May 24, 2006

Exam Time Fun!

You know you’re losing it when…

1. You put shower gel in your hair as opposed to shampoo

2. You walk out of your house to the library with your bedroom slippers

3. You walk out of your house to the library in your pyjama bottoms

4. You wear your shirt inside out

5. You pay for shopping with your NUS card

6. You use your bank card to get into the library

7. You get immensely annoyed at that ANNOYING TWAT GIRL sitting next to you in the SILENT READING ROOM yakking away to ANNOYING TWAT GIRL’S mate and then eating food and having the window WIDE OPEN when it’s –394723498203 DEGREES OUTSIDE so much so that you want to rip your own arm off and beat her with it (but obviously it’s okay if you chat to your mates and eat food and have the window open if you’re hot, duh)

8. You actually try this 4 hour sleep cycle pattern bullshit (due to rather recent experiments (i.e. last night/this morning), the author can safely conclude that it is, in actuality, a crock of shit)

9. You can’t spell anymore and temporarily develop mild dyslexia

10. “Rape” or “shafted” are your new favourite words. For example: “I just got absolutely raped in that exam, [insert lecturer’s name here] totally shafted me”, or “exam was awesome, I totally raped it.” (unfortunately author has not used latter phrase as of yet)

11. You try to cook something without turning the fire on

12. You go to your seat in the exam hall with your notes still in your hand until you’re politely reminded by your mate that “er…should you be taking them to your seat?” No.

13. You put milk into your green tea

14. Despite planning desperately ahead, you still somehow end up with only 7 items for the 8–item Rootes breakfast (and still don't know how or why)

15. You set 39810934734027 alarms but still can’t sleep in the fear that they will not go off and you’ll miss your beloved exam

16. You look more rough than an old man's wrinkly bottom (and every day is bad hair day)

17. You’re about to put your toothbrush in Vaseline thinking it’s toothpaste

18. You get lost in the library (the SRR is a fucking maze)

19. You love the fact that it’s wonderful weather (i.e. pissing it down) so no one can go out and play because you can’t either (“if I’m going down on this sinking ship I’m bringing everyone down with me” motto innit)

20. You get totally soaked trying to get home due to abovementioned wonderful weather and realise that you had a brolly in your bag all along

Hmm. More?

Obviously, I’m not losing it as I’ve done none of the above.

P.S. Happy Birthday Els xxxxxxxx


December 22, 2005

Time to Sort Out My Life (Part 1)

So it has kinda hit me that a) I’m in my final year and b) I need to start thinking about jobs and c) I don’t want to go home home.

Being at home home for the last two weeks has made me realise I don’t belong here. Either that or I’m not ready to come home just yet. As much as I love seeing family and friends and eating amazing food and buying lots of cheap stuff I feel I have unfinished business to attend to first.

So anyway I have written (well okay typed) a list of possible options which I could do in order to stay in the country. Any other ideas (be it stupid or actually useful) are encouraged and welcome.

Winnie’s List on How to Stay in the Country:

1. Get a job. Obviously the most direct and logical solution to problem. However whilst it’s all fine and dandy, people do not seem to realise that a) it is very very difficult for foreign people to get jobs especially because of work permit issues, b) the foreign people who do get decent jobs here are basically brilliant and wonderfully clever, which, alas, I am not, and c) (somewhat related to previous two points) I need to actually GET the job first as in pass an interview (that would be a miracle).

2. Get any shitty job. Pub job. Sex job? But coming to think of it I don’t even think that will work because will need work permit and hence same problems as in 1. So maybe scrap this point.

3. Live illegally by living in [insert nice person’s name here]’s wine cellar/basement. Now I would probably have said Niamh’s wine cellar/basement (the light of my life…choke choke cough cough) but the thought of Niamh owning a house at this point in time, which actually includes a wine cellar/basement is actually inconceivable to one's right mind at the moment. Considering that I make fun of her being a hippy who lives in a trailer. And trailers do not have wine cellar/basements And the fact that I said I’ll build her a house so she doesn’t have to live under a bridge. Could get any shitty job as in point 2 but if I’m planning to become a millionaire by the time I’m 35 this isn’t really the best way to start.

4. Take full advantage of the ‘Science and Engineering Graduate Scheme’. Just came across this and it totally made my day. Note to self must find out more about it. However it’s only for a year. And the last time I checked a year does not equal to FOREVER. But I guess I can buy some time with this little baby.

5. Actually graduate so can take advantage of above points. No wait, actually DON’T graduate! Aha!

6. DON'T graduate i.e. fail year or find excuse to repeat year and/or degree. Solution however is, once again, short term.

7. Do another degree. In what though? Hippy studies?! And where? And I’ll be old!

8. Obtain a British passport illegally. Any ideas how to go about this?

9. Fake death.

10. Become asylum seeker. (Thanks Loser for reminding me)

11. (Level of desperate-ness increases exponentially with this and forthcoming points) Find rich man to marry (sex and children NOT part of deal, will live in separate housing and have separate lives), then eventually divorce and run away with all his money. If can’t find rich then any decent man. If can’t find any decent man then any man. If can’t find any man then, well, er…..AHA! Civil partnerships have been implemented as of 19th December….

