Capek La Cipet…Macet La Macha

Sejak aku kembali ke hidup 9-to-5 ni, hari-hari aku kena tempuh traffic jam. Sejak harga minyak runcit turun ke paras yang paling rendah sejak sebelum pilihanraya umum dulu, kereta dah makin banyak, dan queue di stesen-stesen LRT kini bertambah pendek akibat ramai yang meninggalkan kehidupan ala marhaen kepada middle-income group semula. Dan aku jangkakan semua ni akan bertambah teruk bila budak-budak mula sekolah bulan Januari nanti.

Hampir tiga tahun aku tak perlu menyumbangkan plumbum ke udara KL, kini setiap hari aku dihiburkan oleh macam-macam gelagat yang lama dah aku tak nampak. Dari yang mengorek hidung macam Mail Kerbau merogol anak dara, hinggalah yang sembang dalam handphone sambil memandu motorsikal. Memang blood aku go upstairs kalau aku layan perangai-perangai cipet dijalanan…tapi aku sekarang buat relax aje sambil dihiburkan dengan telatah DJ Serena C dan DJ Pietro.

Aku terkejut tempoh hari bila aku sedang memandu, dengan tiba-tiba sebuah Proton Waja memotong kereta aku dengan deras dan memotong masuk di hadapan aku hinggakan aku terpaksa menekan brek supaya bontot keretanya tidak mencecah bumper hadapan aku. Berbakul aku menyumpah kimek yang memandu kereta tersebut. Aku cuba jugak perhatikan rear view mirrornya nak tengok muka kimek tu. Tapi tak nampak. Aku tengok side mirrornya juga tak ada arca muka pemandu. Kereta James Bond ke apa? Sampai di satu selekoh, aku dapat memotong kenderaannya semula. Rupanya satu makcik muda yang kelihatan tua, dan amat pendek, sedang memandu. Paras matanya betul-betul berada di atas steering wheel. Macam bawak kereta kebal! Pakai sunglasses lagi dalam hujan lebat pukul 6 petang tu!

Dan disebabkan hampir 3 tahun aku tak bekerja di pejabat, maka aku terpaksa membeli baju-baju kerja. Yang itu dah selamat aku lakukan 3 minggu yang lepas. Tapi yang tak cukupnya ialah handkerchief. Aku tak boleh tak ada handkerchief. Aku rasa aku banyak handkerchief tapi tak tau la magician mana yang ambik nak keluarkan arnab atau burung atau buat lap air akibat tak tahan nafsu. Tapi pokok pangkalnya, aku tinggal satu aje handkerchief.

So malam tadi aku ajak la Wifey pergi ke sebuah hypermarket…bukan la nak cari handkerchief, tetapi sebab memang nak kena beli barangan dapur. Jadi boleh la nak cari handkerchief sekali…dah alang-alang. Puas la kitorang pusing kat section pakaian. Seluar dalam memang bercambah. Begitu juga dengan stokin. Tapi handkerchief tak ada. Aku tak puas hati. Lalu aku pun mecari la staff hypermarket tersebut. Lantas aku ternampak seorang staff yang berat badannya aku boleh gerenti buat aku terasa underweight yang tengah kira stok di atas lantai.

“Dik, sapu tangan ada tak kat sini?” tanya aku kepada pemuda 120 kilo.

“Sapu tangan tu macam mana, abang?” tanya pemuda 120 kilo dengan penuh kehairanan.

“Handkerchief…handkerchief,” jawab aku.

“Handkerchief tu macam mana, abang?” tanya pemuda 120 kilo lagi dengan kebodohan yang bakal melihatnya dijadikan lembu korban Aidil Adha oleh aku di salah sebuah surau yang berhampiran.

“Macam ni,” jawab aku sambil menunjukkan sapu tangan aku yang dah 3 hari guna dan keras akibat selalu digunakan untuk menahan bersin aku.

“Tak tau la, bang. Takde kot!” jawab pemuda 120 kilo sambil menyambung semula pengiraan stok.

Kimek, memang aku nak kena guna lagi la sapu tangan ni selagi aku tak dapat beli yang baru.

Wifey pun kini telah bekerja di tempat kerjanya yang lama. Dia kembali ke jawatan asalnya dengan elaunnya dinaikkan lagi. Untung. Rasanya boleh tak lepas aku dah confirm ni aku berhenti kerja, lepak dua tiga bulan, join balik dan dapat pay rise?

