October 2008 Archives

Wonder of wonders – I won a prize for being Best Dressed.

I half expected pigs to be flying around the Parliament building at my win, but it was all due to Dell’s Colours party at Centro.

DJ Serena C was emceeing and as always, she delivered. The food was also pretty good and was lucky to be in the company of Suan, Kim and ST. Not to mention my other friendly tech reporter friends who also happened to be around.

There were 4 Best Dressed winners and they made us horse around before being allowed to choose what we wanted. I took home a funky orange Dell Studio Hybrid PC. Not sure if I’m going to keep it yet – stay tuned for tomorrow’s unboxing because it’ll be delivered to the office.

Wore a happy sunny halter tie dress to the party – as a rehearsal for Chooki’s wedding dinner. Cal thought the dress brilliant so I tried it on and it was pretty awesome. My lucky dress, LOL.

Unfortunately Suanie and friends had to witness me turning my Mamma Mia session into a group singalong. It was wacky fun. Tonight was also awesome for other reasons, that involve accepting that things change, people change but sometimes the best things are just as good as you remembered.

Irene says she doesn’t like the pictures I’ve posted so far on the blog. “You look pale”.

Well, I fooled with the settings on the camera and must admit the default shots often end up looking somewhat overexposed.

Like this shot:

So in the camera menu, I tweaked the exposure compensation to +1.0 and chose the Vivid colour profile to get this shot:

Yep, Irene, you’re right. My shots do need some adjustment to get more natural skintones. If you compare the photos, the first makes me look somewhat washed out.

Irene’s asked me why I don’t just get a ‘proper’ camera but honestly, I don’t miss my D40 at all. It was a lovely camera, yes, but the N82’s easier to take around, has a super Xenon flash that works even with no light and well, I love it. Honestly.

more animals

Too cute.

Yes, in a few days it’s NaNoWriMo again and my duties as Malaysian ML compel me to get my whip cracking.

My RSI from a horrible new mouse seems to have abated so should be in writing form again soon. It flared up all day yesterday making typing a pain. So back to typing up a storm and getting as much backdated work done.

In other news, I am still in love with the Vista snipping tool. It’s PrintScreen on steroids!

There it was on my Live Writer, a whole long diatribe about how I’m mad at you. Why I’m mad, what you said, what you did.

But it’s not going to change the fact that I hate someone who used to matter a lot to me.

Why bring out all the dirty laundry? Why say any more things to wound and to hurt when all the insults and irreparable damage is done and gone?

There was a cuss word a plenty, a long rage-filled rant fest.

Before I could even hit Publish, I read it and decided that though it made me feel better to write it, I didn’t need to share it with the world.

It felt good to just get all the bile, the hurt, the bitterness into words.

Because really, all that hate is just the product of a year’s sadness, grief and angst. I let it out, I processed it and then let it go.

Nobody has to read my pain to make it real.

I hate you.

I don't know how my friends stand me when I'm such a love junkie. Always falling in some mire, oblivious to my own misery the way a moth would ignore its burning wings just to creep closer to the flame.

But despite my propensity for trouble, and my penchant for a lack of self-regard, they do try very hard to keep my body and mind safe and sane. That's why I'm tickled to listen to Dave Barnes's Stay Away. It's about a man warning a known heartbreaker to stay away from his friend. And I've been on the side where you see someone going somewhere you know is really bad. A friend's responsibility is to warn loved ones from harm and even if the warnings are ignored, to then stay around to pick up the pieces.

She hangs up the phone and she
Lays wide awake
Holding onto the heart you, again will break
It’s not that she’s innocent
And she’s not been defiled
Yes she picks up the phone, well
It’s you who dialed
And I know she tells you to stay
But please, stay away
Stay away
Stay away
I know this is heavy
I know I seem mad
But you’re the one who laughs and runs while
She’s standing sad
We both know where this is going from your history
She again will fall in love
You again will leave.
And I know she’s telling you to stay
But please, stay away
Stay away
Stay away
She wears her heart on her sleeve
Yeah she’s crying her eyes out to me
Heaven or hell she will go through
Depends on you
Depends on you

Talking about a friend’s current paramour, she huffed and said, “Well, it’s obvious he hasn’t learned anything from his previous ones!”

I guess that I have more in common with her boyfriend than I’d like to admit. The dubious title of being able to “Love as if you’ve never been hurt” means being able to jump right in, without the restrictions of past hurts or rational thinking getting in the way.