12. Find rich woman to marry (sex and children NOT part of deal, will live in separate housing and have separate lives), then eventually divorce and run away with all her money. If can’t find rich then any decent woman. If can’t find any decent woman then any…..oh wait. Actually need first to find out if being in said civil partnership enables me to stay in country, because if not scrap this point.

13. (ABSOLUTE last last last last last last last last last last last last last last last resort) Consider being mail order bride. I actually cringed when I typed this. Oh. Dear.

Okay stupid ideas and pointless rambling over. I’m off to go swimming in the moonlight.


September 20, 2005

I [Heart] Karaoke

Karaoke is awesome.

The story beings like this: I never, NEVER was a fan. In fact one might say I somewhat despised it. I could think of nothing worse than going up and singing a song (badly) while everyone looks at you and ducks for cover. You know how it goes. You’re in a Karaoke lounge (or anywhere involving karaoke) and someone is trying to sing Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. And hits a bad note. As in reeeeallly really ridiculously badly. So bad your ears hurt and you cringe. You may even squeeze a few tears out. Well, exactly. Imagine if you’re the one causing the suffering. Would you really want to do that? Would you? Would you really want to cause that much extra suffering in the world? I think not.

But now, as I’m older and a little bit wiser, a bit better looking (with nicer hair), I have had a change of heart. After been dragged along to Karaoke with mates, I decided okay, the only time I’ll sing is when I’m drunk so that even if it’s bad, who the fuck cares because I’ll be drunk drunk drunk. Sort of the same line of thinking with me and dancing. So then I sat and I got drunk. And then I sang. Then I realised it got to be well fun. Where else can you sing Kylie’s Love at First Sight jumping and prancing about? Or Spice Girls’ Who Do You Think You Are? My favourites. It’s well fun.

Then as the Karaoke-attending sessions increased exponentially, my paranoia about what other people thought of my singing decreased slightly. But the beauty of it was that I wasn’t really standing and singing in front of loads of people. Some genius built a place whereby you get your OWN room. That’s right. So you have your own TV, and mics and you can sing whatever the hell you want in front of your mates. And a fancy smancy system where you can select via remote control your songs by artist, genre, title, top 20 or language. And personally I would rather sing like a dickhead in front of my friends as opposed to random strangers.

As I write about my newfound love for karaoke I have mental images of stupid Niamh prancing around singing Blondie or Alanis or whatever rubbish she likes. And flicking through the list of songs and then screeching OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SONG!!!!! And then playing it 932094839 times for her to sing and for EVERYONE ELSE TO SUFFER. And Holly shutting her ears with her hands with a constipated look combining utter embarrassment, suffering and non-physical pain, then trying to bury her head into the couch ostrich-style the minute we sing Toxic by Britney. And Beerface singing like she’s the next American Idol. And then everyone singing “Theeeese Words are my own…………..I love you I love you I love you I love youuuuuuuuu”.

But really, it is actually, honestly great fun. I was never much of a singer, but with karaoke it’s just…great fun. I now know the next time any foreigner steps foot on my turf, I’m going to take them to a karaoke lounge. And even if you don’t sing, you can sit and drink and watch your friends either make twats of themselves or momentarily believe they have the potential to be the next Whitney Houston. And anyway, even if you suck, practice makes perfect innit.

Think about it, where else can you:

– Get 10-minute long Chinese songs, which, of course you have no idea how to sing it so you just watch the video (they actually all sound the bloody same);

– Sing Spice Girls or Britney without feeling ashamed;

– Sing in front of your friends only and not strangers;

– Pretend you’re singing with the whole group but really, you’ve turned the mic off;

– Be Gloria Gaynor for the moment singing “I Will Survive” (body language and hand actions included);

– Make up lyrics to songs on the spot, for example: “My loneliness is killing me, I must confess, I’m so horny (so horny), When I’m not with you I sleep around give me a sign…..hit my booty one more time”;

– Watch cheesy karaoke music videos;

– Have Eminem songs (no joke, try and rap a whole Eminem song, it’s classic. The best I could do was “Just lose it RAHRAHRAHRAHRAH, just lose it RAHRAHRAHRAHRAH”);

– Get Crazy Frog karaoke (no joke, bloody easy, just follow the words Ding ding dingdingdingdingding beep beep or whatever shit it is)?

Only. In. Asia.

This is the last entry of the Asian Diaries Summer 2005. No more karaoke for another 3 months. Goodbye forever.


August 18, 2005

One Year On…

For a while I've been wanting to write about my rather rollercoaster-like turbulent (to say the least) academic year. There have been fantastically high times, ridiculously unbelieveably low times and everyday has been a challenge in so many different ways. I am such a different person now in so many ways. Only now that the chaos is over (for now) and I'm safe at home can I reflect on what has happened over the last year.

I was actually contemplating writing about my entire life story for the year. Then I thought, well everyone says I'm always so pessimistic and negative blahblahblahblah. So you know what? Forget all that "bad" stuff. What I've done here is tried to summarise up all my high points of the year into words, sentences and phrases. I've done it in some sort of chronological order, and I know I've missed out on lots more which also got me to realise that even when I was feeling the downest of downs there were still so many amazing, hilarious and great things that happened and picked me up, so many that I can't even remember them all to put it here and bore you all to death. DEATH I tell you.

