Archive for August, 2010

Bart’s long lost twin brother

August 27, 2010

I stumbled upon this video on YouTube today, and this is exactly what Bart does any time an empty box is left unattended somewhere in the house. Whether you have a cat or not, you’ll appreciate the humour. Even the sound effects are spot on!

Craziness ensues

August 22, 2010

You’re going to think I’m crazy, which is why I won’t even bother giving you the link. But I have another blog now, on tumblr. Tumblr’s so much cooler than WordPress!* It’s like a twitter-version of blogging. Everything’s quick and updated frequently. But don’t worry, I’m still not getting rid of this one. Where else would I ramble on about my shitty day or my insane dream? Exactly.

*Please don’t smite me, WordPress God! :(

Traveling circus

August 20, 2010

Today I smelled the worst smell known to mankind. But before I go into detail, I’m going to pull a Tarantino and jump to the beginning of the story.

Dubai Airport. International flight. It’s a universal rule that you check-in 2 hours before departure. When do we roll up? One hour before departure. And it’s a full flight. And Ma still has the audacity to ask if she can change her seats to aisle seats. Like, that’s partly the reason they make you come early, isn’t it? So you can do shit like change your seating arrangement, for example. Anyway, the little Asian guy (whose sexual orientation I questioned) firmly but politely told Ma to take her boarding pass and leave. The flight was full. There’s nothing he can do. ESPECIALLY when we’re the last of a plane full of 300 passengers to check-in.

We start going through security. New rule at Dubai airport, by the way: Laptops? Out of the bag, opened, and switched on. Don’t ask me why. Anyway, no issues through security. We walk about five billion miles to the Duty Free, and the psycho maternal accompaniment decides that she urgently needs to buy a toothbrush. Mind you, boarding already started like 15 minutes ago. And we were far from our gate. And a toothbrush isn’t going to save you in the event of a plane crash. It’s not that important that you can’t buy it at the next airport. But Ma was persistent. So I just gave up and told her to meet me outside Gate 119.

The little TV screen in front of the gate flashed FINAL BOARDING in red letters. I knew this shit would happen. Yet another reason why they want you to come two hours before. So that if you forget to pack your toothbrush, you have a bit of spare time to shop around for the perfect combination of plastic, bristles, and rubber grips that make your mouth refreshed and happy. But no. They’re about to taxi the plane out of the gate without us on it, and what’s Ma’s number one priority? The toothbrush.

Eventually, she comes moseying on over at her usual slow pace. AND YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DOES?! “Uhm, excuse meeeee… Can you please give me an aisle seat?” I just stared at her. Was this really happening? Everyone’s on the plane, in their seats, with their seatbelts fastened, and this lady is asking for aisle seats. What makes it even worse is that the woman behind the counter obliged by saying “Just a second ma’am, let me check what’s available,” and my mom responds by giving me all her shit and declaring that she’s going to the bathroom.

Fortunately for everyone in this story (except for myself), I couldn’t find any weapons to kill her with because we had already checked in our luggage, and gone through security with our carry ons. So as much as I wanted to, there was nothing I could do but glare and grunt. Eventually we got on the plane and everyone immediately hated us. If we would’ve crash landed on an island, we’d’ve been the first to get killed for food and clothing.

Time passes and we end up in Amsterdam. I’m going to keep this part of our journey brief, because you can visually experience the story via my facebook albums. But in short, it was cold, it rained twice, was sunny and bright as shit in between the rain periods, and there was a pigeon INSIDE the grocery story. Just chilling in the bread section, eating crumbs. Due to the violations of many health codes, Ma and I just bought our shit and left.

Kay, new plane. And right off the bat, I could sense that this would be a horrible flight. I don’t know why, I could just feel it. And of course, I was right. Ma gets the aisle seat (again), I get the middle seat (again), and some old creepy Iranian woman is sitting on my other side. She’s a talker. I’m a killer. But unfortunately, only one of us had the necessary tools for our trade. Creepy talkative Iranian, 1. Ona, 0. She woke me and asked me what I wanted to drink. She made me fill out her customs form for her because she didn’t have her reading glasses. She leaned over and stared at my laptop screen during the entire operational lifespan of it on flight KL 0641. She woke me to say thanks for helping her with the customs form. She made me take out my earbuds to listen to her life story. She asked me to get her vanilla ice cream from the business class section. By the end of the flight, I was fed the fuck up, and Ma and I literally sprinted towards immigration.

We stood in line for three years, did our laser fingerprints and retina scans, got our baggage, went on the AirTrain to the last stop, got out and transferred to the A-train, and sat down and chilled out. But it’s rush hour traffic, so it’s very congested. And at every station, the conductor would remind us that there’s train traffic ahead, and we should sit tight. Eventually however, after having been stationary for half an hour, the conductor told us all to get on the train on the opposite platform.

