CP just called and wanted to meet up at 9 tonight. She wants her DVDs back. If I can remember correctly, I paid for all the DVDs. The only DVD she bought was a bootleg version of Kill Bill vol.1 in Penang.
[CP was the reason why I started blogging. Please refer to earlier blogs. She dumped me for her ex-boyfriend and broke my heart to pieces]
I have been keeping fit and been working out (emotionally). My heart is strong. Its lean, mean with rippling muscles. I am ready. Bring her on. She floored me with a cheap short the last time. But that was history. She ain’t gonna KO me in the ring this time. I am way too experience and skillful. Yeah, bring her on.
[b]-Theroadie plays LL Cool J’s Mama Gonna Knock You Out and cranks up the volume-[/b]
I am gonna float like a butterfly and sting like her bee. She is not gonna know what hit her. I gonna be creative. I am gonna throw combinations baby. Left uppercut, jab, jab, right uppercut, body blows, then I am gonna floor her, yes floor her with a left hook. I aint even settling for a technical knockout (TKO). I am gonna go for a knockout (KO).
I am gonna walk out and leave her with both Bills. Kill Bill and The Bill! The first thing I will do when I get there is to order a nice french Cabernet and some fancy tapas. She is gonna pick up the bill, something she has not done before. No visits to MnG for her in July!
Haha… yes float like a butterfly, sting like a bee….Mama gonna knock you out………
On the way back i am gonna put on that CD... "fuck you right back" - by frankie and some other person... Yeah!!
To be or not to be II (Theroadie's 1st ever attempt standing up against social prejudice)
Why Oh why do we love to pass judgement …… Are they intelligent or stupid; parents’ money or self made; handsome or ugly; do they have class or tasteless etc etc.
In our middle class upbringing and education, we have instilled standards that are detailed and rigid. Its either black or white, yes or no, right or wrong.
Why do we meet someone and have to suss them as “my type” or “my thing”. Why can’t people find differences as amusing or interesting? Why do we have to grade them?
I mean, what is wrong with hanging out with someone who is not as smart as you? Maybe they are lively and funny. I know a few highly intelligent people who are so insecure and moody, you will leave them feeling depressed.
I hear/read comments like,
[i]“oh I don’t go out with models because they are dumb” [/i]– well maybe they dont want to go out with you because you’re an unattractive smartarse. [i] “I don’t date fat men driving C class” [/i]– I’ve got an overweight friend driving a C class and he is witty, funny and kind. I mean, these are killer attributes.
[i]“I don’t date air host/hostess because they are unsophisticated and stupid” [/i]– I don’t think this comment is fair at all. These stupid people probably earn more than some of us at this present time!!
Here we are standing up against social injustice such as racism and homophobia but at the same time we blatantly practice class-xenophobia (is the there such thing?)
Celebrate diversity…..
P/s: We cyclists need to change too. Bikers, golfers and other non-cyclists are not lazy fossil burning infidels! I am sure there’s lots of fun squeezing the throttle to go from A to B in metal plated leather suit and hitting little white ball into 18 little holes driving around in a buggy without breaking sweat wearing green pants.
I have always wanted to date an airline stewardess (also called “flight attendant” and “airhostess”). In fact, ever since I reached puberty. It started when I first noticed them at the age of 11 from my school bus at the traffic light. They wore pretty batik uniform and hair tied in a bun sitting in the Malaysian Airline feeder van. I was fascinated by these pretty and poised ladies in uniform going off to somewhere nice far away from here and I was en route to somewhere boring called school. I was more excited to see them than watching Man United on telly. And I was in love with Man United then.