This is for those who have been part of my life for the last year, espeically the "new" ones. I know it looks rather long, but "HAVE SOME PATIENCE THIS IS NOT ASIAN BOOT CAMP"

Part inspired by my drunked darling in Melbourne (thanks for doing one yourself and hence reminding me to do mine), I present to you, without further ado:

The Highs and Highs of Winnie

“Er…” (I thought it was most appropriate to start with this) • Laughing till I am ACTUALLY crying • “Arsenal and Eminem? I guess that means you and me will never be together” • Bathroom antics • Birds • I'm Batman and you're Robin LOSER! • Sunday nights in Bar Leam • KAKAKAKAKAKAKA • Keyboard banging (and lots of it) • Sheep Mary with dog as baby Jesus • “I’d dominate you into dominating me”• I’m going to BRICK you” • "You’re giving me a headache” • OMAG • “Have you got any Vaseline Winnie?” “You ask the same fucking question EVERYTIME you’re here and EVERYTIME I say NO I don’t so stop asking if I have any fucking Vaseline for goodness sakes” (Next time) “Have you got any Vaseline Winnie?” • Kelsey’s lock-ins • Screeching • “You really make me want to bang my head against a brick wall” • Soil vs. Arty Farty? • “Okay I’ll make out with you, but I’m not going to fuck you, got it?” • “You pulled the other guy too” “Er….no I didn’t!” “Er…yes you did.” (I still maintain I didn’t) • The Charmer

New Years with the “Bristler” • Joe. Stripping. Britney. Dance. Chairs. • More beer to cure hangover • Port and parma ham • Drunkard in the back of random truck…still don't remember? • Walking around aimlessly • Feeding the ducks • Burger King will always make me laugh • Hungover and braless in jogging bottoms at Birmingham International • Have some patience!!! This is not Asian boot camp!!

Hair straighteners • Nodding dog • “Oh, no” • The Stud • Goodbye (forever) • “She’s fat and ugly anyway” • “Good morning Winnieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” • Mail order brides • “The funniest girl I’ve ever met” • Tarsus man + Free food and whiskey • Nodding and pecking • Dawn French and Asian Saunders • "Come on then, let's go and pull!" • Cramped in the taxi boot on the way home from Brum

Valentines day BONUS • Half a bottle of Gin + Few vodkas = Awesome night • Pole dancing with drinking partner

The new laugh: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! • Choking on hairballs • “What song is that?” “It’s Rage Against the Machine.” “Oh, I thought it was Three Blind Mice.” • Pasta bog (Winnie style) and garlic bread • Tied together with security tape • “Is it because I’m Asian innit” • “Not my cup of tea”

Bournemouth to meet the “in-laws” • “...and this is the Asian maid” •
“Oh I love your dog, she’s sooo sweet” “Yes Winnie, I’m sure she is but you can’t eat her for dinner”

Minibus ParTAY • Shit mix • Lost and drunk (AGAIN) in Lakeside • Beerface

Passport • Giving birth to fruit • Brain deterioration • The Asian GANGSTA • DRAGON! • Two double dates • Scar or fat roll? • B52’s • Man of the match • "Where's the nearest hot dog machine?"

Special brownies, "Can you overdose on them?" • Moo Moo • “Sooo…is it love?” • “Smell my neck! It’s not perfuuume, it’s ME! It’s my natural scent!” • Friends Season 5 • Tom foolery • Lab JACKET • Roast dinner for 8 • Roast dinner for 2 when still stoned

Asian surprise birthday • Dog for dinner • Scary Geisha • Moet and Chandon

I’m DANGEROUSLY IN LOVEEEEEE with you!! • Library “revision” • Library fines for talking • “My crazy gran hates you….but don’t worry my normal gran loves you”

“Hi babe how was work? Shhh I’m on a mission” • The Pocahontas Skirt • “It’s a race! I’m in a race!” • “YOU SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT A SQUIRREL” • DJ SuperFLY • Whose breasts are bigger? • Food “missions” in Claycroft • “We’re a trio now” • Jump into my bed and wake me up why don’t you • crycrycrycrycrycrycrycry • Stud Muppet


August 02, 2005

Stories For Your Grandchildren

Oh the joys of being foreign.

You spend your early teenage years wanting to get away, get out. You hate the people, you despise how superficial they are, how they overlook you because you’re not good looking, not quite good enough for their (low and irrelevant, as you later discover) standards, you don’t really stand out. The occasion class clown, the silver medals but never gold. You sit and look back, wow, no wonder you had such low self esteem. Your surroundings really didn’t do you any favours.

Then your chance is here. Your ticket (literally) out of here. You end up in a new country, different people, different surroundings. You still have the superficial knobheads prancing around, but hey, you’re going to get them anywhere you go. But something is different. You’re finally detached from what you know as home. You’re away from the parentals, the judgemental family and “friends”.

Suddenly you’re content and happier than you’ve ever been in your entire life. New friends, new life, new you. For once in your life you can actually be yourself….a little bit more. People actually get your sense of humour. And of course there’s alcohol, the drunken escapades which will remain in your memories forever, the first thoughts of your rebellious youth when you’re married with kids sitting in your posh office smoking a cigar. Stories to tell your grandchildren!

