honest to blog

the first time i made my way towards monash college to register for some ielts test, i discovered that the office had been closed for 15 minutes. i had no idea that their office hours were one hour short of the already so very short australian office hours.

the next day i managed to arrive way earlier. just to be sure, you know, and uncovered the fact that i would need to bring along my passport, photographs, and filled in some forms available at the nearby area. and they say that lightning never strikes twice. oy, i couldn’t believe my luck.

i visited the place again the week after, every single thing required had been either filled in or carried along and therefore i could confidently march forth towards the registration desk. universe decided it wasn’t over yet, however. reception lady said that the sizing of my photograph didn’t match that of the intricate legal prerequisites. so i went to a post office nearby to get a new photo taken, but was seriously feeling too ‘blah’ to go back yet again and finish up the whole business.

another further week later i returned, with the papers filled and the correct photo attached, only to remember that i had forgotten to carry my passport along (my first technical use of paradox, no less, and already the irony). so i walked home and came back to finish up "the job". too bad it had turned out that the place for a test would only be available a little more than a month from the original brilliant plan i originally had. 27 september to 8 november does have lots of spaces in between if you check the lunar calendar.

darwin said i must be shot…

i like to pick my battles. i really do. my sense of motivation has quotas written all over them.the other day i was hanging out with a bunch of peers when the conversation started steering into the realm of Hollywood actors. my interest piqued when someone suddenly mentioned Johnny Depp … and stated how he’s actually one of the worst actors currently alive.

ok …

i’ve always been pretty vocal about this particular topic (or person) and have in the past been repeatedly professing my praise and veneration in regards to said actor. and upon hearing such proclamation, i started mentally preparing my side of the arguments. after all, i could use some exercise on my merriment muscles.

“i read on a review somewhere…” the person began diplomatically.

hmmm…oh well, so it’s not like mr. contra had actually deduced his statement from firsthand experience. i started seeing red. but hey, maybe i could just hear the dude out first and decide on whatever next.

“…that Johnny Depp is actually the #1 worst actor because…”

na na na na na…la di da di da…mental note; should try the yummy-looking apple pie next time around. argh! need to lengthen attention span, need to lengthen attention span. ow, wait for it, here comes…

“he’s always the same in every role he plays in his movies. like, if you watch him act every time, he’s always the same. like, he’s still Johnny Depp…”

eh?

i drew back lips sealed. of course Johnny Depp’s still Johnny Depp every time, if the guy had even a single percent of deviant DNA strand, he’d be a dolphin. talk about stating the obvious. nophunetal. i dropped my intentions and let that one pass. for one, how do you argue with someone who, say, starts their point by stating that mcdonald’s originate from china? or that whales eat chickens? you don’t. at least i won’t. nu-uh. how do you argue with ignorance, anyway? (woo-hoo! sense the drama cookin’). am too lazy. fuhgetabouddit. to say that that actor is “always the same” when he’s anything but. my choleric cow, even the most bitter skeptics are fully educated on that one.

on some other times, however, i could go all out on my personal battles. like that argument with a friend on whether her apartment’s bathroom actually has two instead of one stool in it. or when i fell into infatuation with a certain skirt a few months back; ah, the things i did just to get my claws around that particular one. i even turned half the world upside down once trying to retrieve a handphone’s memory stick from the wrong insertion on my laptop. it was an accident on behalf of my common sense (or lack thereof) and the slot was too large. yep, i can genuinely be so determined at times.

nevertheless, it should be noted that when it comes to the daily showdown between myself and the morning alarms, the snooze button always wins. to be fair, i did say that i like to pick my battles, not that i’m remotely any wise at it.

the problem with befriending some certain people for around 8 years is that one should lose hope of ever having the slightest borderline normal conversations with them. instead, one should always expect in-jokes, rather bamboozling double-meanings, or randomly scattered innuendos. expect past embarrassments or catty compromising remarks to colour any form of verb-involving interactions. expect something like this;

“wouldn’t a nicely constructed coffee table be useful right now?”

“why so she can have something to dance on?”

“wha…?”

