I've got the brains, you've got the looks.....

"Men don't make passes at girls who wear glasses (and who are smart)" - at some level, we women believe that most men don't dig chicks with big brains.

Big boobs, definitely, big brains - big question as to whether he'll stay or go.

It has to be true. Let's face it, why else would there be all that hoopla surrounding the size of a set of mammary glands? I sincerely doubt that women want a pair of 'perfect' breasts just so they can stand in front of the mirror admiring their own bustline. Surgery and silicone is ultimately for the attention gained from the opposite sex.

Big brains on the other hand can spell big trouble in the romance department of life. Something about smart, powerful women tends to put the average man off. They seem to prefer their women with a double D cup size but brains powered by a triple A battery - and if the battery ever dies, well, no harm done!

Men who appreciate women with brains do exist, though. After all, the fact that I know Barrack Obama is not a rare kind of coffee bean you can purchase at Starbucks but an African American senator whispered to be in the next US presidential race inspires rather than intimidates The Engineer.

But from what I know from my girlfriends and from my own unfortunate past, men like these are few and far between.
I know girlfriends who experienced a decline in dates, directly in proportion with their climb up the corporate ladder.

An ex of mine told me that he was dating me 'for my looks' and 'leave the thinking' to him. In fact, he used to sing that line from the 80s Pet Shop Boys song all the time "I've got the brains, you've got the looks, let's make lots of money."

It took me a while (I was like 20 then) but I eventually realized that "I've got the brains, I've got the looks and I'll make lots of money myself, thank you very much". Needless to say, I dumped him, grew up, adopted Destiny's Child "Independent Women" as my theme song and haven't looked back since. No regrets.

But to those girls who've adopted the 'blonde' act to get and keep their men - far from condemning you I say, more power to you. I think letting a man think you're stupid when you're actually smart involves a lot more brain power than most people realize.

So to all the women who're Independent or Not, Big Boobs, Big Brains or both - as Destiny's Child says it -throw your hands up at me!

Ugly boys

I have this fairly shaming confession: I find the Chinese boys from Imbi Plaza really cute.

I had my fair share of SPG days at uni when I fell in lust with all manner of blond-haired, blue-eyed boys. What to do? I was in a university where there were only about two Asian people, of which I was one. Naturally, you'd start to find even the whitetest of white boys pretty hot after awhile.

So I came back to KL and hurray, suddenly found it totally exciting to see Chinese boys again.

I’m not really the sort to like the tall, dark, handsome sort. I prefer my boys to be about my height (“too short” as all my friends like to point out). And there’s something just so endearing about the way the Imbi Plaza boys are so damn nice. Okay, so I know they just want to sell me stuff, but it’s amazing enough that they put up with my crap Cantonese and answer alllllll my questions (there are many, as I’m a techno moron) and give me these big toothy grins all the way, and reassure me that I can come back if there's ever any problem, and tell me that my Cantonese isn't actually that bad. It's so nice! (and I'm a sucker for flattery).

I rang Trisha one day and said, “Hey, I’ve just been to Imbi and you know what? I think the guys there are cute!”

She sighed very loudly and then, “Aiyoooooo, it’s because they’re all short and ugly and demented lah, right?”

The sick thing is that she’s right.

I used to really fancy this guy from work, who Trisha also knew. She said he looked like a goblin and would get totally disgusted and fed up when I talked about him. In fact, all my friends find my taste in my pretty terrible (which is good, as I’ll never, ever have that problem of fighting with friends over a guy).

When I started going out with my current boyfriend, I was shocked that everyone around me approved and actually found him hot too. (They were totally shocked too – they never thought it possible that I’d like somebody who was actually good looking).

In defence of my terrible taste, I must explain this strange obsession: you see, it’s not just a matter of my falling in lust with any old Ah Beng (the ugly peroxide streaks, gold rings and long fingernails are a total no-no).

The Imbi boys are perhaps more of a passing fancy, something just for fun. The (supposedly ugly) guys I seem to find really attractive usually come with the added package of some particularly fascinating talent. See, they’re ugly, but they’re talented, or incredibly intelligent. And we all know that the brain can be one of the most erotic body parts.

There’s this guy I know that I used to think was all “Ewwwww” and when I found out that some friends were trying to matchmake us, I panicked and screamed.

