Beached

For our vacation this year, we decided it might be nice to go to the beach again. Jesse loves the beach and since Mom was also in town, we took a short break at Port Dickson. This time around, we decided to stay at the Avillion.



all hands on deck

Avillion is lovely little resort in Port Dickson. Accommodations are wooden chalets on stilts. The balcony overlooks the tide, which is always a lovely thing. Jesse spent so much time out on the balcony that we had to keep it lock at nights in case the kid sleptwalk himself out and over. :)



pets galore

Despite being quite old now, Avillion still has plenty of things going for it. There is the chalets, of course. There is the open roof shower for some al fresco showering experience. There's a nice family pool, and one more for adults only. And there's plenty of activities for kids, including a game room, and a nice petting zoo.



beach bum

The highlight for Jesse, however, is the beach. This is a kid who really loves his sand. Thankfully, the staff at Avillion keep their stretch of private beach in great shape - removing ever single shred of rubbish by hand, including dry leaves and junk the ocean washes up. Strangely, however, he refuses to touch the water. Which is not a bad thing since PD water is kinda icky. :)

Two grouses, though. The damn restaurant's too small. Every morning, we have had to wait in line for 30-45 mins just to get a table for breakfast. It's a pain. The other complain is the lack of parking space on the vicinity. We had to park across the road and take a treachrous walk across a busy street just to get back to the hotel.

Anyway, it was a lovely idyllic holiday. Too bad we couldn't afford to stay another night. *sigh*

Sex Talk

Sorry kiddies, its not that kind of sex talk. :) But seeing as to how family and friends have been speculating about the sex of our 2nd child, I thought I'd talk a little bit about that.

My father is convinced that our new baby would be a girl. "Just look at Jesse," Pops said, pointing to that twist in Jesse's hair where his parting line began. "It's off to the side." Apparently, if a kid's parting starts at the centre of his head, his sibling will be the same sex as he is. At least that what my father says.

Mae has her theories too. "Look at my breakout," she says pointing at her less-than-porcelain complexion. "While boys will give you beauty, girls will rob you of them," says my still-lovely-and-beautiful wife. *Ahem!

Mom is far less scientific. "I think it'll be a girl," she proclaims, "because I'd like a grand-daughter." She then crumbles under the pressure of her own prediction. "Maybe it'll be a girl," she says but only to finally settle for, "I hope it's a girl". Poor Mom had always wanted a girl but fate dealt her a three-of-a-kind Jacks instead, in her real life game of... erm... poker. Heheh.


big brother is watching

Anyway, during our last visit to the doctor, we had spotted a dark shadow between Baby's legs, putting the matter to rest, at least for awhile. Until yesterday, when we visited Dr. Huam again.

We looked intently on the screen as the good doctor carefully negotiated the handpiece all over Mae's tummy. As she did, Baby gave us quite a show, moving arms and legs about, yawning and just plain being cute. At least as cute as a foetus could be. Jesse was thrilled that he was starting to recognise bits of his little sibling on the ultrasound. Then came the highlight.

"I dun see anything there," I said. Doc nodded, "Yup, it looks like it might be a girl." And there was joy and laughter all around. In any case, we'll have to reconfirm on our next visit in January. Who knows, the little tyke may be hiding his family jewels. But as of now, it's a girl.

Good girl!

Moved To Tears

We have finally moved house over the weekend. And no, it wasn't so much an emotional time, as it was frustrating. I hate moving.

I hate the whole deal about moving. I hate packing. I hate unpacking. I hate carrying stuff. I hate arranging logistics. I hate carrying stuff. Yes, I said that already, but I can never say it enough. I hate carrying stuff. The whole carrying stuff thing leaves an undesirable taste in my mouth, not to mention excruciating pain in my upper back and my heels.

Sometimes I thank God that Mom put me through school and whupped my ass whenever I floundered in school. Otherwise I might have ended up in a job carrying stuff and that would really, really suck balls. (And I don't mean that in a good way!)

But sometimes I ask for it. Despite hiring movers to help me get my stuff, the sight of three elderly guys carrying huge boxes of my crap guilted me into helping out. Unfortunately, I was the only one in my house up to the task. It was either me or my four-year-old son, my pregnant wife, my good old Mommy, or my skinny imp of a maid.

Anyway, the house is a mess, both of them. A lot of out stuff are still in boxes in the new place. Meanwhile, the old place looks like a post-apocalyptic wasteland. You'll be surprised how much junk someone can amass in seven years in a 900sqft apartment. Despite having thrown out bags of stuff over the last couple of weeks, we still have plenty left over to bring to our new home.

As for the new home, it'll be some time before it starts feeling homely. It'll also be awhile before we get around to having curtains. Heh. But, we're settling in. Jesse loves the place. Mom is thinking, maybe she's ready to leave Taiping for good. Thea Vy, our Cambodian maid is thrilled, despite the fact that she'll have twice as much floor to mop. As for Mae and I, this is a home 6 years in the making, and we may even start appreciating the fact once the horror of moving has worn off.

I'd upload some pics but I'm still reeling from the weekend that was. I'm sure I'll get around to it, eventually.

First Dibs

They say kids will take over your life. And how.

Lately Jesse has impressed upon himself that he, and he alone, is the best person to decide our in-car musical entertainment. While we mostly play the radio in the car, our four-year-old has decided that CDs are better, if only just because he can play the same tune over and over. And over. And over. And over. Well, you get the idea.

One day, Mae was listening to a little Michael CW Smith. Mommy had her mind set on a little uplifting music for the soul, but the boy had different ideas.

"Mommy, can I hear 'Beautiful Day', please?" Jesse said as he handed us our U2 CD, his eyes sparkling with earnest sincerity.

"Mommy needs to listen to some Church music," Mae explained.

"And our Baby-in-the-tummy likes it too," I added, cleverly - or so I thought.

Yes, it was a little emotional blackmail which I thought might appeal to his brotherly love for his soon-to-arrive little sibling. A little under the belt, I know. But I thought that out to neutralise him for the duration of a few songs, at least. That, however, was not to be.

"But, what about Jesse-outside-the-tummy?", our boy enquired wistfully, reminding his lousy parents that their firstborn was right there, in the here and now.

And as the guilt-wracked strains of The Edge's guitar permeated the confines of our little car, our boy sank back into his seat, his face beaming with his toothy grin, as his new rock idol sang the very words that spoke his heart, which was, as Bono put it, abloom.

*sigh* We're never gonna get our radio back, but at least we can celebrate the fact that our boy has great taste in music.

Garlic Man Returns

Once again, Garlic Man, the caped crusader of the culinary condiment comes a-calling. And along for the ride, his new trusty sidekick, Garlic Boy! Poor Mommy doesn't stand a chance.

Last weekend, I take the boy for a day out, just to give Mae a little peace and quiet. In her current condition, she's really not up to moving about and so Daddy takes over entertaining the boy. After a long day out, father and son, with maid in tow, decide to sit down to a nice meal of Teppanyaki.

