Why?

Why is it that when you get X-rays at the dentist, they leave you sitting helplessly in the chair while they run out of the room, shut the door and wait for the harmful radiation dissipate?

In English Now

Phew! Now that my Blogger is not in Cantonese anymore, I guess I am obliged to write...that ought to be to everyone's great relief. After all, it's been what...months, right? There must be so much that I have to catch everyone up on. *Insert nervous laughter here*

Well, the thing is, there is nothing new. Not. One. Thing. In fact, here is the Coles (Cliffs for all you American folk) Notes version of what's been going on in the past couple of months:

1. Finished work
2. Moved house, am currently homeless
3. Flew to Canada
4. Slept in late nearly every day for the past 3 weeks
5. Have neither lost nor gained weight...but I still have 4 weeks holiday left so we'll see about that one.

If I think of anything witty or inspirational to tell then I will be sure to write. Watch this space.

WHAT THE HELL?

My fucking blog login thingy is in Cantonese! What the hell?

Try THIS

I was trying to find the fat/calorie content of Japanese gyozas because I ate an entire package in one sitting and I stumbled upon this website!

It's free! Woohoo!

Suggestion For This Ad...

I was randomly flicking through some blogs and I came across this picture.

You will notice that the bottom of the ad says "Get your head out of the toilet and onto a shirt".

My knee-jerk reaction is, of course, to "get your head out of your ass and onto a shirt".

Oh, come on. You're all thinking it.

The Rules of Pedestrian Traffic in Hong Kong

Clearly, there aren't any. In fact, the rules are that there are no rules. Any logic that you may have been taught by parents, teachers, or general example should be thrown out the door.

Example 1: If you are accustomed to walking on the right hand side, the locals are prone to run into you by walking on the left hand side in the opposing direction. This results in glares, an awkward manoeuvre to get around each other and under-the-breath slurs by both parties.

Example 2: If you are walking very close to a wall, fence, building, etc., by way of leaving 2 feet, 2 yards or 2 acres of space on the opposing side, there will be a majority of locals who try to overtake you from the inside where there may be one to two inches of space MAXIMUM. This results in glares, an awkward manoeuvre to get around each other and under-the-breath slurs by both parties.

Example 3: Reverse directions as discussed in Example 1. This results in glares, an awkward manoeuvre to get around the other and under-the-breath slurs by both parties. Also,great confusion will occur on part of foreigner because they thought they were doing so well by walking on the opposing side so as to not upset the locals.

A Rose By Any Other Name...Is a Bowl of Rice?

Okay.

I have been thinking about the fact that I have been a) living in Hong Kong for three years and b) working with Koreans for one year and c) the fact that I can neither speak Cantonese nor Korean. At. All.

So, I decided to ask my Mandarin (Phutonghua) speaking friend what my name was in her language and what it meant. She told me that the translation meant "lucky rice" in English. In the words of Andy Pipkin, "I don't like it".

So then, I approached my Korean friend. I asked her what my name meant in Korean. She said that the translation meant "wall teacher". Great. So now I am a teacher of walls. She also told me that my first name meant "most fun" in Korean. That's true.
I am the most fun. Always.

My name in English means "God is good". But in French it means "I like".

Does that mean that Borat is adressing me personally when he says, "I like"?

Postcards From the Edge of The World: Grant Miller Media Investigates The Far, Far Side

Well, the shit has finally hit the fan. Grant Miller of the infamous Grant Miller Media has dug deep and got some answers from The Far, Far Side. Read on to learn why we empathize with The Company Bitch, why we are located in The Big Smog and who we would like to spank!




GMM: You're from Canada but you live in Hong Kong. Explain.

TFFS: The Great Maritime Diaspora is phenomenon whereby Atlantic Canadians flee in pursuit of excitement. I, however, have moved to Hong Kong because I am highly motivated by money and wanted to get myself on the NOBU waiting list purely out of snobbery. But know this, Mr. Miller, you can take the girl out of the maritmes, but you can't take the maritimes out of the girl!



