ms-vindicta

is one that doesn’t quite give a shit about her child, especially one’s that freakishly cute.

 

so here’s the story: the boyfriend and i were at borders flipping through the pages of watchmen’s graphic novel.

 

so when i had finished ooh-ing and aah-ing over my two favourite characters rorscarch and silk spectre (both of them are so sexyy), i turned around to people-watch.

 

there was a little boy, no more than 4 years of age, standing nearby, sucking on his milk bottle, with his rosy lipbuds moving rhythmically along to his guzzling of milk.

he was so adorable, people walking by all stopped for a moment to ruffle his hair.

 

i pulled at the still-engrossed-in-the-book boyfriend’s sleeve.

 

"baby, see that kid? i wonder where his mum is."

 

i peered around to see if there was any female in sight that resembled his mum, but there was none that looked old enough.

 

just then, i spotted a girl in her early twenties, in lime green tights, (and later i learnt) with matching lime green eyeshadow browsing the books on the shelves about two feet away.

 

"you think she’s the mum?"

 

as the boyfriend turned around to take a look at the supposed "mother", the toddler started trudging towards ms lime green tights. he had on those squeaky shoes which produced a good amount of noise as he trotted on those little feet. he stood next to her, staring up at her, with his milk bottle still hanging from his lips.

 

after ms lime green tight’s interest had waned from whatever was on the shelves, she peered down at the toddler, then without even as much as a bat of an eyelid, she walked away.

 

the toddler stood there, more curious about the ongoings of the bookstore than his mother walking away from him. 

 

the mother walked a good distance away, and just as we both thought she was about to abandon him in borders for good, she turned around, and gave an impatient wave.

 

do note, it wasn’t the kind of "come here to mummy, darling" wave that you often see in milk powder tv commericals.  

it was the "oh come along already, i’m tired of you" wave.

 

the toddler stared at her, and chose to stand his ground.

 

a flash of annoyance crossed her face, and she turned and continued walking again.  

 

at this point in time, both me and the boyfriend were flabberghasted with her blatant disregard and nonchalance of the child. he was near the entrance of borders, and she was all the way at the magazine corner, and still walking further away.

 

when she reached the cashier’s, she turned around yet again, and gave that wave.

 

this time round, the little boy started running on his unsteady legs towards her, and get this, while he was STILL running to her, she turned around and continued walking again.

i was quite sure if her child were to fall and break his tooth at this point in time, she wouldn’t even give a damn.

 

it sickens me to see how a parent can ignore her own flesh and blood, and such cute flesh and blood at that.

i wouldn’t go as far as to judge her based on her looks and dress sense; assuming that she is a teenage mum etc, but shit, that cute a son and you don’t give two hoots about him?

 

thinking back, she probably got him the squeaky shoes so she can keep an eye on him without literally keeping an eye on him, if you know what i mean.

 

dammit, should have so kidnapped that adorable toddler, he would have made a great conversation starter.  

after being tipped off by a coursemate, i checked my school mail and saw this in my inbox:

 

 

i’m not sure if this dude shot out his declaration of love to the entire campus, or merely to my school (FMS)

 

whichever it is, i think it’s completely crazy and unnecessary.

and i’m sure the girl wouldn’t quite appreciate his course of action, unless she’s into the whole "i love you xiaozhu, from xiaozhuzhu" thing in magazines like teens/teenage.

 

geez.

what next?

 

barging into the radio heatwave conty, grabbing the mic and screaming his love out for her to the entire school?

 

 

and so the school decides to inform us about the NAPFA test two days before we’re scheduled to take it.

 

obviously the word "preparation"’s not in their list of vocabulary.

 

anyway, i was initially pretty okay about doing it, since i figure i shouldn’t have any problems with any of the stations ‘cept for standing broad jump.

 

situps: been doing them often enough.

2.4 km: all that stair-climbing should help!

shuttle run: still got pretty fast responses

sit and reach: flexy, flexi!

inclined pullups: been working out my arms!

 

so yes, it’s just the damned standing broad jump.

in secondary school, i never passed it, until my pe teacher thought of an ingenious but cruel idea.

 

dump a huge baisin in front of me, so the fear of landing on it and slipping to fall flat on my face empowers me to do better.

 

and so i passed.

 

but now!!

 

and guess what, god decides to be funny and bless me with crimson tidal waves of pain today (term credited to cakie). 

worse, the lecturer-in-charge is quite the charming one (this is the common consensus of all our coursemates hor)

 

so how?

do i brave the bloody waters and go on with the napfa test?

or do i thicken my skin, tell the lecturer that i’m battling excessive blood loss and risk him saying no/*gasp* laughing in my face?!