Then it’s time to go home for the holidays. The last thing you want to do is go back to all that you think is wrong and bad. You step off the plane, walking through the airport, and already, 20 mins after you land back to your land you’re annoyed and irritated at the people. The rest of the holidays are spent you being grumpy and wishing you were back at university with your mates and your pint.

This cycle repeats every holidays. Until, you go back one time, you’re a different person. You’ve grown a little over the last 2 years. You begin to realise, hey, home isn’t so bad after all. You spend time with your family you once despised due to youth and immaturity. You reignite friendships with your mates you’ve neglected. You make the best out of you being home, because the memories you share will last forever. Things will never be the same again.

Then, something happens, the big bang, where you get totally fucked over and you’re totally alone. Then you can’t wait until you go back home next, to the security of your family and home comforts. You may even shed a tear when your plane touches down on home soil. You suddenly forget all the little shits and mosquitoes and scary thunderstorms and everything else that you hate. Because it doesn’t matter. You’re home and safe away from the evil.

And with what you know as home you have your family and friends there for you, to keep you distracted happily. So you’re going through a rather, bluntly put, shitty time, but hey, you’re not alone at home.

You fly back with some of your pride restored. You’re ready again to take on whatever shit is thrown at you. Along the way you meet new and wonderful people.

You look back and wonder where the time has gone, and how your views and preferences have changed. What happened? You just grew up, accepted a few things, let others go, and now here you are.

———————

Sometimes I wish I could just totally prefer one place and totally hate the other. It would make things so much easier. It’s always a nicer thought to keep the good memories and forget the bad ones.

———————

So I’ve been asked many times what I want to do after I graduate. There used to be a time where I immediately replied “I want to stay in England and work, no I don’t want to come home, my life is there”. But now it’s different, because in the last year I have realised home is not so bad after all. I still maintain I want to stay in England after I graduate and get a job. But as we all know the chances of me getting a job are slim and if I’m screwed I have to go home.

I’m still going to be the girl who gets riled up and irritated by an obnoxious kiasu twat 20 mins after landing. I’m still going to be the girl who shouts and swears at the bastard drivers. But I’m still going to be the girl who will wish for the security and amusement of 10–15 close family members in one room eating good food and arguing. Surrounded by kids, grandkids, uncles, aunts, cousins. Family the Asian way, the only way I would want it. And I’m still going to be the girl who will love partying until 3am, then going for mamak (food) and crawling into bed 5–6am after making sure all friends have gotten home safe.

It’s so confusing. There’s so many pros and cons about both places and I love them both equally. But there will come the time where I will have to choose one, or one will be chosen for me. And that thought alone scares me, and upsets me.

It's sad isn't it. How easily we take things for granted. All the stuff you get up to, with or without friends and family, one day it'll never be the same. One day they will all become only fond memories, and stories for your grandchildren.

This blog is for the one who left me behind with our Pimp Daddy and a KFC-filled belly. Thanks for the memories and my sanity.


July 10, 2005

Liquid.

So last night I was dragged to this gay bar called Liquid (or LQ to those regulars). And when I say gay, do I actually mean GAY. GAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAYGAY. I’ve been there once before last year. And then I remembered why I found it so bizarre. I have never ever been surrounded by so many gay men in me entire actual life. I almost actually felt like strapping my boobs up and stuffing my pants to be “one of the guys”, so I could fit in. It was actually unbelievable how many gay men there were.

The club was actually pretty sound, the music was some good dancy shit which I LOVE (since none of my friends over where you knobheads are really like that kinda thing…..do you hear that FRIENDS? Do you? Always only your stupid rock music and cheese.).

As the night progressed the place became more and more packed. Then it got REALLY packed, like literally there was a county of men. And then the best bit happened. A few of them started taking off their shirts. It’s actually quite amusing now that I think about it, you can’t really blame them, it was packed and sweaty and all that kinda sexy kinky talk. My mate was in heaven. I was just there for the articles. In all fairness, most of them had really nice bodies.

There were all shapes and forms of what we know as THE GAY MAN. We had super camp, uber camp, a little camp, camp camp, not-that-camp, I-thought-he-was-straight-camp, not-camp, too-camp, model-camp, ooh-nice-body-too-bad-you’re-gay-or-else-I-would’ve-jumped-you gay, gay-gay, too-gay, model-gay, not-gay-enough…..the list goes on.

And what about the lesbians you may ask? Well I was expecting butch dykey bristlers hovering around the place, but as the women were totally and completely outnumbered by a long long way, there weren’t many women at all. There were a few couples around (I think), they sorta just sat or stood together, not really acting “open” or couply. But the amusing thing was if you start chatting to one of the them, the other gives you the dirtiest look on the actual planet. Then of course after they find out you’re actually straight and you’re simply a fag-hag, or you’re gay but off the market, or you have cooties, their sneers and frowns turn into smiles and we’re all happy happy joy joy.

One other main thing I was reminded of was the lack of pulling. But then again, that applies to all types of clubs here. You don't really get people pulling in the middle of the dancefloor, one doesn't go out "on the pull" here. It's deffo an English thing isn't it. Pulling was a major culture shock for me. I remember my first ever pull when I came to England in my first year….hmmm yes he was rather fine. I thought I had my green card sorted out there and then.

