Saturday, January 28, 2006

Gym bunnies

It's too bad Trisha's off in Bangkok and had to miss the publication of her own column entry about gyms this week. It's a hoot, absolutely hilarious and completely true... I'm quite sure she modelled the whole entry on me and the other gym girls we're both friends with - and if you've read the entry, you'll know that the caricatures she paints of narcissistic gym bunnies isn't very flattering (that's the point, of course). The problem is, the caricature isn't really a caricature - that's mostly exactly how it is. (And the poor People at the Corner really are left to suffer silently under their baggy tshirts).

So yes, the other gym bunnies and myself squeeze ourselves to the front because just love love love the attention and well, you know just how infatuated we all are with the adorable gym boys (Even if they are all gay). It's true, we have memorised all the steps, so we like to think we're doing our bit of community service by "being a guide" to the People in the Corner. Surely it's better to have someone who knows what they're doing in the front than someone who keeps falling off their step board? We've made friends with all the other Gym Bunnies, and we form a little alliance right up there in the front, preening in front of the mirrors and making eyes at our own fabulous reflections. (If I don't wear my glasses to those gym classes, my stomach looks a little more toned than it really is in the mirror). We wouldn't admit it openly, but we snicker silently in our heads when someone new to the class keeps missing a beat and can't figure out right from left ("right foot! right foot first!").

Arrogant, aren't I? Yes, well, see, that's a part of the whole act of the gym. You don't mean to be a gym bitch - you just end up being one, even if in parody. You don't start off meaning to be mean - but when shed a few pounds, manage to squeeze yourself into expensive lycra-tops and perfect the choreography so you're not fumbling about like a drunk, you feel you have reason to be smug. Gym Bunnies don't despise the People in the Corner for who they actually are, but for the constant reminder they pose of our former, unfit, baggy-tshirted selves.

But anyway, yes, Trisha is entirely right in her article. The Gym is a merciless place, turning even soft gentle girls into prowling mean-spirited cats. And so, in spite of my over-zealous arrogance, I tip my hat to the People in the Corner for not giving a shit about the Gym Bunnies and for having the perseverance to come back to exercise.... because that is the point right? To work out?

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Don't tread on a girl's tail

Oo er... this is looking rather sparse - we've both been up to our eyeballs in work and spend the rest of the day battling tremendous traffic. (Why does it take me 1 hour to get from PJ to Bandar Utama?) This leads to many a foul temper so we've both tried to stay clear of any and everyone lest we unleash a terrible temper and send the minions we work with running off crying. Aren't we generous?

Which brings me on to the subject of girls and their terrible moods. It must be acknowledged that while men are usually aggressive by nature, this doesn't always seem to be a bad thing: they just want to be top dog, leader of the pack, but mostly they remain chummy among themselves. They punch, they fight, then they extend their hand to help up the guy they just floored.

I've been giving this a bit of thought recently, and have realised that women - despite their sentimentality, their remarkable ability to emphathise with anyone who's suffering anything and their unceasing willingness "talk things through" - are far more dangerous to be with then men. Don't step on a girl's heels - if she wasn't in a bad mood and you put her in one, she'll remember that very incident for many, many years to come; if she was in a bad mood, well, you just made it worse and she'll remember you for that too.

Girls find extreme delight in scheming and planning and formulating extensive battle plans in their heads with the singular aim of bringing deep malicious harm to whoever wronged her. This isn't just the casual slap on the head, mind, but piercing, ugly words or manoeuvres that aim to bring deep seated harm into someone else's heart so it hurts them for far longer than any physical assault would. And what's most worrying about all this is, as I said before, the fact that she finds incredible sadistic delight in planning this whole thing. If and when the plan succeeds and the victim falls prey to terrible awful pain, the more extreme among us then rejoice further, celebrate, toast champagne to themselves in diamond-crusted flutes bought specially for the occasion.

So, lesson of the day: be very careful whose Escada heels you step on - she'll make you pay... and you wouldn't want to give her that pleasure, would you?

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Girls day out II

Ooh yes, we did have a fabulous one! Original plans were to go to the gym first before being greedos at the milkshake haven - didn't work. Only one of the girls did a work out. I stayed in bed, Trisha went out on an industrious errand and the remaining one sat at home nursing away a bad hangover.

Trisha's right - while boys have their boys nights out perving on girls' short skirts and guzzling disgusting amounts of beer (beer bellies are just never desirable - why don't men understand that?), girls take what seems like the milder option of making themselves sick over sugar and discussing very um.. enlightening things: like how to make the biggest cake in the world and marriage. Got slightly carried away there slating the whole idea of marriage before I remembered Trisha's married, and another of the girls is about to be - it's very easy to pretend you're forever single and living that life when you're among the girls, no matter what your marital or dating status.

And because of that, girls days out can be just that little bit naughtier than a boys night out - the difference is that while boys usually get inebriated and do (stupid) things while under the influence of external substances, girls are fuelled by nothing other than their own mischievous, scheming minds, all while remaining entirely sober. And when sobriety cooks up devious plans more cleverly and shrewdly than inebriation, it might be time to start being slightly wary of a girl's supposedly innocent girly luncheon.

