Archive for the ‘experiences’ Category

December 29, 2003

teambuilding event

The teambuilding event I jointly organized yesterday was a successful one. Although I did not participate in the people groping events, I manage to have my own version of learned lesson (through my meticulous observation and experience):

1) Wearing sunglass under the sun – is a bad idea. It gives you an uneven sunburn on your face; especially around the eyes.

2) Laughing too hard at people hitting a boner is a form of extreme exercise. Expect muscle ache the morning after.

3) Suntan lotion does not prevent sunburn. Hiding under a shade does.

4) Teambuilding events organized near beaches can be dangerous. Plenty of distractions during activities that require concentration : eg. bikini clad spanish bimbo bouncing along the beach.

5) Never volunteer yourself to be a cameraman. You’ll end up being mocked by psycho ladies who would not hesitate to blame you for taking their spastic photos/videos.

I will be spending the rest of my day hibernating.

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December 24, 2003

the shampoo story

I went shopping for groceries with Emily yesterday. While she was busy looking for her stuff, I stumbled into the shampoo department looking for… well… shampoo. Then all of a sudden, I was surrounded by 3 – 4 promoters – each of them eyeing on me like a bunch of vultures waiting to pick rotten flesh off a carcass. They seem to appear out from nowhere! I was shocked shitless. Then one of them approached me.

Promoter #1 : “Looking for shampoo?”

Me : “Err … yeah.”
[I was in the shampoo department. What was wrong with her?]

Promoter #1 : “Oily hair ?”
[She looked serious]

Me : “I don’t know. I think so.”

Promoter #1 : “Dandruff ?”
[She sounded professional]

Me : “Maybe. Maybe no.”

She then proceed to open up a few bottles of shampoo.

Promoter #1 : “Here… smell them. These are natural shampoos made from bla bla… 5 in 1… conditioner .. AHA .. natural …$%^&*!@”
[Price – 20 over bucks for a small bottle]

Me : “Err .. no thanks. I think I’ll be able to settle by myself. ”

I’m actually looking for something simpler and more economical – that’s because I washes my hair 2 – 3 times a day. I don’t give a fuck about any AHA, conditioner or whatever they put into the shampoo. I just want something that can fucking wash my hair. As long as it’s big, cheap and smells ok – I’m a happy man.

Promoter #1 : “You have any brand in mind? Rejoice? Head & Shoulders? Pantene? [insert brand]?”

Me : “No brands in mind. I just need a good smelling shampoo with a good price.”

Promoter #1 : “Oh… we have this Sassoon shampoo on promotion. It got this [some very weird chemical name] and this this that this FUCK”
[That shampoo she recommended was fucking expensive. I was beginning to feel annoyed. She won’t let me look for my own shampoo.].

Me : “No no… I don’t want all that. Please leave me alone. I’ll know when I found my ideal shampoo… ok ?”

I wandered off into another section of cheaper looking shampoos. Another middle aged promoter approached me from nowhere. I think they learned black magic or something to be able to appear out of thin air just like that.

Promoter #2 : “Looking for shampoo? We’ve got this brand $%^&*^*&^%^&%^#E%$&(^*^&*^*%$^$”
[Again … promoting a very complicated brand of shampoo. Small and expensive.]

Me : [pointed at a big cheap bottle of shampoo] “Auntie … I want this bottle”

The promoter suddenly changed her friendly expression and replied “Go get yourself”. She then walked away.

I held up the big, cheap, green and great smelling shampoo triumphantly like Rivaldo holding the World Cup. The cheap shampoo repelled the rest of the promoters as I ambled along… and I gave them a wry smile.

Lesson learnt : Never walk into a shampoo department looking innocent or confused. Want to buy shampoo? Barge into the area… grab a few big sized shampoos you can find and bail from that cursed place. You can always filter out the expensive ones in another department (like the pet food department) and pay for the one you like. If fail to find your ideal shampoo… repeat the barge process. Period.

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November 30, 2003

online gaming experience

*Disclaimer: Reader discretion is advised for the blog entry below. Consult your parents or your local magistrate if you are below 18

A friend asked me if I have ever played an ‘online game’ – and I told him ‘yeah’. The original ‘Diablo’.

If you can remember ‘Diablo’. I was a game that took the PC gaming world by storm and started the no brainer walk-and-slash frenzy over the course of few years. It was wildly popular and was, I believe, the game that first introduces free online gaming on its Battlenet servers. God knows how many hours I wasted loitering around the virtual dungeons in Battlenet, which could have been used to do something more useful, like live a life or something.

But there was one particular incident which still lives fresh in my memory till this day. It was a game of ‘Diablo’ with a couple of German chicks. I don’t quite remember how I stumbled into them but, I remember the game name they created – it was called ‘BitchSlut’.

Initially, it was just another usual game for me, you know, me minding my own business looking for monsters to kill. The German chicks were nowhere to be seen yet, but I could read the chat transcript between the girls while they were playing. I didn’t join in their chat because the topics weren’t exactly my kind of interest, but I still get to read whatever they were typing there.

It stayed that way for about the first 10 minutes, when the topic began to get saucy amongst them. The girls started to talk about their bust measurement. That distracted me for awhile… almost got my ass whooped by a lurking monster. I don’t quite remember how did they exactly discuss about their tits but, I remember myself remarking to them in the chat box – “Hey hey… there’s a guy in here. You might want to take your girly discussions offline.”

Instead of apologizing, one of them brazened out to me – “So what if you’re a guy? Not matured enough to take it?”.

It was a direct hit at my man ego. I mean, I was just trying to be nice and all. So, I decided to park my debonair personality aside, and join in their discussion. I went on to ask them – “why do you girls measure your titties in centimeters?” (as opposed to inches or cup sizes).