Why am I telling you this? I don’t know really. Actually two reasons. Firstly, it made me realize how different the gay scene is over here. Secondly, it was just one of those things that got me thinking about my friends, about how I would have loved it if there were with me living up the experience. When I was at the club, whatever I thought in my head (for instance OH MY GOD that’s the gayest man I have ever seen in my entire life, or OH MY GOD how many men are there here? I want to hide in a corner and crycrycrycrycry) I would immediately wish my mates were here with me agreeing (or arguing) with me or just getting wasted or just…well….being themselves.

I wish I could combine home mates and uni mates, wish we could all hang out together because I’m selfish like that. One of the shitty things about being foreign I guess hey.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that to all those knobheads and dickmonkeys, you know who you are, I miss all of you. It’s Sunday today, we should all be in Bar Leam tonight. Even though I am 342897340923842934 miles away I’m still thinking of you. Start arranging where we will all be every Sunday night next year please, Kelseys perhaps? I hope you are all well and behaving.

P.S. Aren’t you impressed at how often I’m updating this thing? I’m impressed. So shut up and be impressed. Okay goodbye (forever).


July 02, 2005

The Worst Day In The World

Yes. The worst day in the world has come. And for the every smart arse who reads this: No, it’s not because I’ve blogged, prat.

I suppose I should have prepared for something bad to happen, my day properly started off by being awoken from a lovely DREAM (considering that I've been having nightmares EVERY time I've slept for the last…as long as I can remember) by the even lovelier stupid wife NIAMH JUMPING into my lovely bed and going GOOD MORNING WINNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! directly into my ear. Hmm yes. I could have bricked her.

Then all hell broke loose. Tuesday 28th June 2005 around midday. My stupid sister discovers A LONG STRAND OF WHITE HAIR!! We were in the kitchen, instead of making normal sister-sister banter/conversation, she looks at me with eyes wider than the Atlantic Ocean and points at the above mentioned.

My heart sank, I could have actually cried there and then. The maternal family curse of the early-age white hair has reached to me. DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIECRYCRYCRYCRYCRYCRY. The last time I had white hair was when I was like 10 years old…that one strand of white hair which was dutifully PLUCKED out and thrown away and never to resurface again, until now (actually it was a really funny story. I was in Sydney, in the car with my cousins their huge dog, my cousin was like "Winnie is that Tuggie's grey hair or is it yours…wait…oh my God it IS yours!!"). Plucked and destroyed.

Oh and it gets better. Yesterday we had a white hair search-and-DESTROY session. My sister found (and dutifully plucked and discarded) FOUR LONG WHITE HAIRS. I could have cried for Malaysia during the ENTIRE rainy season. I was very very sad and distressed. Oh the pain, the sweet pain. The defensive walls around my protected white-hair free world has crumbled down within the pluck of an unwanted hair. It is the end of my vain world as we know it, and the beginning of something perhaps much much worse.

Now one may ask “Why are you being so melodramatic Winnie? It’s only a bit of white hair, I knew this girl who was completely white by the time she was 22”, or like “For fucks sake Winnie it’s only 4 strands of hair you can’t even see anything”. And I’ll tell you why. My HAIR is my THING. I have the best hair on CAMPUS. I have the best hair AROUND. Don’t believe me? Let’s meet up, I’ll let you look at it, feel it and smell it. Go on then. Go on. Go on. You won’t regret it. Maybe you and my hair can spend some quail-tay time together. My hair will have you begging me for secrets of how I keep it so wonderfully. Secrets that I will take to my grave, mind. Ask anyone I know. I have lovely hair. And if they don’t say that I have lovely hair, tell me who they are and they, like my white hair, will be plucked and destroyed from our very existence.

So how can one have the best hair in the entire world when it’s slowly becoming all WHITE?!?!?! Why God why??? Why do you take away the one and only asset I have? I’m not exactly a hot bird, I’m short with thunder thighs and a fat ass but at least I had lovely hair to outshine the flaws. Ooh I also have nice feet but let’s face it, who the hell cares about feet except a footologist, really. But now I have lovely WHITE-STREAKED hair.

A few people say it’s because I’ve been very stressed (exams blahblahblah). Fair enough, but the white hairs found were as long as my normal hair, which means they have been there FOREVER. I have not been stressed FOREVER. So what is a girl-who-is-extremely-vain-about-her-beautiful-wonderful-hair going to do? What am I actually going to do?

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. It’s the end of the world as we know it. Oh. Dear.

Please pray for me, pray that the white hair will go away forever please please please I’m only little, I’m only 21 years old not 121 years old please please.

Well I'm going to run off towards the sunset, wailing and arms flailing.

(Yes I am back…muAHahhaAHahahahahahahahaha……..watch out!!! I may be leaving the country but I’m not going to leave this blog…how else will you be able to know if I am alive?)

(Okay I really should be packing and trying to fit everything in my suitcase-which-is-actually-larger-than-me, I am leaving in two days, so goodbye forever.)


April 24, 2005

As Arty–Farty as I’m Going to Get

WARNING: This is a rather random blog. Kinda like a modified stream of conciousness.

