This is the Bimbo one...

It's SO obvious that I'm bored, innit? TWO entries in a day! It's not that I've nothing to do but I'm uninspired. And while I'm high on blover* I might as well make the most of it.

This is one issue that's been on my mind since last week. Sorry but I'm about to sound rrrRRRrrreeeeEEEeaaallleeeeEEeee bimbo now - long fringe or short fringe?? I know, I know... that's been the status message on my MSN for the past week. Even asked buddies to vote. Some good sports did though. The score now stands at:

Long fringe = 3.5 votes
Short fringe = 2.5 votes

No thanks to Elaine who said "a bit shorter than long, but not too long... somewhere in the middle." Ekk? That explains the half point in the scores.

Anyway, I've always had a long fringe - that's the only way to go when you don't have a hairstyle to begin with. Recently, I took a major super-duper death-defying risk by having baby-doll bangs... gasp!! Bangs!! But hey - I didn't think I looked all too bad. As of today, my hair is in an interim stage between "God-forbid-what-did-you-do" and "Et voila, sassy!". I subjected my hair to some crisis management over the weekend to cover up the whities and put it on a leash. As usual, I never learn. Got duped again by the attendant who spoke very little Ingrish and who under-quoted me for my treatment. My soulmate Vernie thinks that I love to pay loads of money for absolutely no hairstyle at all. He's wrong about the "love" bit.

I'm gonna attach two pics of myself - with long fringe and short. You be the judge and vote.

* I call the short-fringed picture my "Love is Forever" pic. I had it taken with Vernie at a roadshow of some sort and the photographer put us in this ghastly flower-power frame with those words on top of it! Vernie had to do some nip-tucking to crop it out, hahaha!

vs.












*Blover = blogging fever. Sendiri buat punya perkataan :P


So how ah?

Of Pietas and Prophets

I have a past. And I'm ready to share it.


http://ofpietasandprophets.blogspot.com


*blush*

The Curse of Madam Helen

You know the feeling when you get a papercut that's just about healing? Yeah, that not-so-painful-but-stinging throb. It doesn't hurt so much that you'll cry or curl up in a feverish fit but it's enough to remind you that it's THERE. OK, so this is another 'rant' entry. But what else are blogs for anyway?? Besides, this is MY blog, and I'll write what I wanna! *scowl* *stick tongue out*

Today was a typical Madam Helen day. The kind of day that will end up in disaster no matter what you do, by virtue of the fact that it is the day you have to meet Madam Helen. Madam Helen is the type of person who lives by the mantra that "if it screws up, it's somebody else's fault". And the "if I don't like what I see in the first 5 minutes, it's a waste of my time". Oh, and the "you look too young to know what's going on, therefore I think you're unworthy of my respect". Ooh, ooh, wait - there's one more - the "once you make a teeny-weeny mistake, you're stupid for life". I think you get the picture.

So we had a bad beginning with Madam Helen when we first met her. She didn't like me from the start. Maybe it was my black bra behind my see-thru bust-enhancing top. Maybe it was my exec's clumsy demeanour. Maybe it was a misuse of a taboo word during our presentation. It was just so wrong from the very start. She just didn't like me. I don't really know if I should be thankful, but her son seemed (and still does!) to think we deserved some credit and went on to work with us. And just as luck would have it, this account has seen more bad days than good. First, we were cursed with the misfortune of a badly-placed ad in the newspaper which made the brand look so insignificant, and which threw Madam Helen off her chair as she demanded for a full rebate from us. We gave it another shot and this time, paid the newspaper extra money for our ad to appear on a good page. Then some big shot's mother had to pass away, and our ad was again pushed to the back, in favour of a full-page obituary. Why why why? No one can answer the streak of bad luck we're having with this client.

In a lot of ways, today's mini volcanic eruption was the last straw for my exec Tim and I. We'd done our best, and yet Madam Helen wasn't happy. In fact, she stormed off halfway during our presentation while uttering that we were such a waste of her time. Oh well. Tim and I weren't new to her outbursts, but my boss was. She was embarrassed, humiliated, and her ego was hurt. NOW she knows what we put up with ever so often. And as far as Tim and I are concerned, we are SO not impressed with Madam Helen's childish, bratty, primadona behavior. We've pretty much lost our respect for her. Totally. I don't give a rat's ass that she's so-and-so's friend and Lord-knows-what kind of sterling silver spoon is shoved up her be-diseased mouth. I'm just very sorry that her children have to put up with such a shameful mother.

