Wednesday, January 31, 2007

underneath your clothes

Blessed be! I don’t have to work tonight! Yay! Which also means I won’t get any moolah. Boo! But plenty of time to waste away blog! Yay!

And so it has been brought to my attention that not everyone may share the same enthusiasm towards underwear (especially their own) as I do. Is it really just me (and other vapid vain vixens out there as well)? Miaoorrw. Either way, since my fashion-whore of a faery friend who is known as J only got excited himself over the intricate wonderfulness of the Right Underwear after he went shopping with me (as credit should be rightfully given), I feel like dispensing the little knowledge I have on the subject. I know, I’m frightfully generous that way….

First of all, one must realize that there is a ridiculous number of types of panties for women. Just go in any lingerie store, be it Winners or Victoria Secret, there’s always at least two styles: your classic What-Used-To-Wear-Back-In-The-Day-When-She-Was-A-Foxy-Little-Minx-But-Only-Wear-Depends-Now high rise that sees the lovely naval coyly covered, and your “I’m coming out”-era of low risers that gave belly-buttons a fierce come back, circa 1997. After this, it all starts to get pretty prissy (and oh so much fun!). So, of course, thanks to all the Paris Hilton's & Britney Spears’ the world over, everyone is well acquainted with the Thong by now (or the G-string as it is called in other parts of the world), this thin piece of dental floss that magically wraps itself around our nether region. I use ‘our’ pretty loosely (no pun intended) here because I seem to be the only one left of my kin to still not quite understand the supposed ‘comfort’ and ‘freeing’ feeling the Thong procures. Call me old-fashion, but it just feels like I have a permanent wedgie all day long, and thank you, but not getting picked on anymore was one of the few Good Things about graduating from elementary school.

You then have your good ol' dependable girl-next-door Bikinis. They are the ones every girl falls back on when she is feeling like just mopping around the house, doing the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and the most likely to greet Miss Flo when she’s in town every month [try to find it in picture above - hint: it's the most common one].

Next up, you get your magnificent Brazilians, inspired by – drum roll – the fabulous Brazilian bathers. These do cover both your back & front side relatively more than the Thong but much less than the Bikini. It is, for lack of a better word, all sex. Provocatively shaped in a big ‘V’, which not only reminds you what that V stands for in the first place (while pointing directly to the answer...), it also makes your legs look like they stretch on for miles, as the legs run up higher along the sides of the V shape, y'see. It’s just physics, really.

Which brings you to my personal favorite, the Boyleg or the Boycut. As the name indicates, they are inspired by your ordinary male briefs, cut in a relatively horizontal shape but made to rest beautifully on the female booty. And because I am from Asian heritage, and thus have the curves of a 14-year-old boy, the way the Boycut sits on me draws the eyes across the horizontal plane, giving the impression that I actually have hips. Yeah!

I believe these are the four main categories. One may combine thereafter several styles together – e.g. a low-rise Boycut-Thong – and in all kinds of materials - silk, cotton, lace, mesh, microfiber, etc - to satisfy one’s specific body type. Every woman has different concerns about their delicate region, and one style may not produce the same effect on two ladies either. Also, even if it is the appropriate style, it may not be cut in the adequate shape, which is also dependent on the store. The one I lost, for instance, was perfectly cut to not only fit & accentuate my hips divinely but the legs were slightly curved to lift and separate to make my arse look rather fierce if I may say so myself. Alas, t’is gone now, and I need some to replace it, pronto! Because, tch, everyone knows that the Right Underwear makes all the difference. I could have the crappiest clothes on but as long as i know my undies are perfect, i feel like i'm on top of the world!*

But us girls aren’t the only ones to be blessed by such styling panties - men underwear also carry different types as well, no? You have your regular-Joe's breezy boxers, your sex-machines Italian-stallion briefs, and then the oh-so-jaw-dropping boxer-briefs (low vs long legs [pun intended... ahem]). Seriously. One can not praise enough about the beauty of the Boxer-Briefs. Everyone looks good in them....