I’m supposed to be doing work. I have a presentation on Wednesday and exams….and I’ve done fuck all. And I won’t be able to do anything until like next week. Oh dear. Yes admist through my mini panic attacks and paddy-fannying about, I am writing this random blog. So let’s commence.

There are many things I want to do and want to be, and there’s no way I’m ever going to be able to do it in this lifetime. Sad eh?

I want to be a famous musician. I know I can’t sing. So a songwriter. Well actually I can’t even write lyrics. I can do do riffs though. So er let’s scrap that. I want to be a famous drummer. Oh yeah. Drummer. I had the potential. Those were the days, Winnie the talented musician, one of a kind. And then of course I go away or rather come here where everyone else around me is better than me. And also stop practising because I felt like I coulnd’t improve anymore. So basically, I am not really that good at anything. But I want to be the best. Because Winnie is a WINNER. (and a Loser for just saying that).

I want to be clever like Good Will Hunting. Well I realise his first name isn’t “Good” but it sounds more dramatic when I say Good Will hunting. Or, second best would be, I want to be clever enough not to have to revise for 2057204792 years. More like revise the night before and get like 90% in all my exams. I may need that this year. Actually I know I’ll need that this year. Funny thing that is. I feel like I’m absolutely screwed work-wise this year. I felt that last year but got through okay (because I was a lucky bastard), and then I say the same thing again this year but I feel even more screwed this year than last. So then I just feel like a dickmonkey because I always say “crap I’m going to do really bad” and then end up doing okay (because I am a lucky bastard), but then this time around I don’t think I can only ride on the luck bandwagon.

If I were to die today I want to be recognised for making a difference in this world. Which obviously I won’t. As I have not made any difference in this world apart from my sporadic efforts to recycle.

I want to build homes for the homeless…AFTER I get my engineering degree. And of course build a house for my wife. Because I know she will end up living in her trailer and really…..they aren’t very warm.

I want to make sure the soil is safe to have homes built upon for the homeless (and wife).

I want world peace. MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR! Do people not SEE it? Why does everything have to be so complicated? Everything starts out in simplicity. Take Binary – 1 and 0. Simple. And through our 1’s and 0’s the resultant is magical technology that can destroy a town by pressing a red button. So all we need to do is go back to basics. I’m no policital activist. I’m not well-read and all that shit. I’m pretty ignorant and thick. But I think we make things wayyy too complicated for ourselves.

I want to be able to speak more than one language fluently. (See? I don’t ask for much).

I want to improve on my English and vocabulary. Too many a time I have read people’s stuff (blog, articles etc), admittedly most are arty-farty students but even the science idiots are putting my writing abilities and flair to shame. But even reading my mates' blogs, they all write so beautifully. Like the perfect word used at the right place and the right time. I admire their writing skills. And what's the winner? I don’t understand every second word they have down. Like seriously. I feel like a fool LIKE A FOOL! I wish I could write beautifully….with the wind blowing through the strands of my fine hair and the sound of the sea, the waves crashing relentlessly against the rocks in the panoramic background of my mind. And the way the leaves, worn out from bearing the brunt of autumn, delicately float down to the ground after a little help from the fresh breeze. The way the crisp sound that visits my ears as a result of my feet walking upon them. Er yeah whatever this isn’t going to work.

Which also makes me wish I was really clever arty farty wise. And I can talk about feminism. And post modernism. Well pronouncing the words would be useful to start with. I wish I had a broader mind, that I knew alot more than I know now, because really, I don't know much. I wish I knew something about politics. I know nout.

I want to help people. Not only as in building homes but in every other way possible. From helping a blind man across the road. Or helping kids to learn to read. Or help my mate get over a mid life crisis. Or myself for that matter.

I want money. Lots of it. Don’t need to give me the “money can’t buy you happiness” bullshit I do know that it’s true. But I just want the money. All the things I could do with money. Hmmmmmmm……..we’ll talk about that another day.

I want to have a killer body. And be taller. Why do I have to be so short? Stupid Asians. Stupid family, you coulnd’t be hot and good looking with nice bodies could you? No no….had you be well….you and hence I am, well, me.

I want to go meadow skipping. It’s a beautiful day today.

I want to travel the world. I especially want to retire in Hawaii with my beach-front house and go surfing everyday.

I want to be a hero. I want to save someone’s life. My story plastered across newspapers. I want my 15 minutes of fame.

I want to know what future lies ahead of me. In fact, I want to go see a real “proper” fortune teller who will tell me what is going to be of me. Free of charge of course. I mean, I really wish I could go see a fortune teller, as in a proper real one with 100% prediction accuracy (such a person doesn't exist, thus me saying I wish). Anyway, I wish this fortune teller will tell me what's going to happen to me. Or even better, I can put like magical glasses on which shows a TV screen inside and I can actually visually see what is to become of me. And then I leave the fotune teller place and I'll forget somehow about what's going to happen, but my inner head will still know that I'm going to be okay. Well I hope I'm going to be okay.

I want to be able to read minds. How amazing would that be? No more insecurities or uncertainties, because I would know, really, what everyone is actually thinking. No more public humiliation. How good would it be to read minds. I could make a fortune. And also, I would be amazing in bed. Like mind-numbingly, “Oh……my……..god…….” amazing. Think about it. You’re like getting jiggy with someone, and you can actually read their minds. You would then know what he/she likes and doesn’t like, what works and doesn’t. Oh my god. I wish I could read minds. I would be a sex goddess. A step further than being the sex princess I am already now.

