September 26, 2016

what to look out when buying an apartment/condo – part 3

this is an addition to what I’ve already written in the previous 2 lists…here and here

A short discussion with a bunch of younger friends yielded one important insight about what to look out when buying an apartment/condo…

You see, buying a home is a risk. You risk of spending a fortune buying a home that could suck. Believe me, the odds are against you if you’re as dumb as I think you are (I’ve seen a lot of sohais getting their shit ruined because they couldn’t deign to put in some effort to think, before deciding to throw in the downpayment for an apartment/condo).

Crime rate
How do you fancy getting your everyday stuff stolen every now and then? Stuffs like shoes, sandals, undergarments? Or even worse, getting held up with a machete while the robbers ransack your goddamn house? It is a fucking problem, I tell you. I have a friend whose place is so damn fucked up, that he even got his dog stolen! (it was one of those fancy ass dogs).

Horrible neighbors
I’ve had neighbors from hell before (that’s why I hate neighbors, it’s a trauma I carried from my childhood). I had neighbors who’d rear chickens with her rotten leftover rice (whom I’ve written about here), and another Indian family whose sons would boom box the night away in drunken stupor and house fights. One day, a couple of the sons murdered the older brother and all of them were thrown in prison leaving the old mom behind (it was surreal). But your worst nightmare would be a neighbor who would rent out his/her unit to a Bangla, who in turn will grow more comrades from the mud, start chopping trees down, build ballistas, war machines and whatnots and before you realize, you’re dealing with hordes of them showing up at every corner of the neighborhood flashing war paints on their genitals to your young daughters.

Garbage collection
And do you believe there are places where the garbage truck won’t go? It’s not in their area of coverage. Or maybe some council-man did something stupid to piss off the garbage collection contractor and as a result of that, landfill in your neighborhood. It can be a sore sight to behold, and you’d be living in filth, and before long, stray animals and flies start to appear and be too close to your comfort in your own home.

Electricity disruptions
There are some jinxed area in Malaysia that have electricity disruptions so frequent, that if everytime the homeowner gets a buck from a black out, the homeowner would get to buy a new house with the money before he/she finishes the original mortgage. Ask the people in my wife’s hometown. Every household has their own generator for a reason. Stuff like these probably won’t be outlined in the brochure for your brand new apartment. You’ve got to soak it in for years, before you know it is an actual problem.

Parking problems
For some fucked up reasons, our governments (both federal/state) aren’t very good at city planning. A lot of apartments and buildings do not get ample parking lots because it is not part of the requirements to get the occupancy permit. Booyah! you get people parking all over the place. That’s when traffic jam becomes rampant, and going to/from from your home could be the nightmare instead of going to the office. There are shitloads of places with such problem in Penang. Ask your Penang friends.

Just to name a few.

Things like these can only percolate and show up later in years, and there’s very little you can do about it other than taking a chance to get some advice from a soothsayer. So, the question is, how can you mitigate these risks? Simple – buy a used unit. A used apartment/condo unit is a tested experiment, tried and true to its current status. You’d know who are the neighbors, and whether it has a crime problem. You’d know if there is an erratic garbage collection schedule and if parking/blackout is going to be a constant headache for you. Sure, it’s going to be harder to find, and most likely going to cost more – but it will still be a good trade off for all the bad deals you didn’t see coming above…

Both my 2 properties were bought used. I paid a little bit more, but I have less problems to worry about. I’m just saying, you do the thinking…

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September 21, 2016

iPhone 7

I have a couple of friends who have been waiting for the iPhone 7 for months.

When it was finally revealed a few weeks ago, I could tell that they’re somewhat disappointed… but instead of showing their disappointment overtly about it, they feigned excitement about the product… which sickened me. And one of them even expressed that he’d still buy it despite its glaring shortcomings. I mean, what the fuck’s that all about!? One minute that guy complains about the stupid phone not having a goddamn headphone jack, and the next minute he wants to spend a fortune buying that piece of crap! That was when I realized that this isn’t really about a product being good or bad… it’s about the perceived social status being seen with a fucking iPhone.

So, despite being a crappier phone than it already was in the line, I think this goddamn iPhone 7 could actually still sell well. Thanks to you morons. One of my whore hound booze buddy, who is an iPhone fanboy, uses his fucking iPhone to boost his self confidence (or the lack of). He’s definitely going to get one when it is available. Nevermind that he doesn’t even fucking know how to use 80% of the phone’s features (he isn’t smart enough to even pair a fucking bluetooth device with it). He just needs one to start a conversation. *flashes phone to a waitress/chick*

“What do you think of my new iPhone? Neat eh?” *starts a conversation.