But, pre tell, what kind of concerns come into play when you decide to buy underwear? Beside comfort, should one care about anything else? Does it really matter? Am I hopelessly shallow? Please, feel free to share your thoughts on this most important topic.

*well, you know, because i am that self-indulgent...Yes, very good. I really mustn't feel like i need to repeat this all the time. It's the goddamn title, for crying out loud....

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

japanese boy

Mister can you tell me panties've gone?

I seem to have lost my favorite panties. This troubles me deeply for they were very good panties - black, comfortable, and most importantly of all, made my arse look, well, like it actually is an arse.

Since it was surely not something i've said or done, nor is it in my habit to go [or scurry awkwardly away from] anywhere commando, it leaves only one possible explanation for their sudden disappearence....

I have been struck by a panties thief. Help.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

winter wonderland

You know what? I love talking about the weather. Most people think that one talks about the weather in awkward situations, when there is nothing to talk about, but I (perhaps bc I am socially ill-adapted, the reasons are manifolds, really– discuss amongst yourselves) loooove to discuss about the weather, for 1) it is clearly undeniable that the way humans live have completely fucked it up; 2) not only do we impact it but it holds a strong chemical & psychological influence on how a person feels as well; and therefore 3) it insanely affects ME, and everyone knows I am a self-centered egomaniac! T'is a perfect conversation starter! Therefore, i am compelled to mention that for the last two weeks, the weather has had the most exemplary courtesy of being deliciously sunny and/or clear, making us [me] almost forget, and forgive, that Winter had arrived about a month too late. There's now snow squishing below my feet, and the biting cold on my cheeks as i am neatly tucked away in my sizzling red coat stuffed with down to keep me warm [may you rest in peace, baby ducks]. I love it! Walking out in the crisp winter sun is my only upside for waking at 7 o’clock each morning for classes, let me tell you. It’s what makes me [almost – I’m not that insane yet…] forget about the lure of my fabulous bed. (That and coffee, obviously.)

Mmm. Hot coffee in the cold cold dawn… I LOVE IT!

And you know what else I love? Nice people. For some odd reason (perhaps a deep insecurity from a yearning childhood, a desperate cry for compassion, you can discuss this amongst yourself as well – go on, I know you all love to talk about me too), I feel all warm inside when a fellow passenger greats me, or says something nice, or smiles at me, or is just being polite to one another, really. Today, as I was waiting for the bus, this sweet old lady smiled and said to me “I think I might have seen this young lady grow up…”. Uh! How sweet! That she even recognized me at all is a little doubtful but never mind that, I felt like meeting some great-aunt I never knew existed but who always looked out for me. One who would leave me all her belongings once she passed away. That kind of aunt. I’ve always wanted one of those…. Anyway, once on the bus, there was this other old lady (where are they all going so goddamn early in the morning anyway? Is there a secret geriatric meeting to take over the world we don't know about, because who'd be up so early AND aware of such impeding world domination, really?... Note to self: must look into terrorist grannies) who got on, and before anyone else could lazily react properly (i.e. to offer their seat, you heartless brute), this semi-emo teenage boy [who could desperately use a haircut by the way. And a bath as we’re at it. And proper fitting jeans - preferably ones that would not cause infertility, although considering the 'life style' trend he is heading towards, it might be better if he'd be infertile... but i still harbour hope for he] actually stood up for her! Causing my stupid heart to melt right then & there!

I know, forgive, I sound completely daft, but all this really made me giddy. I mean, it’s easy to get annoyed and pissed off at the plethora of bad-mannered, crazy, rude, aggressive folks out there so when one encounters remotely genuine nice gestures, as small as there are, as meaningless as they appear, it seems that the most logical thing to do is to grab on to their fleeting existence....

As I walked out in the snow towards campus, with the sun warming the northern wind hitting my face, I felt completely & joyously alive.

