Well Runs Dry

Listening to: Suddenly I See – KT Tunstall

Reading: Something You Should Know – Melissa Hill

You know how they say that you don’t miss the water until the well runs dry. It has suddenly come to my attention that sometimes, when you get your water back, it may not have been everything that you thought it was.

Sometimes you may realise that not having something in your life, actually enriches you instead of the other way around. I guess sometimes you have to lose something and regain it in order to realise that you were better of without it in the first place.

Probably only one person reading this will actually get what I mean. If more of you do, then I guess, some of the garbage I spew actually does make sense. 

I hope that getting your Water back will prove to be for the best. Both for you and for her. No matter what that outcome may be.

And Melissa honey, let me say once again how proud I am of you for the way you’re holding your chin up. You superstar. 

 *hugs*

Adios.

MYOBoundaries

If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the fuck away.

Merci.

C’est la Vie

Listening to: The splendicious John Mayer – I Don’t Trust Myself with Loving You – John Mayer

Currently Reading: The Naked Mirror – Christopher Pike

John Mayer says, ” I will beg my way into your garden
I will break my way out when it rains
Just to get back to the place where I started
So I can watch you back all over again.”

I say, “Sometimes , it gets so hot,  I wanna tear of my own skin and use it as a shade.”

….

Guess that’s why he’s an artistic genius and I am not.

And then there was George W. Bush who was once quoted as saying, “War is a dangerous place.”

Yeah man, whatever floats your boat.

——————————————————————-

It’s that time again  – sometimes I feel as though I have nothing going on in my life and other times I feel as though I am bursting with life! Take yesterday.

Practicals drain me both physically and mentally. There is just so much going on that it seems as though you are floating outside of your body watching your mind go at warp speed trying to catch up with the rest of your body as you are feverishly trying to finish 4 separate protocols in 5 hours..and yes, our lab work can go for that long. Yesterday was particularly taxing, we had to run a PCR – which is a method of amplifying (or copying) minute pieces of DNA…it’s the cool stuff you see in CSI where they find like a dot of blood and within72 hours, it will enable you to genetically profile an individual?

And then if it’s CSI Miami, Horatio Caine will kneel down beside you with his sunglasses on and tell you that since the dead man isn’t talking, we’re going to have to do it for him. Or something else cheesy along those lines.

Anyway I digress. Yeah so the PCR we had to do yesterday was not as interesting but just as complex. I won’t bore you with the details (and if I already have I apologise) but this included us running the DNA of 12 different samples of bacteria which we would then visualise on a gel. It’s a lot of work and it’s a follow through from last week and PCR is so sensitive that the slightest bit of change can ruin your results.

At the end of all our work, sweat, pain, tears and hunger pangs, can you imagine what I felt when I looked at our gel and instead of 12 beautiful bands, instead, I saw none.

Yes, NONE.

N

O

N

E

Nothing. Nada. Nil. Naught.

Zip. Zilch. Zero.

Do you know that the only thing I could do then was laugh? Yes, I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. And then, I laughed some more. I laughed all the way home in the bus and I laughed during dinner.

And maybe it was in delirium and it was 5 pm and we had been working for hours on end and all we had to show for it was an empty piece of paper – like literally – there was nothing on it. Even the thought of that piece of paper brings a smile to my face. My friends were a little concerned that I could not stop laughing.

But I figured – what can you do? C’est la vie, as they say. That’s life. And sometimes all you can do is ride it. And try to see the humour where there might be none and hope for the best. Besides, life isn’t a one hour TV program where everything is wrapped up neatly and the bad guy is revealed fifteen minutes towards the end of show and Horatio gets to put on his sunglasses and make some heroic remark and everyone goes home happy.

Life is painstaking – sometimes the bad guy gets away, sometimes evidence is lost, sometimes we may work for hours on end only to have a blank gel photo stare back up at you, sometimes we don’t get what we want – but sometimes we do. So I’ll tell you what I decided to do – I decided to come back home and stretch out on my beanbag and gorge on some cookies and cream icecream and listen to Johnny Mayer.

Because sometimes, that is all we can do.

And that, is  just fine with me.