Over the years I had many encounters with these airhostesses mostly as a student during my Christmas and summer holiday travels. The conversation was limited to if I'd prefer fish or chicken, coffee or tea and thank yous. I knew I did not stand a chance trying to date them as I was younger and did not drive one of those black Ford Lasers and Honda Civics. While I waited for my mom at the arrival pickup area, Rosyam Noor look-alikes in their hot hatch (also known as muff magnet) loitered patiently for their airhostess girlfriends. These fine ladies were way better than the idealistic, dreamy, politically and socially correct student girlfriend, I thought. They had their own pad. I don’t have to worry about angry dad waiting behind the bush to jump on me when I send their daughter home way passed her curfew.
It was my wish that one day I’d be able to date them airhostess. I thought the best time would be when I started working and have a bit more dough to spend. But that did not happen. So the whole idea was kept in my Things I Failed To Do list until recently.
A month ago, an old friend called and asked whether I was interested to know an eligible airline stewardess. She is the faithful sort said the old friend. What happen to “she is attractive” or “she is sexy”? Its straight to whether she is reliable i.e., faithful or not. I guess this is the 30s thing. I bet when I am in my 40s the most important feature is whether the person is promiscuous.
Let’s name her Pam. That evening (okay, its not like I have a hundred other numbers to call, and her number goes into the queue) I tried to call Pam but she did not pick up the call. The tone sounds like the phone is on roaming overseas. So I text messaged her instead. She was in Johannesburg and said she’ll come back later in the week. I tried to meet up with her then but she had to fly off to London. She jokingly suggested I meet her halfway in Rome and I was serious when I replied that I’d do it if I had another zero added to my salary.
She text message me her June’s roster and it had something like: J’berg/London/Jeddah /Auckland/Los Angeles/Amsterdam/Manila/ Tokyo. Days in KL – 5. In between London–Jeddah, Los Angeles-Amsterdam.
I thought I had better time if I dated Badawi.
Part 2 – Dating an airline stewardess. Are the myths about them true?
I am appalled to see that after being a member of Friendster for almost a year now, I have only 22 friends and 4 testimonials.
Many of my 22 friends have got over 300 friends and over 100 testimonials. And they are the ones whom I invited to join Friendster i.e., they joined later than me.
I have also inserted a little incentive on my profile, “Will pay US$25 to be my friend and a testimonial”. You might argue that quality is better than quantity. My testimonials are crap 4 liners and my popular friends have got testimonials bequeath that of celebrities. How do they do that? And how do you make so many friends?
Maybe I should be friendlier and more accommodating in real life. Maybe there some kind of promo drive that everyone does that I don’t know of? Maybe I should write more interesting and attractive profile? Maybe I should insert heavily edited photo of myself instead of a picture of me struggling up Cameron Highland? Maybe… maybe I should get a life…..
Bumped into M, my ex girlfriend at KLCC a couple of days ago. We dated for 5 months about 6 years ago. Our relationship was special in that we had endless conversation about every conceivable topic even after we started sleeping with each other. Usually the talk time tapers down when sex comes into the picture. I guess that’s how we men work. You either chat or have sex with us.
That is why M and me were special. We were comfortable with each other like how best friends are and at the same time sex was great. We would spend Sunday afternoon chatting about the movie we saw the night before or some book we were reading. We exchange our thoughts like innocent 10 year olds. We were close.
But after a few months I began to feel bored. I felt that our relationship was too predictable and plain. I felt that I needed romance with a dash of danger. I thought that she was simple and dull. So me, the perennial fool dumped her.
She was really hurt. I was insensitive and boldly told her how I really felt. That was naïve of me. I now know that there is different degree of truth. You can present it in many different ways that suit the person or the moment.
So fast-forward to the present time. She was doing some shopping in KLCC on her own and invited me for coffee at Chinoz. First thing I notice is how confident and fresh she looked. 6 years has passed and she blossomed, and Mr I-Need-Romance looks jaded and wearied in comparison.
She looked great in those white silk-like spaghetti strap top and a tight skirt. I can’t help but notice her well-defined calf muscle. She definitely works out at the gym. We updated each other in chronological fashion events of the past 6 years.
