Song: Huh? Why? Not Chinese meh?

Colleague 2: Nope, he's half BM.

Pam Song: *blink blink* Half MALAY, you mean. *dies of laughter*

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

I can't believe that I work with these freaks.

EDIT: Eh, semangat-nye aku! Just realised that this post very kuat menjerit all the jinjang Hari Raya colours lah. *snicker* Check that out, man. My muhibbah spirit has reemerged once again. The true blue Malaysian returns. *beams* Learn a bit lah you all.

Mati Engkau Berdua

It's three in the morning. THREE.

I know I shouldn't be blogging at this god-forsaken hour but I just had to, had to, had to share the ultimate highlight of my night. Ladies and gentlemen; readers of all ages. I'd like to inform you that just two minutes ago, I successfully (and most gleefully) killed two love birds who were chirping waaay to cheerily for my liking (after tahan-ing in silence and extreme exasperation for over two hours, mind you). And, I DEFINITELY didn't like it at three in the morning.

DIE! DIE! DIE, you beastly brainless birdies!
(Oh, what a mouthful.)

*silence except for the click of my semiautomatic*

Ahhh, the perfect ending to an extremely long day.
I shall dream the sweetest of dreams tonight.

Mwahahaha.


---------

Do this to the tune of that teasing rhyme you so often quoted as a child (you know you did it) where where you name the two people in love then spell "K-I-S-S-I-N-G" at the end. You know? The "Abu and Adibah sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G" one. Do it! Do it! Do it!

"Two little birdies dead-under-a-tree,
Blee-ding so very pro-fuse-ly!"

HAHAHA. Happy happy joy joy.

*blink blink*

I'm sick.

Oops

I was wrong. Hehe. Somebody can. =)

Go Away

I'm frustrated as all hell. I'm in such a foul mood I'd scare even the ugliest of demons from the deepest pits of hell. I feel like crap; scum of the Earth. And nobody's gonna make it better. NOBODY.

-----------


My first two sentences just ended with "hell" but
whattheheck... I. DON'T. CARE.

So Cliché

Me.

Shocker, I know.

"How so?" you ask.

I say snowmen should only come with pointy carrot noses. That they can only wear black top hats and carry big ugly broomsticks. That reindeer can never come close to looking cute without red noses and goofy antlers. I say that bunnies should only be used for Easter, never Christmas. And that stick thin Santas are a crime to humanity.

Ugh.

I'm such a lousy, stereotypical person it shames me to look myself in the mirror every morning. Plus, it's doesn't help that my comfortable conventionality makes me oh-so... so... BORING. Aarrrgghhh, I'm so standard with my take on things that it kills me.

Time's Up

You know, sometimes I wonder why I'm here. Why I was born? Why did I come to be? And other than just being, what else am I here for? I eat. I sleep. I work. I play. I blog. I pray. I laugh. I cry. I love. I grow up. I grow old... and then what?

What makes a life count?

It's not my bank account, that's for sure. (Thank goodness it's not.) The number of boyfriends I've had or not had? Pfft. I don't think so. The number of friends I've got? Hmmm, now that's a thought... but nah, not so much either.


Maybe it's just in the simple things like saying ciak to my elders before I eat. And looking people in the eye when I talk to them. Or lending others my stapler at work. And never adding fake miles to my travel claims. Maybe it's smiling in response to smiles offered to me that counts. Or saying my pleases and thank yous, for that matter.

Can it really be that simple? Perhaps not.
I should start thinking things of substance.

Maybe it's how many times I've prayed for another. Or perhaps the number of lives I've helped make better. And the days I've in some way made brighter. Or the people I've somehow made happier. The burdens I've tried to make lighter. The friendships I've pursued and made deeper. By the simple fact that I've even bothered to myself in another. I don't know. Maybe.

So what else am I here for?
Not much, I can tell you that.

But I want so much more than "not much".