After all, what would I have gained by coming home and bitching and moaning about my experiment? That would have been a waste of my (mitochondrial ) energy. And I’m trying not to get into any more negative energy then I need to. It’s hot enough (weatherwise) and I’m old enough to know that sometimes you don’t get what you want and so you just gotta deal. Grow up and all that.

I’m trying to be a grown up. How come that gets so much harder the older you get?

So let me end with something else from John Mayer (originally by Jimi Hendrix),

My red is so confident that he flashes trophies of war and
Ribbons of euphoria
Orange is young, full of daring,
But very unsteady for the first go round
My yellow in this case is not so mellow
In fact I’m trying to say its frigthened like me
And all these emotions of mine keep holding me from,
Giving my life to a rainbow like you.

 Plus it’s Friday tomorrow and that’s always a good thing.

 ciao babies…

Of Flames & Funds

Listening to: Elevator Love – Guy Sebastian

This is how much I am meant to go see my favourite people in concert.

1. When I was 15 a whole bunch of us who had been die-hard fans of BSB since forever found out that they were due to come to Malaysia for a concert. After PMR. And one of our friends found out they could get us tickets; and not just any run of the mill tickets. Third row. Center. Now these are people we spent most of our time in and out of school daydreaming about, talking about, inventing (albeit embarassing) scenarios about..I even drafted a two page letter which I planned to send to AJ McLean when I was banished to my room with conjunctivitis when I was 14. I distinctly remember asking for a souvenir and/or a couple of autographed paraphernalia. I also vividly remembered signing it, Your biggest fan – which at the time I was. Thanks be to all that is good, that letter did not get mailed. We went to great extremes with our “obsession” with the guys – I remember a certain phone call over breakfast, an autographed poster, stories of car crashing over cliffs…I won’t go into great detail but if you know what I’m talking about, no doubt you’re smiling now =D Anyway, a certain September cataclysmic event occured and the Boys cancelled their Malaysian tour. All my immature hopes and dreams…up in flames. The heartbreaking trend seemed to have set itself as you will soon see.

2. We were supposed to go see Arj Barker, noted Californian standup comedian. This guy is so damn witty and really, he does it without being rascist too! I cannot respect a comedian who gets his only laughs by delving into overt prejudices and rascist slurs. Arj is GREAT because he is an observational comedian, he picks his comedy based on what he sees around him, stuff that’s so common to us but he infuses it with so much humor it’s hard not to die laughing. Anyway, to cut a long story short we were supposed to go see him perform at the Fringe, which is the annual arts and comedy festival at Adelaide this month. Needless to say, we were pretty revved up and a huge gang of us were going. Needless to say, it was the same BSB scenario. He cancelled his Australian tour which sadly, included the Fringe. SIGHHHH!!!

3. In order to make up for Arj Barker, it only seemed fitting that when John ‘insert scream here’ Mayer was scheduled to be performing at Adelaide in April; we so knew we’d be there. Having followed John Mayer since his first album and we all know how great he was at the Grammy’s, I knew watching him live would be unparallelled. Until we got all revved up only to realise he performs on one day only – a Tuesday night. And to add to that we have 5 hour pracs on that day and the one after the performance. To make matters worse, his tickets were all priced at AUD 96.95. In which case it pretty much made my decision for me because even my simple math skills allowed me to multiply that amount by three to convert it to ringgit and effectively stop my heart.

So there you go. And this entire time I have been salivating to go watch Sarah McLachlan in concert (now that is a woman I would give up RM300 for) only to realise that she’s taken a two year sabbatical. Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals are scheduled to perform for two shows only in Sydney and they’re already sold out.

Who will be worthy of my attention??? And my limited purse strings??? Does no artist do any free live shows anymore? Think of the STUDENTS!! Now that’s a cause to have a Big Day Out for – the Felicia Fund. Will you donate?

 =D

Pretty please… with sugar on top?

Tarzan & Jane

I was waiting at the bus stop one morning when I saw this guy from far off. He was a big man..hunkering is the word I would use. Think Hagrid from Harry Potter, complete with long messy beard and shaggy eyebrows. He was wearing a tie dyed t-shirt, was sporting a backpack and guzzling easily out of a 1 litre Coke bottle like it was a 250ml mineral water bottle.

