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.

Ahh, Christmas is among us and I have lost the spirit already. So, in order to regain my Christmas cheer, I jammed my iPod with all manner of festive tunes. I have to say that it's amazing what listening to Kenny and Dolly can do to lift one's spirits while dodging King's Road's pedestrian traffic at 7:30 a.m.

But one observation I do have is this: whilst listening to Mariah's rendition of "All I Want for Christmas", she states that she "doesn't want a lot for Christmas" and that she "don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas Tree". Knowing M as the sort of Unstable Mabel that she is re: relationships, that probably is sort of true. However, you can't convince me that if Mariah Carey gets jack shit for Christmas, she won't be pissed.

Cable Television Purgatory

It's Friday night.
It's 12:16 a.m.
I am still in my twenties, reasonably good looking and rather a joy to be around.

And I am watching Walker, Texas Ranger...guest starring Hulk Hogan.

I got nothing...

Pick-up Lines That Have Been Used on Me Before

This is an honest-to-god list of pick-up lines that have been used on me.

Only a couple have been sucessful.

Nice shoes. Wanna f#@k?

Hey, you look like Ricky Lake. After she got not fat. Want to make out?

Canadian? I love beavers!

Wanna lock crotches and swap gravy?

Hey, you look like that alcoholic lesbian with the big tits on Will and Grace. Wanna make out?

Him: Excuse me, can I get by please?
Me: And why in hell would I let you do that?
Him: Well, let me buy you a drink and I'll tell you why.
Me: OKAY!!

You're really short. Like my mom.

Me: Oh shit! I spilled drink on your handbag, Friend! Let me rub it off.
Friend: That's okay. I know that you like to rub bags *wink*.
Him: Yeah, I hope that she will be rubbing my bag after you leave.

How much?

It's a fact.

Two English Nationals interviewed out of four have never heard of Twinings Irish Breakfast Tea.

Does Tony Blair's foreign policy know no boundaries?

When presented with pictoral evidence pulled off Google's historical periodicals, one English National accused the said evidence of being "Photoshop'd" and remains skeptical of the tea's existence.

The other English National had no comment.

The People of Busan Find Me Interesting.

Recently, I gave an interview to a newspaper in the greater Busan Metropolitan area. This is because the people of Busan, obviously, want to know what I have to say and I don't blame them. Nevermind the fact I have never been to Busan and I am not entirely sure where it is exactly.

Being quizzed on current affairs several times before by very important publications [school newspapers, blogs and random Chinese students wanting an interview with a foreigner], I was still amazed at the polished professionalism of the reporter. His questions were articulate and pointed and he seemed to have a real nack for interpreting the "what the fuck" expression I usually wear in most situations in my new work environment. It's the same expression I cart when people keep referring to me as 'the coordinator' and tell me that I have to 'coordinate all the things'.

Riiiiiiiiight.

Nonetheless, I am sure to be popular and admired for my insight and immense intelligence...in Busan. Too bad I don't read Korean.

This is an email that I sent to my friend, D, regarding an environmental beach cleaning on the upcoming Saturday. This is the sort of shit that I grind out on a daily basis.

Hmm,

This does sound interesting, but I am not one to give up my Saturday unless it is guaranteed some bitching, food and clothes shopping.

I am a menace to the environment.

In an effort to help the ease global warming and such, I will recycle old phones, donate clothing, and use only the aircon when in dire need. I also am not a fan of bright lighting because it shows my greys, my dimpled thighs and my wrinkles. So those will stay off. That has to account for something.

I am intrigued by the photo competition, however. But, I am sure that more interesting rubbish is alive and well in my refridgerator.

Also, there might be some hot guys involved in this endeavour because hot guys tend to care about that stuff, because they likely think that there will be hot girls there...and it is nice to do something for the environment.

Realistically, this would involve me getting into a swimsuit if we are going on a junk and frisk about in the water afterwards. I am very white. Extremely pastey...AND I am desperate for a bikini wax. I am holding out for Oz. That's in almost two months.

And do we really want to swim in waters from which we have just scooped used tampons, condoms and biohazardous waste??????