Then I discovered that he was a photographer (but a very low profile one, as he seems the quiet sort to just get on and do his own thing). And then I saw his photographs and they are JUST.SO.SEXY. So, suddenly, he became sexy too. And now everytime I see him, I see his fabulous photos and get totally turned on.

The goblin that Trisha can't stand writes SO.DAMN.SEXILY. Even though he does look like he could give Quasimodo a run for his money, he's just so clever, he edits all my work so it sounds more fabulous that I could ever make it, and he writes these totally fantastic pieces that make me salivate.

It’s just so perverse, isn’t it?

Trisha (and most other people) thinks I need help… or that at the very least I should just concentrate on looking at my boyfriend, instead of perving on ugly boys. Hah.

Million Dollar Mistake

I've been feeling kind of ill for the past few days hence the lack of entries on my part. At first I thought it was malaria but I don't think it is - otherwise I'd be dead by now!

I was all set to curl up on the sofa and feel sorry for myself when I saw this piece of news and I was inspired to spread the word: no matter how silly you think you are, there's always someone sillier than you.

Right now this guy must feel like the biggest buffoon on Earth:

That's American casino mogul, Steve Wynn, who was all set to sell his original Picasso, the famous Dream, to an art collector for USD139million.

That was before he poked a hole in it - with his elbow! If I'd done that, I'd have broken my arm just so I could hit myself with it!

The guy was gesturing with his hands while showing it to some friends and accidentally elbowed it. Now there's a hole in it and the deal is off. Steve apparently suffers from some kind of eye problem that affects his peripheral vision.

He's being philosophical about it though. He's taking it as a sign that he's supposed to keep the painting.

You're fooling no one, Steve. We all know you'll be hard pressed to find anyone who'll pay RM5 for it now!

I think this is the best feel-good story I've heard in a long time.

I remember all those times when I've bought a top or something at Dorothy Perkins, paid full price for it and gone back the next day only to find it on sale.

It generally takes a while for me to get over losing RM50 or whatever but now my bargain blunders don't seem so bad anymore.

At least I didn't poke a hole in my priceless Picasso!

Chaos

This is the first day in absolutely bloody ages that I've actually had time to sit down, eat chips at my own leisure and blog. What luxury! It's been a totally chaotic week - sleep whenever, wake up whenever, run here, run there, sit at my computer all doing work while waiting further instruction for more running here, running there, more work, more exhaustion.

But it' s been the most fun I've had in ages!

Which got me thinking about how everything's more fun when it's a mess and when nothing is ever in order.

Like sex is always more fun when it's messy, isn't it?
Parties are more fun when they're chaotic.
Gorgeously messed up looking rooms reveal so much more character than staid, tidy, anal, stainless-steel everything rooms.

I knew people who totally despised the girls on Sex and the City because they claimed real people wouldn't look so ridiculously immaculate and perfect all the time. I was appalled at the time - how dare they say anything against my favourite four TV people.

But then it does kind of make sense. I started to realise that some of the most beautiful people I knew looked like they'd just stepped out of a gypsy ring - enviably dishevelled hair (the real kind, not the sort that salons deliberately try to achieve with lashings of hair product), scuffed shoes, absolutely no makeup, and a wardrobe that was so outdated it was back in fashion again (without even trying to be so).

They were messy people, but they were also the sort of people who were really passionate about eating big, happy, full meals (none of that tiny-portion and zone diet nonsense). You know they'd also be messy- but-fantastic sex people, and the sort that would be far more likely to take a risk than the prim, immaculate, proper girls.

My friends organised a garage sale for charity recently so I made cupcakes for sale. I was up to my ears in icing all day long and still couldn't make them perfect. It was a sorry little attempt to be a baking genuis but the cakes ended up looking a little wonky, some were dropping out of their paper cases and the most creative thing I could get was chuck on some sprinkles and stick a cherry on the top.



Then I turned up at the garage sale and someone else had bought over these magnificent looking, perfect, gorgeously decorated, tidy, not-falling-out-of-their-cases cupcakes. It made my poor clumsy cupcakes look very awkward and second class.



But hot damn, MINE KICKED ARSE in the taste department and everybody said so, so neh neh neh neh to the tidy Heidis. The chaos was all worth it.

