Music makes the heart grow fonder- take 5

(Read Take1, Take 2, Take 3, Take 4 respectively before reading Take 5- yes I am pedantic)


Sleep when you’re dead is my motto. I refused to go home when the night was still a foetus. Walking through the door, we were greeted by two steroidian buffoids. I shivered under their evil eyes/muscles as I allowed one of them to clutch my wrist and stamp it for proof of payment and future exit-entry rights.

Deja vu- the setup was similar to a club that I’d been to in the past; only thing different were the people (well, maybe not- they were all average Joe soaps, no one edgy and interesting, blahhhhh). We decided to drink to that fact, and opted for our usual: Gin, Soda and Lime.

The air was icy on the outside, as we juggled from one dancefloor to the other. The bridge between the two cut through a velvety black dam. It was a midnight wonderland and the ginormous green frog winked at us from the water’s edge. He was kinda cute, in a plastic, frog kinda way.

As usual, The Master, dropped class-A tunes. They lingered and wove themselves through my dancing frame, lastly touching my soul. Yes, good music always touches me like that. I’ve often been asked, how the hell I can dance for hours on end, without the aid of a stimulant- I added that for the benefit of those of you, who question my stimulant-laced description of said music affecting me as it does. As we sliced and diced it- without being knocked around- I noticed some dude staring at us... Deja vu number 2, he was the same guy hanging on the bar as we got our drinks.

I was getting a tad chilly as we braved the bridge and the plastic-froggies wink, so we decided to make a very icy journey to the car. Blasted boy had forgotten to give back my sentimental red wooly number! As my sis fished for the car key in her garden-boots, I shivered like a reptile in the night. I was slightly angry by blasted-boy’s inconsiderations of a lady freezing, whilst he left for his warm bed!!! After hanging up, it was without a doubt, known to his voicemail. I wasn’t going to let that ruin my evening...

Drink after drink, electrobeat after electrobeat, I was having a splendid time. Well most of it was a splendid affair, bar the stalker staring at us from the dark corner of the dancefloor. He wasn’t half bad looking. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t spring to mind, but I’ve never been one for typical “dashing” good looks. Admittingly, there were a few eye catching features that were quiet interesting- messy hair, slim body type, hanging jeans from the lack of rear ends... What a pity he had stalker tendencies.

Intermission

Due to the weekend this show will continued on monday. You can now relieve yourselves in the bathrooms. We have also supplied brown paper bags in front of your seat for alternate relief ;)

Curtain of Pearls- take 4

(Read Take1, Take 2 and Take 3 respectively before reading Take 4 hahaha!!)


As I nibbled on my cucumber and avo sushi, I looked around the room at the “upper-class” in their formal attire. It was a bland occasion, one that I usually avoided like a vampire to the sun (sizzle, melt, splat). This however, was an exception to MY rules of existence, as it was to support a friend (me being the selfless person I am- hahaha). Another convincing contributor was the fact that I hadn’t let my hair down in awhile...

Yadda, yadda, yadda... Now I knew why I didn’t do “formal things”. The speech part of the evening drew on for lifelines (911 we had an emergency). The fatty giving the speech had a fake Brit accent. He also had green socks on underneath his shiny, black trousers.

Sands and I decided to perch on the edge of a chair (it was a restaurant setup and we were standing by the bar-where else would one be?!) In front of us was the “Apple Mac Dude” who used to service and provide technical support to the computers at my place of work. Sands thought he could service and provide support to her any day. We giggled like girls as the muffled “yaddas” continued.

A few tequilas later, and this evening was shaping out to be somewhat bearable. Pigmy Toni, Koosh, Ash, Freedi, Tee, Sands, A-mad and I were showing these cardboard cutouts how it was supposed to be done. The dancefloor was ours as the discoball glistened on our dancing shoes (eeeekkk my bloody feet were killing me, damn those stilettos!)

