Achoo

Took down a recent ranty post 'cause methinks it just incurred moi bad karma. Anger vented, it no longer proves necessary to retain it here.

Anyway, I'm sick as hell - again. This is becoming a rather unpleasant habit. The same all upper respiratory tract infection routine: sore throat, cough, runny nose, fever, muscular ache, lethargy.

Fun times, I tell you. I just feel rather disgusting at the moment, like some sort of mother-ship for a whole host of unpleasant little germies.

I'll be crawling out of bed now for lunch, even though my appetites gone out the window few days ago, when I realised that I could barely taste anything I was eating.

Welts

I took down previous highly-depressing post last night, and was thinking of saying in this post, "OK lah, I've taken it down because I've had an epiphany and I've decided to post happier stuff here, because I've decided on having a brighter outlook yadda yadda yadda."

Anyway it just didn't work that way when I woke up to another round of panic attacks today. Been getting them in my sleep since yesterday, and when I woke up to the heart palpitations and the fear and the cold sweat and the screaming this morning, I figured, fuck it, I deserve to fucking take whatever measures I need to to quell that horror in my head and the pain in my heart and the terrible fear wrapped around my chest so tightly I can't breathe.

I was thinking, maybe having someone to hold me, whilst I hid under the covers from the world, might just help. But I realised that I don't want that, don't need that, don't want to sacrifice my solitude for that. For I just very much want to be left alone.

So I'm going on a Xanax holiday. And I'm thinking, maybe I'll play a little spot of Russian Roulette with the dosage while I'm at it, or even mix it with a little clonazepam. Maybe I'll wake up in two days a little disoriented, maybe I'll just sleep on and on and on and never fucking face another screaming awakening. Maybe, I don't know. I'll just do it like the other time, one, three, ten, and then a fistful, while laughing and crying at the thrill of dancing on the edge of my own mortality, at the giddy clarity of the moment.

Feeling a little self-destructive today. I want to be intimately reacquainted with my old friend, the blade. But it's messy, and I no longer want to clean up messes, or leave them for others to clear up after me.

I'll just sleep a while. Just a little while.


In other news, Mary Murphy from the reality show So You Think You Can Dance still irritates the shit out of me. She's got the fakest, creepiest smile I've ever seen on anyone, screams the whole fucking show into poor Nigel's ear, and just plain scares me with her laughter.

Can't believe I stayed up past 4am watching her call people Hot Tamales.

Mammary Drama

Can't sleep. My right breast hurts. I've got some sort of infection in my mammary glands or something.

I would be more descriptive if not for the highly distracting pain. Similar burning soreness as a welt from a caning. Half my boob is an angry red, and very swollen. Feels like a big hard lump about the diameter of a 20 sen coin underneath the skin.

On a course of antibiotics now. Will possibly require surgery for it if the meds don't work. Going for a follow-up either tomorrow or day after. Wasn't given pills for the pain, aside from Panadol which DOES NOT WORK. Will need to get myself something wayyyyyyyyy stronger than that tomorrow.

Hurting like fuck and miserable at the thought of going under the knife. Would be the second time if I have to. Had two cysts removed more than five years ago from the other breast. Could barely lift my arm after that one, and the thought of all the bloody bandages involved still freaks the shit outta me. The incredible amount of pain didn't endear the procedure to me either.

But remembering that just reminds me how lucky I was that an ex (we were broken up already) was around to drive me to the clinic for the procedure, and take care of me for the few days after, even bathing me, because I couldn't do it myself. Whilst the scumbag, whom I was on-and-off with then (because he didn't give a shit about me but wanted me around when he needed), did nothing but asked me to transfer money over to him so he could pay off some debts, and told me to quit being a drama queen about shit I supposedly brought upon my own body.

OK. That kinda digressed into an unnecessary rant. Sorry. Still oodles of unresolved rage.

Anyway, no pictures of the thing that's currently causing me shitloads of agony. Don't want to put anyone off boobies anytime soon.

Ma, See What Came in the Mail for Me!

Yesterday, a big brown box arrived at my house for me. Mrs. Chan just happened to be around when I got it, and hovered around curiously whilst I opened it.

She was aghast when she realised that the contents of the box were these:


That's about two hundred safe sex kits, if you can't really make them out. Haha.


And guess what? They come complete with instructions on how to use them. Check out the cute little penises! So adorable!


The contents of each safe sex kit is three condoms, and two lubricants. Oh, and of course, the instructions for putting 'em on.

Anyway, aside from the safe sex kits, I also got this:


About two hundred plus condoms. That brings the total count of prophylactics I got in one parcel to about EIGHT HUNDRED PLUS. Not bad, about three years' supply of protection.

Mrs. Chan was distinctly mortified when I gleefully yanked out all the little packets of condoms. Which brings me to the issue of how those from the older generation need to stop being in denial that practically everyone has sex these days. Shouldn't they just encourage safer sex instead of pretending that it's not happening? Most people ain't waiting for marriage anymore, and there's nothing wrong with that, but precautions have to be taken.

Also included in the box, a whole bagful of these:


The AIDS ribbon! I got a whole baggie of this too! Yeaps, all the condoms and the safe sex kits are for an AIDS charity event I'm doing, and not for MY personal use, of course. I don't think I need so many hahaha.


Also, some postcards with an anti-stigma towards people with HIV message. Very cute. Click to read. Sorry the picture's sideways, it's upright on my computer, have no idea why it's turned on its side when I uploaded it here.

And here's the donation box that the Malaysian AIDS Council also sent me. I'm really impressed at how supportive they are of our event, providing everything we asked for and more. Kudos to their enthusiasm in promoting their cause.