[There's a distinction to be made between this sort of messy-chic and plain old slobbiness. The latter is never attractive - it usually also signals some sort grave personal hygiene problem/deficiency, and a total lack of responsibility to themselves, their work and people around them.]

Being "messy" or living life chaotically cannot be learned. It's something that just sort of "is." The beautiful messy people I know with their beautifully chaotic lives can never be emulated. It would never work to try to be them. The point about these people, the way they do things, their lives, and the things they produce is the spontaneity that comes with it, their refusal to waste precious time perfecting false eyelashes and rebonding their hair.

It is the carefreeness that appeals, and the surprises that are thrown up by living this way that makes it so exciting...

... which is exactly what has made crazy, chaotic, exhausting week such mad fun!

Pluto....you're fired!

Did you know that Pluto is no longer a planet? More importantly, do you really care?

Well, just in case you do you can click on this link. Pluto is now known as a dwarf planet. In other words, our solar system is currently home to only 8 planets.

I'm not that into astronomy myself, so from a personal standpoint, this nugget of information is only mildly fascinating to me. On the other hand, I find the absurdity of the entire debacle is far more captivating.

Thousands of scientists/researchers/ astronomers got together a couple of months back to engage in a lengthy debate on the status of Pluto - a planet that is so far away that it might as well be a figment of the imagination. These scientists heads are, literally, in the clouds.

Meanwhile, back in our own backyard, troubles never cease and are, in fact, multiplying. Hundreds of animals are on the endangered list and the global warming issue is at boiling point. Nuclear threat is alive and well and there is still no cure for Aids or cancer.

Air travel is now so complicated that its almost comical. It has come to the point where we girls can't carry lipsticks on board an aircraft. I suppose this is just in case we use Estee Lauder's Danger (it might signify our intentions) or Lancome's Invincible Platinum (perhaps they think it might actually be Invincible Plutonium) to blow up the plane.

All this is going on and our scientists are sitting around squabbling about whether Pluto should be a dwarf planet or not.

Time and money well spent? Not!

I say, let's mind the business of our own planet before sticking our collective noses into Pluto's.

I believe more people are going to care about this Pluto




as opposed to this one anyway!


The kids are the only Earthlings who're going to benefit from this fiasco. From now on, they'll only have to remember 8 names instead of 9 when they learn about the solar system

Hmmm... if they were going to demote Pluto, why didn't they do it when I was still in school?

Happiness Is..

I was feeling philosophical the other day and this thought popped into my head: happiness, what is it?

Is it...

Waking up on the first morning of a holiday and catching a glimpse of a perfect ocean through your bedroom window?

Gazing at a loved one over the flicker of a single candle?
Cuddling a kitten you just saved from an awful life on the street?
Watching your mother smile as she opens her Mother's Day gift from you and finds exactly what she wants?

Or is it....

Spending an all expenses week at the Burg Al Arab in Dubai (ensconced in their most opulent suite, sipping champagne and eating nasi lemak on silverware)

"The Burg is reportedly the most luxurious hotel in the world"

Having money that rivals the trust funds of Paris and Nikki Hilton combined?
24-hour electricity, plasma TV and 200 24-hour channels to watch?
Driving a Ferrari/Lamborghini/Porshe (fill in the blank) on the section of the Autobahn in Germany where the speed limit doesn't exist?

Or is it that we want every single one of those things on those lists and that's why we're never really happy for long?

Happiness is...someone to love, work to do and a clear conscience - I read that when I was a kid (It was engraved on plaque I received as a souvenir for performing the James Bond Theme on the organ. It was for a Christmas concert at my Yamaha music school- but that's a whole other story!)

While I've never forgotten those words, I find it really hard to remember them when I really, really need to!

Maybe happiness is elusive because we make it so. Maybe I should remember the time when performing the James Bond theme and receiving a souvenir for it was enough to make me happy - no matter how uncool it was!

Poor old Trisha

I know this is totally evil of me and she is going to really hit me with her giant heavy handbag when she gets back, but I actually find poor old Trisha’s lack of electricity thing quite funny (so many of you dear readers are gonna hate me for this too aren’t you?)