Spent a bit of time reading my old Livejournal and boy, if you thought I am emo now, you should have read my old (deleted) LJ entries. I sounded like a fragile, emotionally high-strung love addict. In some ways, I still am.

Because deep within this cynical, hardened facade I still like to believe in the healing, redemptive powers of love. That through all things, love can still redeem and strengthen and make better our times of darkness.

An apt ode to love is one written in this short story by Paulo Coelho:

There are moments when we would like very much to help someone we love deeply and we just can't seem to do a thing. Either circumstances prevent us from drawing closer or else the person has shut off to any gesture of solidarity and support.

So, all we have left is love. In those moments when everything is useless, we can still love - without expecting anything in return, any exchanges or thanks.
If we can manage to act in this way, the energy of love begins to transform the universe around us. When this energy appears, you always perform your work successfully.

"Time does not change men. Will power does not change men. Love changes men," says Henry Drummond.

I read in the newspaper about a child in Brasília who was brutally beaten by his parents. As a result, she lost her body movements and her power of speech.
Admitted to the Base Hospital, she was taken care of by a nurse who said to her every day: "I love you." Although the doctors guaranteed that she could not hear and that the nurse's efforts were all to no avail, she kept repeating: "I love you, don't you forget that."

Three weeks later on, the child had recovered her movements. Four weeks later, she started to talk and smile again. The nurse never gave any interviews and the newspapers did not publish her name - but let it be registered here, so that we will never forget: love is a great healer.

Love transforms, love heals. But at times love builds mortal traps and ends up destroying the person who has decided to surrender completely. What strange sentiment is this that deep down is the only reason for us to go on living and struggling and trying to make things better?

It would irresponsible of me to try to define it because, like any other human being, all I can do is feel it. Thousands of books have been written about it, plays put on at the theater, films produced, poems scribbled, sculptures carved in wood or marble - and even so, all that the artist can convey is the idea of a feeling, not the feeling itself.

But I have learned that this feeling is present in the small things and manifests itself in the most insignificant of attitudes we take, so we must always have love in mind when we act or fail to act.

Picking up the phone and uttering that affectionate word we have been putting off. Opening the door and showing in someone who needs our help. Accepting a job. Leaving a job. Making that decision that we were putting off for later.

Apologising for a mistake we made that will not leave us in peace. Claiming a right that we have. Opening an account at the florist's - which is more important than the jeweller's. Playing the music loud when your loved one is far away and lower the volume when he or she is nearby. Knowing how to say "yes" and "no" - because love involves all of man's energies. Discovering a sport that can be practiced by two. Not following any prescription, not even those listed in this paragraph - because love calls for creativity.

And when none of this is possible, when all that is left is loneliness, then remember a story that a reader once sent me:

A rose dreamed day and night about having the company of the bees, but none ever came to land on her petals.
But the flower went on dreaming: during many a long night she imagined a sky with lots of bees flying towards her and kissing her tenderly. In this way she managed to resist to the next day, when she opened again to the sunlight.

One night the moon, knowing how lonely the rose felt, asked her:
- Aren't you tired of waiting?
- Perhaps. But I have to struggle on.
- Why?
- Because if I don't open up, I will wither.

At moments when loneliness seems to crush all beauty, the only way to resist is to keep yourself open.

I love Sharleen Spiteri's voice. In Demand is likely my favourite Texas video, and one of my favourite music videos ever just for yummy Alan Rickman.

The song's probably the catchiest diss song I know.

"Now I've got someone who cares for me
He wrote my name in silver sands
I think you know you've lost the love of your life
(and you said) I was the best you've ever had
Because I'm in demand
You're thinking of the way you shoulda held my hand
And all the times you said you didn't understand
You never had our love written in your plans
But now I'm in demand"

Image by Simon Scott via Flickr

Just around this time last year my world was in the washing machine equivalent of a spin cycle.

Everything was upside down. My job, my friendships, my love life.

I think NaNoWriMo saved my life then.

All I’d expected was to meet a new motley crew of people to nag for 30 days to finish their novels.

I hadn’t expected to meet the next best thing to family, a group of people whose love for the written word would somehow also inspire strong devotion and friendship.

Talking to Calvin last night over dinner, I thought again about how they’d appeared just in time to fill a huge void left by just one person.

It was a sign of imbalance – that it really wasn’t right that one person could take up so much room in my heart, in my life, in my thinking.

