Yummy!

Okay, I confess. I'm a lousy cook.

Somebody should slap the nitwit who said that french toast is easy to make. I once tried my hand at making them and this was what I got:


Looks not bad huh? Yeah, wait till you put it in your mouth. My dad straight away failed me, my sis looked at it sympathetically and my mum? Flat out laughed at it.

Of course I know what went wrong! Which idiot uses whole meal bread to make french toast! So anybody out there, please be reminded to use only SANDWICH bread for french toast. Please ladies, there is always another day for Atkins diet.

Frankie Magazine

The introductory line on its website says it all:
"frankie magazine is a national bi-monthly based in Australia, aimed at 20-something women (and men) looking for a magazine that’s as smart, funny, sarcastic, friendly, cute, rude, arty, curious and caring as they are."

If that didn't catch your attention then I guess you go for more action, less suggestion.


I first picked up this magazine in Popular bookstore in August, and I've been addicted ever since. It is so unlike any other magazines I have read before.

Its focus is on music, arts and craft, fashion, books, social events - basically a lifestyle magazine at the core. But with a twist.

You see, frankie is not like any other magazine. A perfunctory flip through its high-quality, creamy-white pages will give you an impression that it is bland. A closer look will slap you in the face for thinking that. No fancy boxes enclosing sub-articles, for there aren't any sub-articles to box up. Sans serif fonts. Squarish layouts. A picture on the left page, an article on the right. All this screams "PLAIN" in theory, but it is far from that.


The magazine relies heavily on pictures to have that "Huh?"-at-first-sight appeal. Other than that, the clean, crisp look offers nothing else visually. The very white palette, though drab, works really well in complimenting the cute, quirky, offbeat and sometimes kitschy pictures. The minimalistic approach of frankie is what makes it all the more attractive.

You can have a sneak peek of the mag at its website at http://www.frankie.com.au.

Popular (the bookstore) doesn't really like customers reading their magazines, so I haven't really had the chance to devour the ENTIRE thing. The most recent thing I read in it was about a dude stripping butt-naked to participate in the onsen, the popular Japanese tradition of communal baths.

Lane 6 was reserved for the for the physically compromised: the girl with childhood arthritis; the rotund, androgynous blob with inverted nipples; and me. None of us could swim 25 metres without clutching the side desperately, the way drowning people hold onto the floating debris of a sinking ship.

What?!!

As much as I want to have it, I can't bring it home. A quick look at the price tag reveals its exorbitant price: RM30.00.

That's as expensive as Vogue US!!


I swore to God that that was the last time I spend RM30 on a magazine after purchasing Vogue US September 2007 (a Herculean 840-page volume) with a useless Sienna Miller on the cover. And 70% of it were ads!!

Walls will fall if my mum ever sells it off to the newspaper dude.

God save the queen

I took this picture in Green Park on my way back from Buckingham Palace after catching the overly hyped-up changing of guards.


This was taken on a sunny, well-behaved day.


This photo, on the other hand, revealed how frigid typical London weather can be.

The changing of guards only takes place on alternate days, something we were initially not aware of. It took us THREE visits to finally witness the ever popular attraction!


They were playing their instruments to the tune of evergreen oldies like Abba's Dancing Queen and then some. You must be thinking, "Oh bollocks!!! Dancing Queen? Seriously?!!"

I KNOW.

Queen Elizabeth ll... DANCING?!

I Hate Prop 8

So it was approved.


Propositon 8 received a 52.1% 'yes' vote. Rejoice and mourn, whichever side you are. Me? I resign to the fact that "CHANGE!" has not arrived yet.

I was on a forum when I stumbled upon this. It's a satirical piece by Tyler Oakley on why some straight people insist that marriage be a privilege exclusive only to heterosexual couples.

1) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

2) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

3) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

4) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

5) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britney Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

6) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

8) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

9) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms, just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

I find the dark humour here to be bitter. I love its sarcasm, its way of scoffing at the idea that marriage should only be entitled to straight people.

I don't get it. WHAT IS SO GREAT ABOUT GETTING MARRIED? There's not gonna be fireworks exploding from the roof of your house every night after tying the knot. Nobody's gonna treat you with revered admiration at the sight of your wedding ring. And weddings? They're such a bore to attend. What do you get from a marriage? Apart from the stability and rowdy kids, marriage makes you mellower and fatter.


But I have an idea.

