Of going against the grain

Huffy, finicky, persnickety, anal-retentive me.

Oh woe of woes. Calamity. Alas and alack.

It's hard being misunderstood I tell you. You keep to the rules and you're not a threat. You play by the contstrains of polite society and you're a stick. You cut others slack and they walk all over you. You give others the cut direct for being rude . . . and you're the heinous bastard. Sometimes it's much safer to just stay in. And wallow in your misery and self-pity as you rock on your heels (while clutching your head), moaning to yourself, What does this all mean?!?

At which point, the saner more jaded part of your mind will calmly state, It means you're an idiot.

Then you step out of the house with a new attitude--or a makeover to take care of the puffy eyes--and a determination to not be such a weakling. Which you curiously aren't . . . You dispense with empty vacillations and stood firm to your decisions. You keep to principles. You nip things in the bud before they could grow to an entirely new set of problems, issues or dramas. And you still get to be called a heinous bastard.

We are people. People with various interest, ethics and other countless idiosyncrasies that makes us, us. In theory it sounds good but hardly anyone places much stock in mutual respect of each others' differences.

Which is why you get people who owe you money but dither--or sometimes never--paying up.

You get people who haven't seen you in ages and yet greet you with "You've put on weight!/You're fat!" as their way of greeting. To you gentle readers, when faced with jerks like these try to reply with "Ohmigaawd! You, too!" Let me know what reaction was displayed. I am most curious.

You get morons who can't seem to say anything nice . . . constantly carping away about how inadequate or strange or 'just-plain-wrong' you are.

You get come-latelies who have to spout on and on about how grand they are as they're extolling abot the virtues of their company's new laptop, or company credit card . . .

It all goes on and on and on. Ad infinitum, ad nauseum. Wash, rinse . . . repeat.

I've always endeavoured to go against the grain most of the time. Being practical however, it doesn't mean I won't conform when the choice will benefit me in the long run. I am adaptive that way. But of course, others see that as me being "confused."

Of D&D madness

Recipe: D&D Battle Scene. Serves 3-4.

Take one playboy fighter. Add a dash of nara sorceress. Stir in a human cavalier. Shake well, adding three NPCs--a tavern owner, 2 noblemen and a witch--as you do so. Remove the tavern owner after it has steeped for 1 hour.

Add a kidnapping mystery into the mix.

Toss in between 8 to 10 vampire spawns.

Bake for 6 rounds.

Garnish around the mixture with more mystery and horror.

Enjoy.

DMs note: For the more adventurous, consider substituting the vampire spawns with vampires instead.

Of train rides

Early morning, 5:54am to be exact.

Three old Chinese ladies in their market get-up. Two young Chinese men in their yuppie uniforms of skinny ties, fitted Raoul shirts and G2000 flat-front slacks. A modern Indian couple, the guy with multiple piercing on his left ear and the girl with a belly chain and ample cleavage pressing against the ruffled decollette of her scoop-front cotton blouse. Her bra is a pale mint coulour, judging from the strap.

I, leaning against the wall with a cigarette perched in the corner of my lips as I twiddled with my MP3 player trying to decide whether the correct soundtrack for an early morning train ride should be Who's to Say by Vanessa Carlton, or Flown Away by Lene Marlin. In my getup of thin, heather-gray top with three-quarter sleeves, brown Versace jeans and boots you'll be forgiven for thinking I'm not your usual BDE/Biz rep.

The train came. We ran helter-skelter for it, limbo-ing under the rising grille hoping to make it before the doors close and the 7-minutes-and-36-seconds wait for the next (crowded) train make its appearance.

I resigned myself to another dull day at work. Don't get me wrong; I love my job but it's the routine that I don't like. I was still trying to decide whether I should listen to the next song as we were reaching the Bangsar stop when a tiny whiff of Drakkar caught my notice.

And there he was.

I would like to say that he was eyeing me as I was scrolling through the list of songs contained in my GoGear--oh what fetching picture I must have made! In truth, I think it's more of the fact that in my current seating position I was taking up too much space!Let me educate you about frustration. And discomfort. And perhaps a modicum of pain.

It goes something like this: You have a healthy--no, make that voracious--libido. We're talking about "not sleeping till three" here. You haven't had sex in 7 months, and sitting next to you is a man who is a cross between Hugh Jackman (Wolvie magnetism), Robert Redford (for refinement) and Keanu Reeves (for the face).

Either you applaud my self-control. Or stone me for the frigid bag that I was.

I was crossing and uncrossing my legs, quite certain that my arosal is obvious to other people. Thank Heavens for early morning trains; most commuters prefer catching up on sleep to checking out other passengers' package. I risked a glance at him.

Big mistake. Have you ever seen someone do a Cheshire grin, with their mouth closed? Needless to say, when I reached Masjid Jamek I walked out with a bulging front--did I mention I was wearing boxers?--thankfully the school kids hopping on the train did not notice my constipated look and my get-out-of-my-way-cause-I-need-to-jerk-off-in-the-loo walk.

The bastard. He didn't even have the decency of handing me his number after putting me through that Hellish experience. Granted, I didn't ask so sue my frigid nunnish tendency.

I hope I run into him again . . .

"I Would Like To Feel"

I would like to feel something other than this
this sin that coats me in thick sweetness of bliss
Unfurl me from scarlet folds and reveal me to splendor
a most challenging of task that heroes endeavour

A wise man uses a crutch to remember His blessings
A fool runs wild; running unfeeling, unthinking and denying
A lover waits patiently for the phone that never rings
The pauper with a bad penny thinks himself a king

I would like to see something other than this
this illusion that blinds me with glittery mist
Burn away the wetness and clear my vision
Renew my faith, my hopes and lost devotion

A child seeks an indifferent father
A slave for his brutal master
A circle without its center
Teetering, sinking into disaster

I would like to feel something other than these

I would like to be seen in a different light
To be cloaked by a gentle light shed
Would my weaknesses be turned into might
To walk into battle unafraid, though I bled

A warrior returning home to his fastness
A husband to his wife and child
A bird returns to his nest
Satisfied of flying free and wild

I would like to feel something like this