When I was so easily replaced. And the part about being replaced hurts when I think about it. But maybe I was just deluded in the first place, believing in something that never really existed, mired in the illusion of inequal regard.

My friends want me to just get over it, get past it, “Stop emoing about it already!”. But darlings, I emo about everything. It’s OK now. I’m not crying about it, I’m not writing a post weekly about it, I’m not talking about it all the time and worrying the wound until it won’t heal. Not anymore, at least.

In a week, I’ll be starting a new novel and meeting another bunch of new faces. But what cheers me is who will be coming along for the ride. I ‘see’ them everyday in the Gmail thread that would not die. For us Gmail is our pool of meeting, where we either skirt the edges or jump right in.

Never think that in your life you’ll have just one kindred spirit. Don’t be like me, needing my heart to be ripped right open before it had space to let other people in. Opening your heart, some say, is risky. But it’s far more painful to close it off and then have the stitches taken apart when the people you allowed exclusive access make an exit.

Once,I said I only had enough time and energy to devote to very few people. Now, my walls are down. My heart is open. I’ve laid out the Welcome mat.

I understand now why some women are so attached to their hairdresser. Have gone for cuts with the same hairstylist for four times straight – a record. Because Chris at Russell Sallon, 1 Utama, is awesome.

Yes, you all have to suffer another mug shot of moi just so I can talk about how fun and cool Chris is. Having hair as thick and wavy as mine, it’s not easy getting the hairdresser to understand that I HAVE A LOT OF HAIR.

They don’t get it until they’ve chopped off enough to make a short wig, blowdried it and then realised…they haven’t cut enough off! Which means another half hour waiting for the hairdresser to fix what will usually end up a messy, botched haircut anyway.

But Chris gives good suggestions and is super fun to talk to. This time around I got a nice bunch of sunny highlights and a little thinning of the bulk around the middle of my hair. Result: more manageable hair with more bounce and curl.

I used to envy women with either really curly hair or super straight hair. But wavy hair really isn’t too hard to live with, provided you get the right cut. Since my hair is really thick but doesn’t grow very fast, I can get away with a maintenance trim every 3 months. Keeping it short isn’t an option – the less bulk I have, the more it tends to pouf up like an exploded mushroom.

There are times I wish I could shave it all off and just have a buzzcut. No hairbrushes, no gels, no maintenance (besides going back to keep it short). I envy men being able to go get a RM8 haircut at the local barber and not spend more than a few bucks on good hair cream.

But still, there’s nothing quite like sitting at a nice salon with cushy chairs, pleasant music, hilarious hairdresser and sweet-smelling shampoo. Say it with me now: Aaahhhhhhhhh…

So I now weigh myself and track my measurements on SparkPeople every week, with pretty charts and reports.

The good news: I’ve dropped a kilo, lost a few centimetres from my hips and waist.

The bad news: I’m coming along very slowly.

I don’t mind so much that my progress is at a snail’s pace but it’s progress!

Have decided Pilates is the exercise for me.

Why? I’m doing mat work which mostly involves LYING DOWN.

And right after I finished today’s workout and sat down, it felt like I had an invisible brace around my waist. No slouching or melting on my seat as I usually do – Pilates seems to be doing wonders for my posture.

But to supplement my Pilates sessions, I’ll probably start fartlek training next week…fartlek is basically interval training, more intense and less time-consuming. I do not have the time nor the stamina to do hour long jogs. Besides, excessive running is murder on the knees.

Am also attempting to incorporate morning Sun Salutations but there’s my major problem about mornings – getting up early. In the morning all I feel like doing is rolling over to get another extra hour of sleep.

Suggested Pilates to The Suan – she responded with “Sounds like too much effort.”

Sadly, she doesn’t have one of my traits - extreme vanity.

So Irene and me were yamcha-ing with a nice bunch of people after watching Bangkok Dangerous.

One thing we noticed and agreed upon was this particular bunch’s ability to quote a movie line by line, even taking turns to describe the setup of scene. Think choral reading done with movie scenes.

Is this a male thing? I don’t know a single female who can do that with any other film besides the sap fest that was Jerry McGuire. Seriously, the line “You complete me” is one of the most over-repeated lines ever; but the Joker saying it in the latest Batman film was just priceless.

I can quote poems, books, and annoyingly my friends (blackmail material ftw) but movies? Unless it’s Lord of the Rings, I don’t think so.