Walau bagaimanapun, setelah pengstrukturan semula syarikat di mana dia bekerja, Wifey kini kena lapor kepada bos yang baru. Mamat ni aku memang tak suka langsung dan aku pernah warning mamat ni supaya jangan kasi aku nampak walaupun kelibatnya kalau dia tak nak kena lepuk dengan aku. Panjang ceritanya. Tetapi, cukuplah kalau aku nak beritahu engkorang semua bahawasanya Mamat ni adalah seorang WALI.

Walk Around Look Important

Kerja memang tak reti. Dia ni sebenarnya machai boss company tersebut. Tahap IQ rendah dari runner tapi tinggi sikit dari Forrest Gump. Tapi gaya macam Chairman bila bercakap dengan orang lain.

Aku bagi contoh la…ini contoh terbaik nak aku bagi untuk memberi bayangan akan betapa bongoknya Mamat ni. Wifey, rakan sejawatannya, bos lamanya, dan Mamat ni sedang duduk berbincang mengenai kerja bila rakan sejawatan Wifey kata dia nak pergi dengar mantan Presiden Negeri-Negeri Bersekutu, Bill Clinton, bercakap kat satu global branding forum. Semua forum speaker dibawa oleh Petra Holdings dan admission adalah free. Maka bos lama Wifey pun kata la Petra Holdings ni memang banyak duit nak bayar diorang punya lecture fees, dan sebagainya. Tak semena-mena Mamat bongok ni dengan penuh confidentnya bersuara,

“Petra ni memang suka buat kecoh!”

Semua yang ada terdiam. Kemudian salah seorang bertanya la kat Mamat ni Petra mana yang dia maksudkan yang suka buat kecoh.

“Tu la…Raja Petra…suka sangat buat kecoh!”

Apa lagi aku nak kata pasal Mamat ni? Mungkin engkorang boleh tolong komen sikit. Ini la orang yang jadi bos Wifey lepas ni. Standard macam tu aku sendiri tak berani nak suruh jadi gardener aku. Karang aku suruh prune aje pokok, dia tanamnya pokok plum sebab nak buat prunes.

Kalau aku jadi Wifey, memang capek la kerja dengan bahalol macam tu.

Inilah posting gara-gara selalu terperangkan dalam macet.

Being Prude

Here was what a wise man once said about prudence:

“Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.”

Amen to that!

Macam Bayi

Ini Bhai...bukan Bayi - The Star Multimedia

Yang kat atas tu bukannya Bayi! Itu Bhai!

Semalam aku dengan Wifey pergi ke Giant sebab nak beli barang sikit. Seperti biasa, benda yang nak dibeli tak dibeli, yang tak nak dibeli yang dibeli.

Masa tengah beratur, ada la bayi ni yang didukung mak dia tengah tengok aku. Aku pun buat la muka kelakar kat dia. Senyum pun tak. Bertuah punya budak. Memang tak bersivik. Tak ada etiquette dengan orang tua-tua. Aku buat lagi muka kelakar. Dia buat bodoh aje. Dia tengok kepala aku, lepas tu tengok muka aku. Aku gerenti dia mesti fikir macam mana aku yang rambut lebih kurang dia, boleh nampak tua. Lepas tu dia tengok kaki aku, lepas tu tengok balik muka aku. Mesti dia fikir macam mana aku, yang sebaya dengan dia, dah boleh berdiri. Aku cuba kali terakhir nak buat dia senyum. Terus dia pandang ke tempat lain.

Cipan punya budak, ni mesti mak bapak tak ajar sivik kat dia.

Saja aku complain…nak sedapkan hati sebab gagal nak buat budak senyum.

Circle Of Friends

I was whacking a 1901 hotdog the other day when I noticed something on the drink cup:

Who are your best friends?

Those who know your deepest, darkest secrets and have found your major flaws, but love you anyway.

How true.

I have seen those whom I regarded as friends who would be unctuous when with me, put up an amiable facade, just to score points, then storm away in a fit of apoplexy just because I disagree with some things they advocate, or do not listen to their advice; but those whom have stayed are those I regard as true friends, and they fall into different circles of friends.

I have an inner circle that is made of friends whom I have known for more almost three decades now. They number less than five. Although we hardly see each other because of our daily commitments, we remain as close as ever.