We rushed on, the doors sealed shut, and that’s when the smell began. It was bad at first, and only became increasingly worse. It was so bad that it was painful. My eyes were burning. I felt like vomiting. What was emitting such a horrid stench?

And then I saw it. Him, rather. Homeless dude. Wearing about four layers of completely filthy clothes, soaked in urine, and splotched with what appeared to be (and smelled like) human feces, this man made me very uncomfortable. I didn’t even feel compassion, I just felt hatred. If you’re going to reek worse than a landfill, and you’re poor and homeless and it’s summer, stay off the fucking trains. Or chill outside somewhere till after rush hour, and then get on and quietly stink in the corner. But this man chose to sit in the middle of a train car for several if not many stops, and we the passengers could do nothing about it but to shield our faces and pray to our gods to remove this demon from our Earth.

Someone must’ve been a good person, because his or her prayer got answered relatively quickly. Homeless guy looks up, sees the upcoming stop, grabs his garbage bags (literally, two large black Hefty trash bags full of who knows what), and moves towards the door. All this commotion of moving about caused the air to shift and stir, and the smell increased. It was bad. This time, everyone covered their faces and dove out of the way. When he finally left, the world went back to normal.

Anyway, the purpose of this post is in no way meant to make you feel sorry for the homeless guy, but it’s meant to make you feel sorry for me. So I hope it’s working. More updates tomorrow, I’m too jet-lagged to even upload my pictures right now. I didn’t even proof read this.

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

August 17, 2010

Okay everyone. It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Drum roll please?

.

..

My photos are officially for sale. Online. Let me break the magic down for you:

I have yet another blog, which will be working in tandem with The Meaning of Life, but in no way replaces it. Any photographs from TMoL that receive a lot of feedback, comments, visits, high ratings, etc. will be added to my tumblr account in addition to some of my other works that you may have never seen before. You will be able to purchase the photos as prints or cards (in varying sizes), and you will also be able to download them and do other stuff. It’s pretty cool.

The link to the tumblr account is (surprise, surprise): http://photosbyona.tumblr.com See how I did that? I kept it simple! You can grovel at my feet and worship me later. I’ll also repost this link in the About Me sections of both this blog and TMoL.

All of that having been said, if you ever see anything that you would like to purchase or download at hi-res, leave a comment about it and I’ll upload to tumblr. That includes anything from my facebook albums as well. The reason why I must make everything so unnecessarily complex is because the service I’m using isn’t compatible with WordPress. So yeah, deal with it.

In completely unrelated news, I’m hungry.

Stomach story

August 11, 2010

I ate at an all-you-can-eat sushi bar yesterday. Today, I checked some Plinky archives and found a prompt where I must write an entire poem using only words that start with the letter “s.” I didn’t think it was possible (what about prepositions?!), but apparently, it is. This poem is proof that too much delicious raw seafood can directly affect your brain.

Sushi.
Succulent sushi.

Sensational spectacle:
Salmon sashimi surrounds seafood salad,
Seaweed shamelessly shelters sea bream snapper,
Simmered scallops support salty squid structure.

Some scents seem superfluous:
Sweet soy sauce.
Some scents seem significant:
Sliced swordfish,
Spotted sea trout,
Shellfish.

Simultaneously,
Said smells stimulate salivation.

Sniff,
Sample,
Savour…

Swallow.

Alliteration much?

Powered by Plinky

A day in the life of a kitten

August 10, 2010

0600 – 0800

Wake up. Try to wake up the Owner. Bite her fingers. Chew her hair. Lick her eyelids. Purr heavily in her ear. Just get the Owner to wake up and feed you.

0800 – 0830

Owner is awake. Follow her downstairs. Be sure to zig-zag in and out of her giant feet, because it’s funny when she trips and falls down the stairs. Enter kitchen and meow like a fool. Run around while she opens can of tuna. Crawl into crevices and destroy things. Jump on Bart’s tail. Jump on Tommy’s tail. Get kicked out of the kitchen by the others. Cower in the doorway and wait for Owner to come get you and gently place you in front of food bowl. Meanwhile, run around. Gnaw on cables. Run into free-standing objects, knocking them over. Push random objects across the floor with footwork so complex, it makes Cristiano Ronaldo look like an amateur. Pull on things that dangle, especially if they look like expensive cashmere scarves. The Owner is calling. Food time. Run into the kitchen, and skid against the cupboard door. Allow Owner to carry you to the food. Eat like you’ve never seen food before. Drink in a weird way that accidentally includes the use of your nose and inhale some milk. Sneeze it out, it’s okay.

