profile Firmly believes in life after death. Secretly addicted to Gossip Girl & ATNM (oh, the shame). Finds painting own nails therapeutic. Takes an eternity to make a decision. Likes to swim. Fancies self as seasoned chef in manner of Masaharu Morimoto. Hates driving during rush hour. Feels happiest waking up to bright sunny mornings. Is afraid of cockroaches and balloons. Dislikes awkward silence. Buys too many dresses and not enough comfortable shoes. Is convinced that people only appreciate what they have to work hard for. tagboard archives February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 August 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 skin by: Jane |
Thursday, November 13, 2008 @ 11:29 AM
Work The world judges you by the size of your bank account; but God judges you by the size of your heart. So the lady keeps emphasizing throughout the house interview with the TV crew I was with. I catch Micholl rolling his eyes slightly as he adjusted the lady's hair from behind her. He sees me looking at him and tries to hide a cheeky grin with his hand. I rest my arm on a gold, Versace-clothed antique chair and shift my weight from one leg to another, careful not to knock over the porcelain flowers sticking out of a gold-trimmed, hand-painted vase right next to me. I don't know about the size of this lady's heart, but her bank account has to be about the size of China for her to afford all these extravagance in her house. Louis Vuitton bedsheets and curtains for her daughter who's studying in Holland (thus the luscious sheets remain unused), Burberry clothes and nursery room for her 10-month-old son (who's a wide-eyed darling in his adorable Burberry-checkered pants), at least 6 humongous oil paintings of her in glamorous poses scattered throughout the living room, an unsmiling bodyguard and personal assistant clad in impeccable Burberry suits, a make-up artist and female companion constantly at her beck and call. There is no doubt she has enough money to feed a small nation, but the way she was displaying it while feigning humility is... crass, to put it politely. And even though we were there to do a TV interview with her on how she became the CEO of a successful beauty product company, I was more intrigued by how she changed her shoes thrice in a span of 20 minutes (YSL, LV and YSL again). Until she asked her assistant to bring out an armload of portfolio files and painstakingly went through every news clipping/magazine feature that has a mention of her name or a sliver of her heavily made-up face on them. I swallowed a groan and stepped outside for a breather instead. I sat down at the front steps facing this ridiculously long limousine and stretched my arms, sighing audibly. It's been a very long two days of filming and travelling, and even with the best efforts we were still way behind schedule. Are you tired, Cindy? Micholl came up from behind me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. A little, I managed a weak smile. But it's not a problem. It's He tilted his head toward me sympathetically. I couldn't get past how immaculate his foundation is all the time, and how his eyelashes are always perfectly curled. I resisted the urge to ask which mascara brand he uses. The director yelled for Micholl from inside. He gave me one of his trademark big grins and bounced off to the shooting area, flashing me a glimpse of his lacy hot pink undies from the top of his low-waist skinny black jeans. I let out a chuckle despite myself. And away from the chaotic filming action, I'm left alone with my own thoughts, wondering for the millionth time if this job is what I really wanted in the first place. But that's juz extreme fatigue talking. I know I'll be fine after this assignment is over and I don't need to get home at an ungodly hour anymore. Until the next assignment comes at the end of this month and bowls me over with regret for ever joining this company. Friday, November 07, 2008 @ 5:25 PM
My Second Dad Was watching Chuck on Starworld at my brother's new place in Puchong when my phone rang . It was an SMS tone so I ignored it for the time being. Brother kicked my handbag lying at the opposite end of the couch he was lazing on closer to him and proceeded to grope for my handphone. Me: Excuse me???? Brother found the phone and started checking my SMSes. Brother read out the message. "Clubbing tonite at Quattro. Avenue K." Me: Hello!! That's private! Brother ducked with unexpected speed as I tried to snatch the phone away. Bro: Clubbing?? Brother raised one disapproving eyebrow. Me: It's not what you think. Bro: How old are you wor, go clubbing... Me: Uhhh, 24!? Way over the legal age!? Brother continued to go thru my other SMSes. I decided to let him until I remembered boyfriend's mushy SMSes were still in there. Grabbed the phone abruptly, only to find that he's sent a reply WITHOUT MY CONSENT. Me: WHAT DID YOU REPLY??? Brother gave a sly grin but did not say anything. I checked the Sent Messages Inbox. He'd replied the friend with a big, capitalized NO SORRY. NOT TONIGHT. I glared at him. Me: How can you decline that way!! You completely humiliated me. Brother remained quiet, a self-satisfied look on his face. I stared at my phone, trying to figure out a damage control plan. Bro: Don't go clubbing la. It's stupid. Me: I wasn't planning to! Bro: Ya, so the SMS was a random thing. Me: No, it's juz this ex-colleague who's in town for the weekend and... grr YOU JUZ RUINED MY REPUTATION. Bro: Whatever. It's 10 already. You should go back and sleep or you'll miss church tomorrow morning. Me: Arrrggh---. @ 4:12 PM
Sleepless Half past midnight and my mind is on crack. Bossy jap clients changing their plans and demanding more freebies, reluctant sponsors giving half-assed efforts and pacifying replies, temperamental colleagues throwing explosive tantrums and bawling their eyes out in the middle of meetings. Even in the dead of the night I could hear the lady boss droning on and on in her unusual Kansai accent about work and what needs to be done . She has a way of talking with an expectation of a physical/verbal response from you every few seconds throughout her one-sided conversation. Especially tiring when you have the additional task of keeping the both of you alive while weaving through the wildly congested traffic in KL city. The consistent ticking of my egg-yolk-colored alarm clock whirled me up further instead of lulling me to sleep, bringing to mind the frustrating phone conversations I had throughout the day. Everyone is a friend until you need a favor (or sponsorships for your over-ambitious clients). Even as I stare at the boyfriend's calm, sleeping face I couldn't stop the irritated sounds from the next cubicle at work breaking the peaceful quiet; the stressed-out (from work? from home? who knows?) colleague that bangs her mouse on the desk audibly when her computer takes a second longer to load, slams the phone receiver down in the middle of heated negotiations with suppliers, makes unnerving tsk-ing sounds from the corner of her mouth that indicates she's on the verge of reaching her crazy everything-also-i-have-to-do-i-am anger zone again. Takes walking on eggshells to a whole new level when she's in that bitter zone. And as I laid a hand over his chest, heaving up.. and down.. rhythmically, I couldn't block out the constant complaining and bitching that is constantly present no matter who I talk to in the workplace. Lady boss is an inconsiderate, selfish... woman who's always out to reduce the mileage claim rate. Colleague A is the biggest kaypochi in this side of Bangsar. Colleague B is incompetent, which is why she always breaks down when it's crunch time. Maybe it's just idle banter, or maybe they just need to vent. I pressed the light button on my clock. 2.35am. I just want to fall asleep. |