You inconsiderate, bigoted, self-important, racist little shit.

Stepping back around one hour ago - about 7.30 on my watch - and I was in the One Utama Maybank waiting for my dad to do his thing, when I had the misfortune of listening to what must have been the ass-holiest motherfucker in Selangor at the very least, giving his sales person a yelling at.

Now, I'm all for good customer service, but this jackass was unhappy because he had been made to wait for (insert short span of time here) for a service that he had shown up for. Unfortunately for him, the person he was supposed to see was Muslim, and was currently breaking fast. This rotter however, was having none of it. And the parts of his rant that I heard included the kind of fuckery that one would not expect to hear, least of all so publically. (Not that someone should have thoughts and or conversations like this in private either, by the way.)

The exchange went something like this

Asshole: Why have I been made to wait so long.
Poor salesperson: Sir I don't know where he is, now is buka puasa (breaking fast) time. 7.30 to 8.30 for all the staff in the mall.
Asshole: So they want to suffer, I also have to suffer is it? They cannot impose this on me. Not on business hours. It's inconsiderate! How can you bla bla bla some other racist shit.

INCONSIDERATE?! YOU DICK.

I'm not one for religion, or any sort of faith practice, and huzzah for you if you arent either. but I'd like to consider myself an advocate for racial harmony and some ground level tolerance at the very least, so I was LIVID. If not for my own chickening out, I would have said something, or punched you, you jag. How dare you say that someone is being inconsiderate for taking an hour of their time to go and have some food after fasting for a day?! How dare you say they are imposing ANYTHING on you!? I didn't see anyone asking YOU to refrain from food or water for hours on end. Don't like waiting? Shove it where the light don't shine, bastard. I'm pretty sure you weren't complaining when you took a month off whatever shit job I hope your god has seen fit to asign you to go celebrate Chinese new year. You don't see me banging down your door for busting out the fireworks when the rest of the human population is trying to go to sleep. And the MUSIC. Chinese new year music is the bane of my existence, but I've never yelled at the guy in the Carefour to go do something about it have I?

I'm not a saint, and would never presume to be. But I'd like to think that I live in a world where BASIC HUMAN DECENCY isn't a rarity.

And I hope that you sir, die a horrible fiery death when it most inconviniences you.
Good day to you all.

nk

(The writer would like to clarify that neither is she Muslim, or harbours any hate towards Chinese people. It just so happened that the people involved at the time, were one of the two. And in true Malaysian fashion, the sales person just happened to be an Indian guy. I'm just here to make the world a better place, and hopefully get the chance to throw peanuts at the asshats who are trying to do the opposite.)

Let's not get ahead of ourselves

SAY HEL-LO TO MY NEW APPLE FRIEEEND.

I am now the proud owner of a not so new iPad! Glory hallelujah.

And of course, with the coming of new and shiny things, also comes new and shiny resolutions that I will most likely not keep.

Lets take it back a couple of years, shall we?

#1
The item: MacBook
The LIE: "I now have a private computer for all my writing, and photoshop, and graphics and garage band! GARAGE BAND - Im going to be such a diversified artiste (with the 'E', bitches.) in the next few years."
The depressing truth: Kay, sitting down to write, later experiment with that new photoshop tool you saw and - holy mother of balls, 6 Facebook notifications? Fuck art, imma be an internet celebrity.

#2
The item: Swanky new nike trainers.
The LIE: "I'm going to lose weight, and be fit. Not skinny per se, but healthy."
The depressing truth: The most 'worked out' muscles I had were my thumbs. And thats only because the xbox needs you to use both of them.
The not so depressing present: to be fair to myself, i have lost a considerable amount of weight, and gym or swim at least three times a week now, so HUZZAH!

#3
The item: Any instrument I attempted to play after the piano.
The LIE: I am going to be a prodigal child. Children will want to be me, while their parents pinch them and go "You see, you so lazy! Work a little harder and you could be playing like that!"
The depressing truth: My parents going "You see, you so lazy! Work a little harder and you could be playing like that!"

You should be getting the drift by now.

But just for shits and giggles, lets list down some resolutions for the iPad, shall we?
1. I WILL download an art program and USE it to practice in lieu of a sketch book.
2. I WILL practice writing more because I no longer have the excuse of not lugging around the MacBook. The iPads keypad could pass for a computers for shits sake.
3. I WILL finally download all those classic books that I told myself to read but wheedled out of by not getting a kindle and not wanting to buy paperbacks in the UK.

Lets see what actually goes down circa 2013.

nk.

Craptastic sans caffeine.