Jesse hardly ever eats, and so when he started digging into his Chicken Teppan, I was elated. I was even more so, when he started walloping those lovely crispy garlic bits that come with every serving of Teppanyaki. My boy was eating everything now!

Unfortunately Mae doesn't share my enthusiasm.

"You fed the boy garlic?" Mae groaned, her face pale with disgust, "I can smell it off of the both of you." And this, despite the fact that we had showered and brushed our teeth.

And so, there was no love that night. Garlic boy slept and arm-length from Mommy while Garlic Man enjoys his newfound singlehood on the living room couch. *sigh*

Hanging In There

We decided to go back to Dr. Huam, after a bout of bleeding. "Let's take a look," said Doc, as she fired up the Sonograph. By then, Mae and I were practically turning blue holding our breaths over the condition of our baby. We were worried.

The screen flickered as Doc moved the handpiece over Mae's tummy, trying to detect Baby.

Suddenly, the little tyke appeared onscreen and started threshing about, waving hands and kicking feet. "Lookit me, Daddy and Mommy!!! Look!!" Junior called out from the depths of Mommy's womb, as Mommy and Daddy stared at the monitor, bewildered at the amount of activity a 10-week-old could manage. It was like our child was reassuring us.

"Hey Doc," I asked, "think we could see the sex yet?"

"Oh, let's try," Doc responded enthusiastically, as she repositioned the scanner. As she did, I spotted it. There in between the little fella's legs was a little silhoutte. "It could be the umbilical cord," Doc reassured, thinking that perhaps Mae and I would be disappointed. But no, the wife and I stared at each other, grinning like a couple of well-fed hyenas. Boy or girl, we're gonna love this one to bits too, just like we do his big brother. :)

And no, it probably isn't the umbilical cord. Because, I could have sworn I saw a couple of nuts in that equation. Heheh.

No Easy Ride

Mae is not having an easy time with our new baby.The morning sickness is as bad as it's ever been and she at it all times of the day. Whoever decided to call it Morning Sickness anyway? I'll wager it's a guy. *sigh*

Smells bother her terribly too. Our new place is ready but we can't move in just yet cos the smell of new paint makes her quite sick. The smell of her husband also makes her sick. Thankfully, she's only complained once. On the plus side though, she has a voracious appetite and wants to eat everything. But then, the down side to that up side, is that she pukes it all out after. *sigh*

There's also been a little bleeding. Perhaps a little too often for our liking. And the stress at her job isn't helping. Hopefully our baby will stay strong. :(

Hero Worship

Boys will be boys. We like our heroes and we wanna be them. Jesse started off with Spiderman. He'd sing the theme song, wear the costume and play the toys. Then he progressed to Superman - to the extent of ripping off his shirt in public too. Heh. Then it was Batman. Then it was Ultraman.


I'm really not as excited as I look. Promise.

Ultraman lasted for quite awhile too. To the point where Mommy and Daddy were chasing Ultraman around town, when he made his appearance here some months back. We paid good money and lined up like idiots just for a shot with Jesse's hero. Bought him plenty of Ultraman toys too. Thankfully these are relatively cheap if you get the el-cheapo China-made knock-offs. Then suddenly, lo and behold, he's onto something else.

"Daddy, can you buy me an Iron Man mask?" Jesse enquired. "And also Iron Man shirt?" the boy added. I haven't seen these anywhere. And besides, even if they were available, they'd be frickin' expensive. "Daddy will make you a mask," I countered. And as quickly as I had said it, I forgot all about it. But not the boy. Kids are like elephants. They never forget.

"Serves you right for making promises," the wife mocked. And so I ended up putting in some overtime at the office last night keeping my promise. Heh. Anyway, I cheated a little on the construction, but I intend to make it up someday. Hopefully, before he's on to the next thing. Still, he's all hyped-up about it. Even gave me a hug of appreciation. :)


Tony, Tony, Bo-Bony...

Oh, BTW, you hardly ever hear girls say they wanna be Wonder Woman or anything. But I once had a cousin who did proclaim with conviction, "I wanna be Wonder Woman!" Today, he's turned out to be a very gay and happy man. But I'm sure that was purely coincidental. *ahem*

And hey, eat some Goofy Pills.

Humour

Mae and I have been consciously prepping our boy for the arrival of his new baby sister or brother. And we decided, it might be cool to include him in some of our decisions pertaining to our coming attraction.

"What name would you like to give our new baby?" I ask Jesse, half expecting him to say "Ultraman Dyna", or "Tony Stark". But that was not to be.

"Ethan!" he answers. A little too decisively for a four-year-old, I thought. Mae agreed. And so she pressed on, "Why?"

"So that Jesse can ask him," our little boy carefully articulates, "have you Ethan? (eaten)". And he proceeds to laugh his ass off at the little joke he made.

"See?" Mae scowls at me, "this is the kind of stuff you teach him."

I was, of course, guilty as charged. I said that to him that one day when he came home from visiting his little cousin, Baby Ethan. He thought it was hilarious. And now he's decided to return the favour.

I had taught my boy humour. Am I cool or what? :)

First Look

making a first impression

I gotta confess, both Mae and I had been so busy lately, we've been neglecting the new little one. We haven't really been thinking about what's happening inside. I suppose its all this familiarity of having gone through it all with Jesse, so perhaps the enchantment's not there anymore.

Even our visits to the doctor were very, erm, controlled. No sudden bursts of emotions. No stammering to talk. No nervous pacing in the waiting room. No gazing into each other's eyes in wonderment. Mae and I were just very composed.

And then, we saw her for the very first time on the sonogram. And suddenly I was reduced to a blustering idiot. "Look, look, look, th-th-that's her heartbeat!" I said to Dr. Huam, grinning from ear to ear. "Yes, you idiot, I know. It's my job, remember?" she replied impatiently. "Now getouttahere and stop getting spittle all over my expensive sonograph!"

Ok, so she didn't actually say that in words. But I could read her mocking eyes.

Anyway, all of a sudden, it all seems so real. All 22mm of her. And her tiny little heart thumping away. And only just 8 weeks and 6 days old yesterday. Brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it.

Weaning

Chinese people are obsessed with weaning their kids.

When you successfully wean your kids off the pacifier, or the bottle or the diaper; old Chinese relatives will come up to you, shake your hand and lead you to your place in the hallowed halls of parenthood whereupon your name will be inscribed upon hugh marble tablets and displayed for the whole village to see.

On the other hand, if your child is at the ripe old age of 4 and still on the bottle and diaper, you will bring shame to your entire clan and distant relatives in an old forgotten shanty in the remotest part of China will commemorate this disgrace annually by thumping their heavy wooden clogs on a photograph of you.

Jesse turned 4 just last month but he still very much on the bottle and he needs his diaper at night. We decided early on to lay off his case and let things take their natural course. Besides, he's our little boy and we're not really rushing for him to grow up.

But last night, our little boy comes to that all-important decision. "Diapers are for babies," he proclaims out loud. "Jesse is a big boy already." And just like that, our boy is off the diaper. No fuss, no muss. His parents, however, are having trouble adjusting. Last night we slipped a plastic sheet under him, just in case. We also got up countless times to check the sheets. But no, he didn't need none of that. He was all good and ready.