She kinda* flirted with me by occasionally touching my hand or my lap or my shoulder when we talk. *Subtle enough not to give me the wrong ideas but enough for me to wish that I never left her. Even after 6 years she still can read me like a book. She knew that I was drooling inside and my eyes had “regret” written on it.
She asked me for my home address. I then sat up straight with excitement. She paused for a bit and then said that it was for her to send me her wedding invitation card. She then asked for the bill and we parted ways. Funny how some things turn out…
[Advisable to play [u]Alive[/u] [u]by Pearl Jam [/u]when reading this blog]
The condition was wet and chilly when we started the ride, and then it became scorching hot on the way back during the climbs through the Bentong pass followed by wet and chilly again when descending down to where we started. The distance was 100km but the hills made the ride feel like 160km.
It was a bad day in the office. I was well prepared for this ride. I ate right, had good rest and stayed away from the pub. I even watched the Marco Pantani DVD before I went to bed the night before. Unfortunately on the day, I didn’t have my legs. I struggled to stay in the pack. I was sweating profusely and breathing hard while the others in the pack were happy chatting away. On the way back the pack broke up due to the strong tempo set by the stronger riders. I ended in the last group. We were descending in the rain, and I thought I’d salvage some of my pride by finishing ahead of the last group. So I attacked. The group was doing 40km/h through the S bends when I broke away. I shifted my Campagnolo down and hit the pedal hard. I looked at my on board computer and it was showing 50 km/h. My heart rate monitor was showing 155 bits per minute. I slowly caught up with the car in front of me.
I knew I couldn’t keep up this tempo for long so I decided to draft behind the car. A woman in the backseat of the car looked stupefied. I thought to myself, yes I am all that, I am the uber-cyclist. I gave her a cocky grin. Next thing I knew, my front tyre slid sideways and both bicycle and me went to the ground. We were both dragged for about 15 meters. Parts of the bicycle broke the fall and only have bruised hip, elbow, shoulder and [b]ego[/b]. I am very fortunate to have [b]crashed at 50km/h [/b]without any serious injury or broken bones.
If I were to break the fall I would have had serious injuries. If I were to fall slightly further in front, I would have hit the side pavement and it would be more painful experience. I was lucky there was no incoming traffic or it would have been nasty.
Today I woke up feeling really sore. I can hardly walk. The road rash I have on my right hip, buttocks and hand is pretty painful. I will probably have scars and wearing swimming trunks will not be a good idea (as if it wasn’t a good idea before…). I have yet to look at my poor bicycle. I was more concern about her well being than mine when I hit the ground. I hope my baby is okay, it would break my heart (and my bank account) if she is badly damaged.
Last weekend I was at a wedding with Mr. Smug Married and his missus. He made remarks about my failed marriage frivolously that I noticed the couple sitting next to me felt a bit uncomfortable. He never fail to remind me and at the same time inform everyone within talking distance that I am a divorcee, how short and disastrous my marriage was and would relate something or someone to my ex-wife. He delivers the crass remarks bluntly that even after a long time it still catches me off-guard and embarrass the people around us. If I ever get married again, he definitely will not be assigned to give the wedding speech.
To you dear readers, you might find this to be intolerable but Mr. Smug Married has the right to say anything he wants really. You see he earned it. He was there for me in almost all my break ups (sans my break-up when I was abroad). On occasions when I was broke, he even picked up the tab from the bar. Even at the present time, I’d go to his apartment, raid his kitchen and mini bar, whine and moan about all my problems to him and his wife. Not once he would turn me away.
He understood that the role of a friend is to give support. Relationship problems aren’t exactly rocket science. People of the average intelligence like myself know the right thing to do. He has lent support and stood by me, regardless the decision I made was right or wrong, good or bad.
Why am I blogging about this and what is the point to this blog? Beats me.