I have one I would term as my ‘family’ circle. Ironically, these are people who were just imaginary friends to me as we became online friends first, before finally meeting up. And through them, I made more ‘siblings’ from one of their circle of friends. One of them who was and still is my best friend is, of course, Wifey. This family circle is the one I spend most of my time with.

I have other circles of friends as well, like my General Diver Friends circle, then I have my Closed Diver Circle made of people I can trust my life with underwater, and have this intangible pre-agreed understanding with. We would know by heart when the other team member would run out of air without even having to look at his/her gauge.

No matter which circle of friends I am with, or spend more time with, each member of the respective circle would always regard me as a close friend. I have members of a circle who would be too busy most of the time to spend a few hours a month, or every quarter even, but is always regarded by other members of the circle as a member of that circle – one of whom is a cabin crew: she is always flying; at other times she spends more time with her colleagues than she would with us – as a matter of fact, we did not see her for four full months before finally being able to have supper with her, and never again since then. And that was two months ago. Yet, we would send her an invite whenever any of us were to hold a function at home or outside. We don’t condemn her just because she spends less time with us than she does with her colleagues. I would call myself a fiend and not friend if I were to do that to her. It is her right to make as many friends as possible.

Sometimes, sticking to just one circle makes you dumb. And the dumbest in this circle would be the ones who allow one dumb to become dominant and controlling, and utter ridiculous remarks like one dumb soon-to-be-former-president of a united apathetic country:

Either you are with us, or you are against us.

And you cannot get any dumber than that.

A Writer’s Block

Writers Block

I am suffering from it. Not because I do not know what to write about, but I have so many things that I would like to write about. And everytime my mind starts drafting a post, another event overtakes the previous ones.

One of it is about the usual same circus that we all call the Parliament. We are all guilty of choosing the monkeys that are now performing in there. And things are now getting worse when the MPs, be they from the ruling or opposing coalitions, showed disrespect the Deputy Speaker of the House. That is an insult to the institution, and such acts should not be condoned. The relevant MPs should be suspended from sitting.

The reason people want to rule, to become chosen by the people, is not to serve, but to enjoy the privileges that come with the office. We, the people. would expect MPs and state councillors have some form of decorum. No, in Malaysia that is not the case at all. Everyone’s fighting for the top-most post, and everyone is selling their ideology so that the party they represent can be in power, or continue to stay in power. And for most, it is about being able to make a few pennies here and there. A century ago, people of such stature would behave themselves, be accountable for; and even if they do make riches, it would be communal, not individual. There was no need for “contracts” to sign to represent a promise. It was always the case of “word of honour.”

Nowadays, the rich and the members of such circles of “nobilities” are not necessarily ennobled.

More than 50 years after the British left this country, its people have regressed in terms of race-relations, and it has come to a very disturbing level. 30 years ago I never heard this term called “malay supremacy (Ketuanan Melayu).” Even as it is, this race I shamely call mine, is nowhere near being supreme simply because they have been spoonfed all along, and have lost the motor functions of their hands. They will simply die if not fed by the government. They refuse to accept other languages, citing the need to preserve the Malay language in every single transaction. In the end, the malays lose out because they are only comfortable speaking in their own language. yeah, yeah, maybe the Malay language was an international language 600 yers ago, but nobody wants to buy spices from us anymore. There is nothing that the malays produce that the international community wants badly.

Everyday I would cringe whenever a senior government official makes a statement in English on national TV. I would cringe when seeing the crawlers at the bottom of the TV screen where youngsters and wanna-be-youngsters SMS something in English to the respective TV station. Worse still, having to endure such torture while listening to an English-medium radio station while being stuck in a traffic jam somewhere. Some caller with a strange accent would speak in something similar to English, and your mind works overtime correcting their grammar and sentence structure.

Okay, I’m starving right now, and the longer I stay in front of this screen, the more depressed Wifey’s going to get.

What a writer’s block!

Hang Nak Main Apa?

A jukebox

I’m sure you know how some people have the uncanny ability to converse in different dialects. Normally, they would be dialects other than their own. Some people would just try to mimic sounds, or guess how certain words would be spoken in certain dialects, and then get themselves in an imbroglio.

For example, Kelantanese (people from the state of Kelantan) have this linguistic rule that words ending in a _ang, or, _am, or _an, that ending syllable is to be pronounced as _ae (rhymes with the English ‘care‘). So an imbroglio one would get one’s self into would be going to a market buying a mango (which is Mempelam, or Pelam, in official Malay, but in Kelantan is refered to as Buah Pauh). Example:

Foreign Man: “Mek, demo jua buoh pelae dok?” (Miss, do you sell any testicles?)