I mean, I feel really shitty for her too because I couldn’t last half an hour without electricity, but just thinking of gorgeous, darling, diva Trisha stuck in a place that schedules power outages is so ironic and tragic, it’s almost quite funny. (Also it's slightly irritating knowing that she can breathe in fresh air, so she won't need the air conditioning anyway - haze is just too awful over here at the moment and she sure dunno how lucky she is being far away by nice seasidey air!)

I suppose it would make more sense if you knew what Trisha was like – she is a Vogue front cover, all the time (and I mean that in a good way). And imagining Vogue in a place with no working ventilators, air conditioner, TV, computers or even coffee machine is so ironic and tragic, it’s almost quite funny, right?

Also, partly because a selfish part of me is like, “HAHA see, now you have to come back to KL and hang out with meeeee and 24-hour electricity instead of the lions!!!!” (I miss my best pal! *sob*)

Poor Trisha.

Come home lah. Tenaga Nasional loves you (and isn’t even that expensive to have).

Love,
Trixie xxx

The rather attractive colleague

It helps when colleagues are somewhat attractive - it gives you that much more incentive to actually do some work and look brilliant for a change.

Of late, I've been harvesting a silly infatuation with one of my bosses (well, okay, he's only 4 years older than me so the term "boss" doesn't quite work even though he is higher up than me on the work hierachy).

Of course, just me luck that he' s incredibly businesness-like and no-nonsense (which probably just makes the whole crush thing more fun lah). I bounce up to him at the office or whenever I see him and bellow out his name before cracking some silly joke or commenting on his hair (apparently, men like comments about their hair?!). He laughs a bit and then goes straight into talking about the last book, next edit, that brochure, this text.

Sometimes I come home from wherever and there's this blinky orange MSN chat window from him and I'm all, "Oh yay!!! I wonder what he has to say?" I think that everytime, and everytime, it's just an order to do more work or a diplomatic reminder to do something I haven't done yet. Like, what else could it be? Then I'm like, "Oh. Work. Pooey."

Then I start having weird dreams about him and in the dreams he's REALLY nice and REALLY fun and we're just hanging out, chilling talking and stuff. When I wake up I think to myself, "Oh my god, he's sooooo nice. I can't wait to go talk to him." And of course, when I do go talk to him, he's nothing like he is in those dreams and is looking distracted and stressed and totally not "just hanging out, chilling talking and stuff." Cheh.

But it seems to be working. It gets me working, I'm damnbloodyrajin and meet all my deadlines. Boss has to deal with lots and lots of shitty people, so I like to think that me meeting my deadlines and getting things done ahead of time (totally amazing for me) makes a difference. And it does cos the other day he was bitching to me about having to work with these shitty people and told me how much he appreciates working with me and the other writers. I was all *blush blush* and hurray.

It's so perverse isn't it? It's like a grown up version of wanting to be teacher's pet, except a whole lot more complicated and involving hormones. The thrill is just the same though - acknowledgement or those few rare moments of gentle flirting (if you can even call it that!) are soooo like the gold star sticker at the end of a spelling test!

So you see, crushes are good for the workforce, productivity and improving one's motivation to work - I recommend everyone find themselves someone to fall in love with from behind their desks.

Chest Hair aka Meaningless Poll 2

Okay guys - after all that bitchin' and whinin' bout the power, I thought its time to live on the lighter side for a while. Besides, Drama Queens are SO unattractive ; )

So, its time for (dddddrrrrrrr - drum roll) another Meaningless Poll!!!

Feel free to vote. It didn't take long to come up with a pointless topic for today's poll. After all, what could be more meaningless than chest hair?

Free polls from Pollhost.com

A sexier man is a man with....

A little hair on his chest (NB: I don't mean a hutan, just a little hair) A super smooth torso?

PS: Okay, I'll admit it. The real reason I posted this poll is so I could have an excuse to post those gorgeous chests....

Power Woes - Again!

I'm SO angry right now, I could scream!!!



I know nobody in Malaysia is going to care but I just have to announce this: The management of the new apartment I'm in, which is supposed to have a generator switched on when there is no power, has decided to start rationing power.

This means that the generator will be switched off for 4-5 hours during the day which means that I can't use much of the kitchen, which means I can't watch TV , which means I can't listen to music and which means that I can only use the computer and the wireless modem as long as the battery lasts.

This-is-not-good-news.