See my point? Makes me puke in my mouth. I guess the same can be said about people patronizing outlets like Starbucks or Coffee Bean. They just want to be seen pretentiously using an expensive Macbook Air sipping expensive coffee…

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September 14, 2016

the milk project

If you have been schooling in Malaysia in the 80’s, you’d probably know this term – ‘Projek Susu’. It literally translates to ‘the milk project’ in English.

I know it sounds kinky but no, it is not a porn theme. It is actually a program introduced by the semi-retarded government of Malaysia (then and now) to battle malnutrition amongst the poor students by selling them cheap chocolate milk. Yes, believe it. They’re not free, but were actually sold at a cheap price (hence the ‘semi-retarded’ handle).

At 40 cents a pack (a regular sized 200ml pack), it was none of those branded stuff you find in the grocery store. It was of an unknown home brand, and it had pictures of happy students on it. Clearly a convenient arrangement with a seemingly noble theme aimed to benefit the local cronies more than to nourish the skinny ass children… but what do we know? We kids were crazy about it. Like, who doesn’t love chocolate milk? That thing probably had melamine or antifreeze in it, we loved it all the same.

A couple of times a year (or a few, I can’t remember), the school teachers would give out forms for students to order this stuff. And those rich kids, would order by the dozens. And the poor ones like me, could only watch in envy as my fellow rich classmates getting help from the teaching staffs to carry heaps of those chocolate milk by the cartons to their desks. With only 20 cents a day as pocket money, I couldn’t afford even 1 pack of this shit. To buy a pack means I had to refrain from food/drink for 2 days at school and that’s just sad. And I certainly could not ask money from my mom to buy some because I’d get spanking instead of money from her (trust me, it doesn’t sound that important to your nutritional needs when you tell your mom that you wanted money to buy some ‘chocolate milk’).

But on and off, I’d manage to steal some coins from my mom’s piggy bank to buy myself a pack – and that was how I found momentary happiness. I’d savor it by sipping so slowly like it was brewed from an ancient cask, and absorb whatever fucking nutrients milked from a local diseased cow in a farm somewhere in Selangor and experience kid orgasm at the same time. Those rich kids probably never tasted the ‘projek susu’ the way I did back then.

Today, I can afford shitloads of these chocolate milk, and drink till my joints are inflamed… but they never taste as good as those that I’d bought with those stinky old coins from my mom’s piggy bank.

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August 21, 2016

double parking is never ok

Lately, there’s this trend of people posting pictures of reckless driving/parking to a dedicated Facebook page to shame the perpetrating bastards. I’ve seen shitloads of them shared by my friends. One of the most annoying ones, has to be ‘double parking’. (I’ve never encountered a lot of double parkers myself though, just once)

Now, each time I see these double parking rants get posted on the said Facebook page, I’m bound to see some smartasses commenting that – “how can the asshole park his/her car without leaving his/her number on the dashboard!?”. Do you see what is wrong here? If you don’t, then you ought to be lynched. Here, let me point this out to you – the main problem is supposed to be ‘double parking’, but some people see it as ‘not leaving your contact number when double park’… Still don’t get it? How about women getting raped, but people see the problem as not using a condom in the rape. See it now you fucking morons??

If leaving a contact number on the dashboard makes double parking ok, then what’s the point of having parking lots? Why don’t we just fucking leave our cars wherever we want, as long as we leave our contact number on our dashboard? How fucking stupid can you people be?? It vexes me deeply, to think that we actually have some people in the community here think that it is alright to double fucking park the car as long as there’s a contact number left inside the car.

I fucking swear goddamn it, the next time I see a double parking car – even with a contact number left in it – I’m going to fucking break every windscreen/window to release the parking brake and push the damn thing into a ditch.

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August 10, 2016

my hairdressers

Through the years, I’ve had no less than a dozen hairdressers servicing my head before. I change them like how Ted Mosby would change girlfriends.

My first ever hairdresser was of course, my own mom. Mom would strip me naked in the toilet, and cut my hair as she saw fit. As style wasn’t an issue for me yet, I gave very little shit about how she’d want me to look. And I was content with that until I started schooling.

