Mills’ Bar Room Brawl

You know you’re screwed when your mother made a new year resolution.

FOR YOU!

I have to admit this. Eversince i moved out from my mother’s house, the mother-daughter relationship has turned sour.

2 days ago, i threw an unneccessary fit when i found out Mam gave my nokia phone away to my eldest sister and she’s turning my room into a tv room.

I decided not to make a stop at mam’s house like i usually do after work.

You can say that i haven’t seen her for two days.

When i came home this afternoon, no one was home. I can guess they’re at Emily’s NemGrad roadshow. I was out of ciggarette and i had no idea where i left my wallet, so i snooped around Mam’s room to see if i could find a penny or 5 bucks.

What i found was this. Peeking out from under the mattress was a new year resolution made by Mam…. FOR ME!

I looked at it in horror like a relic from the movie Exorcist. It’s weird and most of all, it’s a slap in the face.

I reached into my pocket for a ciggarette and realised i was fresh out.

GREAT.

So i sat on the bed and here’s the list.

Emilia’s Resolutions (01/01/07)

1. Be Independent.

2. Wash your own clothes.

3. Live healthy.

4. Plan your future.

5. Don’t give mum problems.

6. Don’t bring friends back to the house.

7. Finally, grow up.

Thank you.

Mum.

*Gasps*

I know mam cares for me more than my other siblings. It’s only natural because i’m the youngest and apparently, also the pretty one. Hehehe

Jokes aside, this resolution aimed to hurt me where it hurts most. It’s almost like mam’s secret weapon in crying out for my attention.

But if anything, i don’t bring boys home.

What was she thinking when she jotted down item number 6?

Granted, i’m not exactly my mother’s dream girl, but does she has to make a resolution for me, which by the way, seems to only benefit her?

I’ll try to grant her every wish.

Except for number 3.

I’m still looking for small change in this house to buy one pack of 20’s at the chinese medicine shop nearby.

Here’s a summation of what people think of me

1. I have a formidable front that makes it hard for new people to approach me.

2. I tend to speak my mind too freely.

3. I am a good writer.

4. I am blond/plastic.

5. I am quiet and i’m always looking for my own space even in my own house.

6. I could be REALLY mean.

7. I can’t be left alone (Translation : I can’t be single)

8. I conceal my true self most of the time.

Truth be told, i am human. Sometimes i could be all of the above and other times, i surprise myself with things i didn’t know in me.

Say, for instance, do you know that i recycle?

Do you know my life long dream is not to find a cure for cancer, but to have a cat i could name Orange Juice?

Do you know that i wear t-shirt and boxers to Tesco most of the time?

Do you know that i watch FUTURAMA on daily basis?

Do you know that i couldn’t sleep alone?

Nonetheless, i do know i could make someone bloom in front of me. And i could break him/her in a second too.

Here’s Mills in her Ying and her Yang.

I think a person is God’s art.

Being human is an art in progress.

You can NEVER sum a person up in a list.

If i’m an art, i belong to the Renaissance era.

Michaelangelo would have a hard time trying to paint me out on his fresco. I would be too complicated a painting.

YAY!

Almost dozing off at my family’s reunion dinner, I was extremely glad when my uncle asked me to run to the nearest Sg.2 Baskin Robbin to grab an ice cream cake for the family.

A boy about 20 years old of age greeted me and spoilt me with choices. He was quite cute, although not exactly my type. Emily was working overtime flirting with him.

Sometimes I throw in one or two cute gestures of mine (Fine, I was flirting too!).

And then, it was time to be sinful.

I had to choose between 5 toppings. Only one could be the winner.

But in my head, I really wanted the butterscotch and the chocolate fudge.

Armed with my 8 year old flirting skill, I tipped my bosom over the counter, “I can only choose one topping is it?” I asked the boy.

Straightlaced as he is, he said “Yes. Only one”

I was hoping the answer would be “Yes only one but for you, you can have two or more”

I looked at him and winked, “What if I want two toppings?”

He answered, “We charged for extra topping”.

I gave up. My mind was on overdrive thinking of a way to shoplift the toppings when he added, “But I guess I can make it a half-half. Meaning one half of choc fudge and one half of butterscotch”.