Is it because males are visual creatures, who find it easier to remember lines when spoke with visual effects to support them?

It might be a cue for teachers to start using animation or visual storytelling when trying to get points across. Perhaps they’ll be ideas for a certain ‘Learning Teacher’ I know.

Aside that is totally unrelated: What’s with Gmail’s emoticons? I say…ebeh.

Irene and me get on well most times, but on one position we tend to differ – makeup.

I insist it’s necessary and she chants the mantra “Bare face! Bare face!” like a war cry.

No, I don’t believe that we have to spend money on pricey creams by La Prairie or wear designer togs all the time. But there’s nothing wrong with putting a little effort into your appearance.

It always shows and people are almost always appreciative. Have given up on my hair because no matter what I do or try, it always ends up looking bedraggled anyway. So I adopt bedroom hair or messy, tousled waves because I don’t have the time to blowdry my stubborn hair into a semblance of normalcy.

But I do try and take some effort with the face. The picture in this post isn’t my forcing my less-than-perfect mug on you but to announce my new Holy Grail – mineral makeup. I blame Beatrice.

Tried Body Shop’s range and I love the colours…but not their staying power. So I ordered samples from LovingMinerals.com, who stock the affordable and much praised Lumiere mineral makeup line. That’s me after trying on their foundation, Silk Veil, Sundew radiance and a hint of blush. It took me less than 5 minutes to sweep the minerals on and it definitely looks more natural than my attempts with liquid foundation. I don’t look too madeup and I don’t look like the corpse that woke up this morning. Powder foundation always tends to look chalky on me and besides Bobbi Brown, few brands stock colours that look good on me. And Bobbi Brown is super-expensive…though its cream concealer is probably the best thing ever invented.

Curious about mineral makeup? Definitely try LovingMinerals – service is speedy and you get free delivery for purchases exceeding RM100. I advise buying the sample sets first so you make sure you get the right shades and there’s enough in the pots for you to play with until you’re absolutely sure you can’t live without mineral makeup.

And to learn how to apply it – I suggest YouTube and searching for “applying mineral foundation”. Worked for me!

I admit it.

I have appalling, atrocious taste in music.

Bubblegum pop, boybands, kitschy daft one-hit wonders. Yep, that sounds like my playlist.

Though I also have an aversion to certain popular bands and a marked inability to appreciate supposed ‘good’ bands.

Confession No.1: I fell asleep listening to OK Computer.

Confession No.2: I do not get Oasis and prefer Ryan Adams’s version of Wonderwall. But Don’t Go Away is a sentimental favourite, so sue me.

Confession No.3: Hearing Richard Ashcroft singing The Drugs Don’t Work while I was still clinically depressed made me cry. In earnest.

Confession No.4: I am unable to fathom the supposed genius of Pete Teo. Or Jerome Kugan. Or “insert critically acclaimed local singer-songwriter” here.

Yes, I am a music pariah who should never be allowed to review music. But to make up for my aural shortcomings I do attempt to locate and listen to supposedly ‘good’ music.

This week I stumbled upon Spiritualized, a space rock band whose album Ladies and Gentlemen we are floating in space is supposedly one of the most brilliant albums ever.

I am attempting to listen to it but somehow the jangly jazz/garage/spaced out drugged out junkie sound…I’m not feeling it.

But I nominate the track Broken Heart as most wrist-slashingly depressing song about a breakup I’ve ever heard. There’s J.Pierce’s half-dead faltering singing, the atmospheric strings in an arrangement that seems almost too full-blown for a breakup song, dammit and the lyrics that funnily remind me of a funeral hymn.

Do not listen to this song while consuming alcohol.

Though I have a broken heart
I'm too busy to be heartbroken
There's a lot of things that need to be done
Lord I have a broken heart
Though I have a broken dream
I'm too busy to be dreaming of you
There's a lot of things that I gotta do
Lord I have a broken dream
And I'm wasted all the time
Ive gotta drink you right off of my mind
I've been told that this will heal given time
Lord I have a broken heart
And I'm crying all the time
I have to keep it covered up with a smile
And I’ll keep on moving on for a while
Lord I have a broken heart

I'm going to sound like a hypocrite here, but it's bothering me the fixation women are publicly having about their bodies. Why have we become a culture where it's the acceptable norm to talk about our weight, how fat we are and bemoan calories and our lack of exercise? All the frickin' time?

