Let's Get Involved!

I was on my ceramic throne today (i.e. toilet bowl for you simpletons) reading a copy of my wife's I'm Pregnant! magazine. The article was about what to expect during labour. I learnt a great many thing there, on the crapper. Among them was the ever famous "you men think you have it easy!" subject of labor pains and contractions.

In my foolish determination to be a an A-grade caring partner to a 6 month pregnant woman, I wanted to be extremely supportive when that moment will eventually arrive. In order to do that, I obviously have to learn as much as I can about what she will or may go through.

Birthing contractions get closer and closer as the baby is nearing the time for it to be born. Contractions can last for 2-3 minutes each time.

And then I had an epiphany.

2-3 minutes and an explosion of audibly wretched moments later, I emerged out of the toilet (sanitized of course), as the most sensitively understanding and caring husband and birthing partner in the whole world.

Self Conscious Self Conscience

Have u ever had the feeling of being your self conscience's self conscience? I think I have a pretty symbiotic relationship with mine. Sometimes, I question my self conscience so much that the idiot has to take time off to get back to me on certain things.

"I don't think you should stay here for the night. It'll get messy. Best to politely call it a night and head back home."

"Are you kidding me? Aren't you tired of our left hand already?"

"Well...Umm...I..wait...I guess.....you're right, dude. Holy shit dude, what was I thinking?!. Onward!"

Sometimes it feels like my self conscience is losing confidence in his abilities. He sometimes feels like I should do this, but then again, he leaves it up to me. Nowadays, he even goes as low as being impressed by my foolish actions.

"Dude I can't believe you're actually smoking in the car! Like, she's gonna kill you! And you're not the least bit worried! You're so awesome."

Some days, he goes a bit overboard.

"Look, I know it's probably not right of me to suggest this, but since most of the staff are out for meetings, you think it's okay if we surf some porn?"

Have you ever toyed with the idea that we could actually be our conscience's conscience in an alternate yet parallel universe where he is the actual person?

And if so, have I failed to keep my guy on the right path? Or did he fail me first?

What do you think?

"Dude. Honestly? I have no idea. But for just once could you please shut the f*ck up?! Get outta my head, will ya?"

Surf's Up

"Corruption doth appear in land and sea because of the evil which men's hands have done so that He may make them taste a part of that which they have done in order that they may return to the right path." - The Holy Quran 30:41

Wave after wave of biblical-proportioned shite is upon us, dear mankind.

There was the wave of terror, violence and paranoia of 9/11

There was the devouring tsunami of Boxing Day

And now the Financial Tsunami that are drowing us in our own earthly riches.

But who gives a toss right? Because it's apparently more interesting to know whether Muhyiddin gets enough seats to contest. And apparently it's more exciting to find out if Norman Hakim really shagged that 20 year old slut and took 45 minutes to actually get dressed with time to kill for a fag and a cuddle before opening the doors for the religious cops.

Ignorance is bliss, no? Only if you know whats going on and choose to be ignorant.

For me, I know enough to know that shit has hit the fan and sliced into enough tiny projectiles to be redistributed evenly across the whole room to know that I choose to not know what to do about it.

And like a respected business partner I know used to always say, "If you don't know what to do even when someone tells you how to do it, just sit around all day and twiddle your thumbs. At least you're not screwing up something".

How did we get into such a mess? Man is a destroyer in nature. Even when we build things, we always tend to be the one responsible for its destruction. We built the concept of finance and the financial institution and globalization and economic necessity. And that's where I believe our downfall is.

We have turned means into necessity.

The creation of money were a means of transaction to get what we need and want. Back in the day, getting what you want could either mean feeding and cleaning out cow dung for 3 years before you enjoy a good steak, or spearing a fanged beast for a new pair of leather kicks.

Since then, we've fucked around with it so much that it gets transacted, invisibly, between god-knows-where to hell-should-i-know-who. And before you're even sure you had it to begin with, someone tells you that you've just lost it all. Then you really start thinking about spearing someone.

So what's next, then?