Hmm... maybe next week, he'll stop using the bottle.

Heya

September 16, 2008. Elsewhere, life goes on... :)

Quickie Updates

Been MIA from the blog again, so here's some quick updates.

SICKLY BOY
Jesse's been sick a lot lately. Coughing like an old man. So much so, he actually puked a couple of time. One time, his Grandpa was buying us dinner at San Francisco Steak House and the boy was enjoying an ice cream dessert when he suddenly wailed. I knew at once he was gonna puke. I told Mae to take him to the toilet but the poor boy never made it. Thankfully he hurled right outside the toilet door, away from the other diners. I carried him afterwards and as he clutched on to me, he looked up at me all teary-faced and ask, "Daddy, what's wrong with me?" Broke my heart to pieces.

RENOVATIO
We're moving. And hence, renovating. It's a pain in the ass, especially if you're a nitpicky bastard like me. I can't decide if I want the wardrobe 6 inches wider, or the lightswitches half an inch lower, or the sink an inch to the right. These things bug me so much that I bring a measuring tape to bed with me, just so I can think about it. My indecision should cost me a lot of wasted time. But my contractor doesn't really give a damn, so it all works out in the end. Bleh.

NEW MAID
Anie's gone. By Thursday she will be out of our lives, and quite prematurely too. The sneaky girl somehow managed to secretly buy herself a mobile phone and kept it hidden for months. Turns out she had been calling up some guy at a minimarket near our home. It was all very clandestine and we're a little concerned. If she had been calling home, we might have been more understanding, and perhaps more forgiving. We decided she was a security risk and that she should leave. But at the same time, we feel sorry about sending her away. She's like family. Just family with secrets. *sigh* Jesse will be devastated.

PROJECT BLOG
As if I dun already suck at updating, I've been thinking about a new blog. One little space for the little projects I do - like decorating and renovating. And designing. And craft. We'll see. Maybe I'll procrastinate my way out of this one too.

PHOTOS
This could be a much nice blog if I can get off my ass long enough to scan some photos, or even to download them from my camera. Ugh. I have shots of Jesse and me with Ultraman Max. I got pictures of my contractor. I have shots of Jesse doing homework and it's really cute too. Heh. I suck at blogging. Oh, I said that already.

That's all folks. Till next time.

Hurled

Last night, Jesse blew chunks. And right in our bed too.

According to Einstein's lesser known Theory of Abdominal Regurgitation™, the Ickiness index™ of human vomit increases exponentially with the age of the said human. In his infancy, a typical human child, during the occasion of any random gastrointestinal expulsion, will expel a projectile that is low on the Ickiness Index™. The quality of the said vomit will be of a transluscent white liquid, fluid consistency that emits a pleasant aroma - often associated with babies and breakfast cereal.

As the human child progresses in age, his projectiles will be higher up the Ickiness Index™ demonstrating a thicker consistency often coupled with solid masses. The colour will also be darker usually with a spectrum of hues, and the odour unbearable.

The poor boy must have drank a little too much milk. He'd gone to sleep for almost an hour when he started coughing and hacking. And the next thing we knew, the boy's supper was making a comeback. He sat up on bed looking all groggy and disoriented after the first wave, and I quickly recognised that as the calm before the storm.

I lifted my t-shirt up to his face and he let loose all over it. We quickly gave him a wipe down and a change of jammies and he went back to bed as though nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Daddy spent the next hour (almost, I kid you not) spraying the gook off the sheets and the shirt. It was a light brown gelatinous liquid with half-digested Nyonya Kueh, corn kernels and a bloody blueberry. And it refused to come off.

Gross. And yeah, it's gonna get worse. *sigh*

Feeling The Love

Today, it was my turn again to pick Jesse up from school. I was running 15 minutes late and was still only on the way. And so I call the wife for a consult.

"Oh my God," the wife mocks me. "You're such a lousy father!" she said with an evil cackle. She was having a field day getting back at me.

Meanwhile, I was a little worried that my boy might start to panic when I didn't show up at 11:45 am. People say kids have this inner clock that tells them when their lousy fathers are late, which in turn launches them into a panic attack. But thankfully, Jesse was all happy and cheery when he saw me. But I figured I would explain myself anyway.

"Daddy was doing so much work," I explained. I further went on to assure him I did the best I could. He listened intently. "Daddy ran to the car like a crazy person and quickly drove here to pick Jesse up!"

He looked up at me, whimpered like a grateful little puppy and cradled my left arm, nesting his head upon it appreciatively. Then he smiled as he repeated after me, "Daddy ran like a crazy person to pick Jesse up". And with that little gesture I could truly feel the love.

My little boy loves me for just showing up. *sniff*

True Lies

"Ko-Ko Norman kicked me," Jesse lamented, "and I'm very upset."

Mommy had taken Jesse along with her to a friend's place and our little boy had been looking forward to it all day. Norman is 3 years older than Jesse, but he's a sweet little boy who had always accommodated Jesse. That is, until yesterday. Apparently.

"Norman didn't kick," Anie, our maid explained. As it turns out, Norman didn't touch our boy. He had merely refused to let Jesse play with one item in his stash and our son was miffed. I turned to Mae for confirmation and despite not being on the scene, she too felt that was probably what happened.

This troubles me.

Is our son framing Norman? Was Jesse so pissed off that he decided to seek revenge by framing an innocent kid? Where did he even learn to do that? He's barely 4!! Or could there be some truth to his story? I questioned him over and over and yet, he maintains his story.

I'm at a loss at how best to handle this. What if he was telling the truth? Shouldn't a father give his own son the benefit of the doubt? On the other hand, if I did believe him and he was lying, would this be the start of his life of crime?

*sigh* I don't know what to do. Maybe a little Chinese Water Torture will get some truth out of the boy.

Up Yours (Anwar's Song)

Hey assmonkeys, here's a song for today to go with your serving of Famous Anus (see previous entry). Sung to the tune of "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz. Oh BTW, if you think Mraz sounds like "more ass", I'm sure it's just coincidence. So, anybody wants to make an MTV? :)

UP YOURS (Anwar's Song)

Well you done done me and you bet I felt it
I tried to be chill but you got me ar-rest-ed
You said I saw your crack
And that I've been at your back
Before your stools done run out
You'd been up to your worst-est
Nothing's woulda stop me but divine in-ter-vent-ion
And then came the guys in black - bala-cla-vas and guns

(And) now I'm back in jail, oh no, oh no
I have to say, "Up Yours"

I said open your mind and see like me
But you opened up your ass for the world to see
Did you sell your butt to get love love love love?
Did they get to you and offer you for-tune and fame
And did they make you fa-mi-ly?
Why you did it, only God knows knows knows

I won't he-si-tate no more, no more
I gotta say, "Up Yours"
(Don't) take this lit'rally, oh no, oh no
When I tell you, "Up Yours"

BRIDGE:
Do-do-do-do-do-you, would I do-do-do-do you
Do you think I'm horny
Scooch on over further dear
Someone will play with your rear.
So-de-bop-bop, Whoaa....