GMM: You recently reported on The War between The Company Bitch and Grant Miller Media and chose her side. What is wrong with you?

TFFS: There’s no argument that I am maniacally insane. You can ask my mom and she will concur. Re: The Company Bitch, I don’t feel that I took her side so much as just commented on the fact that “Bitch can write”. And for the record, I did call her a bitch.



GMM: Kill, Fuck or Marry: Jim Halpert, Tim Canterbury or Louis Temblay.

TFFS: Phwoar! Very bad Grant Miller, this is hard! I am notoriously indecisive. I performed a mini e-stalk on Louis Tremblay. He's cute, but neither do I parle le francais tres bien nor have I seen La Job. Kill him. Jim Halpert looks like the guy I carpool with. I wouldn’t fornicate with carpool guy but I would fornicate with Jim Halpert. Tim Canterbury is the nice one you bring home to your mother…though I would never bring anyone home to meet my family because the poor bastard would head for the hills after meeting them.



GMM:Which do you prefer and why: Lai Cha or Yuanyang?

TFFS:Lai cha is okay, but I prefer (珍珠珍奶) zhēnzhū naichá only because I like saying it's name. Say it with me, zhen zhu nai cha. Nice, innit?

GMM:Why should people read your blog?

TFFS:Because reading about the haphazard life of an overweight spinster gwai-poh has to make anyone feel better about themselves, right?

It's Good To Be Bad...At Least In Canada!

Canada’s Worst Citizen is Here!

To hell with heroism and good will! Canadian publication The Beaver wants your opinion on the most deviant,despicable and unremarkable member of our nation! And you get to vote multiple times!

Why would anybody accuse a Canadian of being anything other than nice, you ask? Well, since it’s infancy, Canada has been synonymous with peace, virtue and all-round good manners. Rightly so. I personally am all those things, and more. But the point is that although these are all valid reasons to look at the true greatness of any Canuck, Canadians are tired of the squeaky clean and demure persona for which they are known in the global community…for the most part.

And to that, I say, “I know, eh!”

I quizzed my co-workers on the matter and this is the list of crap Canadians we came up with and why we think they are noteworthy of their crappiness:

5. Alan Thicke This is not because of his career on Growing Pains or because he is yet another American sellout or because his son Robin Thicke is a Michael Buble rip off…it’s because, as children, we were forced to watch the Alan Thicke show with our grandmothers (as it’s time slot was right before Another World came on at 3 p.m.) This was before the ingenious invention of cable TV .

4. From cheers to jeers, the Mulroney years! I’ll say nothing more.

3. Celine Dion Oh God. Where does one start? As a coworker put it, “her megalomaniacal ways are the antithesis of what Canadians are about”. Touche, mon ami. Celine is definitely the one Canadian that we all love to hate. I think it’s her voice and the way she strikes on her chest when she sings.


2. & 1. These places have been reserved for none other than serial killers Robert Pickton and Paul Bernardo. We couldn’t decide who was worse: a man who kills and chops up pretty young girls or a man who kills and chops up prostitutes…tough one, I know.

We want to know your opinion! Who do you think deserves to make this list?

How Much?

I'm a big fan of sex. So, whenever it is offered to me, I don't hesitate to at least consider the possibility of doin' it with the offerer -- you know, it plays in my head much the same way scenarios play in the head of J.D. on a Scrubs episode.

"But that would make you a raging slut", most of you are thinking.

Yes, in fact, it would make me a raging slut. But let's face it -- if someone says they want to screw you, you at least consider the possibility. And, lest we forget that I reside in The City That Sex Forgot, so my opportunities for getting a proper lay are few and far between. In fact, Hong Kong's lack of libido has been the point of discussion for ages. Durex even has to concoct(no pun intended)some ingenious new condoms just to entice HKers to bonk more. Hell, the Seven Eleven even places rubbers right under the counter where the bubble gum should be! They are presented in an array of delectable colors, flavours, designs...strangely enough though, a variety of sizes is not deemed as necessary. Do you know how many times I grabbed a box of three flavors thinking it was Dentyne Ice?