*insert yoda references here*

*insert spongebob references here*

*insert cryptic hand gestures here*, *here*, and *here*

*insert evil laughter here*

on some circumstances where some conversations occur in the context of girlfriend’s apartment, one can also expect the presence of her majesty fuzzy furball cat. there is a certain kind of felinarchy going on in this living arrangement; a status that mostly consists of The Cat, and us her sycophantic courtier at her recently claimed black luggage bag previously belonging to another girlfriend tiny throne. our humble services included door-handling, grub-providing, being doormats human mattress and acting as natural obstacle courses. 

other than that, a weekend rendezvous at sydney has proven to be a neat one indeed. one can never run out of mini entertainments like that certain sidewalk prophets who preached that “we should all skip”, much kudoism for mentioned couple who didn’t just talk the talk but also skip their talks. a group of babes actually took heed and were converted. or that other guy who inquired whether us ladies “would like to donate for guys in speedos”. oh, and that a portion of mushroom literally consist of a single piece of mushroom in a certain japanese restaurant.

some getaway exercise that was, where all the wits got worked up and the banter easy. possibilities shared and “concerns” discussed, like a sorority of three.

or four actually, if you count the megalomaniacal cat.

"A black swan is an outlier, an event that lies beyond the realm of normal expectations. Most people expect all swans to be white because that’s what their experience tells them; a black swan is by definition a surprise. Nevertheless, people tend to concoct explanations for them after the fact, which makes them appear more predictable, and less random, than they are. Our minds are designed to retain, for efficient storage, past information that fits into a compressed narrative. This distortion, called the hindsight bias, prevents us from adequately learning from the past.

Black swans can have extreme effects: just a few explain almost everything, from the success of some ideas and religions to events in our personal lives. Moreover, their influence seems to have grown in the 20th century, while ordinary events - the ones we study and discuss and learn about in history or from the news - are becoming increasingly inconsequential.

Consider: How would an understanding of the world on June 27, 1914, have helped anyone guess what was to happen next? The rise of Hitler, the demise of the Soviet bloc, the spread of Islamic fundamentalism, the Internet bubble: not only were these events unpredictable, but anyone who correctly forecast any of them would have been deemed a lunatic (indeed, some were). This accusation of lunacy would have also applied to a correct prediction of the events of 9/11 - a black swan of the vicious variety.

A vicious black swan has an additional elusive property: its very unexpectedness helps create the conditions for it to occur. Had a terrorist attack been a conceivable risk on Sept. 10, 2001, it would likely not have happened. Jet fighters would have been on alert to intercept hijacked planes, airplanes would have had locks on their cockpit doors, airports would have carefully checked all passenger luggage. None of that happened, of course, until after 9/11."

New York Times (April 8, 2004)

the lady re-entered the room as i was settling onto the table, and she proceeded into dimming the lighting a little bit before (to my mild regret) reverting it back to its original brightness level. i personally believed one’s senses can be significantly magnified in a darker room. she then went and started some classical music on the cd player which i slightly recognised. the ambience was set.

so i was lying there quietly as the lady began working on her foreplay. not bad, i thought, and i could get used to this. the way someone could apply those kinds of caresses and butterfly touches, there’s got to be some art invested in that. i felt so validated. and then it was over as soon as it began. the lady notified that she’s got her needle and presser on hand. ruh-roh. let the sadism begin.

i had the brief chance to think with glee that the room lighting was on that certain level. heaven knows what unfortunate casualties could happen when a girl like myself has to share some space with a needle-wielding lady. but i soon realised that it wasn’t the needle i was afraid off. the presser, my friend, is able to execute more pain. ever heard how tedious it can get trying to kill another person with a balloon? it might take a long, long time. but it’s quantum-physically possible. though the same effect can be reached through a forced sitdown watching a marathon of heidi montag’s "music vids". back to the presser. well, here’s a nugget of wisdom: the blunt objects are the ones offering the more intense torture. minutes shall turn into hours of deathwishes and a heckuva lot of uncivilised curses. bits of tears were shed as i repeatedly chanted my made-up-on-the-spot mantra in mind. i tried to think pony, cold mocha with little umbrella on top, croc shoes being burnt, bratz dolls…being burnt as well, willy wonka and his chocolate factory but the sting was still persistently there. it’s funny how some people actually get off from pain. i just guessed that my endorphin gland doesn’t work that way. in other words, it’s awesome, but no need to try it at home.    