 

decisions, decisions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- fitting shirt, not over-ridden with graphics: +10

 

- baggy jeans, not to the extent of his butt-crack being shown, but still, low enough to give off that seh: +10

 

- simple canvas shoes: +10

 

- spiffy hair, dyed brown; cool brown, not ahbeng brown: +10

 

- proportionate facial feature; big eyes, sharp nose, defined jawline: +20

 

then, his phone vibrates.

 

- has phone on silent mode, does not have some techno-beat ringtone: +20

 

he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

 

- out trails a lanyard. an ugly one. (-10) 

 

fine, i thought, he still has excess points.

 

then i heard it.

 

the rattle of a bell. a tiny silver bell. attached to the lanyard of his phone.

 

(-100 points!!) 

 

it seems like the number of psychos around my living quarters have increased significantly.

 

four accounts that exemplify this point.

 

the first, was when i was returning home after a night of gallivanting.

 

as i stepped out of the lift, my heart did a little jump and i felt goosebumps raising.

 

on the tiled floors right outside the lift, someone had written in chalk in a "hopscotch" format the words:

 来来来

这是我的地盘

来陪我玩啊！ 

 

for the kantangs, it means, "come, come come. this is my territory, come play with me!"

 

it was about 11 pm at that time, and because i could not fathom who could have written those words, i was pretty freaked out.

 

clutching my bag tightly to my chest, i carefully navigated around the words, then ran along the corridor all the way home.

when i told my mum about the encounter the next morning, she said nonchalantly,

 

"oh, that one ah. is the neighbor’s kids lah. it was their mum’s birthday so they decided to draw her a surprise and play games with her."

 

 

walao, this kind of things cannot anyhow play one hor. somemore it’s the hungry ghosts month.

crap, the sight of those words nearly gave me a heart attack.

 

 

the second account took place in broad daylight, when i was on my way to meet the boyfriend.

 

i was walking through the void deck making my way to the bus stop.

 

now usually when i do this, i tend to like walking behind walls to avoid the sun and the wind.

 

that was when i spotted this foreign worker hiding behind a wall, with his back towards me.

 

initially i thought nothing of it, cause people usually do that while lighting their ciggies. hide behind a wall, right?

 

then i heard it.

 

the trickling sound of pee.

 

he heard my footsteps too, and turned around (only his head! not his body!) to look at me, while holding his whatever, with pee still flowing.

 

i shot him a dirty look, and hurriedly went along my way.

 

the third account took place yesterday, too at my lift landing. 

 

i stepped out of my lift and sensing someone staring at me on my left, i looked in the direction and spied this guy in his 20s entering the other lift.

 

he had a weird smile on his face.

 

discomforted, i took large strides away into the void deck.

 

that was when i heard the "tsk".

you know the kind of sound dumb ahbengs make when they call out to one another?

 

that was it.

 

so i turned back.

 

and that same guy was staring at me through the plastic grilles beside the lift, with a lewd smile on his face.

 

considering he actually entered the lift before that, this means he left the lift again just so he can do his stupid "tsk-ing" at me.

 

 

 

the fourth was the one that happened the earliest and was the worst.

 

i was on my way to work and as usual, i boarded the super-full bus.

 the bus was so packed i was reduced to standing on the steps, with not much for support.

 

now there was this indian national who was standing right behind me, and reeaaallly close to me.

 

since the bus was packed like sardines, i didn’t really take heed, not until i felt something soft pressing against my thigh.

so my train of thought was something along the lines of, "i think it’s his thigh, but it’s okay! cause it’s crowded".

 

then his thigh grew harder.

 

hmm.

 

that’s when i decided alright, i should probably take a look and when i did, as expected, it wasn’t his thigh, but something hanging between them.

 

the problem was, i couldn’t even inch away from him because the bus was that packed.  

 

so i made use of what i had.

 

i grabbed my bag, stuck it in between my thigh and his "thigh", and gave him the nastiest glare i could muster.

 

he got the hint and backed away slightly.

 

me - 1, pervert - 0.

 

it’s pretty scary isn’t it? the number of pervs around my neighborhood.

 

the boyfriend says he’s gonna teach me some self-defence moves though, so the next time some asshat brushes his groin against me, i can deal him a well-served kick in the nuts.

 

on a separate note, the boyfriend’s finally back from his 3 day long KL trip, and let’s just say i gave him a really warm welcome home.  

 

 

 

 

this scene took place in my office on a weekday night, roughly at about 8.30 pm.

 

the only people around were the General Manager, my intern friend, colleague-who-doesn’t-take-me-seriously-cause-i-wear-short-dresses, and me.