However, there was one time that I did not consider taking a guy up on the offer. I was out innocently dancing with my friends and this strange smelling little man approached with the inquiry of "how much".


"You think I am a PROSTITUTE?" I screamed incredulously. Then I pointed out the nearest exit and with an even tone I said, "Go! Go. Get away from me!" With that, he shot out of the bar.

I was gob smacked. I mean, just because I was wearing a ten dollar tube top from Giant Tiger and was hanging out in the Wan Chai red light district at 4 a.m. doesn’t give him the right to assume…right?

Shoulda told him $20,000 HKD. He probably would have ran a LOT faster.

Update to Former Post "Possible Responses To A Party Invitation"

Regarding the email I sent to my friend re: her incredibly hot brother, here is the response that was promptly sent to me:

I think you are a dead woman....

he he he

She's right. She could tear me in two, so the invitation is moot.

When ("cullinary") Worlds Collide

For some reason or another, I can't get my shit together long enough to do a regular shop and I am now having to choose between 1. beans on toast and 2. macaroni and tomato soup for dinner. Beans on toast is an old UK "fave" -- and by "fave" I mean necessity as it's cheap and filling and frees up a sizable portion of your income for other, more important things such as booze-fuelled vacations in Ibiza, and such. Macaroni and tomato soup was a dish that was doled out weekly by my over-worked mother. Of course, it wasn't as bad as all that...bacon was flung into the pot to make it more exotic. Mmm, mesquite goodness.

I hate both of them, so I think I will choose option 3, which is starvation.

Possible Responses to a Party Invitation

My friend has an incredibly hot brother who is coming to visit her this weekend and to commemmorate the event, she wants to throw a party. Here is the invite below:

Happy Hump Day!

Hope you are all having a great week. My brother will be in Hong Kong this weekend, so my roomies and I are hosting a party at our place on Saturday night. Just bring your drinks and yourselves any time after 8. He lives in a remote area in Japan, so he is really looking forward to it. All are welcome, so spread the word. Hope to see you there!

To which I responded:

Oh, darling. There is no need to go to such bother as having a party and inconveniencing your roommates. Just send the little fella over to mine and I will see to it that he is well entertained...let me know what you think:)

Watch this space for the response.

Em-BARE-ASSED...

Last night after work, I decided to visit the super sketchy "beauty" parlour in my old neighbourhood for a cheap massage.

I walked in and my favourite beautician greeted me with a hug and repeated attempts to give me water, all the while calling me "Jane".

As it turned out, the woman who was literally three steps ahead of me through the door booked my usual beautician, so I had to settle for a new member of staff to massage me. I thought, "Why the hell not? I am desperate and I can't bear anymore charlie horse episodes this month".

So the massage proceeded as normal, you know, the kind where you don a paper thong and are spoken to in broken English about...well, nothing really, and have the knots beaten out of your twisted and stressed shoulders.

But then, it got weird.

The little beautician finished my back and then covered me up to move on to, not my legs like I expected, but my ass. And though not entirely abnormal to have a full on ass massage, she yanked down my towel and then straddled me as she proceeded to dig her thumbs into my very generous ass cheeks. For five minutes. Straight. I was mortified, and it hurt like hell.

Then, as quickly as she climbed up there, the little woman nimbly hopped down, and continued to work on my legs. She became annoyed because she had to keep telling me to "rerax". Um, gee...could you maybe understand why I might be more tense now than when I came in?

Today, I can barely move and the skin on my shoulders hurts to the touch...but my lower back and ass feel fabulous...

Oh, For the Love of God. WHAT Have I Done?

Right.

Today I broke up with my current place of employment. I marched right into my boss’ office and told him that at the end of my current contract I will not be returning and that he should start searching for a suitable replacement as I have been appointed to a fabulous new job with better pay, more perks and is suited to my field. Finding a replacement ought to be easy enough because, again, I still am unclear as to what it is that I am meant to do here.