I don’t want to turn 21. I fucking hate birthdays. Because I always get let down one way or another. There are a few exceptions of course. The best birthday I had was my 16th, my darling A.Lean made such an effort for me and I was just touched. It was unexpected and fantastic. I am sorry that I can not remember every intricate detail of my birthdays, but I do have one year etched in mind which probably tainted all my birthdays but we’re not going to go into that. I remember having parties in Mcdonalds. Or was it mates parties? God it was such a long time ago. And that stupid balloon game where you have to blow it up until it bursts. What a stupid game. I hate balloons. And the stupid clown. Stupid stupid clown.

Speaking of clowns I remember going to a birthday party with a clown. But this is the winner: it was in the PALACE. Yes that’s right baby, in like the PALACE in Kuala Lumpur. As in an actual PALACE. But I didn't meet the king though (called the "Agong"). It was well good. I don’t really remember much though. My memory is actually quite atrocious.

I don’t want to turn 21. I am a kid at heart. I am dreading my birthday. But on the positive side I am looking forward to presents. I love presents. Wheeeeeee!

Words/phrases of the day:

Arty-Farty
Dickmonkey
Paddy-fannying


April 04, 2005

Am Losing Hope…

So right I wake up today…no wait…I get woken up today by bloody wife screeching on the phone. I actually wanted to cry out of utter frustration and then subsequently brick her. It didn't help that I was woken up twice before by my mum. But anyway. I make my bed and think hmmm I'll just FebreZe it since I haven't in a while and I like my room smelling of meadows (well on the spraying bottle thingy it says "Summer Splash"). So I take the spraying bottle thing from under my desk and start spraying. Spray spray spray spray! Hmm…I didn't know the Febreze liquid was yellow….read the bottle Winnie.

What does it say?

Kids? What does it say?

Cif Lemon Oxy-Gel (with ACTIVE OXYGEN) ALL PURPOSE UNEATABLE CLEANING AND SHINE.

"No other general purpose cleaner cleans better and leaves a better shine."

Oh dear.

I read more stuff at the back, and what does it say?

What does it say???

"Avoid contact with fabrics"

Was half expecting it to like burn a hole through my duvet. So yeah after paddy-fannying about for a bit eventually took the duvet cover off and put it into the washing machine. I hope it dries by tonight or else I'll have to sleep duvet cover-less. Woo yeah.

I don't know why I'm actually blogging about yet another stupid thing I've done. Actually I do know why. It is a cry for help. Will someone please just tell me what is wrong with me? Please? I'll give you a bottle my Cif as a reward. So that I don't end up doing the same thing again.


March 27, 2005

Winnie Praha Style

I realised in Prague that maybe there is actually something wrong with me. I have never felt and done things so stupid and THICK AS PIGSHIT in my life. Why am I this stupid? What happened to me to become like this?

Actually I know the answer. Well the most likely reasons, namely:
1. Alcohol. Rather self explanatory.
2. My 9-month “gap” year.
Best time of my life. Did absolutely nothing. Woke up at 3–4pm everyday, had lunch, played computer/video games all day. Have dinner, go out with mates at night, come home, watch TV, go to bed at 3–4am. Repeated cycle. Needless to say the lack of brain stimulation and activity actually did have an effect. Second week in at uni, I couldn’t actually add up 9 + 6. I had to use my fingers. And then a calculator to verify. I am actually not joking.

But anyway, back to the story. Tour was unique for me mainly because of the stupid stuff I did or that happened to me. So without further ado, the “highlights” of Winnie’s escapades (a critical account):

1. Passport.
You guessed it. All meeting at the piazza, had a passport check. Cocky me, thinking in my head for fucks sake, stupid passport checks. I take my passport out of my bag. Wait, let’s reword that. I take my black passport holder/case out of my bag. I open the case. Yes. The passport wasn’t there. I knew immediately that it was, in fact, still in my drawer in my room in Leamington where I put it.
I had previously taken the actual passport out of the case to go to Robin’s well. Because the stupid bitchface c**t bar woman kicked me out because I didn’t have ID. Piece of shit. So went home out of principle to get my passport and bring it back. I just forgot to actually put the actual passport back into the case. So when packing my “passport”, I just took the case because that to me is my passport. So, in principle, I blame that nasty rude ugly bitch woman. I’m going to hunt her down and brick her.
So yeah but no but yeah anyway this is me, who travels more frequently than most of the other people who went on tour mainly due to the fact that I have to actually fly home. Responsible, independent Winnie. More like irresponsible, ridiculous Winnie.
Was never so stressed in my entire life. Was actually on the brink of tears from the guilt and stupidity I felt. I felt really horrible for Els, bless her, I didn’t want Els to miss the plane. I didn’t really care if I missed it, but I didn’t want to bring her down with me. We bomb it to Leam and back to campus. After all the running, on the coach, I actually had breathing difficulties and needed an inhaler. So just to let those know that I was, in fact, very upset/stressed about it.