We should ban criminals from marrying criminals. Applying the general misconception that gay people are gonna produce gay children to this scenario, these criminals are just gonna produce juvenile delinquents after all. More rapists, robbers and killers.

And we don't need another Osama bin Laden on the loose, people. We need peace.

I'm a Jean-ius!

I went shopping for jeans the other day. Just jeans. Nothing else. Being so cheapskate, I generally have a hard time buying clothes because

1. They're too pricey
2. They're always an inch too small

Yeah I know, big is beautiful, but damn... it's hard. I'm too small to fit into plus-sized clothes, but then I'm too big to wear those barbie outfits they're selling everywhere these days. So that leaves me in limbo.

That's why I'm always in effing jeans and t-shirt.

Aaaah, God bless them t-shirts!!!! What on earth am I gonna wear if t-shirts never came around?


Never mind. I'm supposed to talk about jeans, anyway.

What startled me was the LENGTH of the jeans. Please, you expect every Asian girl to be 5'10" or what? Pffft... I'm Malaysian and truly Asian and let me tell you what, I'm at least 9 inches shorter than that. AND I'M NOT SHORT okay (stop laughing). I'm just petite. Heehee.

So in one or two days' time the jeans will make their way to the tailor's in Old Town, and have a few inches of cloth lopped off. No way I'm gonna pull a Katie and start folding them.


Yeah yeah I know, the look has been seen on Rachel Bilson, Reese Witherspoon and Lindsay Lohan, but I don't follow trends. NEVER. That's why I'm always in effing jeans and t-shirt.

But I DID go and get myself a pair of boyfriend jeans. Baggy, oversized, long, rugged - the epitome of men's sloppiness. Someone once said, every girl should have a pair of boyfriend jeans, just like how everyone should have brains.

Wow.... that means I must be having some brains.

If so, then I can't wait for Jessica Simpson to get herself a pair too.

Sunday = FUNDAY!!!

I seem to be a little torn between both sides of... myself. Part of me assures me that I can handle it well, the other part is convinced that it's spiraling out of control.

I'm talking about being a PC potato.


Now, I don't want to be Ms Obvious by telling you the definition of the term 'PC potato'. You can tell so well that the term was lazily ripped off from the famous-er 'couch potato'.

I've been practically rotting in front of the computer throughout the holidays. Not that I'm doing anything productive. Nope, not penning a novel here. Polishing my Photoshop skills? Nah. Oh no, haven't been trying to add my aunts on Facebook.

Sheesh, what have I been doing on the internet?

Slacking off, chatting, watching useless videos, downloading even more useless things, fussing over this thing and half-heartedly researching Gold Coast for my upcoming vacation.

YES, AT LAST A CHANCE TO LIFT MY BUTT OFF THE CHAIR!!!

Only to end up plonking it down again on the plane seat. But hey, nothing beats a vacay. And there ain't no internet in the wild ol' Australian outback. Just can't wait to get my ass there!!! Weeeeee!!!!!!!

Will I meet Hugh Jackman there? Or spot Nicole Kidman strolling on one of those golden Australian beaches on a beautiful Sunday with her beloved Sunday?


Oops...pardon me. And my sister is flying back on a Sunday too!!! I miss her so sooooo much. And she better put on some weight, cuz I'm gonna hug her SO MIND-BLOWINGLY TIGHT!!! (Ouch!)

Uncle uncle...

There was a time when my mum monopolised the internet. That I didn't mind, but what horrified me was she actually took to chatting with my friends on MSN Messenger! But my friends generally have been okay with having her around the chatting scene.

And it wasn't until the other day when I sat down and had a nice chat with Amira's dad, that I realised that adults too, can make quite engaging chat buddies.

Me: okay okay i shall slow down my frenetic pace
Me: and accomodate you...but u have to admit, i'm challenging you in a way, no?
Me: im pushing you just a little bit to type a little but faster
Me: to think a little bit quicker
Me: to cope with the unforgiving speed of today's cyber world
Me: okay im crapping
Me: u sure do take a long time to give a reply
Me: you're amusing!
Me: it's like im engaging in a monologue here
amira's dad: of course you do... cos y never gave me chances to reply... bz reading ur messages

The charming man even attempted a stab at sarcasm.

Me: what do you work as?
amira's dad: I m self employed... running a small bsnes
Me: oooh...
Me: in what field?
Me: sumtimes i wonder if you're there or not
amira's dad: not football field...
amira's dad: you really do talk a lot... i wonder how everybdy keeps up wt u...