YES! I still have it! My flirting earned me one extra topping.

I wonder if I could go next door to pizza hut and score free salad?

By the way, my fortune cookie reads "A heart that loves is always young"

*swoons*

I love reading my cookies!

אֶמִילְיַה

That’s my name in Hebrew and you guys know what my tattoo would look like, if i could have one!

YAY!

You have to pardon my French, but FUCK VALENTINE’S DAY-LAH!

The next person to ask me what i’m doing for the 14th is gonna enjoy a sweet ride to hell.

*cocks gun* Go on, ask me now!

Put me in one of the Moroccan desert and you would find me in a burqa, riding a camel with the Bedouins.

If you place me next to the Wailing Wall, you would find me staring at it in amazement. God, we’re talking about the only remaining wall that was once King Solomon’s temple.

My point is this. I’m one of those people that one can drop anywhere in the world and i would have no problem fitting in.

But place me in a group of 3 married women and I’d feel out of place immediately.

Last Friday, when everyone was out to lunch, I walked to the nearest kopitiam for a quick coffee. The table next to me was occupied by one heavily pregnant lady, and her two other friends.

One of them was my friend from uni, so she invited me to join them.

After that brief introduction, immediately I felt out of place. All these 26 year olds could talk about are which diaper absorbs better, how cute the Mummy Poko baby is, and that a baby conceived through a certain position would come out cross eyed.

Nevertheless, I was in awe with the pregnant lady. Mainly because she still looks like Posh Spice despite the visible bump.

But mainly because of the way she had everything planned out. From her wedding, to the birth of the baby she was carrying.

She had her wedding in Bali (Christina Aguilera’s).

She made sure she conceived in Paris. (No prize for guessing what’s the baby’s name gonna be).

Lucky for me, her husband talked her out of having a silent birth (Katie Holmes).

Here, sitting in front of me, is a woman who planned her moments right. Something I’ve always wanted to do. If I’m in my judgmental mode I would say she should spend more time reading Reader’s Digest and a little less HOT!

As I was enjoying her life story, my friend, who gave birth to a baby girl about a year back, launched into her post-natal story.

When she first gave birth to her daughter, her breasts hurt so bad that she was going to chop them off with a kitchen knife! You can say goodbye to sex because with you bleeding underneath for 40 days, your husband’s member would be deep in hibernation. Your mother and mother-n-law would have 101 confinement rituals (and that involved a lot of ginger)and motherhood tips for you. Some are acceptable but others are just plain wacko. And then you have to deal with the baby’s constant crying and 3 a.m feeding.

"Posh Spice" looks at me and said “There’s no way for me to get of this, right?”

I laughed. Mainly because I was just being polite. And also because for a second there, she was actually serious.

My friend continued working on her monster-in-law story.

One day while she was in the hospital, sleeping and heavily sedated, she woke up to her mother-in-law’s wrinkled hands massaging her breasts.

"And the old pervert said it would be good for circulation!”

"And what did you do?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Nothing. I was all drugged out. Because the baby wasn’t drinking the milk anyway. She’s probably too scared with the gigantic nipples. And she said if the baby’s isn’t drinking it and it stays too long in the duct, I would be producing cheese in no time”.

Giant nipples, cheesy breast milk, having a whole month of period are enough to make me throw in the towel.

It’ll be a long time and a longer time of contemplation for me to ever get married and have little Mills running havoc all over the place and make me contemplate sawing off my breast and refrain myself from chocking my own flesh and blood.

If this is post-natal, no wonder women around the world suffering post-natal depression.

I should probably start shopping for husband with low sperm count.

I went out to grab a quick lunch with my girlfriend and in between cans of Milo and the bad acting skills displayed on the Kisah Benar program, she told me that his friend, who happens to love my writing, crowned me as a life-slash-relationship guru.

Since when I’m a Carrie Bradshaw?

Which part of my failed relationships he didn’t read?

If he knew the person I am and the type of relationships I’ve been in, then I would probably be the last person he wants to run to for advice.

My good friend Alex snickered and snorted on his Coke when I told him my title.

“You? The relationship guru?”

Sarcasm noted. Thanks Alex.

I am not a relationship guru.

I am better at understanding the science of a nebula than relationship.