2. Forgot my inhaler.
Rather self-explanatory really. The one time I don’t bring my inhaler I needed it. Well done Winnie.
(You know when you do something wrong prior to leaving on holiday, it’s just not really going to be your week…)

3. Had to go through Non-EU immigration alone.
Although this technically isn’t really my fault, I felt pretty embarrassed and foolish about it. Mainly because I was the only person going through that way out of the entire airport. And mates were pointing and laughing at me. And the winner of this story was the fact that the doors to get on the “other side” were like big steel door which could only be opened/pushed opened when the idiot official presses a button. So really I could have been declined entry into the country if something was wrong. Upon reflection, I am silently grateful my wife wasn’t there. She probably would have laughed the whole building down and would still, at this very moment, be laughing at me.

4. My first ever goal as captain for my team.
It was an absolute beaut. About 1 minute after filling in for Nic in centre of defence, the whole event is a little bit hazy but basically in attempt to clear the ball I sliced it and it swerved beautifully into the top left hand corner of our goal. A goal David Beckham would have been proud of. Winner: My policy as El Capitano is that the first person to score a goal for us gets a pint of me. Well, I scored a (own) goal. So I bought myself a pint.

5. Massive lemons!
We were in town, looking at some market stalls. They had hugee strawberries. And grapes. And then I see these huge lemons! Like massive baby! So I point out: “Wow, check out the size of those lemons. They’re huge!”, to which Nic replies “Those are grapefruits Winnie”.

6. Broke a mug 5 mins after buying it.
Bought a mug from stalls for my mum. Five minutes later, was crossing the road and somehow totally unintentionally and obliviously, dropped the mug. I don’t know who I just forgot that I was carrying a plastic bag. Heard a lovely CRACK! Sound. I stand there helpless. Foxy, Nick and Becks are absolutely pissing myself. Nic keeps on going “I know that’s not funny but HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH”. And you want to hear the winner? As I was paying for it, in my little head I was actually thinking “hardy har har. Wouldn’t it be funny if I actually dropped and broke this mug as I walked away from the stall”. Went back to the stall to get a new mug. But sent Foxy to actually buy it instead because I was too embarrassed.

7. Lost my camera.
My disposable camera. Well done to me, I was wise enough not to bring my digital camera. But still. I am absolutely gutted. I have no idea where it went. Apparently I definitely went home with it. And Packing the place up I checked under the bed etc etc to make sure I didn't leave anything behind. But now it's gone. It had really wicked pictures too, of me and my second team, me doing random stuff, me with DRAGON!, it just sucks big time. I really pray and hope that someone just accidentally took it. Please please please.

8. Almost forgot passport. AGAIN.
Well I actually had my passport. But basically, I packed it into my main luggage and almost checked it in. I really am …[complete sentence using words of your choice here].

9. Aeroplane Escapades Part I: Stupid Man
Got my head smacked by luggage in overhead compartment by not-so-sympathetic man.
So right, the plane has landed. We’re getting up to get out stuff from overhead compartments. I’m minding my own business, getting my parka from the top. Then suddently the idiot man in front of me smacks the back of my head with his bag. I turn around to him, hand on area-on-head-where-hit, staring at him with a blend of surprise and annoyance because he didn’t realise he had, in fact, just smacked me. Was he deaf?!?!?! The stupid pilot would have probably heard that.
“Oh, did I hit you there?” he finally says.

“Er…yes you did.” I reply in my usual direct, subtle-as-a-brick tone.
“Oh……sorry then”.
“It’s okay. It’s just another ten thousand braincells been killed” I mutter back.

which leads to…

10. Escapades Part II: Stupid Man's Stupid Coat.
Almost walked off the plane with the wrong coat. Turns out it was that dumbass man’s coat. Stupid man and his stupid bag and stupid coat. Stupid me.

11. Immigration malarkey again.
Oh and of course going through the immigration in East Midlands Airport. Everyone just walking through while officials just look at passports. When it comes to me, of course he tells me to go fill in a fucking landing card. Fucks sake. So had to fill it in. And then go back in the queue and end up holding the queue up for like 10 mins while he flaps about on his computer to make sure I’m not an illegal immigrant. No….I wasn’t embarrassed. At all. Idiots.

Reflecting upon my actions, I believe the main reason for all the things I did wrong was because I really didn’t want to go to Prague, reasons which I will not disclose. This fact that I didn’t want to go had a knock-on effect, and the “reluctance” was subconsciously affecting whatever I did. The week prior to our departure I was busy in labs. And basically was putting the trip behind me as long as I could feasibly do. I was never so disorganised. Even though I knew I had a bag to pack, I failed to check if it was actually LARGE enough. Ended up having to use my wife’s bag, which was the perfect size but of course, being my wife’s bag, had holes everywhere and broken zips. I had to actually tape part of the bag up and silently prayed that it wouldn’t fall apart. I didn’t go to Prague and sulk, don’t get me wrong. I went with a more “fuck it just get on with it” attitude and tried to make the best time out of it. But it was really weird how quite silly things happened.

The events that occurred in those five days really does make me look like a dreamy wishy-washy airhead. I think I should actually get that t-shit that says “I am really a natural blonde” (it’s a wicked t-shirt, in fact, note to self, buy t-shirt when seeing it next). But it was okay I guess. I suppose everyone has to be the class idiot one time or another.

Bonza.


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