Do Not Touch.

This is not a joke.

Have you ever held my hand or arm and noticed that it is limp and lifeless? Have you ever touched any part of me and I gave you a fake laugh?

I have a confession to make.

I'm coming out of the closet.

...

I do not like to be touched.


THERE, I said it. So if you're reading this and you have touched me before, I apologise. I never liked it, I just never had the balls to say it. Well, I still don't have balls, but I'm saying it anyway.

What triggered this is a very traumatising experience. Long story short, a lady plopped down onto an empty seat next to me, rather heavily. Her thighs flooded out onto my seat and I had to inch away from her. As she talked and laughed with her friends, her elbow nudged me and her thighs wobbled against mine. It was a gross violation of my personal space. I still get disturbing flashbacks to this day.

Then, the unimaginable happened. She leaned right against me with her arm on my right thigh (it still feels disgusting), mumbling something I couldn't catch. "Sorry?" I enquired. "The time, the time." She actually proceeded to grab hold of my arm and looked at my watch. HOLY MOTHER (@$%@&*$%&@& CUT MY BLOODY ARM OFF!!

Okay, breathe in and breathe out...

That's it. I do not like to be touched.

And to answer your question, no there are no exceptions. I do not hold hands with girlfriends while we skip to the ladies'.

1. That's gay.
2. I don't like to be touched.

Take this analogy. You know how everyone has private parts, and you wouldn't touch them unless you are a husband/wife/gynaecologist/pervert/were asked to? Well, to me, my entire body is like a private part. Think of me as a giant vagina. Now, would you touch me?

Therefore, do not touch my hair, my face, any other body parts, and my clothes. In fact, if I could push it, I wish everyone would keep at an arm's length away from me.

Don't talk to me about it, don't ask me about it. Just. Don't. Touch.

Thank you and goodnight.

Enemy Spotted.

What do we have here...


Zoom zoom!


Ah...this is the lady who has fire in her hole.

If you're feeling clueless, click here to see how this wonderful person has been such an inspiration in my life.

The bomb has been planted.

Terrorist wins.

P.S. - Spotted in SS2. You have been warned.

Time Management.

Disclaimer: 'You' does not refer to a single person.

Time management is a very important skill to have in life.

Did you know that Malaysians run on +8 GMT? As in +8 Got More Time-lah.

No one ever shows up on time, to anywhere. I don't know which country I was born in, but I absolutely detest being late. If clocks were people, I'd be one. I'd have a second hand, a minute hand, an hour hand, and a giant hand with 10 fingers to bitch slap you in the ass if you're late. And I'd tick very loudly indeed.


(On that note, if I was ever late to something, it was due to unforeseen circumstances. Sorry.)

Therefore, time management is a compulsory skill to have in life if you are my friend.

Lesson #1. My time is just as valuable as yours. I am not some hobo sitting around doing nothing unless I were meeting you. I work, I eat, I shit, as announced in my previous post.


Lesson #2. Don't set a time for us to meet up if it's going to clash with something else. If you forgot and realise it later, here's what you should do. You know that thingie with numbers on it? The numbers appear magically on your screen when you press them right? FREAKING CALL ME WITH IT.


Lesson #3. When I call you to ask you where you are, Tell. Me. The. Truth. The phrase "on the way" is only valid when you are well and truly on your way to the destination in your car, or whatever else mode of transportation. It does not include being "on the way out of the house" or "thinking of being on the way".

Should you fail to adhere to these three points, I have been known to leave. In fact from now on, I will leave if you're late. I don't care if it's your birthday or your funeral, I will go home I will eat your cake and then I will go home.

That aside, please do not take this as an attack. I do not hate you, otherwise you wouldn't be my friend. But your lack of time management makes me very, very angry and when I'm angry I should not be allowed to operate heavy machinery, such as driving a car away from our intended meeting place.

Other than that I still love you.

But only if you're a girl. I don't want to get pregnant.

Shhh...it.

I was away for a business trip last week. For the three days that I was there, I have three pimples to show for it, and three reasons to explain it.

Stress.

Sleep deprivation.

And constipation (50% of the stress comes from here).

Yes, I am one of those very bad travellers who just cannot 'go' outside of my house. That particular orifice literally closes up shop and goes on an extended vacation.


I'd rather hold it in until I'm literally so full of shit I can't sit up straight.



The moment I landed in LCCT, my bowels started to move. I screamed at my mum over the phone to get here, PRONTO. If I'd screamed any louder I would've made chocolate buttons right there and then.


So today, I want to talk about shit. Heck while we are at it, let's talk about farts too.

Did you know that women shit and fart too?

And they sure don't smell like strawberry cupcakes. I know mine don't.

Hohoho...not after that three-day trip anyways.

I found myself hesitating to explain whenever someone asks me about my pimples (this happens a lot as I hardly have any pimples since I came back from overseas).

Yalor...stress ma...some more not enough sleep...and ummm...

CANNOT PANG SAI WOR!"

You may think that it is gross for a lady to proclaim such a thing, but the fact is, women, for example, ME, do shit and fart. Occasionally at the same time, sometimes with sound effects with varying intensity, depending on food consumption.

But my point is, it seems to be such a taboo for women to discuss their bowel movements. We do eat, and the waste has to be expelled out of somewhere. And when it is, birds do not sing, pink unicorns do not prance about, and there sure as hell won't be any elevator music playing.

Our shit is as smelly as men's, sometimes even smellier. Then birds die, flowers wilt, and dung beetles commit suicide. I've witnessed it with my own eyes.


Sometimes I take a long time, sometimes a quickie, sometimes they're like Hershey's kisses, other times like whole Snicker bars. I don't think they'd taste as nice though.


Anyway, after the three long days, I came home and 'pang' until the 'sai' also screamed for help.

Kthxbye.