Work and Other Cheerier Subjects

I haven’t updated in a while, and I have a very good reason for it!

I’ve been sick of words.

Seriously. I started work last week, and it involved me reading up to fifty articles (that’s 5-0!) all in the same pompous academic tone, write the introductory chapter to the research paper in a similar manner (like an assignment, it’s upwards of 2500 words), and worse, editing a 10,000 word chapter written by somebody else.

Now, even though I am sort of a good editor (which is why I'm always made editor in college/ university), I actually hate it. I hate that people make grammar/ spelling/ punctuation mistakes, muck up their referencing, write non-cohesive paragraphs and/or incongruous content, and I am the one who has to straighten that mess out.

Let’s just say an editor is the equivalent of a cleaner/janitor in the supermarket. “Clean up in Paragraph 2, Sentence 3!”

The worst part? Right now I get sanitation engineer’s pay too. If I don’t get paid in the ballpark of the market value soon, imma find other clients—people who are a bit more generous to their employees.

That said, I hope my current employer is happy with my work. I worked hard. I don’t think people realise this about me, but I am sort of a perfectionist and/or obsessive when it comes to my work. It makes it a little harder and takes me a little longer than other people, I suppose, but I never really knew how to do a half-assed job. I tried several times to just let it go in university (when it came to assignments), but no matter how I whined and threatened to fail my course, I always ended up holing myself up in the room for upwards of three days, working feverishly from day to night to complete the (admittedly, one-month) assignment. So, I’m super happy to have completed this one, but…you know…it won’t be long till the next project comes in. I’m really gonna have a chat with that lecturer. Seriously. I know why other people charge 200 bucks per page.

In other news, I died watching Count of Monte Cristo. Having never read the book, the entire story was novel to me, and I enjoyed every moment, every plot twist, every deceit and syllable. Maybe I am too effusive with my praise—but really, it’s been a while since I watched an adventure like this one. I want more adventure! More tales with pirates and prisoners, swordfights and betrayals! Seriously, the way he went Black Ops is so freaking cool! And the scars on his back: jarring! And the last swordfight scene: wickedly epic! I really just needed to watch this kind of high fantasy storytelling.

Mood: Inspired
[Source: Anagram Bookshop Ad]

Blame it on the Estradiol

A study conducted by Dr. Kristina Durante and her team from the University of Texas at Austin found the following:

Women with high levels of an oestrogen known as estradiol:
1) look and feel prettier
2) dress more provocatively and engage in more thrill-seeking behaviour
3) reported a greater likelihood of flirting, kissing and having a serious affair with someone other than their primary partner
4) engage in opportunistic serial monogamy (i.e. open to affairs and moving on to a higher-quality mate should the opportunity arise)

Until I read that article, I had always blamed my inclination for having flings and jumping out of airplanes on increased testosterone levels…or maybe a lapse in sound mental judgement.

But now I can blame it on a female hormone—thereby making me feel less masculine and more in touch with my feminine side. My cleavage baring tops, my serial-dating…my vanity…I can blame it on Estradiol. Oh how I love new scapegoats!

Post-script:
Note to the boyfriend: Having done extensive research on the male population, I have concluded that you alone are the perfect one for me. So you can stop being jealous/upset/sad now! Mmmuahh!

Attractive Girls Union

This makes so much sense!

Guys, take note! As a member of the AGU *ahem* I cannot stress the importance of all the demands outlined by our Union Leader-Goddess.

Oh darn, they spotted my Uggs! Ruuuun!

Time Warp

There is nothing as pointless as 'Time Warp', that show on Discovery channel where they show things happening in slow motion. I mean, I like slow-mo as the next person, but...a whole show on it? Half an hour of slowing down drops of water or a slap across the face?

I'm guessing they had to pay for those expensive cameras one way or another and decided, hey! Let's make a show about it!

Gah.

Does My Head look Like a Zorb-ball?

'Coz it feels like one! Or rather, like a weighted one-tonne ball they use for demolition. You know that one? THAT'S WHAT MY HEAD FEELS LIKE! Ow.

Despite the fact that nobody likes a rambling sick person talking ramblingly about their illness, I am going to do so anyway. Besides, people probably don't understand the overwhelming urge for less-than-healthy persons to indulge in verbal diarrhoea. And since I'm ill and y'all out there are happy, healthy and wise, you can muster some sympathy and lend your ears (eyes) to my plight.

You know how when you're ill it's like you regress back into childhood and sometimes all the way back into babyhood? You're vulnerable and slow and dependent on others. You're given non-solids, like porridge (which I love) and sleep 16 hours a day. Actually, that's a lie. I sleep way more than that, once passing out for TWO days on my friend's bed because she had an electric blanket and my room felt like a freezer (Thanks, Az!). On top of that, your eyes are constantly teary and snot freeflows down your nose (too much information?). I wish this virus would just leave me alone.

Moving on. Why have I not been updating as of late, you ask.

1) I've been job-hunting instead.
It's been a pretty productive week or so. Thus far, I am focusing on freelancing, and thankfully I have secured TWO jobs now. Woop! I start Monday.

2) I've been procrastinating.
Self-explanatory. I'm the self-proclaimed Queen of Procrastination. I was only doing what I do best.