Oooh but let's not give the whole game away....

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Girls Day Out

It looks like I'd really better start writing coz the blog is now official! Besides, Trixie (who is a faithful blogger as you can tell) is going to finally get tired of me and tick me off! Air kisses to you Trixie

We both just went out on the town with two of our darling friends from the dreaded gym for a girl's day out(I'll tell you why the gym is a dreaded place in one of my column entries). It was all absolutely fabulous dahlings! We got all dolled up and aside from some precarious near misses when it came to being smashed by bad drivers in Bukit Bintang, everything else turned out well.
We went to this place that serves absolutely SINFUL cakes (the slices are so large that they're in danger of falling off the plate) and milkshakes and we sat around ooh-ing and aah-ing as only girls can.
I think girls need the company of just girls - to talk about boys, laugh at the silliest things (like people who insist on dying their hair blonde when they shouldn't) and take 'funny face' photographs.
A girl never outgrows something like that. I know someone who reads our columns who's sixty years old and still thinks of herself as a girl!
I'm home now and revelling in being energised by my girlfriends. The boys can have their beer nights out. Give me sugar and sweet company any day : )

Friday, January 13, 2006

Looking pretty

Everyday, I stand in front of my overflowing wardrobe and think that same thing that every girl thinks at least once a week: "I have nothing to wear." I've wondered how it's possible that a wardrobe can have so many clothes and nothing looks good for the day.

Then I started thinking back to the days of university... when I lived off-campus for a year in a house with no mirrors and left the house every morning without a clue what I looked like. It was the same year I was editing the university newspaper which meant little sleep, no social life and the distinct indifference to what I looked like when I trampled onto campus every morning.

Strangely enough, I seem to remember that I got the most attention from boys that year - everyone wanted to flirt with me, and one of the boys I ended up dating for a bit told me he'd adored me from a distance the entire year. My first thought was not that it was so romantic of him to be pining away from afar, but that it was slightly blind of him to have thought my mullet (growing out from GI Jane hair, or lack thereof) and oversized jumpers were in any way attractive.

The other day, I traipsed out to meet some friends in, literally, something I just threw on. Giant skirt, old t-shirt and ungroomed hair. They all exclaimed that I looked so lovely that day. Like, how?!

Then, if and when I throw on something magnificent, new, shiny, disgustingly, beautifully in fashion, nobody bats an eyelid.

So perhaps I should stop trying, start improvising on the spot with whatever my hand first picks out from the lucky draw of my wardrobe. Everyone seems to love me better that way - dishevelled, ugly, uncoordinated. Au naturel, maybe?

Sunday, January 08, 2006

The go-ahead

Ok, we confess - we'd started this blog before getting permission from the editor. We experimented a little before throwing the idea at her ("Surprise! Happy new year! More trouble from your writers!"). We hadn't told anyone else about it though - thought we should get the go ahead from her first before we went full steam and started um... insulting the whole country.

Before we do start spewing rubbish at our dear readers and inciting great unrest and the like, Trisha and I would like to make it clear that although this blog is inspired by and an off-shoot of our column in StarWeekend, it is not directly related to, nor to be considered an initiative of The Star or any of its publications. As such any opinions, views or attitudes expressed here are entirely our own and do not reflect or uphold those of The Star. So please don't ring up those poor people at the papers and harrass them over something you've read here... Because in all probability, they'll have no idea what you're talking about, or they'll tell you to get lost.

Anyway, a big thanks to our ed Sharifah for giving us the column and then okaying the blog (as if we weren't demanding enough as writers). She's fantastic and lovely in every way, has rather the most desirable collection of shoes, and we both want to be just like her when we grow up. Lots of love and onward ho with All a girl wants!
T&T
xoxo

Thursday, January 05, 2006

The new year!

Happy Noo Year! Hope you all had a splendid one. I had a quiet one this year, determined not to expose myself to the sweat and grime of a hundred people and terrible traffic. Did any of you manage to brave it? So I greeted 2006 in a house full of crazy women, mulled wine and a girl who spent all evening trying to make a battery-operated spaceship fly.

As for the four Christmas parties on Christmas Eve - they each got better than the one before it. The last one - absolute madness in a house full of immaculately dressed, beautiful boys, though none that were remotely interested in me - they were all gay. Which brings us back to that unending question of why just about every decent looking, interesting guy here in KL just ain't straight... something to ponder over the next year.

Anyway, there's now another 12 months to change the world, achieve world peace, become a better person etc etc I've made no new year resolutions this year so that I wouldn't have to break any and feel guilty the rest of the year. I am hoping, however, that 2006 will bring something slightly better than 2005, which was just awful for most people I knew. But anyway, let's not complain. It's only the first week of January and I should spare everyone my cynicism, if only for this month.

Trisha seems to have disappeared into a void of her own busy schedule so I shall have to poke her in the eye and get her to start writing again. Nobody wants to be subjected to my endless, tiring insights to nothing in particular.