I've been doing too much for too long, to be back in the slammer
You bending over forward just to try to get me closer
To get me to pop your ass - that just makes me laugh
I guess what I be saying is I have no de-sire
To rape your sorry ass and set my own on fire
If that's my plan, I won't run for P-M

(And) now I'm back in jail, oh no, oh no
I have to say, "Up Yours"

I won't he-si-tate no more, no more
I gotta say, "Up Yours"
Don't take this lit'rally, oh no, oh no
When I tell you, "Up yours"

Flavour Of The Month

Ahem.

In other ass-related news, I have a cousin whom we sometimes call Anal Rampage. I can't remember why, but I think it had sometime to do with some porn we found in his keeping. We stopped calling him that for years now cos we eventually moved on to other things, but with all that's been going on lately, I feel inspired to reunite the boy and his name. :)

And that's the end of that subject. I know I'm a little behind time on this one, but hey, what are you gonna do? Anyway, I'll be back. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

I could go on. But I'll spare you.

Forgotten

It was a dreary Tuesday afternoon and I was on the way to a client when I decided to call Mae.

"So how was Jesse today when you picked him up?" I asked the wife.

"What!?" she replied. "Didn't you say you were gonna pick him up!?!?" She was all in a flurry now. By now, my voice resonated with shock and concern. "But... but you said you would," I stammered.

"Wait a minute," I regained composure, "you're kidding me, right? You picked him up, right?"

"NooOooOo I didn't!!!" she shrieked in panic. It was 3 o'clock and we had forgotten to pick up the boy from school. The poor kid was probably feeling like his parents had abandoned him.

Or so it seemed. Heh.

Every now and then, I do take some time off from work to pick the boy home from school, whenever Mae and her mom can't do it. I enjoy it. And of course, every now and then, I also enjoy taking some time off my busy schedule to screw with the wife's head. Heheh. She loves it when I do it.

You can almost hear the affection in her voice when she said, "Don't ever do that to me again, you ass!"

Hahaha.

Kungfu Healing

I've had a pain in my back for years now . It isn't so much a pain as it is an annoyance - y'know that feeling that something just ain't right? So, last year I decided to visit a Chiropracter.

I went into the room for a consultation, and got just that. Mr Fancy Pants Chiropractor made me stand up, sit down, and touched my back gingerly, and ascertained that I needed to have my spine straightened. "But not before you get an X-Ray," he advised as he wrote out a prescription for an X-Ray which I would have to get from a lab somewhere else. "Thereafter," he continued in his upper-crust, schoolmasterly tone, "you come back here and we can get started." But I would have to come back yet another time before he would treat me.

So it was, one trip for a consultation, one trip to the x-ray, one trip to get Bones to look at my X-ray, and finally a trip to get my back fixed. "One more thing," he added as I headed out the door, "treatment will be over the course of a few visits!" With that, I decided then that I would suck it up and live with it instead.

Then, my brother Jeff introduced me to his friend, Erik. Erik's father had been the founder of Hap Kune Do style of martial arts, and junior had picked up the family trade. Here was a guy who could kick your ass out of its joint and pop it right back for you. You'll be surprise how much kungfu he's got hidden behind that cheery demanour of his.

It was amazing. He cracked my entire spine with a couple of his kungfu moves and then some. That was Saturday. Yesterday, I went for one more round and I'm all good now. But most of all, I love how it was all a straight-shooting, no-bullshit, man-to-man deal. This is what the world needs - instant relief. Not more appointments.

Got a bone out of place? Look Sifu Erik up. RM 60 only.

Malacca

I've been to Malacca a few times, but I can never find my way around. That, in itself, is an adventure. I once turn circles in Malacca for a couple of hours before I could find my way out of the damn place, but that is a story for another day. Today, photos!



Jeff was in Malacca for work and so he joined us. He claims to know his way around but the best he could manage for a dinner venue was the Malacca Chicken Rice Balls. Unfortunately it was the tourist trap place instead of the good one across the street which was closed at night. The dinner was crap. Jeff sucks. But Jesse loves him, so we let him stay on. :)



For our after-dinner entertainment, we got aboard the Taming Sari Tower. It was basically a vessel revolving around a long pole some 10 storeys up. It beats the crap out of riding on a glorified ferris wheel, I'm sure.



The following day, the wife cleverly suggests the zoo and from that point on, Jesse was determined to visit the zoo even if it killed his father doing it. The zoo is 3 times the size of Taiping Zoo, but alas, only half as pretty (though Mae insists it's better). We walked our legs off for two hours.



That night, Jeff redeems himself by taking us to the Portuguese Settlement for seafood. We invited Jason Mumbles to join us, but he had to work. Thankfully he gave us a good tip. Eat only at Stall No. 1. Stall No. 1 is the Sea Terrace and everybody eats here. Stalls numbers 2-10 try their darnest to get us to eat at their place. One guy from no. 6 even claimed to be from Sea Terrace. Sneaky bugger.



The Portuguese make some excellent crabs. This one's a Pepper Roasted Crab. It was so delicious I ate two whole crabs on my one. Reminds me of a time when I fell for a Portuguese girl back at school. Except that she gave me lots of crap, instead of crabs. Hah. Look, I made a lame joke.



On the last day, we decided we would do the whole tourist thing. We visited the Flor Del Mar. Then the A'Famosa. And then everybody got tired. Jesse never gets tired, so Daddy takes him and Kakak Anie up the hill to see St. Paul's Church. Meanwhile, Mommy and Grandma wait at the foot of the hill.



St. Paul's Church was cool. Despite the fact that everyone died and the place was in shambles, you could almost feel the richness of it's history. I was choking with emotion looking at the ruins. Okay, I lied. That was the heavy buffet we had at Everly Hotel.

After that, we proceeded to the Museum of Islamic Civilization. There, they dedicated an entire wing to display our elections - complete with election paraphernalia and photos, as though our electoral process was anything worth celebrating. *ahem*

After that it got pretty late, so we left for home. And that was our Malacca trip. Jesse enjoyed it so much, he wants to go back to Malacca. But for him, Malacca just meant Everly Hotel where Daddy took him swimming. :)

Idiot Char Kuey Teow

There's a roadside stall in Taman Bukit Maluri, Kepong, where a husband and wife team serves up a pretty good Char Kuey Teow among a few other things on his menu. So good that their signboard audaciously reads, "Famous Fried Kui Teow" - weird spelling and all. Which is fine, except that the guy who fries the noodle really annoys the crap out of me. On most days, he can whip up a good Char Kuey Teow, but some days it can all turn to shit.

Case #1
Some days the guy runs out of shrimps or fails to get them at the market. This annoys me no end. How a CKT guy can run out of shrimps is really beyond me. To make matters worse, he doesn't tell you. Instead, he substitutes with chicken meat. Who the hell puts chicken in Char Kuey Teow!??!