In true cheerleading fashion some may chant "Bring It On!" and shake our pom-poms in the air.

For some, it will be a call to roll up their sleeves, grit on a toothpick and say "Wow, that was a great party. Now help me clean up this shit".

Some will say "Oops. Yeah, shouldnt've done that. Tee-hee-hee"

Most in Malaysian Politics will say "Kita Okkkkk...! 5% for next year! Even if Singapore and Australia are announcing negative or 0%. And so what if the whole of Iceland is bust. By the way, Mawi nak kahwin kat stadium youuuuu!!"

But I really, really, really hope...that most of us will start to realise that when they say "Damn it to hell!" in the movies, it literally means nearly everything worldly that we have or are trying to achieve in our lives. For damning us to hell, they will.

"And others have confessed their faults, they have mingled a good deed and an evil one; perhaps Allah will turn to them (mercifully); surely Allah is Forgiving, Merciful." (Qur'an 9:102)

Good night, god bless, and don't be too hard on yourselves. We're all screwed at the moment. But at least be that guy that knows he's screwed, rather than the guy who's always tricked into picking up the bar of soap. Every single time.

The Other Woman.

Last Friday morning I woke up with the anticipation of a 13 year old geek about to meet his mysterious european pen pal behind the delicate cursive handwriting he's been lusting over for the past 3 months.

After dropping off the wife and the just recently-kicking unborn at her office, I headed off to my own. The next 2 hours at work seemed like watching Squawk Box on mute. Action was happening all around, but my senses were on overdrive only underneath my quiet exterior. My mind was somewhere else. I had that blank yet suspiciously smirked face of a pimply 15 year old with a porn tape in his backpack and parents that were going out to dinner that night.

She was waiting for me. And I know she was ready. Her manager called me to say so.

But I had to plan it discreetly. So no one would be the wiser. But I needed a means to get there. People were sure to notice my absence if the CRV wasn't parked in its bay.

Finally I hitched a ride with the brother, after much negotiation. We travelled North-West, where I was told to pick her up.
Once dropped off at the door, I could barely bring myself to push through the glass doors. I didn't know how I'd react upon meeting her for the first time. I knew what she looked like, sure, from all the pictures of her I've been lusting for so long. But to actually meet face to face for the first time?

Her manager greeted me as soon as I walked in, and without further hesitation, brought me to the usually-off-limits room at the back. She was still getting ready, and I could watch from the other room. I did, and the turn-on was extremely overpowering that I decided to come back later...when she was ready for me.

I got a lift to a hotel nearby, to calm my senses. With an order of gyoza and a nicoise salad, I weighed the enormity of what I had set out to do. It seems so wrong. But not everyone is as lucky. It was the perfect crime that had not happened yet. To have complete happiness at home, and yet indulge myself in another seduction.

After an hour, I realised it was time. Back through the glass doors, North-West. Manager greets. But this time, she was ready. And waiting at the lobby.

Gorgeous.

Her eyes, as bright in the day as they would undoubtedly be in the darkest of nights. Her lips, framing her perfect face.
The curves.

Ohmygod.

Curves that accentuated her shoulder line so perfectly.

And to top it all off, the manager reminds me, in a whisper, that she can walk like a lady, and be ridden like a freak, if I knew the right buttons to press.

Ladies, and gentlemen, it was time to take my new Audi A4 B8 1.8 TFSI home.

Welcome home, Au-Au.

The Art Of War

The key to successful marketing is to eliminate the competitors from our target's mindspace. What this means is literally kicking any memory, positive feelings, or any association to the competitor's brand, ads, logo or sloppy slogans, out of the way.

At a recent birthday party, I had a very interesting conversation with an ex-colleague of mine. She got to the topic of how she managed to successfully conquer the full capacity of her (then guy-she-wanted-to hook-up-with, turned boyfriend, and now husband)'s brain by destroying the competition.