People are going to have opinions about your body. Sometimes, they won't be flattering. But when you start to loathe yourself, there lies the path of pain and self-recrimination.

The simple truth is that everyone has warped perceptions of their bodies. Even the skinniest, hottest woman you know might be obsessed with so-called cellulite.

I have the odd moment when I look at my old pictures and wish I could have told the old me that there was nothing wrong with her. When I was a nice, healthy 55kg, I obsessed about a non-existent gut (which is sadly now existent) and bemoaned how unattractive I was. But when you're bombarded with images of unattainable physical standards, it's easy not to appreciate what you already have.

"Women are expected to be attractive. Those perceived to be unattractive become offensive and not worthy of being seen in public. Men, on the other hand, are free to be as crude and ugly as they wish, and in many cases are expected to be." - DailyIllini.com.

I hate that women I adore and admire turn into self-doubting, crushed individuals because the popular perception is that women who don't have 'perfect' bodies aren't worthy of affection, admiration, sexual attention or love.

To be brutally honest, some men do prefer slim, toned women. Does that mean the rest of us not-so-slim, not-so-toned should just drop ourselves into the unattractive bucket and accept life's cruelties?

If you're unhappy with your body, let it be because you think you deserve better than to haul around an extra spare tire with you all the time. Not because you care that someone will find you unattractive. The people who love you, will love you whatever skin you're in. And the ones who love you enough will gently prod you to do something about the skin if it needs some work, because we all need a reminder to not let ourselves go sometimes.

I think it’s a sign I’m well on my way to becoming a crabby old cat lady when I’ve become intolerant about people not getting to the point.

No hedging, no waffling, no insinuations please.

Say what you want, and be done with it.

Games and subtlety are lost on me. Verbal repartee works in the movies, and reads well in books. But I like things in black and white, in neon lights even.

But if you know what you want, don’t assume I know what you want.

Just say it already.

more animals

I remember laughing my arse off when ST put my name and ‘emo’ together and got ‘Ermo’.

More apt than I’d like though; I think emo is my default state.

Which can be distressing for friends who are also regular readers of my blog who have to ask me things like “You OK or not?”

The good news is that I’m pretty much recovered from my clinical depression. No more Prozac, therapy or suicide watches needed. Yes, I honestly am OK and I no longer feel that weariness with life that used to cloud my days.

The bad news, darlings, is that I am a regular waterworks. Sad movies make me cry. Sad songs make me cry. Old memories sometimes put me in a funk and every so often I throw myself a pity party of one where I will listen to the same song on repeat and bore everyone in my immediate vicinity.

I’m thin-skinned, skittish in crowds, have a disturbing tendency to morph from self-confident networker to sullen, brooding wallflower sometimes in the space of ten minutes. Ask Irene. She’s seen me talk IT education issues with MIMOS reps yet she also knows me as the blur woman who needed a whole year before she stopped getting lost in 1U.

But that doesn’t mean you need to handle me like fine china or that I’m going to threaten suicide if you say I look fat in my new dress. My sense of humour is very much intact and seriously, I really don’t take myself very seriously.

When I wouldn’t stop harping on about a certain bloke I was scarily obsessed over years back, a friend of mine told me bluntly that she didn’t want to hear me talk about him anymore. She knew that being frank would be the only way to get me to shut up. I love you, Dawn!

I guess if I had to reintroduce myself to the people who know me, it would go something like this:

Friend: ”Hi, I’m so-and-so.”

Me: “Hi, I’m complicated.”

My name is Erna. I emo a lot. About everything. But feel free to tell me to emo about something else when I emo about one subject too much.

At least emo will be more tolerable with variety, right? Right?

As you can tell, I’m also very deluded.

Watching Crazy Little Thing called Love last night, one of the songs wouldn't leave my head.

Found the song on YouTube, and after listening to it in full, I get why I love it so much. Because it reminds me of the way H loves me.

I'd always imagined I'd date someone middle-class with a similar sort of background, similar education, similar family experience but well, I got someone from the other side of the spectrum.

He's such a simple man that sometimes it exasperates me. And it breaks my heart sometimes when he just admits to me, "Yes, I'm stupid." But I wouldn't trade him for a man with more brains, or more money.

My first boyfriend said I was neither pretty nor attractive, but there was 'something there'.

My second boyfriend always joked about how short and dark I was (maybe compared to him - he was very fair and very tall). Once when I wore a dress in a mall, he was all "Looks better than I thought it would".

