Vickie Versus Roach
posted on Wednesday, August 16, 2006 @ 11:53 pm
I stood there, alone in the middle of my bathroom, bladder full. There, right next to the toilet, was a medium-sized cockroach. It wasn’t moving; just there, waiting for me. I kept muttering “I can do this” to myself, kept muttering “you can do this” to my poor bladder sphincter; but couldn’t even move one inch closer to the unwanted visitor.
After 60 minutes of self-assurance and excessive swearing, Vickie versus Roach: Vickie 1, Roach 0.
Ah, it’s nice to empty the bladder — properly. You know, into the toilet.
Hmm, yeh, and the cockroach was already dead by the time I discovered it.
Dude, my entomophobia is impossible…
During BIOS1162
posted on Saturday, July 29, 2006 @ 12:32 pm
Lecturer: Remember, no sandals or thongs in practical classes. Everything must be covered up.
Vickie (only half paying attention, suddenly alert): But… how do you even know if somebody is wearing a thong?!
Girl next to Vickie: Erm, thong shoes, maybe?
Oh. Ohhhh!
She Who Perspires and Blames the Cat
posted on Wednesday, June 21, 2006 @ 11:48 pm
Wanting to be known as the one-of-a-kind girl who didn’t mind getting wet — as in, you know, sweating and walking in the blazing sun or the rain — I had let rain and sweat collect a little on my face as I was rushing to work in the drizzle yesterday morning. I was sure I looked cool… no, hot… no, sweaty-cool, until I said “good morning” to the first colleague I met face to face in the restroom.
Not only did she not greet me back, her mouth also twisted into an odd shape as if reflecting something obscure she saw. I turned to the mirror: instead of the cool anime-esque sweat drop(s) I’d expected, I saw huge, round, shiny, non-anime beads of sweat sitting and only sitting on my nose and upper lip. No wonder…
I quickly splashed water all over my face, and noticed that the woman was still staring. In the pathetic attempt to distract her before heading out, I curled my lips into a cool smirk (which I hope was indeed a cool smirk; I didn’t check the mirror) and threw a one-handed Ocelot hand gesture at her — the latter a total slip-up, mind you.
Expand to view Ocelot’s lame hand gesture
Now they probably think I’m more than just a freak who sweats excessively on some parts of the face. Damn you, Ocelot.
Really, though, if my ginormous hips and thighs were the undesirable traits from my paternal side, then my sweaty nose and upper lip must be those from Mummy Dear’s. The fact that antiperspirants aren’t usually designed for the face doesn’t help either…
My Invisible Panties
posted on Friday, June 2, 2006 @ 12:53 pm
Vickie Diablos, 21.504 years old, finally had her first full body check three days ago (since that’s the only way the Aussies would let her set foot on their soil). After getting my hands dirty, squashing my boobs against a cold metal plate and trying to read mini font off a wall one thousand miles away… *ahem* as in the mandatory pee-in-the-cup, chest X-ray and eye tests, I met the last doctor.
She had instructed me to take off my shoes, socks and outer trousers and unhook my bra, then turned away so I could remove the items without being stared at. I did as I was told, but was soon greeted with a semi-annoyed “Don’t take off your panties!” when I was pulling my trousers off.
But I didn’t take off my panties.
“Don’t take off your… oh,” she said, laughed, then apologised. And laughed.
I was probably her first patient who wore a thong. 
Cubicles Have Ears, Too
posted on Friday, May 26, 2006 @ 3:35 pm
Okay, it’s final. As much fun it is having your cubicle around tech people so you could enjoy their frequent geek talks, computer guys officially freak me out. Freak the shit out of me, even — and literally, considering I had to go to poop when I started to type the entry. </too much information>
Back in the days when I was still doing my A-Levels in the UK, there was this computer guy named Sam a.k.a. only remembered his name because of my old blog post and his whatever his name was, too lazy to look up buddy, who always walked past me with creepy smiles (the guy-equivalent girlish giggles?) as if they knew all my dirty little secrets. And they well did. Ever since that particular incident, I’ve been rather sceptical about computer guys as normal people, as non-weirdos.
For the past half a year, the two computer guys from work had proven my mistrust nonsensical. They were warm, easy to get along, fun people who didn’t seem to be anything like Sam and his buddy. But then there’s always but then; I completely forgot that they’re still computer guys, that computer guys have all your surfing logs.
“Lean forward?” one of them said to the other as he glanced over at his fellow colleague’s screen during lunch.
Riiight.