Fruitseller: “Buoh pelae? Buoh pelae ado celoh kakae demo!” (Testicles? You can find testicles in between your legs!)

One can only imagine the kind of predicament one could get into.

Back in the late 1980’s when I was stationed on the island of Penang, I used to frequent the trunk road to get to and from Kuala Lumpur. Those were the days when the North-South highway was only between Seremban and Sungai Besi on the southern side, and Jelapang to Changkat Jering on the northern side. There were various roadside restaurants along the way where express buses would stop for coffee breaks and what-nots. And the ones found in Perak would have a jukebox in them.

On one of the trips, a colleague, who was a senior in the Air Force than I was, was travelling with me. We were on our way back to Penang and had stopped just after the junction to Taiping, having exited earlier at the Changkat Jering toll plaza. In that area of Perak, people spoke in the northern dialect, similar to the ones spoken in Penang, Kedah and Perlis; where the syllable that ends with an ‘r’, sounds like it ends with a deep ‘q’. And this friend of mine would have a nimiety of weird northern words peculiar only to him. He saw this fair (and cute) maiden who was the cashier – and next to her was the jukebox. Trying to impress her, he spoke loudly to me:

“Mat, bak mai dua kupang! Aku nak main juboq!” (Mat, can you give me 20 sen? I want to play the anus!)

And I am sure he could feel the malevolent gaze that came from the girl as he walked away from the jukebox, finally realising what it actually meant.

The Silent Killer Strikes Again

Last night was great.  Gemgem held his closed open-house do (co-sponsored by Da Ma Cai) at Lobsterman in SS2 for us.

Event backdrop

Anyway, one of the things we had was the Shelter’s Garlic Lobster that had so much fried cili padi (Capsicum frutescens…what is its name in English?) and garlic laced on it. By the time we headed back for home, Wifey and I were trading burps and farts inside the car itself. We would trade salvos against each other and I could imagine how those soldiers on the Somme during World War One must have felt being exposed to the mustard gas released by the German army.

Well, true to my character, I never hold crap for long. The moment we arrived home, I just rushed for the porcelain throne and dumped all that potent stuff – clean!

Shelter's Garlic Lobster

Now, Wifey at that time had been constipated for two days. She’s so famous for that, that at times, enema had to be administered. And who will always have to go to the pharmacy to get her supply of enema and KY? ME! M-E, ME! I get funny looks everytime I buy enema and KY. I don’t mind so much if I were to put on my MCOBA t-shirt (MCOBA stands for Malay Champions of Buggering Asses), but in plain t-shirts, they look at me as though I am a pervert.

Not that I am not, though.

Now back to Wifey, she’s blogged once about her ability to dispense killer farts. And I shit you not. Excuse my pun, if you must. You can read all about it HERE. But this time around, her previous killer fart would have been whipped up by Christian Dior or something for being the sweetest discovery of the year. She kept running into the bathroom everytime she had the urge to fart. And somehow, the smell would seep out through the bottom of the bathroom door, into this bedroom. I cannot imagine how the tiles on the wall of the bathroom could stand all that torture without sliding down onto the floor!

To cut a long story short, in the end, we fell asleep at around 3am after she had taken some laxatives. I was slipping into Lalaland, and occassionally gave that involuntary muscle spasm jerks, when I heard that familiar, silently-loving sound that went ~PUuuuUUussSSSssSSssss~. Klaxons shrilled, the tannoys blared ‘Battle Stations‘! This was the real thing. This was no drill!

I hurriedly got up to try to make airtight the comforter that was covering her sleeping body. The gaps in the fibres couldn’t have been more than 0.1 microns in size, but somehow this killer gas managed to seep out. I cannot imagine the discolouration that was taking place on my sarong nearest to her rear orifice. OH, THE SMELL!!!

THIS WAS WHAT KILLED THE DINOSAURS!!!

And lingered in the room it did. Wifey never reacted to the smell except that little “UUhhhHH!” that escaped her mouth – almost silent. I can imagine the sudden increase in booger production just to help plug the nostrils.

Anyway, as they say, as Snake Kings will die because of snake-bites, Wifey almost had her end when she finally managed to dump three days of toxic waste collection. Even she had trouble breathing.