 

the GM was there cause well, he was doing work. he usually stays in the office till about 10pm.

 

my intern friend and colleague WDTMSCIWSD (shortform for the very long sentence above) were there cause they had a press conference to prepare for the following day.

 

i was there cause i was printing stuff that couldn’t be printed during the working hours as it would hold up the printers.

 

now, you have to note that colleague WDTMSCIWSD isn’t exactly hardworking, and usually comes into the office only to stroll around languidly, gossiping with other colleagues from other departments while munching on snacks, and then leaves the office at 6 pm sharp just cause i quote her, "my darling hubby’s waiting for me!"

 

in other words, she was staying back late that day only cause my intern friend who’s under her had to stay late and she couldn’t possibly abandon her in front of the GM.

 

 

 just then, the GM starts packing his things, getting ready to take his leave.

colleague WDTMSCIWSD spies the GM leaving his desk, and goes,

 

"G! you’re leaving already? that’s pretty early for you, no?"

 

 

now when i heard her saying that, my first reaction was, "omg, now she’s gonna get it! she’s gonna get it!" and i was hopping with excitement, in anticipation of our quick-witted and sharp-tongued GM’s retort.

 

and i had it.  

 

 

the GM shoots her a side look, then goes,

 

"well, you wouldn’t know that, would you?"

 

 

right after he said that, colleague WDTMSCIWSD got a little flustered because she knew that was quite the truth and immediately tried to make light of the situation by haha-ing away.

 

meanwhile, i hid behind my computer screen and giggled together with my intern friend at her foolishness.

 

talk about shooting yourself in the foot.

 

 

 

and yes, i really do dislike colleague WDTMSCIWSD alot, cause she’s not only fat, she’s lazy, greedy, loud, and doesn’t take me seriously.

 

ahh… revenge is sweet.

 

 

 

 

i feel like you don’t quite care.

 

and you, you’re always sarcastic though you say you’re not.

 

you gross me out when you trudge all around the office, sitting on tables and gossiping, muching on food as the fat spills out from your jeans.

 

you’re so childish i can’t believe you’re 25. and i roll my eyes everytime i hear you on the phone in that pixie voice.

 

you touch my stuff one too often.

 

you’re so stuckup.

 

you ought to grow some backbone.

 

you need to be less lazy and stop flooding me with work.

 

you should start standing up for yourself.

 

you need to stop reading my blog cause knowing you do somehow disgusts me.  

 

you need to stop behaving like a i-know-it-all bitch. just cause you have it doesn’t mean others can’t. and you need to lose weight.

 

 

and eileen, you need to stop complaining about random people.

but since it’s your blog, you’re forgiven.

 

 

 

just not in a good mood lah.  

 

 

 

 

in my office, "dear"s, "darling"s and "you’re so sweet" are dropped like hair off a balding man everyday.

 

because i sit right in front of the PR desk, i get to hear all their phone conversations, and a typical one usually sounds like this:

 

*in a chirpy voice, several octaves higher than their usual* 

 

"oh hello dear! how are you! oh, i’m goooooddd! *giggles* ….(blah blah, a whole lot of unnecessary chatter)….oh thank you so much dahhhling! you’re so sweet! yes yes, meet up soon okay! *another long chain of giggles erupt* okay sure thing! thank you once again deaaaarrr! see you!"

 

miss chirpy then goes back to smashing the keys on her keyboard.

 

true, it is necessary to maintain good relations with the media when you’re in public relations, but then again, fake does not equate to being sincere.

 

when i carry out tasks for them, they go, "thank you dear!" without as much passing me a look.

you know, sometimes a "thanks" accompanied by a tiny smile would work much better.

 

hell, i don’t know if they go "thank you dear!" to the cleaning auntie too when she empties the wastepaper basket underneath our desks everyday.

 

if they do, it’ll be weird.

 

not that i don’t express my thanks to her, i always make sure i apologise to her sincerely every evening because i’m such a messy eater that the bin’s always filled with a whole load of trash.

 

but anyway, what i just mentioned does not have to do with anything i’ll be bitching about later.

 

no, whoever i’m going to be talking about later is *coughs* not necessarily in the PR team. *coughs*

 

so this colleague, let’s call her B for easy reference (go figure what B stands for).

 

ever since day 1 when i entered the company, she’s been bitching about my dresses and skirts, which in her opinion (however green-eyed it might be), are too short.

 

she nudges my other intern friend and tells her to "tell your friend that her dress is very short leh", declares in front of the team during lunch that "her dress is really very short hor", and tells me right in my ear that "not everyone wants to look at your assets".

 

well, good to know that she thinks my legs are assets, for one.