I have had my own fair share of weird encounters with strangers, most of them at bus stops and on buses but this one ranks in the top 3. Of course he sits next to me and remembering my mother’s cardinal rule, when he said hello, I squinted nervously into the sun and ignored him hoping he would notice my earphones and leave it at that. Obviously not as he tried again.

“Hey.”

I was contemplating ignoring him again when I realised that there were not very many people around and if he had gotten mad at me and thrown his Coke at me (or something equally bad) there wouldn’t be anyone to “rescue” me. Nor would there be any witnesses. So I boldly mustered up a “Hi,” and resumed staring back into the sun. Our good Coke guzzling friend refused to be fazed by the short girl with the iPod stuck in her ears who was trying so hard to ignore him.

“Are you happy this morning?”

Omg, it was turning into an interview of Flower Power variety. However it seemed harmless enough and so I answered, “Yeah I guess.”

Big smiles. “Why?”

“Just…because it’s a new day.” I swallowed before I could continue by saying ”I feel lucky to be alive” thinking that even he had limits when it came to corny conversation.

“Wow, yeah that’s awesome, so what’s your name?” Now this was where the bells went off in my head because although I had broken mama’s cardinal Don’t talk to strangers rule, this one was an even bigger no-no. You never tell a stranger your name. So I told him instead… “Jane.”

Well my reasoning was, if you had to tell him a name, at least don’t tell him your real name. He leans forward slightly and I think, oh shit, he’s caught on to me. “Jean or Jane?”

“Jane,” I confirmed resolutely. He nodded and I thought, okay, he bought it. And then he continued, as normal as anything, “I’m Tarzan.”

Now the bells were ringing madly. But what else could I say except, “Hi Tarzan.”

He smiled again. “Wow. You don’t look Australian, (no shit Sherlock), what heritage are you?”

To which I answered, “I’m Indian.”

To which his reply was, “Wow, no wonder you’re happy.”

And then when it seemed like it couldn’t get weirder, it did.

“You look like my wife.”

Hello?? Enter the Twilight Zone.

This time I had looked past him for the fiftieth time looking for my bus which finally, thank goodness, I could see in the horizon. The bus stop was also filling up with other people so I felt confident enough to say, “Well that’s my bus,” and restrained myself from seeming too happy.

The second I jumped on the bus (which was marginally empty) I sat next to the only elderly woman in the bus and she gave me a look like, wtf, the bus is empty and you’re choosing to sit next to the only passenger here. I didn’t care – I just didn’t want Tarzan and his Terrible Questions sitting next to me grilling me about where my ancestors came from and why I looked like his wife.

When you have the time I will tell you about the time I met these two smashed guys at the bus stop who asked me three times before I realised they weren’t asking for five dollars  but high fives. Obviously I previously taught they were robbing me and so I quite happily high fived them.

Fear gives some people wings. They paralyse others and makes yet others pathological liars. I seem to fall into this last category most of the time.

Bathwater

“Bathwater” by No Doubt

You and your museum of lovers
The precious collection you’ve housed in your covers
My simpleness threatened by my own admission And the bags are much too heavy
In my insecure condition
My pregnant mind is fat full with envy againBut I still love to wash in your old bathwater
Love to think that you couldn’t love another
I can’t help it…you’re my kind of man

Wanted and adored by attractive women
Bountiful selection at your discretion
I know I’m diving into my own destruction

So why do we choose the boys that are naughty?
I don’t fit in so why do you want me?
And I know I can’t tame you…but I just keep trying

‘Cause I love to wash in your old bathwater
Love to think that you couldn’t love another
I’m on your list with all your other women
But I still love to wash in your old bathwater
You make me feel like I couldn’t love another
I can’t help it…you’re my kind of man

Why do the good girls always want the bad boys?