gruelling part done and the time arrived for the rehabilitation aftermath. the lady changed the cd. it was some musical orchestra befitting for a war scene on lord of the rings. with the implication of an earthquake-esque death toll no less. i cringed inwardly. but somehow the lady telepathically caught the inappropriateness of her dj-ing professionality and replaced the cd again. nice soft intro. i could get that. and the dude started serenading. the song was ave maria. i started wondering if i’ve actually died from the pain and was attending my own funeral. pinched myself. yep. everything’s still there alright. phew. it was all cuddling afterwards. though it got old after a while.   

man, i hate facials. though i had the gall to think that i could propose for extraction facials to be introduced as a government torture tool. it’s unpredictable, out-of-this-world afflictive and guaranteed to assist interogators in extracting (pardon the pun) information or confession; even from the most unyielding of them all. think about all the political agenda that can be executed through this method.

oh well, that, and they should have nitrous gas on spas.

"Each of us (…), must create a fake person better suited than we are to master whichever particular universe we are destined to inhabit. An attack on another person’s very public fakeness is an attack on us all."

- Stanley Bing

it’s bad enough that i can’t comment on my own blog (some fs technical glitch i suppose). it’s even worse that the ads placed by friendster here are a bit shady and kinda "err". so far, i’ve been bestowed with chinese girls for marriage, indonesian girls for marriage and russian girls for whatever. the better ones are the button-pushing thingy. blah. so after much contemplation and consideration, consultation session in addition to colonisation, with permission and location, pacification and monarchisation; i’m thinking of getting a new host and parasite my way with a new resolution and hope. so i set out in search for a moniker to call my relocated blog. the celebs can have their babies, i’ll have my virtual pages: 

- Bob

- Omygawd like this is the metal dope you guys

- Bob smooth

- Something like that

- Something like what

- Secret diary of the procrastinator extraordinaire

- Secret diary of the procrastinator extraordinaire now not so secret anymore

- Mui totally badass blog

- Best left uploaded

- No worries i made this printable

- Bloggity blog blog

- Shut up miss

- Lame is the new black

- Uh Fuhgetabouddit

- ???

eh, need time to decide…

It’s not that I don’t enjoy the experience of shopping for a morally upright teenage girl excuse of a little sister, really; it’s just that the lower back has been going into perpetual combustions oh-so-perpetually that it has interfered substantially with my judgment and style objectivity (or the ability to surf around the mall efficiently for that matter). After all, I do take the task of managing the family’s youngest wardrobe standard of panache seriously and with great, ribs-bursting pride. Glisch! Such is the yoke of becoming the financial manager of a fourteen year old. One also has to ensure that said teen never goes un-rad.

So why, oh, why dearest little sister has those cheeks in that pretty face become so off-limits? Those squishy, yummy pair of heavenly squeezable mouth frames. And to think that you didn’t mind any of those pinching and hair-tousling in younger days. And the less than borderline enthusiastic responses to my cooing baby talk? Why grow up? Why get all myspace-y and stuff? Why go all totally whatever on my attempts at jokes of MTV teenage stupidity? They are totally droll, mind you, those jests.   

And your heart-wrenching proclamations every time I tried to dupe you into something? “Child abuse!” you cry. “You can’t do that, that’s child abuse!” you cry again. Why? Have I actually ever the least had the heart to trick you into eating wasabi the size of a golf ball or something? Oh wait…Um, think I did. Meh. But that’s not the point, isn’t it? 

Where’s that cute little piece of Furby fluff I once knew? Popsicles?

Back to regularly scheduled programming…

I’ve just finished my 200g chocolate bar. All 6 suggested servings of them. In one go.

That is all. 

