2 more days before I'm home

I'll be spending the entire month of December in Malaysia (well, except probably five days in either Bali or Bangkok; we're still trying to decide). Looking forward to seeing everyone - new babies, grown up babies, grown up adults, family, friends and I'm even contemplating looking up ex-clients and teachers, if time permits.

This is Ray the blueheeler, 84 doggy years old. He has a limp and isn't allowed in pool. He's on diet, but tries getting his way with this gullible, injured expression when no scraps are thrown his way.


These are Old Bugger (R) and Older Bugger (L). The funniest, most irreverent people I've had the pleasure of meeting in a long time. Older Bugger had no qualms explaining swear words to mild-manner Shim from Hiroshima ("Janice, how would you explain wanker?" I responded with the appropriate hand gesture.). I arrived at the party bleeding on their floor, having accidentally scratched a femoral vein (it didn't hurt, I didn't notice). The night was hot and humid and we ended up in the pool in borrowed tees and undies, clinging to pool noodles, a doughnut float and Crikey, the croc. Half the guests were Japanese, so I felt free to announce, "I'm going home commando!", much to their bemusement.


Weird stuff Japanese people buy #988564397230. Jelly balls that swell in in water and feel good when squeezed (seriously, there's no other use). They had to reiterate several times, "Not dessert! Not dessert!"


Funky crab from 15 course Chinese dinner at Ming Palace in Broadbeach. It was yummy stuff. Between the 6 of us, there was something like 40% leftovers. It wasn't quite a free lunch dinner though; my faulty English-Mandarin (atrocious), Mandarin-English (so-so) interpreting skills (loosely used term) was required.


My TAA class. I wouldn't have choosen to make presentations on nerdy topics like Maintaining Indoor Plants and Diagnosis and Treatment of Sprains in front of any other 4 people.


JK is the Head Chef at Mike's Kitchen. His meticulous kitchen skills are an art in itself. I swear we were all entranced watching him turn fruit into tiny little evenly-sized cubes. His salad here was bee-yoo-tee-full. Truffle oil does bring out the flavour in everything. Like MSG, but classier and less reviled.


A mussel (OMG, I am so excited I can finally say Lala and actually be understood when I get back!). I'd never seen a live one, thanks to the notoriously efficient seagulls here. See the white lip sticking out? They move by pushing themselves using that. Fascinating to watch in motion.


Lunch at Kamikaze in the Robina Town Centre with Min Wye. I only wanted to take a picture of the gorgeous wall deco but his big fat head got in the way (I'M KIDDING). The food and service were terrible; I'm never going back. This creepy Chinese waitress spent the entire time hovering over our side dishes like a vulture. And our entree of tempura calamari arrived after our bland food.

Then there's you

A few songs frequenting my playlist.

1. Frightened Rabbit - The Twist
Get their albums. Amazing.

2. Tegan and Sara - Hell
Very musically inclined lesbian twins, anyone?


3. Greg Laswell - And Then You
This guy produces awesome stuff.

4. Phoenix - Run, Run, Run
Still can't believe they're French. Though my only other exposure to French music is their current First Lady's husky folk tunes.

5. The Raveonettes - Last Dance

6. Copeland - Coffee

The only thing scarier than this is if I have to sell Avon. Or insurance.

Picture stolen from Go Fug Yourself

OMG I think I've found the dress of my dreams. Gives me origami orgasms. That is such a tongue twister, no? Try saying it - origami orgasms, origami orgasms, origami orgasms.

Permit the bimbotic moment. I have been stressed out of my mind. The weather is hot. My brain function is inversely related to the rise of the mercury. I have an obscene flare of pimples on my forehead and rash patches on random, albeit conspicuous spots. X suggested scabies. I have been hoping to pass off my attempts to transfer the disease to him as affection. I have somehow developed a cowlick on the back of my head which no straightening iron/ hairdryer nor amount of product can rid. My body is turning against me.

I have to stand up in front my class this week to deliver 2 half hour presentations. Contrary to what my penchant for crass jokes and strong opinions might lead you to believe, I have always scored Introvert on every psychometric test. When I was 8, I turned down the opportunity to give a speech in front of the entire school (ie a thousand unforgiving, judging pairs of eyes). My mother said that was stupid of me. Well Ma, clearly things haven't changed.

And I'm flying back to Malaysia in a week! I still have yet to find my precious nephew any Barney-the-Purple-Dinosaur themed merchandise, having searched high and low everywhere. Also having to squeeze enough to clothes to accommodate occasions between a wedding (not mine) and backpacking around BKK (hello ping pong shows, kathoeys, noIdon'twantamassagetuktukorsexthanks and value for money).

I will embrace next week very gratefully indeed.

Update: I publicly declare my undying love for WKS, who will pull a sickie on his first week at his new job because I Am An Awesome Friend Worth Pulling Sickies For. We are going to have such an awesome time drunk and commiserating in Penang. Woohoo!

Up-update: I also kowtow to Jenny and Ian for playing hooky. May the tradition of Ponteng continue forever and ever!