One of the girls answered – “it is common in Germany to measure them in centimeters” (I am not sure if they are shitting me).

Me – “the people here uses inches and cup sizes. inches for your entire chest include your back, and cup sizes for solely your tits. we don’t generally use centimeters”.

My explanation drew a few oohs and ahhs from the 2 German girls… which I have to admit, kinda weird since they should have known this better than me. (or they’re probably fucking with me.)

Seeing that these girls are actually listening, I took the subject further. I attempted to introduce them a new way to measure the size of their boobies. – “In my country, there is a more popular alternate way to measure busts. We measure them with hands. How many hands does it take to hold up one tit. If it’s big, it might require more than 1 hands to hold it up. If it’s small, it will easily take less than 1 hand. So, the measurement goes like 1/2 hand, 1 hand, 2 hands (big) or even 3 hands (humongous). It’s much easier to imagine with hands comparing to cm or inches. And you don’t need a measuring tape or tool to do it.”

As I was about to quip even more made-up facts to them, I was kicked out from the game. Without knowing why. I thought we were all having an enjoyable view-exchange session but, those girls can never maintain an open mind to complete it. Fucking German girls.

But that did not bother me a bit. I joined another game and continued to have my own fun whacking monsters/undeads. ‘Diablo’ was the only game I ever played online.

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November 24, 2003

unexpected experiences

There was once a friend send me a URL while I was shirking around the office. Thinking that it might be something of interest, I clicked at the URL without giving much thought. It was a flash site, and not long after it started loading, a scene of a cartoonish old woman appeared… and then it happened.

All out of a sudden, my speaker blasted out this ‘ketchup song’ loud. It went like, “Le je… Le je…” or something, and the granny started to do some really absurd hand flailing dance on my screen (full screen). The most unfortunate thing was, I had this Altec Lansing home theater system hooked up on my office table, and as a result of that, half the office actually heard what was going on in my cube.

For a second or two, I didn’t know what to do. I was literally stunned. And then panic sets in, and I was fumbling to find a way to close the fucking thing from doing further damage. But because I was panicking, nothing seemed to work. The ketchup song would continue to pump out loud through the entire office floor. Curious heads started to pop up from cubes to see who was sledgehammering the office with a loud-fucking-speaker… I continued to look for ways to end the whole thing and finally, decided to unplug my Altec Lansing speaker to stop the whole disastrous episode from jeopardizing my career.

And there it was… the granny… still doing her ketchup dance on my screen, with sounds unplugged. But the damage had already been done. Some of my colleagues were already annoyed… while some were laughing at my ass off for being such a dolt. My reputation went down a few notches after that day. But then, I was very grateful, now that I think that the situation could have been worse. If it was porn that I was loading, and the noise projected out from my speaker were to be pornstars moaning in climax… I would have lost my fucking job right away.

Hate it when things like this happens. Sites with intrusive sounds. Man those shit should be made illegal. They make our lives difficult.

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November 22, 2003

knee checkup

My ailing knee is getting worse and I finally went for another checkup today. The physiotherapist recommended for an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) scan, as he suspected that I might have a torn ligament. I was about to tell him that my pocket’s torn too, and if this is going to cost me a leg, then I might as well live with the ailing knee. But before I could tell him that, he told me of a good news – that both the scan and treatment are fully claimable with my medical insurance.

Since I do not have to pay a single cent, I agreed to go for the scan. I had to travel to another location in town to do it.

Once I was inside the MRI clinic, I was greeted by 2 young nurses. One of the nurses, gave me a set of verbal questionnaire prior the scan. I was made to answer all sorts of questions – am I a smoker? did I pierce my body parts? do I have earrings or any metal parts inside my body? And of course, all my answers were ‘No’. But the nurse kept repeating the ‘body piercing’ question, as if she couldn’t believe that I’m clean. Maybe I looked like a punk to her. Whatever.

Then I was led into a room where the other nurse asked me to change to a green robe. The green robe was the type where you’re to wear it by slotting in through the front. Like a semi-poncho or something. And I looked ridiculous with that thing on. I looked like a dolt in it, especially with a shower cap on (yes, they made me wear a shower cap as well). I was then ushered towards a small room, and while I was walking along the long corridor, I heard some giggling behind me. I was the nurses. They’re laughing at me from behind, probably because my ass was exposed from behind (the stupid robe)… It was humiliating (now that I think of it, I should have ripped a badass fart right then)

Once I was in the MRI scan room, I was asked to lie down on a flat table and had my leg strapped like I was about to be raped or something. Once the strap was secured, I was electrically conveyed into a machine that resembled a giant coffee maker. Once I was inside there, the doctor bellowed through the microphone to ask me “Stop moving or your scan will be affected”. I wasn’t even moving, I was strapped… remember? I had to lie down very still for 40 minutes, half naked and it was cold. My nipples were rock hard and my strapped leg was numb. For the first time in my life, I felt like a lab rat… all for that stupid knee.

Well, fast forward an hour later, I finally got out of there and got the result. The scan revealed that my knee suffered some kind of condition called ‘plica syndrome’ (no it’s not a form of retardation you motherfucking cheebye). The doctor tried to explain in detail to me but I could not register anything at all. So, the layman term that I would use to describe my knee is – a fucked up knee that doesn’t need no surgery. And that’s good enough for me. I just need to take some medication and follow 10 sessions of physiotherapy to make it well again.

But it means nothing much to me. All I wanted was a good night sleep. The knee had caused enough sleepless night for me… and if this doesn’t work, I’m gonna have to fucking die.

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