After that episode, I don’t mind being called a backdoor person. I WILL buy her enema and KY without a single whimper so as to help her ease her mind…and bowel movement.

And what of this whole episode? Her killer farts are one of the things that makes her unique – things I would miss about her whenever we have to be away from each other.

And her unique traits are one of the reasons I love this woman very much – gross or not.

The Imbecile

Damnant quodnon intelligunt. And that is so true.

I don’t know which is worse: when I was younger or as I am now. I would say when I was younger, although some may have some reservations on that. Gone are the days when files would fly, or subordinates wouldn’t go for lunch because they would have to pass in front of my office door that was always open. One thing that is somewhat constant is my being dogmatic. Not my plus-point earner, but sometimes it is good that I have such a trait.

Whether I am more irascible than I used to be is a very subjective matter. Many think I have mellowed and can smile more than what I used to be like some 15 years ago – my bouts of anger ephemeral. But nevertheless, there will be times when some people want a test of that.

Just last Friday, an odious bastard whom Wifey once trusted as a good friend, castigated me on my past marriages. The problem is, it wasn’t done to me in my face, but was related to one of Wifey’s uncles. Now, there are times when I am not known for my coruscating wit; and being judged by a person whom I have only met twice certainly didn’t arouse any witty reaction from me. I would call his a craven act by someone who is only able to sleep better knowing he can step on others; and there are millions of such scum.

It is fallacious that a man who’s gone through more than one marriage is just someone who cannot seriously be in a marriage for long – or marriage, to such a man, is just another ephemera. It can work both ways too. This idiot, who is also known for his garrulous streak, was implicated by Wifey’s ex as one of the people responsible for the failure of their marriage. Well, Wifey’s ex (whom I nicknamed the Glaucoma Monkey) is a very insecure person. Although most of his allegations were baseless, this idiot I call an odious person, is known for being a casanova-wannabe: he is old (definitely older than I am, judging by the creases of skin beneath his collarline), but makes himself up as a younger person, always wanting to be seen in the company of good-looking and almost always younger women. Ball-less as he is, he fears his wife. On my first meeting with him, then without Wifey, he told me how the Glaucoma Monkey had accused him of having a crush for Wifey, and scoffed at the allegation. Thinking back, I am inclined to believe the Glaucoma Monkey.

Despite having seen him walking with younger women after office, I have never had bad thoughts of him. That is his personality and that is his character. I hardly know him, and stories I gathered of him from people who work in the same organisation as he, had never influence my thinking of him.

Until Friday, that is, when he decided to blurt something damaging without knowing what he was talking about. I sometimes find myself stare into the yon in disbelief – he talks about me as if he knows me already, but how can he not know, based on my past, that I can easily extirpate him?

And today is Monday. When he enters office, he is going to find an E-mail waiting for him. In it, are some less-than-civilised words that I have reserved for him, the imbecile.

Caveat actor!

I Khan’t Believe My Eyes That Ravichandran And David Niven Weren’t Made A ‘DATUK’

I tell you this. I was looking for an image of DATUK SHAH RUKH KHAN, and I clicked on a link only to find this image:

WTF is an UPGRADATION?
WTF is an ‘UPGRADATION’ anyhow???

I used to hear of the word when I worked in some company that believed it was the nation’s most-favoured multinational company. After more than two point five years of leaving that dunghole, I decided to search for the meaning of that word and got this:

Results

upgradation was not found in the Cambridge Advanced Learner’s Dictionary

Did you spell it correctly?

Anyway, Shah Rukh Khan was made a DATUK for making millions worldwide see the scenes shot in Melaka. And I went: WOW!

Eh, the late Ibrahim Pendek should be awarded a DATUKship by the Pahang state government for making people around the world to see what Tioman island was like back in 1958 where they shot the movie “Bali H’ai”.

Come to think of it, Mollywood film producer Ravichandran should also get a DATUKship from the Yang DiPertuan Agong for having KLCC and KLIA in the background of the song “Remo” for the movie “Anniyan.”

And of course, if the late Ibrahim Pendek is conferred a DATUKship, then Rock Hudson should get one as well.

Oh, don’t forget DATUK DAVID NIVEN for being part of the cast of a movie called “Paper Tiger” shot in KL in 1975 when there was still a BULATAN MERDEKA.

Man, we have so many local people who are deserving of those recognitions and yet the Melaka state government saw it fit to award Shah Rukh Khan who did not even attend the ceremony. That is snubbing on a global scale.