Molding clay

I'm currently doing Certificate IV in Training and Assessment. Most Aussies know this as the quintessential TAA. Unlike Malaysia where any random idiot fresh graduate can walk into a government school to scar nurture the minds of future generations, Australian trainers are required to have a Bachelors degree in the subject taught and the TAA at minimum.

I'm not planning to go into teaching (what if my students think I have a fat ass when I turn to write on the board?), but the course will at length explain the many acronym-ed, obscure-termed and heavily regulated education industry, my knowledge of which is sketchy at best.

A geek at heart, I've always adored classroom situations. There's just something so fulfilling about passionate discussions on an academic dissertations. There's something about watching a man stand up in front, preach intellectually that makes him more handsome, taller, articulate.

Unlike most of the immigrants of my generation, I didn't move here via the student visa route. So really, it's my first experience in an Aussie classroom. And it was fun! As the focus of TAA beyond the usual boring theory stuff is more on the technique of teaching, the discussions centred on our experiences as learners.

Although lacking any actual skills, my forte lies in my ability to arrange my face into this Intent Listener expression. It's so good I managed to throw one of my (very experienced) workshop facilitators off earlier this week. So whilst I might be daydreaming about lunch, last Saturday or how my thong is Really Uncomfortable, I always appear a good student.

But I digress. I love learning. I've had teachers who have inspired me to be a better person, inspire an unexpected passion for a subject or just made me work harder if not for anything else, to reciprocate their zeal.

On the flip side, there are those who have humiliated me in front of the entire class (1996 - "Your father is useless"). Or those who have openly crushed my self esteem (2003 - "Don't be stupid - you'll never make it"). Or discriminated me on the basis of my size/ colour/ sex (2006 - We were diving so the cues weren't verbal and quotable). Or made baseless accusations against me (2001 - "I know you're trying to seduce the boys").

I'd been brainwashed into believing that the fault of failure always lies with the student. And my TAA trainer, bless him, insisted that the teacher carried much more weightage in this equation.

I'm not a trainer in an official sense, but my various careers have always required knowledge sharing/ coaching to some extent. And it's just so important when they look to you for help, to be kind. To not crush them with callous adjectives, to brush them off when the questions begin to grate, to not make them feel stupid for wanting to know more. This coming from having experienced both sides of the coin. I feel like attitude precedes technical knowledge really. At the end of the day, I no longer remember my differentiation and integration but I'll always remember how Cik Yuen stopped her lunches in favour of coaching a student not even from her class (my own Add Math teacher was the one accusing me of being a seductress. Snort. Yeah right). And I forget all those technical grammar terms, but I will never forget Puan Yong's constant encouragement and her empathy (not to mention the way she matched the colours of every accessory to her outfits and the 50,000 pairs of shoes she kept in the trunk of her Mercedes Benz). Or how in 1992, Miss Goh once said that every lie you tell leaves a black dot in your heart.

I am suddenly inspired to pull a My Name Is Earl, only instead of hunting down all the people I've wronged, I'd like to thank every person who has taught me something and tell them I'm doing alright.

Tumeric stains nails for ages

The bedlam of the past couple of weeks have been exacerbated by lack of quality sleep. In addition to having to babysit (long story best left out to preserve feelings), it's been work and seminars and workshops (another one on Monday, when this post will be published). Not to mention an awful lot of shopping for family and friends back home. My new Samsonite suitcase is already half full of souvenirs I can't not buy because returning home empty-handed is akin to filial un-piety (I curse our culture). I both fear and anticipate my return to KUL.

The highlight of the audit workshop at the Brisbane Hilton was the buffet lunch. That, and I made a new friend and learnt to never judge the proverbial book by its cover.

Random family photo. That's my brother, not me by the way.


Cupcakes at TF's baby shower. Shopping for boys is hard. You just keep drifting to the pink, ribbons and lace.


The bruises on my knees look almost like constellations.

99 more bottles to go...

This morning Lady Boss called and requested that I get milk on the way to work.

(We are a very unconventional workplace. Peacocks interrupt our meetings and clatter about on the roofs. The toilet is a good 5 minute trek on a dirt road, unless you want to use the toilet with no doors in which case GH will guard your modesty. My car is constantly muddy and dirty. Random stray dogs wander into the property and lounge about the steps. Wwoofers from various European countries appear every week - this week's girls are from the French Alps.

You get the idea.)

The milk (full cream, 2L) cost $4.85.

Later that day I told her about an upcoming tax and payroll seminar. Was it okay if I went?

She paid for it as a Christmas present.

It cost $485.

Oh the irony.

Of course I didn't ask her back for the milk money.

Deafness and dementia

Jan: It was sitting there, in the waiting lounge, in a chair. It had been waiting so long that mold had started to sprout all over it. Furry mold. And it was reading an old MAD magazine from 1993. And it waited and waited and finally! The neon EVACUATE light lit up and it cried out, "I can see the light! It's my turn, at last!" And-

X: I said, 'I did it with the Thera Cane'.

Jan: Oh. I thought you said, 'I did a furry crap'.

X: You're a demented bunny.

I want to live in a conch shell too

I so want to travel, like NOW.

December spent in Malaysia does not count.