What are your thoughts?

J.

In a city of millions, I sometimes get bored. In fact, I am bored right now.

I have even gone so far as to look up boredom on Wikipedia. This is what it said:

People often experience boredom in circumstances where they are forced to wait (often at airports, in prisons or at government offices) .

Apparently serving a jail term equates waiting for a flight or visiting the DMV. I think that this is probably true if you are dealing with Air Canada or the Canadian Government. This made me laugh and forget, momentarily, that I was bored.

But I am over it now.

I only noticed this a few days ago, and though I am not completely sure, but I think I saw what might have been my first sighting of hot dog fingers -- but again, I cannot be certain.

To my prior knowledge, this condition was a phenomenon. I didn't realize that it actually existed until I noticed the newspaper-stand man handling large bundles of the SCMP with his freakishly large fingers on his left hand. I thought, "Hmp, that's the most bizarre thing I've seen in ages," and then I forgot about it. But I saw him again on the way home from work, and there they were again, passing out adverts.

So, I decided to do some reconaissance work once I got to my flat and Googled images of hot dog fingers. As suspected, there was mention of The Office episode where somebody lists this particular condition as a medical problem for which they require medical insurance and Dwight takes a near conniption at this request. This made me snicker because that is where I initially heard the term and it does sound kind of made-up. My Google finding only lead to confusion, however, as it appears that hot dog fingers are meant to be long and skinny, much like the European hot dog. What I saw today was more like a cheddar smoky that you get in North America. From a cart outside the local watering hole. With loads of cheese and sauerkraut and bacon bits. I heard that's where they are and what you put on them.

Yeah.

What I Did on My Way to and From The Gym Today...

1. Walked towards gym. Stopped at deli. Ate one turkey on whole grain sandwhich at deli.
2. Went across street to convenience store. Bought and drank one UHT chocolate milk "drink" box en route to gym.
3. Walked past gym and went to second deli. Bought bag of sour cream and onion chips. Sat down and ate said chips.
4. Went to gym. Participated in low-impact yoga class. Keeled over on ass during difficult pose. Again.
5. Walked towards home. Stopped at McDonald's. Entered McDonald's. Purchased double cheese and iced tea "drink". Continued move towards home with bag in hand.

A would-be perfect day which I hope to repeat tomorrow...minus the gym part.

Dating Hatrick: Series One: Single Fathers

Foreword

My Saturday Friend and I have mulled over many a-time my dating history as, for most, it is cause for endless entertainment. Clearly neither my friends nor I have interesting lives at nearly Thirty. After I really got to thinking about the past relationships, it occured to me that I have been a serial dater in that my dating scenarios mostly happen in threes. Dating Hatrick is a mini-series dedicated to such situations. Hang on, it's going to be a not-so-exciting ride (a single girl needs to get her kicks somehow in the City that Sex Forgot).

Series One: Single Fathers

As it turns out, there was a time in my life where I dated single fathers and single fathers only. I didn't seek them out. It just happened that way. Three in a row. Two of them, my family did not know about. The one with the adorable children, however, I thought my mother needed to know about. This was only because I blurted the news out after there was a family tragedy. The news did not seem so horrible then. I knew this tactic would work because I similarily divulged that I had a body piercing...along side the news that I was dropping out of university. It worked then, and as suspected, it had worked now. I do not, however, recommend trying this at home.

Ha! But it only gets better from there. One single father in question actually tried to hide his singlefatherhoodness from me! I knew he had a kid. He knew that I knew he had a kid. My friends knew that he had a kid and they also knew that I knew he had a kid. Yet, he still hid this minute detail from me. So, after, oh, two months of this cat-and-mouse relationship he finally 'confessed' that he had a child. I never saw him again.

The third father in question? Incredibly hot-assed guy. We still chat from time to time.

Why I Miss Working With The Hong Kongese

Apparently if you work in an office in Hong Kong, you are entitled to take naps at your desk. I know this because I have worked with the Hong Kongese for two years and have caught some of my best shuteye at my cubicle.