I really love this weather.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

you could have it so much better

A week in review:

  • So my first week back at Uni wasn't as bad as i anticipated. I'm not sure exactly what it was that i anticipated (me jumping off from the Leacock building, my brain to explode, a rabid killing spree - i hadn't given it much thought, really) but it definitely went much smoother than the unsociable, faithless, ill-adapted girl that i can be ever figured it. That, or it is just not hitting me yet, and when it will, it'll be so flamboyantly craptacular everyone but me would've seen it coming for light years!
    Until then though, i've been oddly enjoying being surrounded by all the trendy/arty/messy/drunk/lost/confused/pretentious student species crawling about campus again, along with the trendy/arty/messy/drunk/lost/confused/pretentious professors paving the way. I like to take it as an 'inspiration', hoping that their intent, their hurried purposefulness will somehow transfer onto me. So far, i really like having a routine down - going to classes, reading in the coffee shop, even working an extra shift. It gives me a short-term direction that is very much welcomed indeed. Because all this leads me to be prepped up for my longer-term goal - my impending trip, which, in all probability, will occur in far sooner than i realize! Hurrah!

  • I went to IKEA in the beginning of the week, and i can officially say that shopping for house items far surpasses any other purchasing - including of clothes, shoes, underwear, food, music, books - EVER. It makes me giddy, man. Like Maniacally-Grinning-While-Skipping-And-Humming-'I Feel Pretty' giddy. I was impressively good though, managing to only buy a red wooden chair, a black folding chair for my study, cushions, wooden hangers, a slip-cover for my bedspread (or a 'housse de couette', as the French call it in its weirdest word combination), two packs of decorative postcards, a vase and two desk organizers. That's it!... (Seriously, if i wasn't already on a budget, i probably would have bought those entire living/dining/bedroom sets!)

  • Had an insane shift on Wednesday night at the restaurant. Now, usually, i try not to complain much about work because 1) i am crap, and 2) they [my bosses], as much as i hate don't like to talk about or to them [and so pretending that they don't exist], are still my employers and i prefer not to 'bite the hand that feeds me' - that sort of bullshit. YET, when it is crazy crowded and the boss' son, who also happens to be the barman, not only does JACK SHIT but also DROPS MY ORDER because HE WAS BUSY TALKING ON THE PHONE WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND while TWO OTHER TABLES ARE WAITING, i must comply to a higher moral obligation & the International Employee's Ethics Guide to MACHETE HIS HEAD OFF. Mentally, sadly.

  • On Friday evening, at [ever so conveniently called] Happy Hour, some of my male friends committedly informed me on the intricate sexual activities the crazy kids are practicing these days*. As such, i had the pleasure to learn what The Startled Goldfish**, The Captain America*** and The Deathstar**** are. Thank you, gentlemen, for the unbound knowledge & the little wee in my new panties from laughing too hard. And not to mention the added paranoia each time i'm about to shag anyone ever again.
    We thereafter stumbled in the streets toward the nearest karaoke bar (because drunkenness can only make our voices above par, of course) and proceeded naturally to make utter asses of ourselves. A martini, a pint of beer, a 1L jug of Lady Sidecar and another crap bottle of beer later, i was so pissed that we decided to go to another bar where we met some drunk Mexican expatriates with whom we stroke an incomprehensible conversation. When one of them suddenly hand-gesturingly asked me if i was 'with' J or not, my instinctive reaction was to scream "Si!", much to J's drunken compliance. I know, bad faghag. But i wouldn't have to recur to such lowly ways if said expat - although very nice - didn't resemble anything like this. For some reason, i tend to attract piercingly unattractive drunkards like Britney Spears to bad taste, and i was certainly in no mood to bat them off. I suspect i put out a smell of Little Stray Sheep or something [damn you, Asian blood!]. When i finally got home, i somehow managed to take a shower, brushed my teeth - all while being terribly intoxicated - and crawled into bed only to realize that it was just 11h30. PM.
    Stay tuned next week for my exciting adventures while queuing for my pack of Depends at the pharmacist.