Case #2
There have also been ocassions where the guy just takes off in the middle of the morning. Sometimes to take a dump. Other times, just to take a walk. Now believe me, I can deal with this. In anticipation of good food, I have been known to display the perserverance and patience of a monk. What I cannot deal with is when the wife decides to fill in for her man. She fries Kuey Teow as if she were flogging her stepchild. "Let's fry this bastard until it's all limp and lifeless!" *sigh*

Case #3
Today is the most annoying. Now I've always known this guy to have a short attention span. You can tell when you talk to him. But c',mon-lah, it takes no more than 3 minutes to fry a good plate of Char Kuey Teow. Can't you just stay focused for just 180 seconds, dammit!??

..........

Today, I'm sitting there patiently waiting for him to do his thing. It's 8am and I'm the only customer at the time. He starts by frying some garlic. The fragrance wafts through the air, teasing my palate. Next, he throws in a few fresh shrimps and I hear the rhythymic crackle of the boiling oil in his wok. It's all going beautifully when suddenly, an idiot shows up and starts up a conversation with the guy.

"Excuse me, where do you get your cooking gas from?"

And Mr. Famous Fried Kui Teow decides to entertain him, ignoring the wok. My breakfast was at risk and an idiot wants to know where the gas comes from, and stupid Kuey Teow man thinks that the conversation is more important than my breakfast. Who the hell cares about gas!?!?!? Meanwhile, my Char Kuey Teow overcooks in the wok.

"Hey, you cook first, we can chat later," the idiot tells the guy. But no sooner than that, as the CKT Man turns his attention back to his job, the idiot pops another question. And another. And another. And my Char Kuey Teow goes to hell from this point on. The guy scoops up everything on to my plate and suddenly realises that he had forgotten to add in the cockles. And so my overcooked CKT goes back into the wok for another round of torture.

By the time I get it, everything is dried and overcooked. The beansprouts are limp, the shrimps are harden, the cockles dry and the egg burnt. It annoyed the shit out of me, but I ate it anyway, cursing every mouthful. Seriously, if you cannot stay focused on your job for more than 3 minutes you have no business selling Char Kuey Teow. Sell Maggi Mee or something. It cooks in 2 minutes.

If you haven't already guessed it, CKT is a big deal to me. OK. Rant over. Regular programming resumes. :)

Another Quickie

Been behind in my blogging so here's another round of shorties:

SCHOOL'S OUT
Since it's gonna be a long break, we decided to take some time off for a quick vacation. Nothing fancy - just a 3D/2N at Malacca by the beach. The boy's been re-enacting our last holiday by the beach, so we thought we'd cut him a break and actually bring him back to the surf and sand. Poor kid's been going around with his spade and bucket pretending to bury himself in the sand.

INDY'S BACK
Mae and I snuck out to see this last Friday. It's cool seeing Indy back in action. I came out entertained, but not sure if I liked it very much or just a little. Sean Connery should have come back. *sigh*

MOVING HOUSE
It had to happen some day and from the looks of things, probably in August or September. The place is much bigger, though still very much a condo. Renovation and furnishing will sap away all our savings. But a little change is good. We are preparing to transition Jesse into his own room. So far, he seems enthused by the idea.

XM IN THE SHOP
My beloved old junk, Citroen XM is in the shop again. Sent it in early in the year to do some wiring, despite it not really needing any repairs. Busy (and overly laid-back) mechanic took some three months to sort out the wiring and when I got it back, something didn't work quite right and now it's back in the shop. Been a month now. *sigh* I deserve this. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. I don't know why I do these things to piss myself off.

ULTRAMAN
Jesse's into Ultraman these days. He wants an Ultraman suit but the don't sell them anywhere. Thank God for small miracles. So far he's got Ultraman figurines. In various sizes. He's got the DVDs. He's got the pyjamas. Books. Stickers. He's even got an Ultraman watch. And that thing that let's him turn into Ultraman. (Back in my day, we called it the Beta Capsule).

NETTED A GNAT
I've been selected to participate in a product trial. Today, someone's coming to install a GNAT set-top box in my home. It's supposed to work like the Astro Max, but I hear its way cooler. To be honest, I'm not really sure what it does. Somebody asked me if I wanted one. "Is it free?" "Yup!" "Okay, I'll take two!" Nah. I'm getting only one. But hey...

OK, that's it. Thank you for reading another episode of Loopy Meals.

Testing

mugging for the exam

This week was Jesse's last week of school for the term. It was also the week of his first school exam. He's only just four, but already in his second year at school and now taking his first exam ever.

"I'm not gonna make him study," Mae announces all week before the big day, "He's only four lah". But like any self-respecting soccer mom, she makes a last-minute, about-turn, the night prior to D-day. Thankfully, Jesse enjoys his school work, so he happily (even though the photo looks otherwise) agreed to Mommy's suggestion for a quick revision.

Despite telling myself that this was just a small little Kindie test, by the following morning, I was worried sick about my boy. I wasn't so concerned about his results as I was about how he'd deal with not knowing answers, if that should ever happen. How would he feel about it? What would he do? Would he get creative and start copying his friends' work? Would I be upset that he cheated? Or would I be proud that he dealt with it? Heh.

I would have thought all my exam-related anxieties left me when I left school. But it seems they have returned to haunt me. I loathe exams with a vengeance. I remember for months after my STPM exam, I woke up in the middle of the night screaming. But that is a story for another day.

Wisdom Teeth

Last week, Mae and I visited a dental and maxillofacial specialist. You see, my poor wife's lower wisdom teeth never quite came out. Instead of growing upwards like all clever teeth should, these guys decided to grow sideways into the rest of the others. As you can imagine, this causes some discomfort and at times, immense pain.

Unfortunately for Mae, her teeth are resting on her nerves, making their removal quite a complicated procedure. In fact, most dentists she saw had recommended Dr. Ling as the man for the job. We were worried. What if a slip of the hand severs the nerve and Mae ends up with a paralysed jaw? What if a wrong move gave my poor wife a crooked face?

"The worse case scenario," according to Dr Ling, "is that you will have a numb sensation on your lips all your life." According to the good doctor, the risks are not terribly high, only 5-10%. And the chances of healing from such an event is 98%.

"Then she won't feel anything when you kiss her," said my colleague Rat, later that day.

"Is that all you women think about?" I said. Mae had said the exact same thing when we left the clinic, and I had told her as I told Rat, that there were more important things than kissing.

"What else is there?" Rat enquired.

I just gave her a shit-eating grin that spoke volumes. Heh. Despite my best efforts to prove otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to concede that, like all men, I was just another bastard. :)

Jesse & The Chocolate Factory

"Daddy," my boy asked of me last week, "do you want to go to the chocolate factory?"

I was fascinated. Partly because Jesse was adept at articulating himself; but mostly because we were going to a chocolate factory. Then, my mind swirled in a vortex of endless free-flowing, creamy chocolate syrup as I drifted into caramel-flavoured, candy-coated, sugar encrusted fantasy factory, whereupon a tall flamboyant gentleman (who looked suspiciously like Johnny Depp) in a purple suit and top hat greeted me.

"They're just going to the Beryl factory," Mae said very matter-of-factly. "It's that local chocolate brand," she added. Mae has this unique gift of making the most enchanting journey sound mundane. You'd think she was force-fed chocolates as a kid. Heh.