I'm highly tempted to come back to Malaysia just so I can have 24 hour, uninterrupted glorious electricity!

I'm sure there's a rational explanation for the power rationing but to borrow Margaret Mitchell's words from Gone With The Wind, "Frankly my dear Tanzania, I don't give a DAMN!"

In fact, I'm the one who's going to be "Gone with the Wind" if this high-blood-pressure inducing rationing thing keeps up.

Girls like me, SO need to be NOT in a third world country!!!!

All you people at home, enjoying the fruit of Tenaga Nasional's labour, please spare a thought for poor little 'ol me...

Too fat?

And while we're on the subject, what is it that constitutes being too fat?

It seems ironic that while it is such a part of Chinese custom and old tradition that fat equates to wealth, prosperity and beauty, some of KL's skinniest people around are Chinese! And darling, I'm quite sure not all of these skinny Winnies are "born like that." I've heard enough stories about girls surviving on latters and see enough obsessive thin-thin girls exercising themselves to death at the gym to pooh-pooh away that theory.

But anyway, this isn't just another bashing session of thin people. It's a bashing of people who love to monitor your weight and can't wait to point out how very fat you are.

We were properly, hugely clubbed down a few months ago when Trisha wrote this column and I posted this follow up blog entry was published. Remember?

Of course, in typical *ahem* plebian Malaysian style, the only way to get back at us was to hurl insults about just how fat we must be, how we will never be like the gym bunnies etc etc To the ignoramuses, calling someone fat is apparently just the most awful thing you could say to someone.

*Oh, we were so distraught we cried blood*

HAH.

Let's set things straight. I'm a US size6/Australian size 8/UK size 10 and in most local stores, I fit into a medium.

But in the eyes of most M'sians I'm grossly overweight.

Now logically, if I'm a "medium," this means I'm neither "large," nor "small" - it means I'm in the middle somewhere, average. But the logic doesn't work. I'm still fat and sales assistants tell me I should try a medium as if it were prescribing something very wrong.

Funny, because when I was in England, people would be genuinely amazed when I told them I felt fat and needed to lose some weight. Their big eyes (because you know how big Westener's eyes can get) widen big big in surprise and they go, "But why? You're already so small!"

I guffawed into their faces because at first I thought they were being sarcastic, but no, they really meant it. Took me bloody ages to figure that out, what with being brainwashed in this part of the world that I'm such a fatty.

Back for holidays one year, I sat bemoaning to my cousin and her husband about how it was shitty being considered fat back in here in Asia.

I wailed, “I’m so huge here. You know, in countries like Australia and the UK, when I go shopping, I fit into a small.”

There was a spasm of bewilderment from my cousin’s husband as he laughed so hard he choked into his pasta. He was appalled and totally disbelieving.

And then, WHY the incessant need of people here to point out that you've put on weight? Surely, any girl knows when she's put on weight - the fact that your clothes feel tight is indication enough. But just to make sure you really know, the kaypohchees must inform you, in different variations:

"Wah! You're fat already lah."
Or
"Eh, you put on weight issit?" (they ask gravely, like discussing death)
Or
"Waaah... you must be eating very well, huh?"

I even had a shop assistant from a store I visit quite often tell me that: "Eh... sudah gemuk ah?"

In any case, there are "bigger girls" who are absolutely stunning - like fabulous Sophie Dahl and gorgeous Kate Winslet:



Imagine if these girls came to M'sia - would everyone laugh them down for being " too fat?!"

All a matter of perception, of course, but the point is, why can't people just get over the whole damn hang up in the first place.

Who cares if you're too fat/too thin - what does matter is whether you're healthy. You could look gorgeous but be a wreck on the inside and feel like shit - and what's the point in that?

Recently, I got to thinking about which period in my life I was the happiest and most blissed out. I surprised myself by realising that it was during high school, when I was 20 kilos heavier than I am now, and couldn't fit into anything. But life was hearty, I'd eat a pizza whenever I wanted to eat a pizza and I was having the time of my life.

Fast forward 5 years when I was at my thinniest at university, had great hair, had my pick of the lot with the boys....and it actually all felt a bit ordinary.

So heck, down with the kaypohs, the boring (thin) stuff shirts who naysay cheesecake. I'm a size 10 and I'm going to learn to love it.