Then I got chatting to a coworker. I told him that I dropped the proverbial bomb, as it were. He congratulated me. A discussion of my next post ensured. He began to outline what my year should look like at my new company, as he too is familiar with its employers and inner-workings. As he droned on about how things were going to be "different" for me at the new company, I increasingly became more nauseated and started to see spots.

“Oh, and don’t even get me started about the whole obligation to go to parties thing”, he said.

“What? Why? What’s that supposed to mean?” I stammered as I choked back the little bit of vomit that emerged from the pit of my stomach.

“Well, it’s just that whole, ‘she went to my party, so I am obliged to go to hers and I went to dinner at a WESTERN restaurant with this person, so I guess I should invite them to a meal at this OTHER Western restaurant…’ Oh, you know what that means as well as I do.” …
*insert evil laugh here*

With that, my eye twitch resurfaced and I can't say for sure, but think an old ulcer began to bleed. The impending feeling of dread and sudden loss of identity enveloped me as my coworker kept carrying on with the facts of the situation. Visions of endless administrivia, the inability to catch a few vital zzz's and a fire walled computer began to dance in my head --and don't mention the closed-toe shoe policy. Eight hours a day without checking Facebook and the inability to sport my latest pedi seemed, to me, a punishment worse than death itself. The fact that I am notoriously five minutes late for work everyday is my M.O. I can't change that shit over night!

And so I am sitting here now, questioning my motives and already lamenting for the days where I was the only Westerner in my office who was overpaid, barely worked and could polish off the latest in chick lit in one week.

In other words, I’m screwed.

Why is it For Men Only?

Dear Makers of Pocky Pretzels,

Yeah, I'm just wondering if girls are allowed to eat Men's Pocky, because I am a girl and I load up on them regularly to give me that 3p.m. jolt and I am hooked on the shit now, so I don't plan on stopping. Ever.

Sincerely,

Metrobabe in HK.

If The Far, Far Side Were to Go AWOL, Would There Be a Public Outcry Like That Of The Company Bitch's Blog Snub?

The answer, my friends, is no. And here is why.

Blogster / shit-stirrer / philanthropist Grant Miller of Grant Miller Media has declared war on TCB stating that “The Company Bitch hates you and wants you to die” in light of her somewhat recent hiatus. That's probably true. Erratic and snobby as she may appear on her blog though, the truth is, Bitch can write. And how!

Akin The Company Bitch, we here at The Far, Far Side can make clever quips about the daily mishaps in our lives. Yet they just don’t seem so cutesy and clever as TCB.

“But…why?” one may ask. Good question.

While The Company Bitch is the monologue of a young, leggy blond from somewhere in New York City, we here at The Far, Far Side are not. In fact we are elfin, brunette and hail from Canada – and not even Toronto. And we are in our thirties. Nobody cares about you when you are in your thirties. We are the complete and utter antithesis of all things The Company Bitch.

It does not stop there.

Random, only sometimes slightly funny and inarticulate at best, The Far, Far Side has no intention of trying to compete with TCB. We enjoy being steeped in mediocrity. We like to keep our expectations low so as to not disappoint our avid fans. We are like Snapple. We are number (three thousand and) two!

In conclusion, we here at The Far, Far Side will not be pulling a fast one and leaving all you loyal readers in the lurch for second-rate e-“literature”. And if we did, you will be sure not to notice.

Welcome back, Bitch.

Living in Asia means that I am exposed to some quality television and by quality television, I mean canned sitcoms that can be purchased cheaply by our local cable network. After all, it’s that or watch Cantonese soaps and Korean Hour every day and living in Hong Kong whilst working for a Korean company gives me my fill. So, besides having the good fortune of The Bold and The Beautiful reruns circa 1999, I get to watch a series of new ‘telenovelas’ from a pilot American television station.

MyNetworkTV has thus far shown two of it’s masterpieces on Starworld. The first being Desire: Table for Three, which showcased two brothers running from the mob and falling for the same girl and it turns into convoluted love triangle that ends…well, I am not sure how it ended. Frankly, besides some sweet-assed abs and soft-porn scenes, the acting is rancid. And with that, my excitement at the prospect of something good to watch, was fleeting and all in vain.