  • Went to a family dinner last night, which featured a small feast of lemon marinated beef with hot peppers & cilantro, sautéed lobster with ginger, fried shrimp with green peppers & onions and durian for desert - a.k.a. Reason Why I Love Being Asian #4, #7, #16 and #2 respectively. I also get to hang out with my 20-year-old cousin who asked me for relationship advices as he is thinking of moving in with his girlfriend of 10 months. Bless his heart and love him to pieces (we grew up with each other and i consider him as my little brother), but how equipped are you to move out on your own and manage your studies and a serious relationship and worrying about generally surviving when you're asking a hardcore SPINSTER for RELATIONSHIP advices?! Great! Another thing to needlessly worry my over-protective head about! Thank you, thank you very much!...
    Seriously, it just makes me shiver in the inside as i think of all the possible ways how this could go wrong... Ugh. I miss the age of blind faith (...not really... But it sure beats the age of patronizing pessimism).

  • Spent the day pampering myself and giving me a Winter pedicure.


    Not that anyone will notice as it will be hidden under two layers of thick cotton socks. And boots. And 30cm of snow. I'm not complaining though - it's about fackin' time Winter peaked its beady little head in! All this rain & warm weather was starting to freak the snowshite out of me.

  • Also, i've decided to let my fingernails grow into a lady-like length. It feels weird.

Um. That's all i have.

* In a strictly PG fully clothed way, you deviant fiends.
** [WARNING: this end note contains graphic description that may offend anyone out there who innocently & indulgently gives a rat's ass to scroll down here thinking it is a sweet & tender explanation of sexual perversion- HULLO!] When engaging in sexual intercourse in a canine fashion & in front of a mirror, the male exits his penile apparatus from the female's vaginal entry to insert it into her anus, which would therefore cause her to react just like - say it with me - a Startled Goldfish.
*** [WARNING: added to the same graphic description as above, the following notes also shows extreme levels of geekiness - please read at your own risks] When engaging in sexual intercourse in a canine fashion, the male diverts his hands from the female's supporting hips, forms an 'O' with his index finger & thumb, reverts it backwards while spreading the rest of his fingers on his face to make glasses of them, thus imitating Captain America's superhero mask.
**** When engaging in sexual intercourse in a canine fashion [a very inspirational position, it seems], the male exits his penile apparatus just when it is about to come, wait and, when the vaginal entry is slowly contracting back to its original diameter, [with great timing and aim, i must say] ejaculate in it - reenacting thus the scene where Luke Skywalker destroys the Deathstar from within in Star Wars IV. Genius? I think yes.

Monday, January 8, 2007

tout doucement

Something should be said for Monday mornings warmly snuggled in a furry blanket sipping hot Crème Brulée Godiva coffee as Serge Gainsbourg, Barbara & the rest of the 1950's Paris gang serenade me in the background. It feels so decadent i can barely keep my phlegm & snot in. Oh no, wait. That's because my sexy cold refuses to FUCKING. SOD. OFF.

It seems that copious amounts of water, chicken soup, rice porridge, orange juice, vitamin C, Chinese oils, Tequilà, Grand Marnier, Crème de Menthe & the rest of my sister's entire liquor cabinet (mine has somehow been emptied...*look innocent*), there is still a family of goo comfortably embedded in my respiratory system (yes, it's the attention to details that make me so delightful to read, i know). I've managed to narrow this all down to either a case of bad karma (which doesn't really make any logical sense for i am the picture of niceness, you see) or - *gasp* - old age. Seriously. My body, at only near a quarter of a century old, can't seem to cure a simple little cold in less than ten bastard days while Mr. K-Fed has managed to father a small country in that amount of time!

There are some obvious upsides to this, of course. Added to the aforementioned morning (although frankly, for the pure principle of whining, previous mornings were rather spent being completely unconscious - a rather good thing, some might argue), i also get to spend the last few nights in resting (with a better excuse than I Am An Anti Social Bitch) and watching the entire last season of Sex & the City. After the insane amount of socializing the past holiday schedules have found me in, i am happy to report that all this has restored my indulgence towards Human Beings once again. Somewhat.