When I started primary school, mom stopped cutting my hair. She instead, sent me to the local Indian barber at the Rifle Range neighborhood – for RM 1.50 per haircut. The place had white tiles, like a fucking toilet. Indian barber would make me sit on a plank that was placed across the armrest of the old as shit barber chair, and cut my hair with a pair of mechanical hair clippers (which mom fondly referred as ‘the crab machine’).

Then when I moved away from Rifle Range, I started to patronize a ‘unisex hair salon’ outlet near my new house. The place was located next to an whorehouse, but was fucking air conditioned and was as hip as shit. The hairdressers there were chicks with cleavage, and it was a far departure from the hairy Indian barbers. They charge RM 5 a pop, including scalp massage and a hair wash. Considered expensive back then, but it was a worthy expenditure for a little style and some tits to ogle at.

About a couple years later, when I got my first bicycle, I ventured further from my home in pursuit of a cheaper haircut and better style (got bored with the ‘whorehouse hair salon’ quickly, especially when they weren’t really that good at giving haircuts). Recommended by a classmate, I found a porcine middle aged housewife who operated illegally at a low cost flat near Batu Lanchang. For just RM 3, the housewife could cater any request including the popular Aaron Kwok hairstyle (hah! try asking an Indian barber to do that, you’d get a ‘wokek’ chide).

And she was goooooood, but there was a problem. She was too popular. Her illegal hair salon was as packed as fuck. Throngs of housewives would flock to her joint every day, sometimes I had to wait for 2 hours to just get a haircut. That was why I ventured a lot of different outlets when I was around 15 – 17 years old. One of them was another illegally operated joint (I don’t know what’s with me patronizing illegally operated hairdressers…) at Macallum Street (had to take a bus there) operated by this terrifying old queer who looked like an overweight Richard Simmons. I only went there once, needless to say. Then I also patronized a hairdressing college near my tuition center. For only RM 2, you could get your hair cut by aspiring hairdressers. Plenty of hot chicks and tits, but the hair job was lousy and took forever (I was once late for my tuition).

I went hither and thither until I had my first motorcycle. My dad introduced me to his friend who started a salon, whose wife was a Thai (the hairdresser). If I had to describe her, I’d say she looked somewhat like that funny manicure/pedicure lady in Legally Blonde (but now she looks like geriatric Snorlax). My dad told me she had a degree from France or something like that, so it did a lot for her credibility then. But most of all, it was just RM 3 a pop, the cheapest haircut I could find then. As a bonus, the place was deserted most of the time, which was perfect for me. I patronized the outlet for many years (yes, it’s the same one I wrote about here), until about 2 years ago, when they increased the hair job to RM 20 a pop (through the years, it was increased from RM 3 -> RM 5 -> RM 8 -> RM 10… so on). That was when the straw broke the camel’s back, and I said – “FUCK IT! I’m going to look for a new joint!”.

That was how I ended up at this chain store of a hairdressing place inside a hypermarket. For RM 16 a pop, it was a better deal for me than Snorlax’s hair job. Operated by 2 and a half women, the place was easily accessible and high tech (they have one of those vacuum machine to clean you up). One was a young chick whom I would refer as ‘warm hands’, because she has warm hands. Like she has high viral fever. Fair skinned and common ah lian lookalike, her styling sucks. She’s my least favorite (I like her hands though). Then there’s this middle aged skinny ass lady whom I’d refer as simply ‘goddamn old aunty’ (‘si lau ee’ in hokkien). She has a talking problem. When asked for a style, she’d go technical like she’s about to write a thesis to cure herpes. She wears this goddamn belt with scissors and clippers (one of them blunt) around her waist, and would switch clipper heads stylishly like it fucking matters. Not surprisingly, her styling sucks too. The best is this tomboy with a long face (hence, the half woman). She might not be a looker, but she has great skills (she looks pale like a terminally ill tuberculosis patient). Of all 3, I like her hair job the most. Quick and nice. Tomboy would be my first choice every time I wanted a haircut there. But the problem is, it all depends on luck because of their stupid rotation system. That’s why I always have to scope around the joint before I walk in, just to double ensure that it is tomboy’s turn. I’ve had hits and misses over the months, for I’ve ended more times getting my hair cut by that ‘goddamn old aunty’ than the tomboy. And to rub salt to the wound, they’ve recently hiked the price to RM 18 a pop.

I’m gonna have to look for another joint soon.

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