[b][i]Definitions[/b]
[b]The Smug married[/b] The smug married are the ones who have been married for less than 4 years and with no offspring. They love listening to relationship problems face by singletons. They find it amusing therefore they make good listeners and would give well thought feedback and advice.
[b]Married for eons[/b] They are ones who are married for a long time with two or more offspring. They envy the singletons because singletons get to go out on dates. They secretly ogle at your dates. They only want to listen to your problems if it includes sex. And their advice is always the same, “dump her for a younger one”.
[b]Singletons[/b] These are god’s complex creatures. They are either the crusaders of eternal love/relationship or the non-believers. The former’s creed is Love and latter is Career. Insecurity and loneliness is what both have in common. Both deal with loneliness in different ways. The former would just date or have relationship with anyone they meet while the latter drown themselves in their career.[/i]
From its first inclusion in a Tour de France in 1951, and previous stages in the Dauphiné and Tour du Vaucluse, Ventoux has been the venue for historic racing moments, but it became indelibly etched into the sport's collective consciousness when British rider Tom Simpson died there in 1967. While drugs played a part in Simpson's death, the character of racing at the time and the severity of the Ventoux ascent were also factors. Cycling in the 60s was marked by a macho ethic that meant, among other things, that riders drank very little water during races, and Ventoux that year was incredibly hot. It was hot too in 1955 when Ventoux ended the racing careers of Jean Mallejac and Ferdi Kubler. Mallejac collapsed on the climb, still strapped to his bike, and was carried away gesticulating and shouting, after having to be practically forced to drink. Kubler succumbed to the heat after attacking the base of the climb, managed to make it to the top 20 minutes behind the leaders and fell at least three times on the descent. Towards the end of the stage he downed several beers in a bar near the finish, then set off in the wrong direction. He gave a press conference that evening to announce his retirement. The bandaged Kubler told the press, "Ferdi has killed himself on the Ventoux."
It was incidents like this that inspired philosopher Roland Barthes to write, "The Ventoux, thrusting abundantly skywards, is a god of Evil to whom sacrifice must be paid. A true Moloch, a despot of cyclists, [/i][b]it never pardons the weak and exacts an unjust tribute of suffering[/b].
The local Mont Ventoux is the Batang Kali-Awana-Genting . Batang Kali-Awana is bare, stuffy due to the absent of wind, oven hot and the climbs are simply unrelenting. Once you managed to survive that and arrive in Awana looking like roast chicken you then have the brutally steep and thigh-busting climb up to the top of Genting. Even cars struggle up to the top of Genting. Cars passing by usually have bemused faces staring out at us. They don’t understand why we put ourselves through this, huffing n puffing and breathing the exhaust fumes from the many cars going up this mountain getaway.
Everytime I look at the New World Hotel which sit at the peak of Genting from the base about 40km below, my heart would tell me to tackle it. And when I am halfway on the climbs I’d think how insane I’ve become. And when you reach the top, it is a tradition among cyclists to drink the best coffee in the world at Coffee Bean. And its only the best if you cycle up.
Sometimes you have to ignore the pleading dictates of common sense (e.g., you are overweight, unfit, had one too many beers in the past week, you ain't no Marco Pantani, it will break your spirit like it did the great Ferdi Kubler) and just follow your heart and the road to the heavens.
Email me: pinkroadie@hotmail.com Theroadie is a 32 year old single again (and again) from Kuala Lumpur. He does not care anymore if there is no meaningful relationship in the horizon. He just wants to lose his beer gut and regain his old form and dance up the Momma Hor's Categorie that is Genting. The ole devil called Happy Hour proves to be a worthy adversary.
Theroadie is a 32 year old single again (and again) from Kuala Lumpur. He does not care anymore if there is no meaningful relationship in the horizon. He just wants to lose his beer gut and regain his old form and dance up the Momma Hor's Categorie that is Genting. The ole devil called Happy Hour proves to be a worthy adversary.