Then he tried to throw back my line at me.

amira's dad: alo... wher r u?
Me: im here
Me: i said i was slowing down
Me: so dat u cud keep up

Of course, adults should teach the young a thing or two.

Me: i guess all kids find it amusing when they chat with someone much much older than they are
amira's dad: of course... one thing for sure... older people can always act like a kid... n no kid can ever act like an adult... that is the fun part...

He even taught me how to speak like an adult, then advised me against it.

amira's dad: u sounded so superficial... ther is no way that you can sound like an adult..
amira's dad: u really sounded like a model acting for an advertisment...
amira's dad: u sounded like selling smthng and reading frm a pretyped text...
amira's dad: you just need to be yourself... thats is the important thing...


Okay uncle...

LOL... he's fun lah. But I had to be so mean to him by telling him that "i endure such an arduous wait for your prized replies" because he was struggling to keep up with my babbling. Sorry!

Amira, your dad and I are so chatting again!

Olenjes!!!

I HATE ORANGES.


Despise them. Abhor them. Aggravated by them.

And I can't believe I just swallowed three pieces of them. Blueck. Blerh. Brrr. GULPS!

They're much better off becoming the next muse for a creative mind, instead of being consumed hesitantly thanks to dear mummy's coercion.

And what wonderful art pieces they make!









And with the touch of Photoshop, you get this:



So cute hor? So spare a thought for the creative community out there. As you have seen here, many many brilliant works of art can be produced from oranges. And compared to the REPULSIVE MUCKY crap that ends up in your toilet?

Tsk tsk tsk... not cool. Not cool at all.

Estrella

Alright people, this is an album review of Estrella's self-titled album released in December 2007.



At first I intended to give it a 2 out of 5. I wasn't happy with what I heard - shaky vocals, almost tuneless melodies, similar-sounding songs. I even fell asleep towards the end of the tracklist. I was close to dismissing it, until I gave it one more try (and made sure I had enough zzz the night before) and doi, magic happened.

I started to like the album. Now I LOVE it.

And now I'm hooked. Who can ever give the mesmerising Stay a pass? Or not relate to the lovesick lyrics in Ternyata? Once you've gotten to know the songs, it's sing-along time. And the lyrics are pretty easy to come off the tip of the tongue without much thinking. I can sing "My Morning" while memorising physics formulas! Maybe that's why I did so badly in the first place.

Just beware of the urge to throw away the CD after 2 plays. Play it 2 more times, and you'll find that the material here is not as bland as you initially thought. The thin, shaky vocals can throw you off too, but once you get over the fact that the lead singer might have snorted too much crack into her nostrils, it's all good from there.

PS: Right, I know I'll be thrown some flak for that crack thing I said, but really she sounds so... frail. Perhaps voice training would do some good.

Nailing the habit

The best way to stop biting nails is to put on some nail polish, right?

WRONG.

It doesn't work. I tried it, and those nice dainty pink colours never stopped me from putting my fingertips to my mouth. I think I've ingested some nail polish during my trying-to-stop-biting-nails-but-failed-pathetically period.

What to do? I'm an avid nail-biter. I bite for no apparent reason. I bite while I'm waiting, texting, watching movie, reading books, revising, doing essays, bored like nuts, thinking, panicking...

...I even bite my nails in the toilet. (I know, EWWW!!)



So I improvised a bit. I tried slapping on some black nail polish, and hey it works!! Yeah, for a week.

Then I ingested some more nail polish. Sigh...

My mum told me to dip my fingers into minyak cap kapak every morning, so that I would refrain from the habit. A good method that one, but what if I rub my eyes?

Gee, did anyone suddenly point a pepper spray at my eyes or what?

But I HAVE decided that this habit has SERIOUSLY GOT TO STOP. Because I love nail polish. And it sucks only having those 10 toenails as canvas. And longer nails scratch better than anything else in the world.

Nostalgia

The other day I was rummaging through my old collection of soft toys, trying to single out some for donation. The familiar sight of these old soft toys I used to cherish so much just ... gutted me.

Like. Damn.

It made me hark back to that distant phase in my life when all was fair and rosy, when everything was taken care of, when everybody actually gave me a break, when I could spill Pepsi all over my dad's trousers and get away with it.

That not-so-near phase when I knew ZILCH about s*x. Birds and the bees were literally birds and the bees. In a park. Flying around pretty flowers. Buzz buzz. Twit twit.

Now? WHOA.