However, the end of Desire saw the beginning of a whole new guilty pleasure called Fashion House. Here is what the uber-reliable search engine Wikipedia has to say about it:

“Fashion House focused on greed, lust and ambition surrounding a violent corporate takeover of the business's hottest company. It starred Bo Derek as the ruthless head of the business and Morgan Fairchild as her long-time arch-rival. The show was known more for the leads' hair-pulling, name-calling, and vase-throwing than for its romance, passion and drama.”

Brilliant. There is nothing better than a good old fashioned cat-fighting scandal. The acting is pretty lame and Gloria Thompson’s boobs are hoisted to her chin, but none of that really matters because the storyline is slightly psychotic and Bo Derek has the best lines. Ever.

Morgan Fairchild: Is that supposed to scare me?
Bo Derek: [through stifled laughter] Is that dress supposed to scare me?
Bitch slap number 4567 ensues.


Loves it.

C'est Moi...

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Congratulations! You Are Now The Coordinator! Again!

After waging war with the administrators at my place of employment in the course of three months over the fact I was "the coordinator" since the beginning of my post, I won my case, and was awarded with the title "coordinator" -- again.

This, to me, is the zenith of workplace insanity. But oh well. Nothing shocks me anymore and I was glad to have the matter sorted once and for all.

However, the icing on the crazy cake was this. A general staff meeting was called in the "important meeting place" and all staff were urged to attend. After we all clamoured in and settled down, the new boss calls me to the front of the "important meeting place" only to present me with an official certificate complete with a company chop and signature indicating that I am now, in effect, the coordinator and had been since April 1st. Of course this not only confused my coworkers who, since September have been flinging shit on my desk and telling me to get it done, (and I gotta say --I am still a little bit confused about this role and not sure what "coordinating all the things" is meant to represent) but it sent me into hysterics. I had to literally bite my lip to the point of pain so as to refrain from laughing out loud.

Anyways, so now I have a shiny new peice of paper to add to my portfolio of crap and a flashy new title. Again. Oh, and more responsibility.

Shoulda kept my big mouth shut.

A Justifiable Week of Ass-Sitting

It's been pointed out to me that I have hit the proverbial "plateau" that most wearisome dieters and exercise fiends tend to do at some point. What this means is that no matter what one does in the line of physical activity, will be done so all in vain as the aforementioned one requires a rest. Thank God.

Saying that, starting this second, I will not forgo any physical activity of any sort. I will endure being slagged off in Cantonese by taxi drivers who must cart my sorry ass to work for a measly $15 HKD. I will move my refridgerator into my living room so I don't have to walk to get the leftovers from Dial-a-Dinner. In fact, I will pre-order all next week's dinners from Pizza Box. And what about school lunches, you ask? Six students = 5 lunch slaves and one to fetch my REGULAR Coke from the tuck shop. I may even look into doing work a la distance education style next week. After all, I do own a webcam...

So for all you disillusioned folks out there who have been working your tail off at the gym...look forward to the plateau...In the meantime, enjoy these inspirational recipes from my favourite website listed below.

http://www.candyboots.com/wwcards.html

We Now Return to Our Regularly Scheduled Program

Dearest and most worthy readers!

Do forgive my brief blogging hiatus, but being exceptionally busy and even more so important, I have little to no time for anything other than looking after myself. And being the selfish bitch that I am, here is a comprehensive list of all the things that I have been doing in the past couple of months:

1. translating Korean mathbooks to English
2.forming an unhealthy addiction to Facebook
3.experimenting with my hair part
4.taking regular walks
5.telling people I regularly running
6.reading beach trash chick lit
7. telling people I am reading from the "BBC Top Reads" list
8.trying new shampoos and conditioners
9.going grey
10. waiting for my housekeeper to come back from the Philippines so she can take out my garbage
11.drinking $2.00 beer in front of the Seven-Eleven in the red light district
12.having the life sucked out of me more and more each day I stay in Hong Kong

These are just a few of the things I have been up to over the past little while. Feel free to comment on the lameness that is my life.