Story starts with her already sort of knowing the guy, and they were at a party . Enter intelli-skank, in the form of a 5'10", overly-rebonded hair executive of a woman who snaps her neck at a 40 degree angle everytime she laughs just so that her hair could demonstrate it's fully conditioned salon-treatment-at-home look (no offence, Vidal Sassoon - or was it VO5?).

Upon eavesdropping, my friend learns that intelli-skank was going full-on about politics, the decline of the world's social structure and the financial crisis befalling developed nations. The whole time whiplashing a few waiters passing by and annoying the rest of the world with her put-on Chelsea accent and glowing in her intelli-skankness.

A smart strategic planner such as my friend knew that the only way to counter offensive a competitive intruder is to lie in wait beyond the grass plains like a lioness and let all the hot air steam out before striking for the jugular. And true enough, the hot air subsided as intelli-skank excused herself to go to the ladies.

My friend proceeded to walk up to Mr. Oblivious-to-fake-skanks and clinked her glass with his and gestured for a toast. "What were you guys talking about?". "Politics. World hunger. She really was very enthusiastic about those topics. I could see by the way she was telling me all about those things."

My friend nodded, then put her glass on the bar top, and pulled his ear as close to her lips as possible.

"I like porn."

Brilliant.

Holy Crap

Ever had one of those dreams where everything was completely fucked up and you're just screaming to yourself to wake up? I usually do. The funny thing is, most of the times, you know you were dreaming.

For me - either if the scene had me alongside Indiana Jones trying to solve an ancient riddle before the cave was completely filled with water and poisonous sea snakes, or if it was me getting low,low,low,low on the dancefloor with a Beyonce lookalike booty but then pleasantly surprised with the face of Omarosa (from The Apperentice) - I always had a 50/50 emotion of utter terror that shit was going down, yet the most peaceful inner comfort that i knew it was just a dream and that sooner or later, I'd wake up.

That feeling, my friends, is like getting an anaphylactic shock while doing the horizontal lambada. Or like throwing up on the 8th round of salt-tequila-lime and knowing that after the horrible ordeal, you're set to go for no. 9.

That's why we probably enjoy The Grudge (1 and 2) or Final Destination (1,2 and killer No. 3!), Knowing the fact that after shamelessly gripping your girlfriend's thighs and squealing every 7 minutes under your own fag-breath, you can safely walk out of the cinema and tell yourself that it was a good movie. But most importantly, that it was a movie.

But sometimes, you come face to face with a situation in real life that makes you wonder, or wish, that it too, was a dream. And you wait and wait and wait for that "Ah-ha!" moment just like the one in your dream (as you strangle one poisonous snake with your left hand while helping Indy fit another Aztec stone to solve the deadly riddle with your right hand) when you sheepishly smile in your sleep and say to yourself "It's just a dream! Ah hahahahahahahaha" - But that moment never comes.

And the longer you wait, the more sea snakes come hissing your way. And you know Indy can't perform when snakes are involved.

No Dorothy shoes to click, no Ziggy (from Quantum Leap by the way) to consult, and no Doraemon to pull a magic door from his magic pocket.

Shit.

But hey, look at the bigger picture. Our whole life in existence could just be one big dream. 'Cause life doesn't begin at 40 or 50 apparently. It begins in the afterlife.

Good luck to you on this one.

The Swing Of Things

My neighborhood buddies came over to the house for Hari Raya yesterday. It was a blast.

We laughed like the old days. The eating and drinking became just a-matter-of-fact.

Old jokes remained as fresh as ever. And just as funny as they were 5-7 years ago.

The topics of the newer conversations circled around due dates, his daughter's habits and refreshingly enough, plans for what excuses to give the wives for the next karaoke session.

Time seemed to zoom back 10 years yesterday. Down there, on my driveway, smoking and talking crap. With our wives strategically compounded in the living room upstairs.

Good friends are unlike your golf swing. When you haven't played in awhile, you usually have to take some time to get your swing back. With friends like mine, no matter how long it's been since we last hung out carelessly, we have a swingin' good time right at the get go.

By the way that picture there is about 2-3 years old. So there...

Cheers, Boys!