 

of course i didn’t quite bother about her, because hey, if even my mum’s not complaining (and she’s quite particular about the way i dress, especially when it comes to tops, but that’s another story for another entry), then why is she?

 

besides, i personally don’t think my dresses are short. they don’t shoot right up to reveal my buttcheeks or anything and if a situation like that threatens, there’s always tights.

 

this incident that happened on friday just further proves my point.

 

while out lunching with my intern friend, she once again brings up the topic of my dresses being too short.

 

"seriously, nobody’s going to take her seriously if she keeps wearing her short dresses".

 

this coming from someone who wears tops with her cleavage spilling out.

talk about hypocrisy.

 

so my conclusion is that she’s just very, very jealous.

either that, or she just can’t stand the sight of lean, toned gams with dresses/skirts swishing about them in front of her. 

 

which also means she’s jealous lah.  

 

 

my friend, A, offered an awesome solution though.

i’ve recently discovered that i can fit into his formal shirts quite nicely, and i somehow end up looking like this:

 

sleepy out-of-bed hair, sleeves of shirt ending near my fingers, the bottom of the shirt cupping my ass just very nicely.

 

no, fat hope if you were wishing for a picture. 

 

so while i told him that he ought to loan me a couple of shirts when the school term starts, just so that i can put them on during lazy-to-dress-up-days, he remarked that i should just put on one of them and strut to work.

 

and then when i see B, walk up to her and go,

 

"you know B, i decided you’re right. my skirt is too short. so i thought i would wear a shirt. and nothing but a shirt.  *blinks peepers in mock innocence*

 

 

what a brilliant comeback.  

 

 

 

 

 

take some fucking initiative, will you?

i was on my way to the national library today, and when i boarded the train, i spied an empty seat and so, sat down.

 

because i was sniffling, coughing, and struggling with my bag and laptop, there was an immense sense of relief as i plonked my ass down.

 

in case you don’t realise it, it’s hard to balance with a heavy bag slung over you, one hand gripping a piece of tissue, the other holding on to a laptop and yet trying to adjust the damn sling bag so its strap doesn’t place itself strategically between the boobs, thus making them appear bigger when they’re already big.

 

*coughs*

 

yes, it is hard.

 

so anyway, because i was sick, i knocked out immediately.

 

when i came to roughly 10 minutes later, it was cause i felt someone rubbing against my left arm.

 

with an irritated look, i set to finding the culprit.

 

turned to my right, and beside me sat an innocent white-haired old lady. 

 

shouldn’t be her.

 

turned to my left, and i saw the giant arm of this woman who looked as though she was in her fifties.

she was leaning against the seat, (in the way those restless kids do, with their faces towards the window, and their knees on the seat) and i don’t know what the hell she was doing, but she was irritating the shit out of me with her constant fidgeting.

 

when she finally stopped, she stood up, and invited this indonesian/filipino looking woman to take her seat instead.

 

that was when i realised the particular indonesian/filipino looking woman (aiya! let’s just call her m lah. you prob know what that stands for) was sitting beside me when i first boarded the train.

 

so apparently, she had given up her seat to the fifty pluish woman.

 

 

i have this rule when it comes to giving up my seat on public transport.

if you’re healthy enough to dye your hair black/brown/a ridiculous color, you’re healthy enough to stand.

 

so if you’re in your fifties, fat, and have a headful of white hair, i will give up my seat to you.

if you’re in your fifties, fat, and have purple hair, you jolly well work those legs.

 

but anyway, i digress.

the fifty plusish lady stood in front of me, and beamed at m.

she then looked at the white-haired lady sitting to my right, and exclaimed loudly in hokkien,

 

"she’s very well-mannered hor! (points to m)"

 

white haired lady exclaims back,

"ya lor! ya lor!"

 

fifty-pluish woman then goes,

"ya lah! not like some, no manners one!"

 

all the while bloody staring at me.  

 

EXCUSE ME?!

 i was sleeping when she boarded the damn train, (though it’s not to say i will give up my seat to her) so why is she staring at me?

 

and i am sick! i am diseased! i have phlegm in my throat! i have mucus in my nose! 

and i’m carrying a heavy laptop and a heavy bag! (and i have big boobs!)

 

so why is it my fault?!

 

and because she was so freaking loud, everyone on the train was looking at me, as though i really am a ill-mannered child who refused a poor fifty year old woman of her right to a seat.

 

that’s not the worst. 

 

the white-haired lady on my right actually turned to glare at me.

eh hello? you got your seat so shut up and don’t stare okay?

 

KNNB.

 

so now you know, the old aren’t actually that innocent.

they’re evil.

 

and i’m the innocent one.