Crappiness seems to be a recurring theme this year. Maybe the Mayans fucked up and what's actually happening is that everyone (I'm generalising) would have a complete BITCH of a year, instead of the, admittedly more dramatic, end of the world.

But I've decided not to auto-purge all my problems onto this poor blog today. Today, I have decided to laud the person who helped me get out of the funk. So Jisho, thank you for the talk, and I am so so so glad that even though we spent a good portion of the 11 years I've known you without being friends, we eventually pulled through.

We'll crack open some champagne when our friendship hits 50, okay? My treat :)

nk

Post Script

ALSO

Apparently there's some study that says too much jet-lag reduces your intelligence.
I'm blaming future failures on this.

nk

Writers block, the irony.

I've rewritten the opening sentence of this entry three times, not counting this attempt. This one survives the blessed (cursed?) backspace button because it's late and I'm waaaaay too frustrated to think of anything even mildly witty. And yet here I go again. Typing out words at speeds comparable to the rate that I'm skipping through my impoverished iTunes playlist because Zamzar has left the building, and I'm a little bored of all the songs that aren't 'Dovahkiin'.

Hence the irony.

(That I'm writing so much, not that I'm listening to the Skyrim soundtrack. Because FYI, it's AMAZING.)

Its befuddling. Confounding. Baffling. Puzzling! Err... stupefying?

...DISCOMBOBULATING!
(Yes, I did just pull out the thesaurus. But folks, it would seem that I have found my word of the week.)

But most of all, frustrating.

I sometimes despair that writing doesn't come to me as easily as it should. And when I say 'as easily as it should", I obviously mean "published by 15."And then I get a grip on myself, push the deadline back to 'published by 25' (fingers, and toes while we're at it, crossed) and wonder what is it I'm missing, y'know? Like... where's my theatrical catalyst? My 'event precipitator'? Batman had his parents gunned down, Spider-man had Uncle Ben gunned down, Superman had his planet... uh... exploded. Not suggesting that I want to don spandex and fight crime, obviously. Or that anyone should off my parents. Just... yknow.

Paolini quit school at 15 or something shit like that. Ripped off bits and pieces that I shall not point out from a beloved movie that I shall not name (unless you make me, go on, I DARE YOU) and STILL managed to sit pretty on not one, but FOUR best sellers. It's not even funny. I actually LOVE the first one for all its afore mentioned thievery.

And I'm stuck at university. Having churned out a measly 11 chapters in nigh over a year.

I hope I'm just lazy. Because the alternatives would be a) not talented enough and b)... I cant think of anything scarier than not talented enough. And that I refuse to believe.

Maybe I just need a change of scene. Writing fantasy can be a major brain drain... and this offer from Cracked is intriguing... and pretty tempting. They'd pay to have people churn out sarcasm loaded articles about pretty much anything as long as it's smart enough, and funny enough.

I could do that.

And it pays! Not superbly I'd imagine, but it pays. Anything to distract me from the harsh reality of the working world crashing down on my yet unprepared 20-year old shoulders that props up a brain still in denial that she is NEVER going to get that offer letter from Hogwarts, and that she should really give up the dream that she's going to wake up with the ability to move shit with her mind.

Where's Neverland when you need it eh?

While we're on that poorly thought-out segue (spelt that way, pronounced seg-way. Who knew?) I start work on Monday. Yup. Actual legal-ass work. That pays, yes. And I'm trying to get excited for it beyond the fact that I have an excuse to buy that snazzy blazer from Topshop that I've been eyeing forever, but it's HARD. Mostly because one thing that I've always promised myself is that I will never plant my butt behind a desk in an office cubicle with just enough space for no one to notice when I eventually end my suffering by strangling myself with the standard office telephone wire. And yet, if this degree didn't sign my ideal future's death warrant, this internship might.

I can't even say I hope that it proves me wrong... in the fear that I might be lulled into a false sense of 'this isn't so bad'. So said the sarlaac to its prey, right? If sarlaacs could say anything anyway. I dunno. I want to enjoy it... but yknow. I don't want to sell my soul to the suits either. Its confusing.

Oh and by the way, the irony meter has just hit approximately 650 words.

I think it's time to duck out, stage left. Ciao bella.

nk.

Swan song for the Clown Prince of Crime

Today
1. I found out that Mark Hamill isnt going to voice the Joker any more :(
2. The Joker dies in Arkham City.

I feel like a piece of my childhood has just been brutally stripped from me. This beats the Harry Potter credits, even my whinging about the Amazing Spider-man. And me sitting here in my 'the Joke's on YOU!' t-shirt. I cant deal.

Requiescat in pace, Mister J.

PS: Yes, I understand that I am shedding tears for a homicidal maniac. No I do not need help. Go away.