Here's the AIDS event we're doing for the purpose of raising funds for the AIDS Council, which will use the money for helping those living with AIDS and HIV:

AIDS Charity Party: Runway Night

By doing this event, we also hope to promote safe sex, as most people out there still remain sadly unaware of the risks that come with having unprotected sex (you know who you are!). The number of guests will be limited to only two hundred guests, after which the party will be closed to the public.

We'll be featuring guest deejay DJ Syake from Brunei. He'll be playing an eclectic mix of really good house, retro, and tribal beats from 10pm till late.


Cover charge of RM30 with one complimentary drinks applies. Don't skimp on cover charge! All proceeds from that RM30 you pay at the door will go towards helping others.

Over 50 guests have already reserved for this event. Do contact me if you want a guaranteed place for this event. Remember, it's partying for charity!

One Instance Where Broccoli Isn't Good for Health

Miss Dot is back in town! And since one more member of the gluttonous Chan sister trio is in Kuching, we've recently been whipping up simple "healthy" snacks for ourselves. For the past two days, it's been a broccoli-and-cheese binge (we tell ourselves that since it has broccoli in it, it HAS to be healthy).

Doesn't look very appealing, but iz the yumz, I promise! Prepare bread to dip in the cheesy gravy left at the bottom of the bowl after the broccoli's in your tummy.

The recipe for that goes something like this:

1. Steam broccoli florets.
2. Drizzle melted butter over steamed broccoli.
3. Season with salt and pepper (or even cayenne pepper) to taste. Salt is optional here because the cheese's more than salty enough.
4. Sprinkle shredded cheese over the broccoli.
   
5. Pop into oven and bake until cheese is melted.

Because of that Mr. Gary got inspired to do the same, albeit with improvements:

Mr. Gary says (11:52 PM):
ok steamed broccolli
cook diced chicken first
Mr. Gary says (11:53 PM):
pan fried shallots
throw in diced chicken mixed with broccolli
add white sauce with white wine reduction
add some seasoning
Mr. Gary says (11:54 PM):
put in a glass tray
covered it up with button mushroom slices
and then cheddar and parmasan cheese
and grill in oven till brown
wht do u think...???
drooling yet...???
hehehehehehe
Anaesthesia says (11:55 PM):
=_="
not reli
full n farty already from the cheese i had just now
how do u do ur white sauce anyway
Mr. Gary says (11:55 PM):
POTONG STIMMMMM
Anaesthesia says (11:55 PM):
hahah i'm lactose intolerant ma
Mr. Gary says (11:55 PM):
milk butter some flour
seasoning
cheese powder to taste
Anaesthesia says (11:55 PM):
white wine reduction?
Mr. Gary says (11:56 PM):
reduced with white wine
Anaesthesia says (11:56 PM):
jz white wine reduced?
Mr. Gary says (11:56 PM):
yup
Anaesthesia says (11:56 PM):
how much?
Mr. Gary says (11:56 PM):
hmmm....about half a mug
Mr. Gary says (11:57 PM):
usually a splash
and reduce and simmer
Anaesthesia says (11:57 PM):
=(
Mr. Gary says (11:57 PM):
nice and thick then add some peppercorns yum yummmm
Anaesthesia says (11:57 PM):
HAIYA ASK U COME BCK COOK FOR ME LIAW
Mr. Gary says (11:57 PM):
MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA .
...lalalalalala

I hate my foodie friends. How to stick to my diet like that? Meh.

Now so tempted to run out and buy ingredients to try his improved recipe. And it's already past midnight.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Douchebags

By some sick coincidence, I've been getting emails with screen-shots submitted to Lamebook and Facebook Fail for the past two days, because this morning, I woke up to the ultimate example of douchebaggery on the significant other's facebook profile:


Now I wish I could view it in more humorous light than I am right now, but the fact remains that I am pissed off. Very pissed off.

At Douchebag A, the person who's supposed to be a mutual friend but doesn't have enough tact (or brains) to realise that I WILL be offended at being compared to the whiniest, most demanding, dumbest dog alive, and on Facebook too, of all places. Even if that comparison was to be made in a fucking conversation I'd take offense.

And more so, at Douchebag B, who should've defended me, instead of indulging himself in a spot of total arsehole-ness, what with the implied agreement and the conspirational "Shh, not so loud" statement. Yes, yes, I can almost see the whole nudge, nudge, wink, wink routine.

Thank you very much. Even I wouldn't have gone that far on public domain as to insult you that way. And no, "building up camaraderie with my buddy through jesting" won't be accepted as an excuse this time, not at my expense.

So yes, I woke up feeling like crap this morning, and this hasn't improved my disposition one single bit.

Rubber Chicken

What relationship? The only one you have is one with your ego.

As others before you have been. Silly, prideful creatures.

You loved the best of me couldn't stand the rest of me, so don't tell me to be myself and that I was the one you fell for, not the one changing to fulfill your needs and expectations.

Those same efforts you deride. All the little things you take for granted. All the separate facets of me you could never give me credit for. All the times you made me die inside.

Such an epiphany. And what a waste.

I could write in graphic swaths of angry red, yet I'll choose muted shades of silent resignation. Falling off a cliff gently was never more a conscious decision.

I've no desire for that slow death of affection and loaded silences, and brief reconciliations when the mood strikes you, so I'll let myself fade away once more, to a place where nothing bruises me, where my emotional detachment doesn't fill me with emptiness but softly embraces me like a silk cocoon.

I'm not yours to love when I'm lovable, and yours to discard when I'm not - not like the gifts I gave you that you couldn't, wouldn't appreciate.

I am no disposable lover.

Good. Night. (Sweet. Dreams.) Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

(FUCK. YOU. FUCK. YOU. FUCK. YOU. FUCK.)

I'll dream myself to a place where none of this disappointment will ever touch me again.

Fuck if anyone else of you have anything to say about that or my sorry state of affairs.