"Do parents get to go?" I enquired. It was, after all, a field trip organised by Jesse's kindergarten, but I remained hopeful.

"Yes," the wife replied, "but do you really think we should?" Despite the fact that she too was considering it, Mae reasoned that Jesse would stick to us if we did indeed go. That would deprive our clingy little boy the experience of enjoying the trip with his little friends. *sigh* Besides, most of the other parents weren't going.

And so, tomorrow, Jesse goes to a chocolate factory. Meanwhile Daddy will stay at work wondering what it would be like to visit a chocolate factory.

Kids today have all the luck. When I was a kid, my teacher took us on a field trip to a shitty little farm where we saw cows and stepped in their shit. OMG, I think I hate my childhood. :P

Sold on Stem Cells

A couple of weeks back, I got a call from Sharon Low, the founder of StemLife. When she introduced herself, the first thought on my mind was, "Oh shit!"

"The first thing I want to say," she started, "is that everything is ok and the stem cells are fine."

Heh! Mae and I had stored Jesse's cord blood with StemLife when he was born. And if anything were to happen to our deposit, I would be devastated. The woman read me like a book. She was also spot on that I might want to attend a lecture on stem cell research entitled, "Applications of Stem Cells in Malaysia - Are We Ready?" What can I say, I'm a science geek, info-junkie and all-round nerd. It's either that, or her casual mention of "free dinner". :)

So yeah. Mae and I will attend this event tonight and by tomorrow, hopefully I'll be something of an expert in stem cell research. And perhaps you have a review here. Remember you heard it here at Loopymeals.

ADDED: 14 Apri 2008, 7:51am

On Friday I had a meeting scheduled at 3:00pm. I figured I would have plenty of time to get thru the meeting, go home and get spiffed up and still make it to Renaissance at 6:30pm for cocktails. Jesse was already safe at my Mother-In-Law's. It was all quite perfect.

Except, I only managed to get off work at 7:00pm. When I got home at 8:00pm, Mae was all dressed up, all made up and quite fed up. *sigh* Work is killing me. And in more ways than one.

Unremembered

carbon copy?

I've been away from home too long.

There was the whole crazy couple of months of nights in the office. There was the company trip to Bali. And even when I touched down at KLIA on Monday at 6:30am, I came right back to work shortly after. And I have been at work since.

Last night was an all-nighter. And right about 6am this morning, I started to lose my mind a little, so I took a stroll around the office building. As I did, I thought about my little family. There was Mae, the wife. Long hair. Lovely complexion (most times). Strong nose. Nice eyes. Tall, almost my height. Slender. And sexy, as long as she doesn't wear those purportedly comfortable but definitely hideous checquered shorts she likes to wear at home.

Then I thought about Jesse. And suddenly, my mind just drew a blank. The wheel was stuck and the hamster inside was probably dead. I thumped the side of my head to reboot. I tried Alt-Ctrl-Del but nothing worked. Try as I might, I couldn't remember what my poor little boy looked like. Not at all. I got the name right, but the face just wasn't registering.

I panicked.

Thankfully I always kept a couple of his passport photos in my wallet. I flipped the billfold and there he was, just like I (can't) remember him. And then I quickly went back to my computer to look at our shots together.

*sigh* I don't think I can make up. Not ever. Looks like I'm gonna be wrapped around his little finger for eternity.

I gotta get my ass home.

Bali Mali

I'm going to Bali. It's a company trip, so Mae and Jesse won't be coming along.

I hate the thought of leaving them behind, while I frolic in the sun and surf, and the guilt of that will probably make me miserable throughout the 4 days and 3 nights. Because it's a company trip, we've been working our asses off the last couple of weeks, so needless to say, I've been at the office a lot. Which left me little time to adequately prep the boy, so I'm not really sure how he's gonna take it.

I never thought I'd say it, but I kinda don't feel like going.

Police State

Three years on and I'm turning out to be a shitty father.

Jesse is a good kid, by my standards. (Which isn't saying much, since I have always had plenty of tolerance for kids.) He doesn't demand for stuff, throw a tantrum in public, or behave like a little A-hole when he doesn't get his way. In fact, he's usually obedient and quite the charming kid. But that's all out the window when it comes to eating, and sometimes, school.

"If you don't eat your lunch," I'd threaten, "the police will come and catch you!"

Right about then, he'd usually look over his shoulder suspiciously, to make sure there are no cops about, afterwhich, he'd proceed to eat like a normal human being. It works for days when he doesn't want to go to school. He'd be crying and throwing a fit. Until his impending arrest.

"If you don't go to school," I'd tell him, "the police will come and catch you!"

And instantaneously, whiny-boy becomes shiny-boy.

When Jesse was still swimming about in Mae's womb, I told myself that I'd never use frighten my boy into submission. But three short years later, I'm breaking my word over and over. *sigh* Worst of all, it's so bloody effective I'll probably use it again and again. The way I see it, he'll probably grow up to hate me for it. Or he'll start slipping me fifty Ringgit notes to look the other way.

I'm sorry, son. Daddy loves you too much to yell at you. Not when all I want is for you to eat well and have a good education.

There's A Moral In Here Somewhere

All that's been going on reminds me of a story.

Three buddies decide to go on a trek into the jungles of the Amazon. Like all testosterone-charged, hot-blooded males, the boys ignore all advice against their risky enterprise, scoffing at all tales of caution. However, like all good stories, the arrogant boys get their comeuppance. In the deep jungles of the Amazon, the guys find themselves in the clutches of a tribe of vicious Cannibals.

"You have to give us a fighting chance," pleaded the boys to their captors. The chief of the Cannibals considered a moment, agreed. After all, here was a man who liked to play with his food.

"Since it is the 21st birthday of my only daughter, I will let you off if you pass one simple test," said the chief. "If all of your three penises can measure up to 21 inches and beyond," explained the chief, "I will set you free."

"Okay, let's do this," said the first strapping lad as he confidently whipped out a whopper from his pants. 12 inches of meat, and the guys were off to a good start. The Cannibals were disheartened to see their catch slipping from their clutches. The second guy came in at a modest 7 inches, and their spirits were lifted, for surely their friend can manage more than 2 inches. However when the third fellow undid his pants, to the horror of his mates, therein laid a tiny little weiner. The Cannibals cheered at the prospect of a hearty dinner that night.

"Wait, wait," protested the third guy, "measure it!" The chief Cannibal came down from his throne and took to the task himself. To his disappointment, the last fellow measured exactly 2 inches, giving the boys a total of 21 inches. Begrudgingly, he set the three friends free.

"Thank God for those Penis Enlargement spams I have been receiving," said the first guy as they made their way back to civilisation, "otherwise, I surely wouldn't have managed 12 inches."

"I may not have 12 but I'll bet my 7 inches played a big role in saving our skins," said the second fellow, as the boys gloated about their good fortune.

"But we'd surely be dead by now," added the last fellow most earnestly, "if I wasn't having an erection."