What I am, is a meanie. I remember back in uni days I used to call this girl I barely know ‘Weirdo’ just because she speaks Malay in a very textbook way and she always raised her hand to ask simple question just so the lecturer noticed her existance.

She also always came to class with three backpacks to keep the entire Literature section reference books she borrowed from the library.

One time i swear i saw her talking on a public phone with a ‘ROSAK’ sign.

Back in high school, i nick named a fatty ‘TUBA’ because she was huge and coincidently she played tuba in a band.

But I do know about men though.

There are three types of men.

The Best Friend

The one person you often call and your outings are purely platonic. Most probably a childhood friend who has seen you grow, wayyy before you own a bra. Chances are, he’s gay. You’re not his type.

The Keeper.

If you keep his photograph in your wallet, then he’s the Keeper. You’re probably already in the comfort zone. You no longer wear your sexiest underwear to bed. Probably said goodbye to shaving also. You know his favorite food and both of you are already picking names for your babies.

The Fling.

Best known for his throngs of girlfriends. Possesses the ability to melt you down to liquid. Probably carved too many notches on the bedpost, whittling it down to a toothpick. Thread cautiously. Keep the relationship/friendship at PG13 at all times.

THE NEW BREED: PUSHY FOR SEX WITH MISPLACED SELF CONFIDENCE

How to Spot: Short, Fat, Ugly, and clearly objectifies women. Usually pretends to listen when you pour your heart out and becomes your confidante. Pushy as a credit card salesman and could come off as desperate. He acts like your best friend and makes you bloom in front of him. Don’t be naive. He just wants to bed you. Has the potential to execute a smear campaign should rejection is clear.

How to Avoid: Short of bluffing him that you have gonorrhea (the word is BLUFFING), best to ignore the calls and the smses. Girls, if you’re open minded and you could talk about everything, from what you had for lunch to secrets that the Christian only confesses to the priest, best to avoid this breed.

If you’re married to one, well…good luck with that.

P’s:  My tarot card reads "Someone protects your feelings instead of telling the truth".

HMMMMMMMMMM *Thinking out loud*

I walked into my office last Friday and welcomed the new arrival of ten little guppies.

Yes, my pet guppy gave birth after spending three days in a makeshift isolation tank. One of my colleague came over and said, “Hey, congratulations! You’re a grandma now!”

Unpacking my laptop bag which by the way, weights a ton, I answered, “Yes! I’m a grandma at 25”.

As soon as the big TWO-FIVE escaped from my mouth, I felt ancient.

Oh My God! I’m 25! Gone were the days when I only had to blow 16 candles on my ice cream cake. Gone were the days when I was 17. I even made a resolution to quit smoking as soon as I reach 18. I mean, what good is smoking when it’s legal right? Also, gone were the days when I was 19, itching to be 20, so I could feel grown up, even though I certainly did not act like one.

And then, I don’t even remember being 20,21,22,23,24.

Well, I remember being 24. Many things happened last year.

I couldn’t breathe. This happens to me a lot by the way, especially when my mind’s on overdrive. I sat back on my chair and spun around, and decided to have my 10 o’clock cigarette break half an hour earlier.

As I took the first puff in the female toilet three flight down, I counted the things that I’ve wanted to do but either didn’t have the drive or didn’t have the time to get to them. I asked myself, do I want to be thirty and regret all the things I wish I did when I was in my teens or early twenties?

Hell, No!

I was down to my last puff of cigarette when I decided to turn this around. So, here’s a corny list, but you’ll always get things done when you write it down. Also, you readers get to see how it progresses. Also, technically, I’m only 24 by month.

Mills To Do List Before Drowning Self in Quarter-Life Crisis:

#1 Get navel piercing

#2 Nose piercing (this would be the third and hopefully the bloody stud stays).

#3 Get a license for heaven’s sake.

#4 Get a Siamese Cat

#5 Recycle (yes, I’m a hippie slut)

#6 Learn to at least write my own name in Hebrew

#7 Return that 4 months overdue library book

#8 Attend a gig/concert

#9 Sing in public

#10 Go for a holiday!

I’m thinking of listing Date a Celebrity as #11 on my list, but i think i kinda did that when i was a lot younger. :o)