You see, watching odd social antics on the telly is one thing but actually experiencing them out on my own is a whole other ordeal, let me tell you. It's utterly strange to me in fact. It's not because i am completely unaware of what & how things work Out There, or that i am a hopeless hermit, but it just seems that i've always experienced these things on two levels simultaneously & rather paradoxically. There's the one where i am actually living it, obviously, where i'm in my body, receiving external inputs & giving out internal outputs (sometimes even 'normally', if you can imagine!). And then there is this other level - this out of body experience, or rather a deeper inner body experience - where i witness everything, myself included, from my Seventeen-Year-Old Self's perspective, and it all seems so... weird, man... E.g.:

  • Studying in a coffee shop, and then suddenly stop to note that there is this stranger staring at me. After checking if i have zipped my trousers, have coffee dripping down the front of my shirt and/or stained my face with ink dipped in chocolate - all feasible possibilities - i realize, perhaps, he is 'eyeing me' (having to look something like one of those 'trendy slash together' uni student i so often see, i suppose) and wonder how in the world this ever happened? And if this is so, why doesn't this stranger say or do anything to indicate that i am not, in fact, a self-conscious clumsy dirthead but instead a hot self-conscious clumsy dirthead that asks inane questions & gets to study diddly squat? Seriously, some of us can do with a little compliment instead of a scary stare!

  • Flirting at a bar, and realising that i can, actually, flirt! With a guy! In a bar! ME! Which thereafter has the unfortunate result of the most bizarre things coming out of my mouth, such as "I'm sorry, i didn't mean to flirt with you, or act like this bc i'm drunk in any way - it seems that i tend to be naturally like this as well, i'm afraid. I blame it on my fag." Whahhh?!?

  • Shagging on a kitchen table for the first time. All that ran through my mind was 'OhmygawdiamhavingSEXonakitchentable!' . (If you looked up 'smooth', my picture would be right under it.)

  • Having lunch with a once Particular Gentleman who, out of the blue - and really off any topic - decided to talk in detail about a stranger lady he would want to score while carefully pausing AND oddly looking right at me whenever he mentions how hot she is. Me PICKING UP on the possibility that he might be trying to get me jealous - dear lord, why? Do people really do this? And with ME of all people?! And if they don't, why would i even think they would? Weirdness....

Not to mention countless other freaky social phenomena that humbly throw me a little out of the loop, thank you very much. It's as if i'm a lab mouse watching how humans function, and try as i might, study as i can, watch as i do, i will never quite understand the human mating game. Or at least, i will never understand how i could comfortably fit in it (discounting that i could be a pathological case of dysfunctionality, of course). I know humans are social creatures. Their Our urge to couple & mate, to form lasting & secure relationships is a fundamental evolutionary remnant in human psychology. It's normal functional stuff, really. Stuff that makes sense. If their our ancestors didn't bond and huddle together in order to run mammoths off a cliff and drive the Neanderthals into extinction, well, they we wouldn't be here now, would they we? But, to my Seventeen-Year-Old Self, that still doesn't explain why it is normal for one to wait 2 days after a first date to call the other person up, or why it is acceptable to make the other person jealous, play 'hard to get', be rude or patronizing, make the other person feel guilty for not liking you and/or connive the other into liking you only to discover you don't really like them that much in the end (!?!). I mean, really, as if everyday socialising isn't hard enough as it is without having to worry about if you could fall in love with one another.

...That's the ick factor, isn't it? The 'love' part of it all. All this mental hoo-ha & yodelay-hee-haw is because most of us believe that it would - it should - bring us, in the end, this fabulous, coveted, infamous 'Holy Grail of Love'. That it would be all worth it - all the disappointments, all the awkwardness, all the heartbreaks, all the crapiness, craziness & crassness. Because if - and when! - we survive all that, just like Cinderella, Pinocchio or Elisa Dolittle, we somehow get to become more. It's our constant drive to be above & beyond, to self-actualize & better ourselves - that's the ultimate promise of Love, isn't it? But you know what? Love, as far as anyone is concerned, as objective as it can be (because if we cannot count on Science, what can we count on, right?), can basically be broken down into two things: Desire + Intimacy; Desire = Sex, Intimacy = Attachment + Trust.