The clock's ticking and I'm not getting any younger. Time's slipping by too quickly and I'm losing my grip on Life and its reason of my existence. What if it all ends before I actually do anything worth mentioning to the grandkids? What if time comes to a standstill before I manage to make a difference? What if I die without having made an impact in another's life?

What can I do to really make my life count?

I can't tell you what because I'm not too certain of that myself. But this I can tell you... You've made a difference if your name finds its way into a friend's diary every once in awhile. You've made a difference if someone other than yourself has kept a picture of you. You've made a difference when your birthday matters and is remembered. You've made a difference when your name gets onto a Christmas shopping list. You've made a difference if you get free hugs when you cry and big, wet, sloppy kisses when you're down. You've made a difference if your Friendster/Facebook page gets checked more often than you check it yourself. You've made a difference when you get silly testimonials just cos you were remembered. You've made a difference if you've been tagged at least once in your life.

And you've made a difference
when what you write gets read.

Thanks for reading.

You help me know that I'm making
a difference, albeit one day at a time.

And that my life has already begun to count.

Bang Who?

Okay, this is gonna be a VERY long post
so you better make sure you're nice and comfortable.
Don't say I didn't warn you.

I know that writing this is so gonna make me sound like a pissy girl who's feminist to the core but I don't care. The feminist in me is dying to make her comeback anyways. What better time than this.


You see, I wrote a somewhat controversial post a few days back and surprisingly, it kinda struck a nerve with a highly-sensitive, male reader I have somewhere out there. I'm not saying who, but take my word for it, he's out there. Haha. The dude somehow or another managed to greatly misunderstand my post and left a comment the last time I wrote on the subject. (I mean, there were other comments also lah, but this is the one I'm choosing to respond to.)

BUT LIKE SO OFF LOR!

Okay okay, let me explain myself before you start pointing your fingers at me and saying that I'm pro-women-let's-kill-all-men like he seems to think I am (which, FYI, I am so not). My Bang Bang post was targeted at cheats (in general), NOT at MEN alone.


I started off the post with a statement of that nature because it was specific to a case I heard about the night that I blogged, where a man cheated on his wife more than a couple of times. That was what spurred off the post in the first place. Not like I suka-suka want to cari pasal. And if you had even bothered to pay attention, you'd have noticed that I went general after the third sentence anyway.




Only 30 out of the 350 words I penned. Come on, that's a measley 8.57142% of the total. Everything else goes both ways thereafter. General. NON-gender specific. Universal. I'm a pretty fair person (even if I may say so myself) and I know that women cheat, too. I'm not that dense or blind. That's why I even used this line:

And responded this way to your comment:




You yang terasa. Hah!

I demand a public apology for defaming me
so very UNJUSTLY and RUDELY on your site.
I'll be waiting for it. And you better make it good.

ROAR.

*cough cough*

Okay, now that we've gotten that part all cleared up, know that I'll be dissecting the comment posted above (in white) into smaller parts (perfect bite-sized chunks for those of you who lack the ability to swallow bigger concepts whole). And while I'm at it, I am going to make this as CLEAR and as SIMPLE as I can, okay, so listen up.

Part I: It's wrong to hurt your loved ones.

True, it's wrong to want to hurt our loved ones. But sometimes, we do. We're not perfect. We're not made that way, and that's what makes us human, after all. We say things we don't mean, we step on toes and we raise our voices at times. But the fact that the hurt comes from cheating is a BIG BIG no-no. And THAT is one "hurt" that comes with no ifs, buts and whens about it. In your words: "It's just wrong." There's no other way to make this any clearer.

Part II: Freedom of speech and action.

I'm wondering how you'll raise your child if freedom of speech and action is all you see and not the vice behind cheating. What about morals? And principles of right and wrong behaviour? And ethical value systems? If you even care for whoever it is who intends or is cheating, you'd tell them to get out of whatever it is they're doing ASAP. No good can come of it and if you're even the friend you say you are, you'd tell them the truth and alert them to the hurt this vice will bring them in the long run. Nobody can invest their hearts into two people at once. NOBODY. They're only silly enough to THINK that they can because the fact of the matter is this: they CAN'T. Somebody in the equation is bound to get hurt in the end.