I'm kinda proud of myself that I didn't flinch, but I was secretly hoping they'd fire us. Honestly, like I've always made known - I would rather starve than to tolerate ridicule from an ungrateful client. I've been cursed, almost, with a string of very difficult clients ever since I started working - starting with the notorious fishnet-stocking clad horror of a credit-card client, the spoilt Dato's son at the hotel, the slave-driver manager at my first big agency, the whiny verbally-abusive merchant banker, the oppressed closet gay Chinaman at the healthcare department... and now, this. Ho-hum. If this doesn't make me bitter and cynical, I'd most probably be a moron or Mother Teresa reincarnated.

Well you win some, you lose some. I can only continue to do the best I can for this campaign - for the love of advertising. The late great Leo Burnett said "Sometimes clients buy ideas not because they're great, but because they trust you". He also said "Advertising can bring the customer to the shop, but it cannot make the customer buy the product." In normal Ingrrish, since the client doesn't like us anyway, she's not going to trust us, let alone buy our ideas! Fairplay or not, I won't wince if we don't win this job, plainly because I don't like her either!! *snort snort* And inasmuch as we can do a fantabulous award-winning campaign, it won't mean a thang if the place doesn't deliver the promise. Whoops - I guess that means that we'll be blamed again. La dee da. So be The Curse of Madam Helen.

I don't wish this on anybody, but it's almost the norm in the ad industry. Ridiculous clients and even more ridiculous demands! There will come a time when one party has to give in and reach a compromise, and we all know the chances of the client giving in is as slim as getting a one-night stand with Keanu Reeves. (Provided he's straight, of course.)

Have you ever had a Madam Helen day? Or a Madam Helen streak of bad chemistry with a person? And why do I hear Daniel Powter singing in my head???



Latest update 14/5/07
We lost the account to a 4A's agency somewhere in Damansara Heights. Good luck fellas!

True Zeroes: The Inflated Deflator!

I'm a Superhero. Did I ever tell you I'm a Superhero? Well I am a Superhero. And I have super powers. My super sonic powers enable me to attract the male bastards, losers and lamers (MBLL) of the Universe. Once they get attracted to me, you'll know they're MBLL. And when I'm close to them, their stinky MBLL traits are exposed and that causes an intense negative reaction in me, which will result in me biting their heads off but not before I unwittingly shred their egos to bits.

And therein lies the very root of my cursed singlehood.

I don't think I've explained how the superhero alias came about. Simple. I'm fat = Inflated. And I deflate egos = Deflator. See? Inflated Deflator.

So ladies, if you want to know if your man is an MBLL, send them over! Men - sorry my powers don't work on gays.

Note:
I'd like to add Kenneth, Aled, Neel, Chris and Dr. Kumar to the list of MBLL's. Original list in last blog. Will update list from time to time when I remember them bastards I've pulverized.

Bluffology

For some reason, I always get hit on by Indians. Don't get me wrong, I have no racial preference. I have long told all my friends that as long as ada otak and can spikking England, I'm cool with him. And whaddaya know, most of them who speak good English turn out to be Yindians. And I suspect that they might have a fetish for wobbly, generously-overflowing women too. Oh well, it's just a hunch.

I also realise that 3 out of 4 Indian men who hit on me will talk about the size of their members. And I have to go on record for this - 3 out of 4 who brag about it end up having smaller-than-medium sized members. I'm serious. I can vouch for the fact that Indian men DO NOT have bigger members by virtue of genetics. Sorry. Although there was one loser who did measure up... but that was all he had - size. He couldn't even keep it up. Poor me.

So there - this entry is dedicated to you (reckless name dropping starts... NOW) - Radah, Vijay, Syah and Kish. All losers, liars and lamers.



Disclaimer:
Ahem. NO, I didn't sleep with ALL of them!! Some of them just bragged too much.

Life's Lessons Revisited

This entry is dedicated to my cousin Audrey. What was originally intended to be a ferrying service turned out to be a crash course in life’s lessons, some of which I’d long put in cold storage. Audrey is, after all, 20 years old and enjoying the spoils of her youth. Boys (not men), clubbing, make-up, fashion – typical topics (yawn) tabled during our occasional meetings. Sunday’s meeting was a little different in that it involved a very silly little distraught girl, an annoyed older cousin, and surprise, surprise – one extremely possessive, jealous and totally misguided and desperately in need of some serious Addie-pulverizing young boyfriend.

You see, what seems to be The Problem of The Century in the eyes of a 20-year old, is in fact nothing more than an annoyance to a 35-year old; a fruitfly buzzing under your nose – nothing a SWAT! of a newspaper couldn’t fix. Of course, we’d have to be quick to understand that when we were young, every new situation – was a new problem.