H tells me I'm beautiful and means it.

H loves that I'm smart, and laughs when I have a temper tantrum.

H gets upset if I don't correct his English mistakes and won't stop asking questions about what something means, or how a grammar rule works.

H doesn't call me fat, and is horrified at the thought of my starving myself to be thinner. He'd rather I just exercise more.

And when I was having a horrible emo moment on a Saturday moment, he just says, simply, "Why do you worry so much? I think of you of every day...I want you to be happy."

I sometimes think the stupidest thing he's ever done is to love me, and the smartest thing I ever did was to let him.

So here's Dave Barnes's Nothing Fancy.

There's nothing fancy bout the way I love you,
there's nothing you could not find in any other man.
There's nothing fancy bout the way I love you,
but I love you as hard as I can.
There's no good reason for the way you love me,
but you're my walking dream come true.
There's no good reason for the way you love me,
But I thank God that you do.
I don't know the perfect conversation,
I don't know the way to turn a head,
I don't know the perfect way to prove my love,
But I know I'll love you till I'm dead.
There's nothing fancy bout the way I love you,
It's as simple as the stars in the sky, and the blue in the sea.
There's nothing fancy bout the way I love you,
But it sure is fancy how you love me.

It isn't often I tell my friends to go watch a play, especially not something local. Too much overacting, horrible enunciation (I will never get over a certain thespian saying "CHAL-dren" instead of "chill-dren") and the feeling that the players are acting, instead of becoming, their characters.

But if you have a heart at all then I'd suggest you let Footstool Players remind you about that "Crazy Little Thing called Love".

They're making the rounds at churches right now because their roots are in Christian-themed theatre, but this particular show isn't about faith - it's about love. And few things are as universal as the feeling that inspires more songs or works of art than any other emotion.

It's a series of rather poignant sketches that alternately poke gentle fun at relationship cliches, or paint pictures of hurt, loss and longing. They also have the nifty addition of songs to create a sort of musical flow between the sketches, to help create the mood.

One sketch that bothered me, yet at the same time rent the edges of this jaded heart to shreds was Word Picture acted ably by Ee Soon Wei and Adrene Wong. Soon Wei has a slight lisp, which could have proved distracting but instead added a touch of vulnerability to his silently hurting career man character. I applaud Adrene's daring tackle of dialogue which is a little unrealistic in its verbosity - the metaphors seem too carefully written to be believable but in the end, it's not the words but the general feeling conveyed. It's real in the sense you really feel the hurt, you see the gulf they unwittingly put between them and you want them to build the bridge they need to cross it and find each other again. Oh, my poor, poor heart got such a workout at the end of it.

Thankfully not all the sketches are as emotionally-wrenching as that one, with plenty of room for brevity and laughs.

So do yourself a favour and catch the Footstool Players at KLPAC next month.

Dates and ticket prices are below:

6–8, 13–15 November 2008 @ 8:30 pm
8–9, 15–16 November 2008 @ 3:00 pm
Tickets: RM30 adults / RM20 students, senior citizens and disabled
Tickets available from: KLPac Box Office Tel: (03) 4047 9000
Actors Studio at BSC Tel: (03) 2094 0400/1400
Tickets on sale from late September. Check www.klpac.com for details.

This would be where an emo post would be, if I were to actually bother writing said emo post.

Insert existential angst.

Reminiscing.

Rants.

Touchy-feely connecting with inner child.

Whinge. Cringe. Minge.

Done. That made me feel just as good as writing an actual emo post that might bore/defame/worry people.

So I'm 30 this year.

I haven't exactly been a paragon of virtue, nor do I exercise regularly beyond walking to work. Eating too much, sleeping too little and a generally sedentary, complacent lifestyle has led to my gaining 10kg over the course of a year.

After much procrastinating, I went to nearby Pathlab for tests.

The bad news first.

I've got pretty high cholesterol levels, and I'm borderline anemic.

The good news is that apart from that, everything else is fine. Doctor also suggested I take a Hep A vaccination since I do travel on occasion.

My borderline anemia explains my constant lethargy so I guess I'll need to modify my diet as well as work on my fitness.

And for the curious: I'm HIV and VD-negative. Clean. Nice to know.

So my slow and steady fitness program will now have more fuel to get me started. Goodbye fried foods. It was great knowing you.

...as if you needed to be told that.

After the start of my mission to lose weight, I've lost 3kg, gained back half of it and discovered a few things.