Siesta paraphernalia varies from person to person. I have seen some quite sophisticated set-ups; from pashminas as blankies, to Hello Kitty cushions for comfort, to timers being set to revive workers after lunch. That last one was my idea. At first I was mesmerized by this whole act. But then, I began to realize that it was a fabulous idea after I, too, learned the fine art of catching forty winks in 15 minutes. As it turned out, it revolutionized my entire work day.

The Hong Kongese are very hard-working people, so why shouldn't they nap? The rush hours far differ from those in the Western world as seven to nine p.m. is the average time to knock off. These people need their kip. The truly genius part of this whole situation is that when you take a lazy nine-to-fiver, add in a few zzz's between meetings and take your full hour lunch...you've got yourself one sweet-ass workday.

Such a shame I don't work with them anymore...

Things I Never Thought I'd Hear Myself Say

I can't wait to get that Brazillian wax.

Westlife: Pop Sensation or Suit-Wielding Brainwashing Crooners Steeped in Mediocrity??

The Venerable Vicky Pollard was quite right to be upset when she swapped her baby for a 'rubbish' Westlife CD.

This year's Miss World beauty pageant entertainment was none other than the extrodinarily wrinkled boy band themselves performing none other than Bette Midler's The Rose. Tres originale. This leaves one with the question, are they really so rubbish that they cannot write their own songs?

Though they are wildly popular, the perception of the pride of Ireland varies from region to region. In the Motherland, common folk have never really considered Westlife to be the all time best pop sensation. In fact, I imagine a lot of you are scratiching your heads in wonderment as you read this thinking 'Waa? Who? Westjet? Don't dem dere lads fly planes, er something?' Yes, yes they do.

It seems that their popularity knows no boundaries especially in places like the United Kingdom and Australia. Could it be their drippy originals? Or, it could be the very public breakup between Kerry and Bryan McFadden, and Bryan and Delta Goodrem's hookup. That's what caught my eye. That's how I got to know who Westlife actually was...well, that and trying Kerry's "chips and curry diet". That was rubbish too.

Entertainers or Brainwashers who rehash elevator favourites? The jury is still out on this one. But my genuine concern for what these dapper dudes were doing to the younger generation came to light when I had a group of students convinced that Mandy was a Westlife original. Monsters! This, and last night's rendition of The Rose, sparked my interest as to whether or not they rely on their own music or performing safe covers that have already received musical accolades. Some of their works include Uptown Girl, If Tomorrow Never Comes, Seasons in the Sun and My Girl. Just reading that list warms the cockles of my heart. Who wouldn't love these guys?

Rest assured, though. Westlife will not be doing any Milli Vanilli or William Hung anytime soon.

Reasons Why I Converted To Blogism

This is why I converted to Blogism; the TV lineup on a Sunday which goes as such:

06:30 Whose Line Is It Anyway?
07:00 World's Most Amazing Videos
08:00 Billboard U.S. Countdown
09:00 Hogans Heroes
09:30 Get Smart
10:00 The Bold & The Beautiful
12:00 Desperate Housewives
13:00 One Tree Hill
14:00 Boston Legal
15:00 The Office
15:30 Two And A Half Men
16:00 Kevin Hill
17:00 Business Week Asia
17:30 Travel Asia
18:00 Ncis
19:00 Desperate Housewives
20:00 Oprah Prime Time
21:00 Miss World
23:00 Hollywood Shootout
23:30 Oprah Prime Time


Now, this is one channel is my cable 'package'. Anything else I have is in a foreign language or twenty-seven seasons behind North America. Great.

While I do admit that this is a pretty good lineup that clearly caters to the expat contingent and is mostly based on popular demand, I cannot fathom why anyone would ever want to watch two hours straight of The Bold and The Beautiful. I know this because I know when I return to the Motherland once a year, I don't board the plane saying, "Yesss, two months of The Bold and The Beautiful...yessssss!!" But I have to say that it is a seriously fucked up story. Sleep around much, Brooke? Dye job much, Sally? Made up names much, Ridge? You get the point.

This is why I have defected to the Land of Blog...so I don't obsess over things like that.