"Flowers As Reminders..."

Recently a friend told me to update my blog. I told him that I couldn't 'cos I was so uninspired. Plus nothing out of the ordinary happens to me that's worth blogging.

But today something extraordinary did happen: I received a bouquet of roses along with a box of chocolates!

Not quite a romantic at heart, though I do cry at sappy love movies, I'm normally indifferent to mushy, romantic stunts. But it's hard to keep your cool when the entire office is surrounding you, cajoling you to divulge the name of the person who sent the bouquet. And with all the giggling and squealing (yes this place is infested with estrogen), along with the heart-warming note, I couldn't help the blood rushing to my cheeks.

Maybe I should stop calling myself an unromantic and admit that I am a sucker for all things sweet and mushy-feely.

Thanks, to the anonymous sender, for reminding me how fun it is to be a girl.

Autobots...Transform!

I don't bother reminding people I was an IT grad who was once notorious for being a technophile - the girl who once had 2 computers running simultaneously 24 hours a day with AIM running all night long, programming away for the Language Department, and constantly scouring for new gadgets to add to her wishlist. That was then.

Nowadays, I can't be bothered. Ask me what processor I use and I'd probably reply Kenwood FP626, titanium blade. Very good on the tomato puree.

Although I'm still the resident Microsoft Office 'how-to' person at the office (yes my 4 years of college was not entirely wasted), I still call up the IT department for petty things. Slowly but surely I've become the IT-ignoramus I once despised - the one that calls up ICT services to tell them my Excel file just froze by its own accord through no fault of my own, the one that makes a fuss when my email-account password has expired and needs updating, the one that thinks shutting down the laptop is the answer to every problem.

So when I finally decided to rid my old cell phone for one that would serve me better at work (and by serve me better I mean have the ability to make calls without dying every 5 seconds) I found myself struggling to understand what the technoblogs and reviews were saying. What was once a language I spoke so fluently was now some ancient foreign language spoken to me by a toothless man with a lisp. It made me wonder how a simple concept of 2 plastic cups and a string could have turned so complex.

It's like the time they changed good ol' Small, Medium, Large to Tall, Grande, Venti. Gone are the days you could come in a coffee shop and scream "One bloody coffee, no cream!" Now it takes at least 2 minutes before you get to make your order, and even then you'll be lucky if you speak the language. "One upside-down venti ristretto Caramel Macchiato at 140 degrees, no foam, breve milk and extra whipped cream, please!"

I finally resorted to emailing pictures of the phones I had in mind to my IT counterparts and telling them to brief me on their specs. That was the day I finally graduated into an IT-illiterate. I can almost hear my professors cry in shame.

However, all is not lost. There are days when I am still able to weave my way through an IT/technological conversation without being discovered a fraud (mostly those held with my Mum or my chronically IT-challenged pharmacist sister), and of course I am still able to impart my knowledge to my accountant colleagues who still are in the belief that I am an IT God (my words of wisdom: Control-Alt-Delete). While some may laugh at my poor attempt of regaining any honor I have left as an IT graduate, I shall not cry defeat until the day comes where I forget how to Blog.

F1 Rocks! (Wait...who won again???)

I don't know what to say these days. Whatever's on my mind is usually said to my 3 Gossip Girls at work, so there's not much left on my mind to spill onto the screen at the end of the day. We hold regular B*Sessions which usually result in squeals, guffaws, facebook investigations, aci trips and tears-rolling-down-cheeks-laughter.

Good times.

I traded my normal Sunday classes for F1 last week and ended up having to go to the weekday classes on Tues and Thurs night. If you're asking me if it was worth the 11pm drive back home after class - it was worth every damn RM1,600. That's right, baby, Grand Stand seats.

Big Boss was scouring around Finance to dump his tickets, and after a long list of people declining, it ended up with me - I wonder how long the list was :p but I'm not complaining.

My sis and I prepared for RM20 burgers and RM5 tap water. Luckily, we were served free hot dogs, burgers, satays and drinks. Everytime I feel like quiting school, I remind myself this is why I need to get rich - First-class service.

After posing like a bunch of people who had RM1,600 to burn, we finally figured that we might as well splurge on RM50 F1 caps. So all-in-all, the whole thing cost us RM50 each :)

Oh and we left the race after 5 laps.

Don't be hatin' on me now.

Hello, World!

...apparently the earth didn't stop spinning while I was away...

Weird.

Sleepless across the continent

When you receive tickets for your next business trip, don't bother bringing that shopping list with you.

Business trip; biznis trip:
A deliberate or systematic infliction of physical or mental suffering by one or more organizations in an attempt to gather corporations or individuals for a social act of assembling for some common purpose. Hectic schedules involve checking in and out from hotel to hotel and flying from city to city across 10 states as well as attending endless meetings from 7.30am to 6.00pm before rushing to catch the 8.40pm flight to the next city only to be delayed to the 10.15pm flight.