1. I get bored easily

2. I have precious little stamina

3. I do better with more frequent but shorter workouts than longer, less frequent ones

Two times a week just doesn't work for me, because if I miss one session then that means I only work out once a week which won't help much with Mission Remove The Gut.

So it's three times a week for 20-30 mins. Eating more frequently, but with smaller portions.

Sometimes, though, you also need a little help from your friends.

Take this little convo I had:

"Don't kill me but you need to lose a liiiiitle bit of weight."

"..."

"Hey, at least you'll always have someone there to remind you!"

I like the sound of always.

The new site will be up sooner than expected and am looking forward to it coming out, building it up and pushing The Mag firmly into the online space.

But a few realisations about my new role have started to sink in.

1. Less perks. When I was editor of The Mag, it was tiring, stressful and a threat to my blood pressure. But at least it came with the odd perks and of course, PR people being ever anxious to make nice with you.

Being Web editor, despite my rank being pretty much the same in terms of seniority, public perception is that I'm not a decision-maker and that currying favour with me is no longer important.

2. No/little chance to travel. My journo friends at papers bemoaned the crap pay and lack of glamour, but at least they went overseas at least three times a year. Those days are gone for me now. I'll be lucky to go down to Singapore now, and that's only if there's a slot free because the 'first tier' or newspapers decline the invite.

Hardly anyone calls now and though I don't miss the barrage of calls, sometimes I do feel somewhat unimportant.

I guess my ego's been hurt somewhat by my new status and it gave me reason to have a pity party of one.

But really, there are good things.

1. I'm less stressed

2. I rarely have to answer the phone

3. Though PR people no longer give me much credo, nothing's changed at work as far as the pecking rank goes.

4. I have more time to do things like play WAR, work on creative projects on the side and do the occasional 'lance piece.

5. The Web's still growing as a space and has plenty of room to move forward. Publishing on the other hand has been static for years. So the news reporters get to go overseas and will get the plum invites. But I report only to my boss, I get a lot of say on what content goes on the Web and enjoy more autonomy that I did on the magazine.

Instead of relying on press releases, I have time to hunt my own stories and not rely as much on pitches. I get instant gratification instead of waiting a whole month for my pieces to appear. And unlike print, I get to play with video, music and the online medium to engage my readers with more than just the written word.

The good outweighs the bad. I can't complain, really.

Important thing is: no more frickin' advertorials that I don't get paid extra for. Whoo bloody hoo.

…if I like making fun of you ever so often.

Because deep within my humour, I hide little crumbs of bitterness.

But the barbs are less painful now. The jibes a little less snide.

It’s still better saying what I feel this way than being too frank, too cutting.

Because sooner than later I’ll forget. Because I forgive you more easily than I realise.

Which left more time for camwhoring.

Me and Elly, my frequent lunch victim.

We arrived at Club Med at 3pm, hungry and exhausted. I was rather dreading the 6pm inter-team football match later at 6pm. Bosses had 'brilliant' idea to break us into three teams, naming them after Japanese cars: Nissan, Honda and Toyota. They made me captain of the last team which made me a bit apprehensive about having to choose football, volleyball and basketball players. I admit I suck at team sports. Ask my secondary schoolmates: I was never cut out for athletics and I don't think I've ever not been unfit all my schoolyears.

Fortunately, I wasn't the only one out of shape. Years of sedentary activity will do you in, you see. Most of my collegues were deskbound and it was plenty hilarious to see their antics on the field. Team Nissan outplayed us all but we had fun. I even managed a decent tackle but never, never make me goalie.

Then after football and plenty of bruises to show for it, we cleaned up and had dinner together. Also caught a show at the Club Med theatre arena which is always a fun thing to do.

You see, every week the GOs will perform for a few nights and entertain the crowd with song and dance skits. They're high-school production level yet impressive in the amount of work you see, cooked up in such a short time. After that, I cajoled colleagues into joining me on the dance floor.

I danced until my right knee gave out and then by 11.40am I was ready for bed and preparing for the next day.

My sole disappointment was in the lack of GO company. GOs or gentil organizeurs are Club Med's hospitality experts who sit with you at meals and keep you company throughout the trips. They're fun, very knowledgeable at what they do and help make your trip anything but ordinary. Then we found out that Club Med was all booked out and the GOs were tied up with all the other groups. Disappointing, but still, I was having a lot of fun anyhow.