Birds and the wha...?!! You don't need to finish the whole sentence to see that grin on my face. What's with me anyway? Why do I instinctively "zoom" to that thought whenever something suggestive creeps up?


Honestly I don't know. Perhaps in two years' time I'll stumble upon the answer.

For now I just have to accept the fact that whatever I have picked up can't be erased off the mind like some camera memory card.

Self-pleasure? Delete. Positions? Delete. Techniques? Delete. Sex toys? Dele...oh wait, I'll keep this in case some psycho sends me one.

Back to SOFT toys.

I used to be a huge fan of soft toys. They make nice boyfriends when you're small. Too bad I've left the whole soft-toy scene a very long time ago (which is a pity; I have the cutest plushies in town), but if you're a teen and you still adore soft toys, I guess they'll still make pretty nice boyfriends too.

1. They're ALWAYS listening to you.
2. They're ALWAYS staring at you. (It's all about eye contact, people)
3. They're not gonna talk about cars and football.
4. They're not smelly, sweaty, grimy and horny.


Sounds boring to me.

It's DEAD!!!

Today has been... an interesting day. At least I was out of my house.

I didn't go to school on last Friday, so I skipped the announcement of Monday being the start of the school holidays and like the blur case that I am, I sidled coolly into school wearing SCHOOL UNIFORM whereas others were comfortably decked in their jeans and t-shirts.

At the back of my mind, something said "Oh..."

But anyways, had a fun time whistling to the tune of Coldplay's Strawberry Swing while carrying bakau logs to and fro without running out of breath. Then proceeded to clean up the scouts den!

Chi Cheng showed a nice cute little bottle souvenir with (horrified GASP!) a DEAD COCKROACH inside!


Eeargh...no wonder I was the only one not hungry after the cleaning up. After seeing that thing?!! That, that... tha...

But the whole process was fun. I proved to myself that I could sew quite decently when I mended the torn "underflap" (underwear?) of the sofa. I mean, I've gotta at least have something to redeem myself here. I can't cook, I can't bake, I can't brew good coffee, I hate washing, absolutely detest waking up early and dislike sweeping/mopping just as much.

So sewing's like... my only "housewife-liness" forte. Cool.

Then came back, rushed like a dude trying to get his very pregnant wife to the hospital before the baby slides out and bammm...landed myself in Sri Thai Restaurant for lunch with the District Governor (District 3300). It was fun, hanging out with the BOD and the others. Food wasn't anything to shout about. Wasn't even anything to talk about actually. But I was like sucking up to the District Governor, asking questions and stuff and man...he's got real bright eyes.



He can't be wearing contacts, can he?

Helpless Newbie!

Right, so I've bitten the bait and plunged myself into the blogging world.

It ain't so bad, is it?

Plus typing is much, much easier than writing. My fingers press so hard on the unfortunate pen, that (gasp!) the ink stops flowing. How that happened, only Faber-Castell knows.

Shouldn't blame the pen.

You can't scold the worker who couldn't get a word out thanks to having a ferocious boss.
You can't hate the apple for turning bad due to the onset of oxidation.

The same way why my parents shouldn't reprimand me for sleeping up to 11 in the morning. It's just as normal for teenagers to sleep in as it is for rabbits to sleep around.

Anyway, I have been checking out some really awesome (alternative) music. Elbow, Be Your Own Pet, Nina Nastasia, Sandi Thom, Laura Marling. They create some really beautiful music that's really worth the price of the CD (or in my case, internet bills) and yeah, I should introduce some of them to you.

So, here I have included a video of Be Your Own Pet's rather rad single, Becky (from Get Awkward). Behind the rather sweet voice of the lead singer lies a deep hatred for an unloyal friend. Violent times call for violent ways, some say, and the back-stabbing prick got murdered by the angry betrayee.



And I just love how the name "Becky" was repeatedly behind the chorus.

I heard you talked a lot of shit about me
to your new best friend
Doesn't matter anyway, cuz I've got a brand new friend, okay
Me and her, we'll kick your ass,
we'll wait with knives after class!

But you know, I gotta say
I really loved going to your slumber party
It's too bad you got so lame
You told my secrets and it caused me a lot of pain

Now I'm going to juvey for teenage homicide
It'll would've been cool if you stayed by my side
And you know that you wouldn't have had to die,
but now every single night I cry

If only what you wrote in my yearbook was true--
then I wouldn't be stuck in fucking cell block 2
But I don't regret what I've done,
'cuz in the end, it was fun!