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playing on my iPod:Canon in D - Vienna Boys Choir
(but it sounded more like "O Fortuna" to me today)
6:01pm First fucking day of the fucking Chinese Lunar New Year, I am looking at my own fucking reflection in the mirror, feeling like my whole existence is flawed and wondering what the fuck went wrong. You see I decided to stop being so Amish and drop my habit of plucking my eyebrow and usher myself into a new era of eyebrow grooming with my new electric eyebrow trimmer that I purchased from Watson. Just under RM13.00, this baby guarantees you an easy and pain free eyebrow shaping experience But it never said it was free of any grooming accident. Now with my hair tied back, I fucking looked like a transvestite; with a little eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss and a hot party dress; I would be ready to hit the street. Fuck that shit! But that wasn’t what that was really bothering me.
I needed a dosage of music to turn my frown upside down. Nope heavy ass metal won’t do, so I turn to some Baroque. I scroll down my iPod to find Vivaldi’s Four Seasons – Spring 1st Allegro. I was hoping that it would be uplifting but somehow today it sounded more like Winter to me. I let out a breath but it wasn’t of relief but of dreadfulness. In less than an hour, I will be in a 5 Star Restaurant having my annual family reunion dinner but with the amount of people that will be there, it felt more like a clan dinner. This is the fucking lowest point of my festivity because I am such a party pooper. If there was a party vigilante, I would fucking be on top of his hit list. But maybe it is just me growing into a full bloom green fur Grinch that fucking hates Chinese New Year or I am slowly turning into a fucking hermit who dislikes the presences of noisy cum nosey family members around me. I don’t see what is the big fucking deal with the whole reunion shit. They don’t call or talk or take notice of me on other days of the year but right now they wanna pretend to be interested in how my fucking life has been the past year and suddenly want me to be their buddy?
As usual my dad will be seated with his peers and if there is ever a conversation brought up about me in that table, it would be whether I am a fucking Goat or a fucking Monkey because I was the only one in the family who was born early January which raises the question of which Chinese Horoscope Livestock I fall into. While the talk about livestock rages on there, I am left seated in a table with my peers of which I am the youngest and only one without any offspring. Well, I could be seated with my nephews and nieces on the other table but I would have to communicate with them in diapers and nursery rhymes, so I rather take my chances seated in this fucking table.
And so with the ceiling mounted speaker playing Chinese New Year Songs above my head, I put on my fakest smile and try to be pleasant, merry and joyous as I try to survive this year’s dinner.
As the dishes started to roll out, the questions started to roll in. For crying out loud and for the 100th time, I am no longer in college and yes I am working...well, almost, but that wasn't the whole fucking point. You wouldn’t know the torment I was in, between the tiger prawn and abalone and also the steam sea bass and scallop , I was practically praying to all the gods and angels like a fucking pagan and if I was able to go on my knees I would have been praying like Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane asking the fucking almighty to take this cup away from me.
10:44pm my ordeal was coming to an end, now I just have to continue on holding this fucking fake smile as I say my goodbyes, get into my car and bullet from there like a bat outta hell.
With Bach’s Air on G string playing in the background(yes, today i was rather in the mood for some soft strings and cello rather than the sound of guitars in overdrive), my first day of the Fucking Chinese Cow Year draws to an end, and like usual I took out the red packets that I have collected from the dinner and was about to put them inside my car as emergency cash (now you know where i keep my red packet cash), I notice something that I never realized until now. My name was written on every fucking single red packet; I went through all the red packets that I have collected throughout the years and my name was on every one of it. You know what, that scribbled name on the side of the red packet meant more than the 100s and 50s notes inside of it; it meant that that particular red packet was for me and only me. I was fucking speechless, how could I be so fucking blind?
So my festivity had a rough start unlike her's - it was a walk in the park all the way from the start... "Peanuts and TV"
Lastly, I haven't been getting much interesting hate mails lately except for this dude/babe who totally loath my anorexic post. And I thought the last hate mail was lenghty and hard to understand, wait till you see THIS ONE.