0830 – 0900

Time to poop. But you don’t know that yet. Dodge Owner’s big hand as she tries to pick you up. Run into the living room. Find something to play football with. Dodge Owner’s reach a second time and run under the table, weaving in and out of the chair legs. Do a victory pose when Owner sits down at her laptop, ignoring you. Run around more. Find Bart. Hiss at him. Try to catch his tail. Run around more. Find hazardous objects to play football with. Lighters, thumbtacks, the sharp lid of a can of tuna. The more dangerous, the more attention you get. Allow Owner to carry you to the sofa. Upon being placed in the folds of a comfortable blanket, immediately spring up and run to the flower pots. Dig. Get your white fur completely soiled (pun intended). Eat some of it. Dig dig dig and then squat. Gaze up at Owner, confused as to why she’s yelling at you. Allow her to take you to a cleaner flower pot. No flowers. No soil. But you can still dig. Tiny pebbles. Smell one corner. Dig dig dig. Jump to another area. Dig dig dig. Sniff. Dig dig. Still not the right spot. Sniff sniff. Dig dig dig dig. Dig. Squat. Relieve yourself. Allow Owner to praise you for your good work.

0900 – 1000

General havoc-wreaking. Do anything to annoy the other cats: pounce, hiss, swat. Chew on anything that hangs: cables, plants, clothing. Sharpen claws on anything with texture: sofa, Owner’s body, carpet. Attempt to eat anything that fits in your mouth: big lint balls, dead fly, earring. Chase your own tail, run up and down the stairs, push things off the shelf to make a mess on the floor below. Energy is running low. Meow loudly and continuously (for attention), run wildly in one direction and skid into a stationary object; repeat in the other direction. Energy in reserve tank. Jump on tables, climb up neatly folded stacks of freshly ironed clothes and knock them all down. Feeling sleepy. Find Owner.

1000-1200

Nap time. Jump up on sofa next to Owner. Meow quietly with eyes half-closed. Start purring louder than an Airbus A380. Nuzzle under Owner’s hand. Not comfortable enough. Roll onto your back, with Owner’s hand on your belly. Still not right. Move to Owner’s chest. Inch closer to her neck. Curl up and sleep in the warm space between her chin and chest, as she continues doing her stuff at the computer.

1200 – 1300

Yawn. Time to piss off the Owner. Start kicking her face. Let her push you off, then start tackling arms. Chew on them, scratch them, kick them repeatedly with your hind legs. When she tries to calm you down with her big hand, bite it and hold on with your front paws. Continue dangling as she flicks you off, to the far end of the couch. Run back to her and make eye contact with her. Once you’ve locked her in a stare, surprise her by suddenly springing to her face and attacking her eyeballs. If they’re closed, leave them be. Once they’re open, attempt to either bite them or slap them with your tiny paws. The Owner will eventually become pissed off and give you attention. Purr loudly. Nuzzle your face into the Owner’s crevices, and make a suckling noise. It’s time to eat again and drink some milk.

1300 – 2200

Nine hours of continuous play, with three or four feeding breaks. Continue annoying Owner and other cats with general tomfoolery and boisterous activities. Your favourite pastime: making Owner’s laptop time impossible. Repeatedly jump on magnetic power cord, disconnecting it every five seconds. Owner will get annoyed and place you on the sofa, on the opposite side of the cord. Attack her fingers while she types. Owner will get annoyed and place you on her chest, willing you to sleep. Stare at laptop screen. Attempt to tackle anything that moves, from cursor to mouse to pop-up ad. Owner will get annoyed and throw you to the other end of the couch. Run towards her at full speed, jump on the keyboard, rotate 360˚, and lie down. On the keyboard. While she was typing something probably important. Owner will get very annoyed and throw you on the floor. Repeat cycle, starting with the magnetic power cord.

2200 – 0000

Amplify your hyperactivity. Make your hair stand up, your eyes bulge, and run in a crazy, diagonal way. Meow a lot, but not normally, rather, a deep guttural meow. Run full speed in senseless directions. Find shadows and attack them. Stand guard at the entrance to the kitchen, and attack the feet of any human who tries to enter. Hiss in the face of any cat who tries to enter. Explore inside the washing machine. Take a tour through the cabinet under the sink. Chase an imaginary object into the TV room downstairs. Dodge any attempts Owner makes to pick you up, or subdue you.

0000 – 0600

Owner’s getting ready for bed. Watch her brush her teeth. Follow her into the room. Jump on her bed and curl up next to her pillow, waiting for her. As soon as she turns off the light and lies down, jump out of bed and play with random objects in her room. When it seems she has given up on supervising you, and rolls over, attack the Owner in her own bed. Allow her to stroke you in attempt to calm you down. Initiate purring sequence. Close eyes. Fall asleep.

0600 – 0800…

Wake up. Try to wake up the Owner. Bite her fingers. Chew her hair. Lick her eyelids…

Newest addition

August 8, 2010

Ma came home yesterday with a rescued kitten. She’s an eight-week-old Turkish Angora named Leona (Leo, for short). Her hobbies include cooking up crack in the basement, running around the house naked, and picking fights with the elders. She also enjoys long walks on your face and eating your fingers. Sometimes, she sleeps for a little while. A “cat nap,” if you will. Those times are beautiful, yet rare. Updates soon!


%d bloggers like this: