Getting prune-like

“Eh you have old arms,” Z said to me one day as we were walking along the corridor. Huh? What’s that supposed to mean? “You don’t use SKII on your arms right? They look old.” Oh dear. Nobody has said that to me before. I didn’t know it was possible to look young, but have erm, old arms? Recently I also noticed that my feet are getting quite wrinkly, so yesterday night, I started swabbing them with SKII. Argh. Growing old sucks.

Boy do you look good!

A few of us went to see EP and JL this week. I was really pleasantly surprised to see how motherhood has transformed JL. She looked absolutely fair and radiant, and even from a distance I observed that her skin became so smooth and supple.

Alright, she put on a few pounds because she has water retention, but boy, those maternal hormones are really doing a great job on her complexion. EP is whiny little one but with his large eyes, cute dimple and tanned skin, he will be the next Louis Koo.

Naturally dried fruit

 

When I was in R’s kitchen, he excitedly opened the fridge and took out a Fuji apple. Actually I had noticed that apple before, because it was hiding right at the back of the shelf, looking really wrinkled and miserable.

“Guess how long this apple has been in there!” I dare not imagine. A few months, maybe? You should really chuck it out you know. “No!!” came the vehement objection. “I bought this apple when we were in China last October. It’s more than a year now!”

Amazingly, apart from looking like it was in dire need of a 200ml bottle of SKII Treatment Essence for those deep lines, it was still quite rounded and rosy. I did not detect any foul smell or mushy rotting bits. I was really surprised that it still looked good after a year in the fridge.

“I’m going to keep it in there to see what will eventually happen to it.” R announced proudly after putting the apple back. This comes as no surprise, as we’re talking about a dude who microwaves his bananas and nearly blew up his garage in a science experiment gone wrong.

Yesterday, GK confessed that she once left apples and oranges in her fridge and could barely recognise what’s what when she finally remembered about them weeks later.

How many of you belong to this really bizarre Dried Fruit Club?

Heading for trouble

 

This morning, I woke up with a horrible throbbing migraine which worsened on my way to school. I felt weak, tired and nauseous. I dragged myself to class at 0830, pausing to apply a roll-on natural headache remedy every few minutes.

I hate migraine attacks. They really paralyse me with so much pain and discomfort that during those times I wish I was pretty well dead. GK was kind enough to give me a plastic bag to bring to class, just in case I wanted to vomit.

“Wah teacher, you look terrible leh, are you OK?” Thanks for asking but no, my head is going to split open anytime soon. “Teacher, if you sick ah, you should take MC you know. Don’t be so hard on yourself. If anything happens to you, then we die you know. We don’t want some relief teacher. We want the original. You should rest. Just go back lah. Then I can go and have breakfast.”

“No, I am not going to release you,” I said to them as I plonked my miserable self down on the teacher’s chair and took out my plastic bag. “I’m feeling really nauseous at the moment so if you don’t keep quiet and do your work, I will vomit on the floor, and you can all clean it up.”

I’ve never seen such efficient students till today.

Can you appreciate a pest?

Last Tuesday, my counselling class teacher gave us a piece of homework to do. It was to compliment someone whom we disliked to force us to see the good in them. Immediately, Slimey came to mind.

I had been meaning to tell him how I felt and this was just a great opportunity to do so. On T’s advice, I wrote him an email, to thank him for finally handing in his work on Monday.

I admire you for your creativity, wit and fresh ideas. However, I find it difficult not to get affected when you miss deadlines.

Our working styles are evidently different- I often want to get things over and done with, but I think you find you work better at the last minute.

However, I don’t think our differences should stop us from being an effective team. I just think we need to find a way to get around this problem.

Just let me know how we can work together without me being possessed by an uptight, grouchy monster during those times of the year.

Today, we bumped into each other on our way to class at the corridor and he acknowledged his shortcoming. “I know I’m not very good with deadlines. But at the end of the day I still deliver.” No, I don’t like that arrogant tone, but never mind. “I am sorry and I’ll try better next issue.” That sounds a lot more like it.

But will a leopard change its spots? Is he just playing the game or paying lip service? The truth will be out when we need to work together again.

All I know now is, it sure feels good to finally learn how to communicate my discontentment early enough rather than let resentment build the road to no return .

Got any of these in your workplace?

BLAMESTORMING: Sitting in a group discussing why a deadline was missed or a project failed and who was responsible.

SEAGULL MANAGER: A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise and then leaves.

IDEA HAMSTER: People who always seem to have their idea generators running.

PRAIRIE DOGGING: When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cubicle, and people’s heads pop up over the walls to see what’s going on.

The Devil Got Cold Feet

No he didn’t deliver on time. He went home early too. And no I didn’t ask him why he was moving at a glacial pace. I just let my annoying niceness take control. My natural instinct of tolerating non-perfomers. “Alright, by Monday, you need to submit everything.”

And while I said this to him, I caught W giggling at her desk from the corner of my eye. She quickly sat down and hid behind the cubicle wall. Afterward she teased me, “So much for sarcastic remarks huh, I was waiting to see a good show!”

I’m such a pathetic loser!

The Devil Wears Bata

Today I came back from class and found a press release on my desk. It came from a company who wanted to promote its educational products to students in the school. The envelope was addressed to me, followed by “Editor of newsletter”. Wow, we’re now considered as media!

Last week, a colleague from another department threw a tantrum at me because I binned the story he submitted, because I felt we had given his CCA enough publicity in the previous issue.

Though I had been through a journalism course, I have never been really involved in any kind of proper journalistic work, until now. Yes, I have had some articles published here and there, but managing a publication with such a wide readership is a first.

And after more than half a year of being at the helm, I’m beginning to realise this is quite a big deal and as close as I can get to being a real reporter. You know, rejecting the PR ladies’ invitations to events (to think I was once them!), trashing press releases, explaining to fuming people why I’m not going to publish their articles, chasing for stories and photos, and learning to say “no” without feeling guilty.

I’m also starting to realise how come female editors are painted as such mean bitches. Such as Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada. The truth is, you can’t be a pushover if you want to get work done, and yet not get taken advantaged of.

I looked at the chief editor blankly when she asked me to complete her work for her. She was supposed to contribute a small article but she turned around and said she did not have time. I shocked myself and my colleagues when I rejected her plainly. “No, I’m sorry I can’t help. I am swamped with things to write while overseeing the design layouts.”

You see, our editorial team is essentially a two-men show. Sorry I mean, one, really. And that would be just me. That’s because my partner Slimey is either busy gorging himself silly with food at fine restaurants or skiving off work.

Pissed off that he has constantly failed to keep to deadlines, I decided I’d stop being the nice girl-next-door. I put on an expressionless, stern mask and kept my communication curt and serious to put pressure on this lazy bugger. This has had some effect on him, though there is still nothing from him in my inbox yet.

I’m just waiting for him to come sheepishly to tell me why he can’t deliver on time. And I’m going to look at him straight in the eye and slowly raise my brow while sweeping my fringe across my forehead.

I am going to utter ever so quietly, “Details of your incompetence do not interest me. By all means move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me. That’s all.”

Gem of a friend

By chance, W and I managed to a heart-to-heart talk at a staircase landing yesterday. For the first time in 20 months, we got past the “hi”, “how are you”, “fine”, “bye”, “thank you”, the smiles, the waves, the nods to engage in a proper conversation – about our feelings.

I felt safe, comforted, warm and encouraged when it ended. All this while I had been wondering if it was stupid to make those decisions. There were times when I felt alone like a freak because the others weren’t as “naive” as me. I don’t play any games. I do what I deem right.

So, there is nothing more gratifiying than finding a friend who shares the same values as me. Someone who is not only able to differentiate the rights and wrongs in today’s warped, malicious world, but has the guts to uphold what s/he believes in, even if it may jeopardise the situation.

W has a strange, calming effect on me. I like seeing her warm infectious chuckle bursting out of her somewhat cool aloofness.

I have been touched by her kindness when she offered me a bar of chocolate on my first day when she saw how visibly distressed I was. She knew that chocolate solves all the problems for women.

I’m blessed, because I’ve uncovered a number of gems like W where I work. They are my pillar of strength. And of course, I’ve learnt to tell apart the cheap plastic glass from the genuine jewels.

The cheap plastic glass dazzles brilliantly on the surface, but is made with a hollow core and soon grows mouldy. The diamonds, they lack shine after periods of long wearing. But refreshed after a quick polish, the resilient stone glitters for decades to come.

Hit and miss

 

I was catching up with my girlfriends over a late breakfast at McDonald’s in Bugis Junction when a terrible yet fortunate thing happened. An Indian boy who was walking past me lunged forward without warning and expelled a good mouthful of vomit.

I immediately got up and feared for the worst – that my t-shirt was gonna be covered in goo. There were a few orange mushy splats on the floor, and he managed to catch some of it in his hands. He didn’t seem to be in agony. In fact he looked quite alert and well.

Still holding what he’d threw up, he looked anxiously for his mother for help. Completely shocked at what he just did, she rushed over to say sorry and get him cleaned up. I asked if the boy was OK.

“We just got off the flight this morning. He seemed alright just now. We just had a meal. Maybe he’s feeling the effects now. I’m so sorry.”

Thankfully, my mates only detected a few traces of puke on my back. It was easily cleaned off with the handy wet wipes I happened to have. But what an odd experience.  

I’m sure the Merlion would be the tourist attraction the boy best identifies with when he goes sightseeing later on.