And as quick as we could say “Tequila”, the party died. Sad to all of us, but true...

Prickly Vinegar Legs- take 3

(Read Take1 and Take 2 respectively before reading Take 3)


My sinuses were clogged to its full capacity and I couldn'’t breath. The dust engulfed me, as I leopard crawled to try and make it out of this mangled wreck. I was surrounded by what looked like a cabbage patch, but in actual fact, they were prickly humps of cacti. My limbs burned as the needles punctured through my fatty layers. I told myself the pain was a temporary sacrifice for my freedom, so I gritted my teeth, and endured the tattoo pricking.

I felt exhausted, but being home cushioned my heavy shoulders. Today, was my new leaf and I knew I needed to treat myself with some “"me-time"”. I planned to stay pyjama clad for the rest of the day, as I made myself comfortable in front of the telly. The relaxing bliss dissipated, when I watched in horror, as women in Rwanda told their stories of being raped by militia, as their children watched on. (My rational mind told me to change the channel, but my fingers were paralysed, as something deep inside told me otherwise- I listened to the sadistic cry and I felt their pain...)

I needed an upper, so my sister and I made our way to the video store. She drove, and I waited in the car as she went inside to get a movie (”Alfie” it was. Jude Law- yum. I was already feeling better).

“Start damn car, START!!” After a half and hour of simultaneously trying to pump the gas; as we tried turning the key in the ignition, we decided to jump-start the battery. I refused to get out of the car. I knew my fluffy, bear pyjamas were fit for sleeping, but somehow they weren'’t quiet right for public car maintenance...

Onion- take 2

(Read Take1 before reading Take2, thank you for your co-operation)


The toilet cubicle was fit for a beanpole of a person. I stood on the toilet seat and tried to bash out the glass skylight with my bottle of facewash. As I did, the layer of glass seemed to magically replace itself with another. The bashing continued as I started to panic (the key fumbling in the keyhole grew more imminent), but it was like peeling an onion- tears included. Thankfully, like onions, all layers must come to an end. Only once hoisting myself out of the skylight, did I realise my in-the-nick-of-time escape. My sneaker (my good one at that- opposed to my left, bad one) had been pulled off by one of the men I was trying to get away from.

Still shook up by this close encounter, I was determined to ditch this popsicle stand. As I peered around the corner I saw small shrubs and bare bushes anchored in dusty sand. There was no sign of the men anywhere. A good chance presented itself, and I ran with it.

I looked up at the fence. Dismay, dismay, dismay! At the very top was a row of shark teeth barbed-wire. How was I going to get out of here in one piece? To make matters worse, there was a trench-like labyrinth of more mangled wires at the other side of the fence. It felt like a recurring theme here. First the glass onion skylight* (lalala), and now THIS!

*Glass Onion by The Beatles


You know the place where nothing is real
Well here's another place you can go
Where everything flows.

Looking through the bent backed tulips
To see how the other half live
Looking through a glass onion.

I told you about the walrus and me-man
You know that we're as close as can be-man
Well here's another clue for you all
The walrus was Paul.

Standing on the cast iron shore-yeah
Lady Madonna trying to make ends meet-yeah
Looking through a glass onion.

Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah
looking through the glass onion.

I told you about the fool on the hill
I tell you man he living there still
Well here's another place you can be
Listen to me.

Fixing a hole in the ocean
Trying to make a dove-tail joint-yeah
Looking through a glass onion.

Face wash and Soda- take 1

It's been awhile since I graced you with my delightful (well, I like to think so) presence...

I remember trying to a find a way out of the concrete jungle. It was the clinical-type of linear confusion that sticks in my mind the most. As I strolled down the aisles, the choice bombarded me, and, as usual, I gave up the search before my retail repertoire decided to slit its own wrist. I blindly stuck my hand out, reached for the nearest bottle and threw it (clunkety, clunk, clunk, clunk) into the shopping basket.