3) I've been doubting myself.
I wish I could attribute the recent hiatus in activity to writer's block (yes, that convenient scapegoat all writer's inadvertently blame), but I think I can be more honest than that. I can credit it to self-doubt. And fear. I have been paralyzed by the fear that I don't have any thoughts of importance. I doubted my own ability to string a couple of words together. Some of you must think, all this self-doubt over a blog? But it isn't just about the blog. It's about my personal project: a novel in the works. I want nothing more than to complete it.

The world is a strangely lonely place. Even with 6.7 billion people crawling about the planet, one can feel so isolated and detached. It gets even lonelier when even your faith in yourself leaves you.

So, I've decided not to be too harsh on myself. I'm not exactly sure how to do that, but the way I see it, I stand to lose more just being paralyzed by fear than if I just followed through and then fixed the faults. Also, emo-ness just doesn't become me.

And now, for some reason I think Red Bull might be the panacea for my flu. Mmm...Red Bull Bulleh! (Lol, the Malaysian tagline always cracks me up. Always.) Someone give me wings!

Star Wars: Retold

I love Star Wars.

However, I might just love recounts of the Star Wars movie(s) even more!

Here's one told from the POV of a (deprived) chica who has never seen any of the original trilogy but insists she knows the gist of it.


Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

I might just love what Joe did on Final Cut even more than the actual retelling. Yay for animation!

And here's a retelling of the first original Star Wars film (Star Wars IV) as told by a precocious 3-year old.



She is precious! My ovaries are singing praises!

Now where's my light-up sword?

Strawberry Swing

If this song was a tangible object, I'd totally do it. 

STRAW-berr-y SWING. 

Two delicious words. I love strawberries. I love the swing. Heck, I love to swing. Nah, jokes (or am I?) 

Rolling Stone pegged Coldplay's strange guitar sounds (unsure of actual instrument) as a 'North Pacific Japanese lilt' -- but all I hear is the enthusiasm (and influence) of the Irish in it. 

I feel like tap-dancing and whirling around giddily (kinda like how Kate & Leo did in that steerage party on Titanic). 

Yes, Chris Martin, it's such a perfect day! :)

Dancer in the Dark: The Tear-Jerker that Threatened to Wrench My Heart Clean out of My Chest

I love Bjork. I realise most people think she's a tad odd, if not completely off her rocker, but I love her for it! She is true to her art and has a style that is inimitable and completely her own. But I had pegged her as that artiste with the weird videoclips and haunting voice and certainly did not expect her to be able to act at all, much less in an emotionally demanding drama like the ones Lars von Trier is so renowned for.

Imagine my surprise when I saw her in this!

If you can't read this, you need an eye test. For reals.

She was able to capture the innocence and simpleness of Selma Jezkova. In fact, she was the embodiment of cute -- I wanted to cup her in my hands and put her in my pocket!

I bet Catherine Deneuve was thinking of the EXACT SAME THING.

I won't spoil the story for you -- I hope you'll find out for yourself. Be warned though, this is: 1) a musical; and 2) one of those movies which people either love or hate; no middle ground.

And now if you excuse me, I have to find the soundtrack to the movie.

Selmasongs: The soundtrack to Dancer in the Dark

Letting Off Steam

When upset, I pull up all the walls around me—a reflexive habit borne out of self-preservation to protect/hide my vulnerable state. I become hardened; cruel; impervious; reducing countless numbers of people to tears with my conduct, including my loved ones. Amendment: especially my loved ones. Among the unfortunates: my parents, siblings, ‘lovers’ (current, former or otherwise) and my closest friends.

They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—I think they meant me.

I transform into a merciless witch only because the alternative is (in my mind) an emotional wreck void of spine or pride. Once I give in, the floodgates open. And everyone knows (and by everyone, I mean myself, and of course, the Sex and the City girls) that once a woman shows her tears they are never again taken seriously. Tears are a sign of weakness, and the only way to avoid that discomfiture is by hardening one’s heart. I am much too proud to be seen as weak.

I realise I am ego-on-legs; the only time I met my match was when I dated a guy whose ego was as large as mine. That made logging heads resemble a WWF match, only I got the courtesy of a handicap (translation: I was allowed to hit, as long as it was above the belt). Verbal abuses flew from our mouths—I never knew I was capable of such vulgarity till then. We were a charming pair who loved as fiercely as we fought. Sadly, our brief affair couldn’t last—though exciting, it was too tempestuous; too volatile. The emotional drama proved to be too draining for me.

So here I am: furious and indignant with my current amour. He lies at the other end of the spectrum: patient and sensible, allowing me time to cool down when I’m being ridiculously hot-headed. I am the little kid who needs time-out to reflect on my thoughts and actions, and he knows it. Even as I write this, my umbrage melts away into something akin to shame.

In the light of sobriety, my initial thoughts/reactions—ignore him for a week, never pick up his calls, give him the wintriest of receptions if I do pick up, break it off—are revealed for what they truly are: IRRATIONAL.

I suppose I will pick up my phone when he calls. I might even sound happy.

Design Spotting

Patricia Urquiola's Lazy Night Bed -- I WANT!

CB2's cheaper alternative -- I'm really into these double headboards!

B&B Italia's Maxalto Armchairs

I love these so much I want to take it behind the middle school and get it PREGNANT!

I suppose I'll either have to get a job which pays ridiculously well to fund these purchases, or...marry up? Maybe Oprah will take pity on me.