Let's face it people. I am in debt to my eyeballs for a very valid reason. I live in Hong Freakin' Kong. Hong Kong is a shoppers paradise. In Hong Kong you can buy anything, in bulk, at a cheap price. In fact, just the other day, my co-worker came to school with a bag of sand and rocks for a science experiment. Did he collect it from the local park? Hell no, because aside from being a place where you can buy anything, HK is also one of the tidiest places I've been (I didn't say 'clean'...there is a difference). No, my co-worker bought a bag of sand and a bag of rocks - for $50 HKD.

Told you. Any. Thing.

Ahh...Ain't Love Grand

It’s not often that one gets to live the life like those on television. However, when one finds themselves in that particular situation, it never seems to turn out like it does on TV. In fact, it always seems to turn, spectacularly, to shit.

Now, I am referring to the situation of “where friends become more than friends”. And we all know who the most inspirational TV friends-turned-lovers are. People, I am talking about none other than Dawson Leary and Joey Potter. Rachel Green and Ross Geller. And of course, Jim Halpert and Pam Beesley.

While I appreciate the sentiment that guy-girl friendships can sometimes become so much more, I have all but given up hope that anyone is going to crawl through my window and discuss the philosophies of life and question “what it’s all about”. This is partially because I am a cynic and partially because I live on the 22nd floor. Nor am I inclined to think that someone will utter ‘Rachel’ instead of ‘Emily’ at the altar. But when one is faced with having to decide whether or not they must broach the subject, things become gray, there is little sleep happening and there is a lot of getting red in the face at the prospect that your good friend may see you naked.

But what happens if you don’t take the plunge? Do we let life go on, not say a thing because we are afraid of (to quote that bizarre little kid on Love Actually) getting the shit kicked out of us by love? Do we retreat into ourselves and hole up with an endless supply of Rocky Road, tissues and Sex in The City DVDs?

Or, do we risk it all and lay ourselves flat out there, exposed?

Here is where I ask myself, “Can I carry on like Jim Helpert? Can I afford to run away to Australia…again? Can I live with myself if I never divulge what I have carried around for so long? Can I really carry on with this analogy knowing that something definitely happens between Jim and Pam and I can’t articulate it because I live in Asia and we are one season behind The Office?”

The answer, my friends, is no. I can’t.

One Too Many

Oh, I am a charmer.

After popping yet another allergy pill to deal with my 4 week cold and drinking copious amounts of merlot, it was decided by my mates and I to go to Wan Chai for a mini-stalk, a dance or two, and some food at the local Western diner.

All I recall from the latter parts of the evening was eating a divine cheeseburger and getting mustard under my fingernails and making one of my dear friends embarassed because I, apparently, was a slightly rude to a gentleman who refered to me as "American". All in all, burger eaten, man properly told off and a cheap cab ride home makes for a perfectly pleasant evening in the red light district of Hong Kong.

This morning after having a ritualistic conversation re: last night's events, I apologized to my good friend and passed it off as being no big deal. To which she replies with a chortle,

"Oh! Let me say one word to you. Does 'Barbie' ring a bell"?

Of course, I have no clue to what she is refering and say, "Um, we were doing a rendition of Barbie Girl in the bar"? I really had no idea what she meant.

"Well, let me remind you. Us three girls walked into the diner and this nice man simply said 'You girls all have the same eyes, you must be sisters' (a completely civilized and nice thing to say, I admit). You, my dear, ripped a strip off him by saying, 'Same eyes? Same eyes? How is that possible. What, you're saying we are Barbie dolls? Same. Same. Same. Are you calling us generic? We aren't even related, for God's sake!'"

I pause, then laugh at how totally unbelievable it is and the memory of the eyes comment trickled back...then my friend goes on to say...

"You didn't stop there. I tried to be polite and change the subject and asked him where he was from and he said, 'Well certainly not America'. And you latched on to that one with a 'OH! So now he assumes just because of my accent that I am American.' He took his food then left the diner".

Oops.

Friendly Reminder: anti-histimines and merlot...not a great combination if you are wanting to socialize and meet new friends.