The overhead lights were making me nauseous- that, coupled with the snaking aisles- so I decided to make for the nearest aisle A-sap, (It's always intrigued me, when people say A-sap and not A,S,A,P) obviously paying for my lone item before doing so. So there I was, waiting in line, patiently, when a little, cute, munchkin of a child struck up a conversation with me. She pointed to my potential purchase and asked what I was holding. I looked into her beady eyes and retorted: "It's facewash, you want some?", to which she replied: " Mommy I want chok-lit!" Ahhh, love the furry critters...

As I proceeded to make my way to the exit, a voice boomed over the intercom: "Attention all shoppers. We are now closing, please make your way to the exit A-sap (there's that word again)." I picked up my pace (which isn't very much, considering my pint-sized legs) and that's when the lights went out. I fumbled around for a few minutes, but to no avail of exiting this shopping hell. I was trapped. I looked at the possibilities of having blacked out and awaking to a time delay which caused my current dilemma. The chances of that happening were slim-to-none...

Scary Mary

Sleeping in a newly painted house can be a very infusing experience. The potent wafting from pillow to blanket, can induce some interesting dreams. I can’t recall any of these “trippy” numbers, but luckily I had to share my bed with my sister, who’s a very light sleeper.

The eye-witness account was a shocking, yet enlightening one. On awakening from this slumber, I was told that in the middle of the night I started shaking and moaning some “Uh-uh’s and Ahh’s”. When SB nudged my shoulder to try and wake me up, I shot up like a plank and stared out the window into the blackness. As I sat there, I started to mumble some jibberish concoction and then flopped back into the cushy mattress.

I swear, I can’t remember what force possessed me to converse with the face of eerie darkeness...

Waxing lyrical

There are high's and low's to any goddarn job. Some more than others. This week (like most) I've hit the jackpot at both extremes.

The low-headed monster, would be, the tug-of-war we constantly have to play with clients. The best term to describe these people (yes, they are their own breed) is "Creative-Extinguishers". Their only reason for existence- bar eating all the cookies in the boardrooms- is to suck the life-blood from all our kickass executions (sometimes, it does feel like we're martyrs at the stake, but the exexutions that I"m refering to, are (anti-climax) just TV scripts). The other lows seem much more insignificant, when compared to these Creative-Extinguishers... One that does, lick at their heals are the "meatings" we have to sit in. Most of them, have nothing, to do with the creative process. Graphs and brand strategy do nothing for me, except make me want to rip the limbs off a Barbie Doll.

However bad these bottomless pits seem, there are some gems that make it all bearable...

Yesterday I got to witness one of these gem moments. It happened to involve Puple James, Vin and myself. Puple James wanted to ask me a very serious question, about some very serious rumours that he had been hearing. Me being chinese, prompted him to ask me of all people, whether the rumours were in fact, true.

Purple James(in a most convinced tone): "I've heard lotsa rumours that chinese peeps are actually half alien, half human, is it true?"

Me: "Well, to tell you the truth, we think YOU "white men" are actually half alien, half human."

Purple James (shocked): "You're joking!! "

Me: "What makes you think we're aliens anyway?"

Purple James: "Well, there's the fact that you don't have any body hair."

Me: "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I actually do have hair" (I then proceed to show him my arm)

At this point things started to go pear-shaped...

Vin decided to join in, by offering to make me half-alien. "How?", you ask. Well, being in advertising creates a collection of arb products around your office. Client believes, by giving us their products to test, inspires us to come up with better creative work- something about, sleeping, eating and living it... (Ummm, ok if they insist.)

Vin pulls out a wax strip, from the bottom of his desk draw and dares me to "become alien".

Me: "Bring it on!"

On witnessing my hair removal of the arm, Purple James felt dejected, and wanted to be part of the action, so he offered a body part...

Let's just say, after 6 wax stips later, he took it like a wo(ah)-MAN.

Here's just one pic from our "testing" session:



...I gots to love my job!