Life’s Lesson #1
Everyone’s allowed to be young and foolish. I said to Audrey, “One part of me wants to be Big Sis and tell you to walk away from this small problem, because, really, there are so many more fish in the sea. I want to tell you that you don’t deserve to be treated this way, and that I can’t bear to see you cry over a broken heart. And I’d tell you to leave this boy and find a better one.

“And yet if I do that, I’m stopping you from experiencing the very essence of living life. Of getting your heart broken, the pain of knowing too much pleasure, the thrill of pursuit and possession, and the sweet victory of overcoming rejection. You will be a half-baked chicken with only the rich experience of trashy high school romance novels as your guide to growing up in this big bad world.”

“The other side of me wants to be cruel to be kind. To let you see how foolish you are, to let you fall and see if you can pick yourself up. Of course, if I do that, I would be totally irresponsible as an older person not to lead you in the right direction.

“So here’s what I think I will do. I’m going to let you make up your own mind as to what you want to do with your useless boyfriend, ha ha, but not before imparting some of my own experiences. Then you be the judge of things.”

Because, really, you only get to be young once. It’s perfectly alright to make mistakes. But it’s disastrous if you don’t learn from them.


Life’s Lesson #2
There will always be Bastards. You can wish them dead, but you can’t stop them from being born every minute of the day, all across the world. You can’t avoid them, and, as I have just recently discovered, they can comprise of the most unexpected and seemingly saintliest of them all!

But for every 50 bastards, there is one truly wonderful man worthy of being heralded. But chances are, he lives in Greenland and already has a boyfriend. Nonetheless, we celebrate his existence and silently hope that he soon realizes that planting his seed in the rectal regions of his lover’s anal cavity will not produce an offspring anytime soon. And that he will donate his DNA for scientific research and bless the female population with his clones. (Didju git that, Mr. Scientist? I wrote “cloneSSSSSSSSSSSSS”!!)

So what do we do, but walk on. Again, to learn from experience so that in future, you know exactly how to deal with the bullshit and dodge the blows. And until that time, never close your heart. Love grows where kindness shows. Love was put in your heart, and you can’t make it go away. Love is inevitable. Even if you love durians – that’s love too, you idiot!


Life’s Lesson #3
A husband is NOT family. Friends are forever. Boyfriends, girlfriends, lovers, fiancées, even married couples NEVER last. I tell you, the marriage institution is a joke now. Alright, children and parents are family, and if you’re lucky they’ll stick by you no matter what. So don’t sever ties with the rest of the world just because your lover doesn’t get along with them. They’re YOUR friends, and all these years you’ve gotten along just fine. So who died and made your lover God? When they walk out on you, the only people you can turn to are your friends and family. And can you imagine how unsettling the situation will be if you’d gone and pissed them all off? So no matter what, never EVER turn your back on your family, or give up your friends.


Life’s Lesson #4
If it adds value to your life, then stick to it. Being good in bed is a definite boners… uh, bonus… but when you’re 60 and your willy is as hard as a deflated balloon and your pussy is as scalloped as your Datin neighbour’s curtains, what then? Yeah, yeah, we all know about stimulating conversations. And then what?

It’s that silent teacher, that invisible halo that we hang on to. That noble characteristic that makes us want to always be bigger and better than what we are, everyday in every way. For him, for her. It’s that unspoken word, the unseen gesture, that leaves us tingling and makes us feel wonderful inside. It’s the mental ganja that makes us stick together. The questions we need to ask ourselves are, “How can he/she make my life better?” “Am I learning anything good/gaining anything beneficial from him/her?” “How can I be a better person?” “Am I willing to sacrifice my vices to improve myself for him/her?”

If your answer is anywhere between “Nope” to “F*** off!!”, then you’re better off single (like me, surprise, surprise). The saying goes, “You never know what you’ve got till you lose it.” Yeah, I learnt that the hard way. So I always ask myself nowadays – what will I stand to lose if I walk out now? The answers are all-telling, whether it concerns your job or your love life.

Life’s Lesson #5
Blood is thicker than water. Audrey and I are not very close. But she came to me in her time of desperation. Yes, I feel somewhat heroic, but more surprising was how quick I rose to the defense to save my kin’s skin. That’s saying something, and it echoes Life’s Lesson #3 on family. That no matter what, when even your friends can’t help you, there’s always a family member around who can. And will. Or just bloody has to or answer to BOTH your parents.


And so it was warm and fuzzy. I dropped Audrey back at her boyfiend’s house (that was NOT a spelling error) to let her sort things out with her – ahem – newfound wisdom. While I’m just pleasantly surprised that all of my life’s mistakes, heartbreaks, mishaps and lessons did come in handy after all. There was a purpose for it albeit a teeny-weeny purpose; but there IS good from being a rebel, an accidental flirt, a clumsy lover and unconventional woman.

Bravo.