The next day would bring more fun and laughter...and some GO company. ;)

• Open Bar. Cocktails all night and day? Happiness in bottles for those who drink like a fish.
• Spruced up rooms. My twin room was lovely and spacious compared to the tiny cabin-like room i had the last time.
• Still plenty of yummy GOs (gentil organizeurs) to ogle.Nothing like staring at stomach muscles so defined you could play tick tack toe or a game of checkers on them.

• No coffee servers. All self-service now. I miss brewed coffee.
• Pastries disappointing. Food standards seem to have dropped a little since the last time I was here.

Club Med Cherating…again. Second time going, but this time I have most of my colleagues for company.

Am team leader of Team Toyota. Will we survive football, volleyball and basketball competitions? We’ll see.

I hope the beaches are still as beautiful as I remember, the sand as soft as it was two years ago.

Am staying clear of the stinging jellyfish, though. Brrr…

Be back Sunday, and hopefully no new drama erupts.

*blows you all kisses*

Dear God,

I believe in you.

But why are so many of your people such asshats?

There are the ones who kill other people for not agreeing with them, or 'insulting' their Gods, religions, prophets, dress code...

Then there are the ones who act holier than thou or think that it's perfectly fine to whine all the time about how religion is being murdered! How the big, bad government or those damn liberals are keeping God out of schools!

Newsflash: God is everywhere. You can't put up barbed wire fences to keep God out, you stupid, stupid people.

I can't believe I'm still this angry about a stupid email forward.

I'm not just angry about that, I'm angry about how people are still stupid when it comes to their God/s.

Look, God was just fine without you.

Why must you be stupid just because you're a certain faith?

And I'm tired of people asking about the state of my faith. I believe in God. The end.

I just don't like most of the other people who say they do right now.

I despise those email forwards that hint that by passing them around you're doing the "Christian" or "insert religion here" thing.

One whiny email I got said that it was a shame that it was easy to forward silly pictures or jokes but people would hesitate to forward religious emails.

That's because some people are smarter than you, bub, and don't think it's their legitimate duty to stuff their faith down the throats of other believers.

I was angry to get one particular email with the title "Fwd: Ben Stein's Remarks from CBS Sunday Morning. Must Read."

Whad'ya mean must read? Does reading it improve my IQ? Will it cure cancer or AIDS? Will it make the readers less stupid?

Even worse, the email had been forwarded around the block so many times it had the added inanity of comments like "I can only hope we find God again before it is too late!!"

Dear God, please save us from stupid people. Amen.

Since said email was in my inbox anyway, I did a cursory read and when I got to the following part, I was ready to give the one who forwarded it a long lecture in good taste and compassion:

"In light of recent events... terrorists attack, school shootings, etc.  I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found a few years ago) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.  Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school.  The Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself.  And we said OK.
Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr Spock's son committed suicide).  We said an=2 0 expert should know what he's talking about.  And we said OK.
Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.
Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out.  I think it has a great deal to do with 'WE REAP WHAT WE SOW.' "

OH THIS PART MADE ME WANT TO SCREAM AND RANT AND PILLAGE AND...SPANK SOMEONE REALLY HARD.

1. Bringing up the Madeleine case as proof of your case for bringing God into public life is bad taste. Would you like your child's murder be used in such a blatantly disrespectful way, to forward someone's religious propaganda? Any parent should think properly before forwarding said email.
2. Bringing up the suicide of another person's child? Even worse. Most parents do the best they can; crucifying one parent for his child's suicide is hateful.
3. "I think it has a great deal to do with 'WE REAP WHAT WE SOW.' " So I hope you get a hoe right in your teeth because right now you're sowing the seeds of my fury.

You know what's the best part? That the part of the email that I detested was a complete fabrication. Someone had added the part to Ben Stein's piece and decided to forward it along. A friend of mine Snoped the forward and found that out:

 http://www.snopes.com/politics/soapbox/benstein2.asp

So, Ben Stein, for the most part, your piece wasn't too bad. The person who decided to change your piece into something galling by adding his own piece of religious propaganda is another story.

And, by the way, Dr.Spock's kid didn't commit suicide.

The moral of the story is to make sure that what you're forwarding is legitimate instead of just sending it along and calling it a 'must read'.

There are enough lies in the world already. Let's not help them multiply.

Angelina Jolie: 3 months after giving birth to twins and she's still obscenely gorgeous.

Must.Motivate.Self.To Exercise More.