Some say the essence of humanity is at its purest when faced with the most catastrophic form of trials and tribulations. A few months ago, despite the conscience cries for common sense and level-headedness, I took a not-so-calculated risk and procured the service of a haircut at “that” place. Yup, the one where my twin got her octopus head from. Said place managed to take pruning enthusiasm to the next level, leaving one with a too short ‘do and an even shorter bangs. In my defense, I was in the neighbourhood trying to tailor some pants and thought I would get a haircut while waiting.

But I’m not going to discuss about the bad hair horse of apocalypse now. In what turned out to be a spice in my space of social interaction, I began noticing the various reactions or responses I received from those who came within close proximity of my then newly-sheared crown. The accidental social experiment has brought to light some observations guaranteed to help you deal with the many different kinds of people that you may come across in life. (Note from Bone’s lawyers: Observations not guaranteed to help you deal with the many different kinds of people that you may come across in life).

Exhibit A – The Huh…

Passive-aggressive would be the most suitable way to describe those in this group. One can’t help but always struggle at reading in between the lines of their speech.

Example:

Ex A    : Good morning. Hey, you’ve just cut your hair!

Me       : Yeah, unfortunately. They had my fringe way too short.

Ex A    : Ummm…No, darling. This looks really pretty. Look at the layers, may I touch it?

Me       : Yeah. But the fringe is…

Ex A    : Oh dear, but the layers are beautiful, aren’t they?

Me       : Thank you, but I wish the fringe…

Ex A    : The layers, darling. The layers…

Suggested future career:

Philosopher, Lawyer, Public Relation executive, US president, etc.

Exhibit B – The Wha…?

The people in this criterion are basically made up of the straightforward, straight-talking, straight offense kind. They have no remorse or empathy towards the anguish of others and always manage to come across as sucking pleasure straight from the sorrow of mankind. Think malice.

Example:

Ex B    : Hey, happy birthday! Feels like giving you a present. How about a hair extension?

Suggested future career:

Accountant, Leggy British supermodel, Head of Hitler’s debating team, etc.

Exhibit C – The Meh.

Their actions are their words. Their expressions conquer and remove all doubts. They are made for adventures and the more tangible things in life. Forget the joy of faith; they will bring back Pluto for you personally to prove their points.

Example:

Ex C    : Hi Agnes, what are you…*stares* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Me       : Uh, I’m…well…

Ex C    : HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Me       : Yea, I get it, you may stop now…

Ex C    : HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Camera, damn it! Where’s the camera?! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Suggested future career:

Corporate strategist, Development engineer, PETA activist, etc.

Exhibit D – The Yeah?

They are pragmatic, sensible, and honest though generally with unquestionable intentions and mostly good-natured. What you see is what you get. That, or you just don’t know them well enough and vice versa.

Example:

Ex D                : Why cut your hair?

Me                   : Just feel like it, heh heh…

My thought     : It grows, don’t you friggin’ know biology? Geez, seriously…

Suggested future career:

I heard heaven’s recruiting…

So there, gotta keep your wits about you, kids.

In the beginning Girl created the blah blah and the blah blih. Now the blah blah was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the blih blah was hovering over the waters. And Girl said, “Let there be Bone,” and there was Bone of Contention…

Every blogger remembers her first time. That remarkable event where all the parallels in the universe came together to uncross the stars and lay upon an innocent the sudden yoke of duty to exploit some virtual space. For me personally, the magic started at a corporate coffee “we-really-need-some-birth-pills” chain in Plaza Indonesia. I just finished my class that day and found out that my driver would be late. I was practically on my own and didn’t feel like spending a second longer at the College. So I took a five minutes ride with a taxi across the Hotel Indonesia Circle (read: bunderan HI).

Armed with a paper and a pencil, I went and wrote on my golf lesson experience just to act busy. For in Indonesian culture, it is bizarre for a person to sit and drink coffee by themselves. Heaven forbids a girl in her normal state of sanity go consume caffeine unaccompanied. So there I was, pouring my processed bean-saturated heart out on ink, or lead actually, drafting out irony and sarcasm of my shallow and snobbish centre in the universe. I uploaded the thing when I got home, and have been hooked ever since. Reckoned at least it beats the amount they charge for some psychedelic trips or an hour at the shrink’s couch.