I have never really had the stomach for politics because it all boils down to power and how much people hate sharing it.

C'mon people, play nice.

Memorable Birthday

I remember my 19th birthday. I was 19, and it was my birthday, and I remember it.

I went to my girlfriend's house to celebrate that evening. I drove my ass all the way across town to see her, half expecting to get lucky a nice surprise. Well, I got a surprise. It wasn't nice, but it was a surprise nonetheless. The girl decided to dump me that night.

She could have picked any other night to do the deed, but maybe she wanted it to be memorable. It's a shitty thing to do to a guy, dumping him on his birthday. But she did it anyway. The bitch.

I wonder what's happened to her. Perhaps she's gone to live in the constituency of Sg. Siput. Heh.

Oh yeah, it's my birthday today. Wish me. And I swear this story is true, except maybe that last part. Any similiarities to current issues are purely coincidental.

Asskickery

Over the weekend, we decided to check out the sale at Ikea. Jesse is all enthusiastic, cos it means he gets to visit Småland, Ikea's own kiddie playroom. We dropped him off and left Anie outside to keep an eye on him.

We had only just made it to the kitchen display when I get a call. "Your son is crying, sir," said the voice on the other end. I darted downstairs leaving Mae in a trail of dust. And there I found our boy in tears. In between sobs, Jesse poured out his grievances, but it was all disjointed gibberish. "Boy... took my ball... jump... I want to step on his head." We couldn't make head nor tail about anything, and so we asked Anie who had witnessed the whole thing from afar.

Apparently, Jesse was minding his own business playing with a ball when some ruffian kid decided to snatch it away. The little tyrant had also pushed my boy on the ground, which brought out the waterworks. Then our boy got up and punched his tormentor, which, of course ended with two boys crying.

"Punch?" I asked Anie, "bukan pukul?" I showed Anie an open palm. "No, tuan," she replied in English, "Jesse punched the boy!"

"Good boy," Mommy said as she stroked the boy on the head.

"Umm..." I interrupted, "I don't think we're supposed to encourage that."

At least not out loud anyway.

Don't get me wrong, we always teach Jesse never to raise his hands on anyone. And we don't want him to be a pushover either. So yeah, I have to admit I'm glad he taught that pushy little shit a lesson. Yet, I'm a little concerned with his, "I wanna step on his head" statement. It's got this whole 70s-kungfu-revenge-retribution-movie vibe to it.

We're not really sure how to deal with this.

Nailclipperphobia

"Look at your nails," I grabbed Jesse's grubby little hands, "so dirty!" I pulled the boy onto my lap and grabbed a nailclipper, ready to make quick work of his Dracula talons. "NoOoOoo!!!" he shrieked, breaking away from my clutches, his face pale with fear.

"Daddy's not gonna hurt you, silly," I told him sincerely. But he was having none of that, folding his arms behind his back.

When he was about 3, I caught him playing with a nailclipper. I grabbed it from him and gave him a lecture that he could comprehend. "It's very dangerous," I explained. And then I had to go and add, "you could cut yourself and there'll be blood everywhere."

*sigh* I tend to over express myself sometimes.

It looks like I must have driven the fear of clipping nails in his young heart and from the looks of things, he may very well need therapy in the future. In the meantime, we'll have to cut his nails in his sleep and risk having him wake up screaming. It's either that or let them grow so long that they snap right off. At this stage, the second option sounds quite appealing.

Lim Kit Siang vs. Chee Cheong Fun

Haha. Okay, so the title is a little sensationalist but it pretty much sums up my first encounter with the man.

The year was 1988 (or thereabouts, I can't rightly remember). It was teatime on a weekday and I was just stepping out of my house to buy Chee Cheong Fun when I noticed a commotion down the street. A crowd was building along Harrison Street, Taiping where I lived.

"Cheebye!" I called out to my neighbour. His real name was Chee Wai, but I was 17 at the time and at that age, it was entertaining to make fun of people's names. "What the hell's going on?" I enquired, seeing as to how he was making a beeline towards the DAP office near our homes.

"Lim Kit Siang is out of prison!" he called back to me, "let's go!".

"Nah," I scoffed, "Today, I'm voting for Chee Cheong Fun." I was always more epicural than political. *sigh*

That night, I discovered that Lim Kit Siang has been in prison for some ISA charge. I also found that the man had been going in and out of Kamunting through the course of his political career. The selfish bastard that I was, I could never understand why anyone would risk jail for their beliefs. But like I said, I was 17 at the time and not too bright.

Today I have grown to respect Lim Kit Siang and his colleagues in the Opposition, if not for their person, then at the very least, their tenacity to keep fighting. The rewards have been a few, and yet they soldier on. So I thought, on this occasion of our 12th Election, I'd like to dedicate this song to Lim Kit Siang and the rest of you Opposition fellas out there:

ROCKETMAN - Elton John

She packed my bags last night, preflight
Zero hour, nine a.m.
And I'm gonna be high
As a kite by then

I miss the earth so much
I miss my wife
It's lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight

And I think it's gonna be a long, long, time
'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find
I'm not the man they think I am at home
Ah, no no no...
I'm a rocket man
Rocket man
Burnin' out his fuse
Up here alone

Mars ain't the kind of place
To raise your kids
In fact, it's cold as hell
And there's no one there to raise them
If you did

And all this science
I don't understand
It's just my job
Five days a week
A Rocket Man
Rocket Man

I think it's quite the appropriate song for the Rocketman himself. Just so you know some of us appreciate. :)

ADDENDUM
I figured I should link it here cos it's a really wonderful song. Three versions: Kate Bush's, voted the best cover version of all times; a really weird one by William Shatner, and of course the original.

New Heroes

"I wanna be chowsinjji," Jesse proudly proclaims.

No more Spiderman. No more Superman. Now my boy wants to be Stephen Chow instead. And it's all Mommy's fault.

Mae decided she might want our son to be a little more interested in sports, seeing as how her Husband is a couch potato. And so she decided to start him on a diet of footbal TV. It's all very annoying to me, since I dun watch very much football. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing remotely entertaining about 20 over grown men chasing after a ball.

And so I negotiate a win-win deal.

"How about we watch football with a little more entertainment value?"

We've been watching Shaolin Soccer. A lot. Like two times a day, everyday. With any luck, maybe my little banana-boy will pick up a little Cantonese. Any more luck than that and Mae will pick up some Cantonese too. :)

Lost

On Friday I lost my mobile phone.

I was sitting at the Caffe Cino outlet in KL Hilton discussing work. The damn phone must have fallen out my of pocket as I sat there on the sofa. I left the place and realised this as soon after I drove out of the parking lot. I immediately turned back, parked my car and ran up to the place. Needless to say, the phone was gone.

I enquired at the establishment but no one had reported a lost and found mobile phone. I made calls but no one answered. At one point someone did, but did not speak. Instead I was treated to a surround sound of the inside of someone's pocket.

So there. My phone was gone and quite possibly, someone in Hilton had found it but had decided to keep it. I'd expect this at Rumah Tumpangan Kiew Kiew (not that I ever go to someplace named Rumah Tumpang Kiew Kiew), but this was the Hilton, dammit.