That's it, folks! Humans are social creatures who need strong social bonds to exist. In other words, it's all a survival thing. Our brains have just wired it somehow to translate 'survival' into 'love', and because we are indeed a tad more complex than your ordinary worm, we create these intricate social schema and rules and norms and concepts for one another to jump through (if for no other reason than because it is admittedly quite amusing to watch sometimes - like going to the circus). And as if that's not enough, throw in some hormones, pheromones and neurotransmitters to the mix, shake it well, let it cool, pour, serve, and voilà! You have your very own Friday Nights Out and 'Til Death Do Us Parts, babies!


Maybe i've been watching too much Sex & the City after all (minus the puns & very enviable wardrobe, though i am working on that last point). I was never a die hard fan of the show, i must say. It just doesn't move me, or trouble and rile me up like some of my favorite shows can. Still... every time i get to watch it, it does make me feel better. Actually (and i feel a tad embarrassed saying this, let it be known)... it makes me feel... validated. Because it bears witness to the Single Girl in the strange social game going on Out There. Sure, she may have created quite a few, and i wouldn't even put my weight behind them, but it makes me feel less lonely somehow, less desperate, less pathetic and less weird (and pitiful) for wanting to be happy on my own rather than tolerantly satisfied with a fuckrag who adores me. So there.

Second ponderous 'hm'.

Apologies, i should've warned that this was going to be a rambly whingy post about Singledom. I didn't even know it was going to get to this. I was just counting on the rambly part, really. But lounging here with too much time on my hands, listening to old French love songs with Carrie & Mr. Big still freshly roaming in my head from last night oestrogen binge, as perfect & warm as i feel right now, and despite what i've said previously about boyfriends & getting attached, it just hit me that all this reasoning doesn't matter at all and the one thing that would make my morning even more perfect is having a handsome man watching over me as i type these silly, silly words (in a non-stalkerish fashion, preferably).

I hate how i am programmed. And where the hell are my chocolates?!

Wednesday, January 3, 2007

holding out for a hero

Last night, i've finally got over my fear of Kate Martianhead Bosworth and saw Superman Returns. This is what i had to say about it:

"Oh Good Gawd, he is so cute..."
"Come on, put those glasses on, put them on, oh yeaaaah...."
"Oh, he is so hotttt!"
"Hot! Hot! Hot! haaaaaahhhhhhh...." *drools*
" handsome"
"Come on, rip it, baby, rip it!"
"He. Is. So. Handsome."
"Sooooo beautiful...."

Repeat & shuffle. With more drool. Possibly. The extensive vocabulary displayed there also goes to show the highly educated & intellectual demographic the movie's intricate plot and witty dialogue was aiming at. Also Kevin Spacey rocked. And Superman's got nothing on Clark Kent...

It's all in them glasses, you understand. Now, i will spend the day googling up every one of his picture known in the history of the internet. Because, really, as if we will ever see him in another movie again. If we don't count the one i'm making in my mind. Starring me, obviously.

Okay. Carry on.

Monday, January 1, 2007


So between work, pre-Christmas dinner parties, plain old parties, work Christmas dinner parties, family dinner parties, family, New Year's Eve parties, New Year's brunch (and one more dinner coming up tonight), and - of course - who can neglect all the oddly awkward social moments & antics, nothing really happened.... If it did, i'm afraid i don't remember anymore. My brain has turned into turkey stuffing & mashed potatoes mixed with jingle bells. Also, i've been spectacularly infected by yet ANOTHER cold which, on top of the wonderful effects of drunkenness, too much food & too much Dancing That Would Make Any Mother Proud, has now turned me into this:

Here! here! to being in The Holiday Spirit! Now, if anyone needs me, i'll be the one growling in a dark corner of the basement holding a kalashnikov.

Oh! And warm wishes to anyone who cares and a very jolly New Year filled with warm fuzzy feelings indeed! Bottoms up [filled with ibuprofen & sudafed for me please]!