Other than that, it was great fun. Fun being the part where you get to meet people and dine at the best Italian restaurants at the expense of others.

The elevator

Today was a tad slow. Nothing interesting ever happens so I couldn't have been happier when 1 o'clock came. I rush out my office to the elevator, already listing possible dishes I could have for lunch.

The elevator finally stops at my floor. The door swings open and in there stands THE Big Big Boss and the Big Boss (and some other guy).

Great. I reluctantly step inside, trying my best to act invisible. Awkwardly, I stand in between BBB and BB while they speak to each other and Guy 1. All the while I was hoping nobody would realize I was there and ask me a question. Or worse, my tummy would growl.

We stop at a floor below and BB gets out. The elevator door barely closes when THE BBB suddenly catches me off guard.

"Hah, Yazmin! How's the share market today?"
Shitshitshit. "Uh.."
"Yazmin is one of our officers," BBB cuts me off to introduce me to Guy 1. "She studied computers at CMU," he continues.
What the heck is the market price at again???
Guy 1 looks at me and holds out his hand and I grab it in relief. Anything to get out of answering BBB's share market question.
"Hi, I'm Chewbacca from K." It probably wasn't, but I wasn't paying attention.
"Yazmin." (Still gripping his hand.) RM11.50?
"Nice to meet you." Shake, shake, shake. Come on 2nd floor....RM11.60?
Ding!
"Ah, here's my floor!" says BBB. "OK then Chewbacca..." Gogogogogo!
I can almost smell sweet, sweet freedom. The elevator door bumps into BBB a couple of times since he's standing between the opening. I can't believe my luck.
"I'll see you later," he tells us, and says something that makes Chewy laugh.
I laugh along. Yay! I'm freeee......

"So... Yazmin... how is the share market now?"
....
**&$$#@#*!! Are you kidding me???
"It's unchanged at RM11.60, sir. Still the same," I say with such confidence I almost believed I was good at my job.
"Ah good, good. OK then. Bye!"
"..."

The doors finally close. And I'm left with Chewy feeling shaken.

And shamelessly impressed.

Morning traffic

8.00am is too early to be at work.

It takes a conscious effort to be on time, even when it's unnecessary since I always wake up before my alarm rings. As soon as I do, my mind creates mental blocks of time that I use to gauge my efficiency. If I'm able to pray and shower by 6.15am, then I'm too early and can take my time putting on make up. If I'm done showering and I head to my parents' room to primp (they have a nice big mirror) and dad is already home from the masjid, then I better buck up and might have to compromise my... no.. just kidding... there's no compromising with the make up bit. I have to look hot.

If I'm done on time, then I should be out of the house by 6.45am. I have to be at the first toll by 7.02am, and failure to do that will result in a 120km/j spree all the way to Sg. Besi. Depending on the weather and the density of morons on the road that day, my speed will vary - rainy days see me under the law doing a 90km/j or less.

Hell begins after Sg. Besi. And here's when I start my monologues - creating dialogs I'd have with people who cut in front of me, imagining I'm a kick-ass driver who'd swerve in and out of lanes without a single scratch, thanking the audience at my first rock concert with whoever's playing on the radio, etc etc. If you see me talking in the car, it's not a conversation on a bluetooth cell phone.

It's pretty much Snail City from there, and as long as it's 7.16am just after the eyewear billboard on my left with Amber Chia pouting at grumpy motorists, then I should be fine. If it's past 7.16am, then it'll be a bad day and I'll start thinking of excuses as to why I was late: car broke down? Road block looking for a gang of illegal Thai thugs? Motorcycle skidded in front of me so I had to stop and help him to his feet? Dog ate my car?

NPE is my lover. After fighting traffic all morning and shifting my foot from the accelerator to the brakes nine gajillion times, I actually light up when I see Exit 10. I always speak fondly of NPE even though it costs me RM3.20 everyday just going to and fro. And the best part is, the long stretch of road in front is sparse and I could do zig-zags across all three lanes at 100km/j. I could. But I'm a square, so the craziest thing I've done is go over 100km/j and already feel badass. Who's "Malaysia's Most Wanted" now, punk?

After all the fretting and excuses planned for the day, I always discover myself in the office compound by 7.45am. I could walk to my office backwards and blindfolded and still be early. But somehow it's rewarding to just arrive to an empty office and make it on time when you feel you're almost beaten. It's like mocking the system for making us all get to work by 8.00am against our will and shoving our timecards up their faces. If they thought they could make me late by making office hours start early, they were wrong.

Ah, revenge is sweet.