But perhaps my expectation of the establishment is unrealistic. After all, the tone and manner of the place did take a dip when their famous heiress spent a few nights in the slammer. Heh.

The phone was a Nokia 6280. It's pretty worn out. But I cherish it, simply for the fact that it took plenty of pictures, many of which are still inside the phone. So... um... if you happen to spot any pictures of me with Cecelia Cheung or Gillian Chung on the internet, please destroy them. Do NOT forward to Mae!!!

Seriously though, I have pictures of my family in there. *sigh* I actually sent an SMS to my phone to appeal to the finder to mail my memory card back to me. But I am not hopeful, cos you can't expect a dishonest person to do the right thing, can you?

BTW, some of you might wanna SMS me your numbers.

Reunion

This year, we didn't go home to Taiping for the Chinese New Year. Since Grandma's passing, her sons and daughters decided that they will no longer convene in Taiping for the reunion, but will instead do their own thing. It's a crying shame, but I suppose this is the natural progression of things.

This year, Mom made the trip down here instead. My brother-in-law booked us at a Chinese restaurant and it was a reunion of his family, ours and my stepmom's. As dinners with our family go, the food was great and the conversations excellent. Yet I can't help but miss our reunions in Taiping with Mom's siblings and my cousins.

Our family is a motley crue of the craziest people you would ever see. They're funny, loud and they all love food.

Reunions start early in Taiping. By 3pm, everyone's home. Most of us would gather in the kitchen and there would be plenty of washing, cutting, cooking, cleaning, tasting and other stuff you do in the kitchen. And our home would be thick with camaradarie and laughter. So much so, some of us just came into the kitchen for the fun of it. So much so, our poor neighbour next door would peek his head into our kitchen and remarked how much he wished he were part of the family. That was our tradition.

Too bad Grandma's gone. I suppose now we'll have to make our own traditions. Maybe next year I'll make everyone come to the house and wash and cut and cook and clean.

Angry Boy

"Today, I'm very angry," my little boy tells me last night in bed. He was probably upset that he had soiled his diaper, and that I had told him off about it.

"Who are you angry with?" I asked.

"I'm angry with Kakak," he answers spitefully, redirecting his anger to our maid, Anie. "Well, you can't be angry with Kakak," I advised, "not if you want her to wash your bum-bum."

As Anie was dealing with him, she enquired about his temperament, "Jesse is angry with Kakak?"

"Nooooo," he answers in the sweetest little voice. "Jesse is angry with Mommy," explained the little politician, in the most matter-of-fact tone that a four-year-old can muster. However, all that time the boy didn't know that Mommy was within earshot.

"What!?!?" Mae's blood-curdling voiced boom from inside our bedroom. "Why are you angry with Mommy?"

With that Mommy's faithful little subject scurried into the room before the Queen. He stood there looking most apologetic, as he wracked his brain for a good save. And then it came, "because Mommy always makes the floor wet."

Mae is always making a mess of our bathroom, and I once unwittingly told the boy so. The little rascal had stored this, and probably other tasty bits of information to be used to negotiate his release in sticky situations. And while the boy gets Her Majesty's royal pardon, Daddy gets a boot to the head for releasing sensitive information to the child. Hehheh.

Passport Photo

It occured to me that I will never have a nice passport photo. Given my track record with the damn thing, you'd think it was against the natural order of universe for me to get a decent passport photo.

Last Tuesday, as I sat before the photographer, I thought to myself that maybe this year I'd have a better shot seeing that I didn't have to wake up at 5am to queue up at the Immigration office. Yes, our governmental processes used to be much more of a pain in the ass that it is now, but I digress. And so, I flashed the cameraman my best snarl (For some reason, it just feels wrong to be all smiley and cheerful for official photos).

Needless to say, it was another crappy photo. I look old, tired and guilty. If I were ever hauled into the interrogation room of a foreign country under the suspicion of smuggling child pornography, I'm gonna be in deep trouble. (No, you bastards, I will not scan and publish it here.)

The past years were no better. In my last passport, I look like a refugee from the killing fields who had accidentally stepped on a land mine. But at least I looked young then. Heck, I WAS young then.

Going back further, even my childhood passport was not spared. I got my first travel document at the age of 8. In it, I looked like the bargain bin special of a fledging third world child sex ring.

In retrospect, I probably should have gotten the photographer to reshoot but that would probably be another exercise in futility. Maybe I just ought to smile more for these official photographs. Oh well.

Project Codename: Cicakgirl

It's Maya Karin. In red leather. And all over me. Which explains the shit-eating grin on my face. Took awhile for Mae to slap it out of my system. Hahahaha.

Seriously though, it was all work and I'm happy to add that Maya is as lovely in person as she in on screen - unless you only watch the scary bits in Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam. Very down-to-earth, and very nice. Despite me poking a camera in her face the entire time. :)

Superman Returns

If you haven't already figured it out, Jesse is in his Superman phase now. One minute he's mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent, the next minute he's unbuttoning his shirt and baring his chest all over town. It seems like you can't take any shot of boy minus the pose. It's infuriating.

As you can imagine, he's got a growing collection of Superman paraphernalia, including the costume. But it's not enough that he has the suit, he also insists that I get one. Thankfully, they only have t-shirts for men my size. Just imagine me in blue tights and red underwear. Not a pretty sight, believe you me.

Anyway, Mae decided to get in on the action and got herself a Superman t-shirt too. However, in his eyes, Mommy is Wonder Woman. Now, does anyone know where can I get my hands on a Wonder Woman costume? Please understand that it's not for my kinky fantasies enjoyment. I'm just doing this for my boy. Really.

No Eye See

I have a tendency to leave my spectacles all over the place, so this morning's episode wasn't terribly unfamilliar to me. Except that after over one hour of searching, the damn glasses were still nowhere to be found.

"Honey," I called Mae on the phone, "did you happen to see my glasses?" Nope. "What about Anie," I asked if the maid had seen it. No again.

By then I had overturned the entire house. I was late for work. And the bloody specs were still nowhere to be found. So, I decided to go to work blind. As I left, I called the wife again.

"Maybe Anie accidentally broke them," I presented my conspiracy theory to Mae, "and decided to get rid of the incriminating evidence." While I spoke, I found myself making my way towards the trash disposal room, half expecting to rummage through this morning's garbage. Thankfully, I came to my senses.

As I drove, I called Mae again. "Maybe you took my glasses."

"Of course not," she snapped, quickly losing her patience. "I can't wear your glasses without getting a headache!"

"Maybe you put them in your handbag by mistake," I suggested, sheepishly. I was getting desperate. "It could happen."

"Don't be silly," Mae scoffed. Damn woman scoffed at me. And I took it like a downtrodden little boy, defeated. Wasted and spent, by my cheap hundred ringgit glasses. And a wife who scoffed at me.

Half an hour later Mae calls.

"Erm... hehe... I have good news and bad news," said a self-righteous monkey of a klutz on the other end of the line.

Ho ho ho. Sweet revenge.