And you ask: if somebody wants to cheat, who are we to tell them no? We are people who CARE for them and want what's best for them – that's who. And if you're equating telling to doing, you've got a lot of reading to do because that wasn't what I said or meant. It doesn't even come close. I said I will TELL. I didn't say I'd wrestle them to the ground and call the cops. There's freedom of speech on my part and freedom in action on their part. Fair. At least I'm not letting the people I love walk into the lion's den without giving them the heads up. If they're stupid enough to continue doing it, I'll still be there for them, to catch them without an I-told-you-so because that's what real friendship is about.

Part 3: No restrictions but don't
let me find out if it's gonna hurt.

WHAT?! How can you even possibly say that a relationship comes with "no restrictions". It's not possible. There ARE restrictions and there have to be restrictions because what you do inevitably affects somebody else. Your lives became intertwined when you decided to get involved with one another. What you do ricochets off your partner and vice versa. You are RESPONSIBLE for your actions because you are RESPONSIBLE for your partner and his/her feelings. And responsibility comes with a price. It always does. It comes with the price of doing whatever you feel like doing. The price of living like a foolhardy player. The price of living "free".


And the fact that you don't know about it doesn't change a thing. Just cos you do something and somebody doesn't tell on you doesn't mean that you didn't do it. And the fact of the matter is that DOING it is, in the first place, WRONG. No matter how you put it, cheating on somebody you say you love cannot be right. It takes somebody suffering from MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder) to even think that. Cheating on a test is cheating whether or not you get penalised for it. In the same way, cheating on a partner is undoubtedly and inarguably wrong whether or not your partner finds out about it.


And let me ask you this: would you want to be with a partner could be cheating on you? What happens to trust then? There's no value in trust anymore because trust isn't deserved. That means that trust is only another way to say "my eyes are closed to your infidelity". Is that the way it should be? What's the point of being exclusive with someone then? What's the point in committing your life to someone then? And when does it ever stop? Will it ever stop? This is ridiculous.

Part IV: My right to send the other person to the hospital.

Okay, this is another example of how ridiculous an argument can get when there's a self-serving bias (maybe?) at play. Like hello, the one who cheated on YOU was YOUR girl. How can you possibly penalise someone else for that? So what if he cheated with your girlfriend (keyword here: with)? He didn't do it alone. It takes two to tango and YOUR girl made a beeline into his arms. Maybe SHE pulled him into HER arms for all you know. Either way, the one who's answerable to you is not the third party but your partner.


It's funny why people do this all the time. This isn't the first time I'm seeing this. Are you guys really that blinded to the faults of your partners? I mean, people always assume that the one to blame is the third party. I don't. In fact, the one to blame is whoever it is who is the direct link between you and that third party. The third party wouldn't even be in the picture if your partner had the balls or the guts to stand up for your relationship and for what's right. If they even knew the value of what it is you both share, you wouldn't even have to worry about this kind of problems.


For instance, Boy A and Girl B are dating, much like Boy C and Girl D. Suddenly, Girl B and Boy C gatal and decided to secretly see each other behind Boy A and Girl D's backs. What typically happens when everything comes out into the open is that Boy A hates Boy C for fishing in his pond and Girl D hates Girl B for snagging her fisherman.

WRONG.

If you were even the slightest bit mature and rational enough to think about it from an outsider's point of view, you'd see that Cheater Girl B and Cheater Boy C had this golden thing in their laps called CHOICE. And to stress my point further, they CHOSE to cheat on their respective partners. Girl B should be Boy A's problem while Girl D should deal with Boy C. That's how it should work wat. That's how things like cheating should be dealt with. The cheater in the relationship is not the one who snags your partner, it's YOUR PARTNER. He/She is the loser you should be chasing with a shotgun.

So, who do you shoot?

Shoot your slimy, cheating,
worthless other half, that's who.

Bang bang.