So I pacify problems with kisses and cuddles
Diligently doubtful through all kinds of trouble
Then I find myself choking on all my contradictions

‘Cause I still love to wash in your old bathwater
Love to think that you couldn’t love another
Share a toothbrush…you’re my kind of man
I still love to wash in your old bathwater
Make me feel like I couldn’t love another
I can’t help it…you’re my kind of man

No I can’t help myself
I can’t help myself
I still love to wash in your old bathwater

Courtesy of azlyrics.com

I used to think it was kinda gross but from an artistic eye, it’s actually kinda cool. Just..metaphorically.  :-)

Jordan: In Memoriam

Listening to: Cryin’ Won’t Help You Now – Ben Harper (from Both Sides of the Gun)

Currently Reading: The Cell – Stephen King

For the first Thursday since the semester began (last week), I am home and not stuck in a freezing lab playing with micropipettes. Finally.

I haven’t blogged in awhile (I realised it had to stop when I started writing about tea) simply for lack of time and lack of material. Today however I can finally share some slightly more relevant detail with you.

The first being that I learned a Very Important Skill in lab this week. In order to investigate meiosis (a process of cell division) we had to dissect 3 week old male mice (already ’sacrificed’ for us) and remove cells from a their testes. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. We had to carefully cut open a mouse from tail to halfway up their abdomen and find them testicles (‘find’ because they’re oh so very teeny tiny) and remove them in order to culture cells from their organs.

In layman’s terms, we literally learnt how to cut off some balls. Trust me, some of my female lab partners actually found it very emotionally soothing, judging from some of their own personal experiences with the male human species.

Poor Jordan (which is what I named him before I had to emasculate him in the name of science); he shall be missed.  

Please note, there was no entertainment in it, I had to assert a certain amount of detachment before I could allow myself to dissect that beautiful, innocent little animal and not focus on the fact that it was once a living breathing creature of God. However when it is all said and done, it was just that – done.

My friends finally managed to drag me out on Friday night to go dancing. It was supposed to be one of those 37 degree nights and will possibly be one of the warmer nights for some time to come. So I did the whole girlie thing – we went to each other’s houses and dressed and helped each with hair, makeup and accessory advice. So far so good – great weather, nice dress, hopping heels. So far we were set.

We were supposed to meet our other girlfriends at a pub by the beach which normally fills up by seven and a queue that stretches faaar out into the night. Or so we thought. Little did we realise that on that same Friday, was the third night of Clipsal 500 and Skullduggery. Clipsal is the annual Australian car racing carnival. Tons of people flock to the circuit to watch Clipsal and at night the big concert acts come out to perform. Skullduggery is an annual Adl uni student gathering with music and lots of alcohol ; it is so big it sells out every year. This year, was no different.

So while we rocked up at the pub at half past 9, it was still very much empty.  Bugger. Decided to move on to the city since that is where most of action would be happening anyway once the events were over. Some of our friends wanted to eat so we decided to rendezvous at a pizza joint in town. We got there first and a basket of garlic bread later we found out that our friends had gotten into a minor car accident that involved wedging her car between a pole and being unable to reverse without even more serious damage. Obviously after that scare and some guardian angels who helped her get it out, she just wanted to go home which was only fair. So she left with one of our other friends.

It was one am.

And then there were three.

Hair & makeup, full and tired; number of times danced? Round number? Zero.

But…

…the best was yet to come; it began to rain. Yes, Murphy’s Law was it its best. The one night I emerge looking my best and I am greeted with empty pubs, long drives to and from pubs, car accidents, a man pissing in some alley way and…thunderstorms (seriously!).

At that point, our feet was hurting from the wicked heels we had forced ourselves into and our makeup was sully and dull and no one interesting seemed to be coming out with the heavy downpour. It was time to call it a night. So we trekked back to our Kiki’s house, shed our heels and dresses for her pj’s and crawled unto her couch where we scoffed down leftover pizza, gossiped, watched CSI and ended up crashing on her sofa bed. Which sadly, was the best moment of my night.

I maintain that the idea of clubbing with its deafening music, leery men, alcohol breath and second degree lung cancer risks is a seriously overrated environment. So if you just have to, go with your friends. For that is what would make your night.

It made mine. 

Here’s wishing you all a great weekend (for Friday is soooon to be upon us alleluia!!!) and to a certain someone – the peace of mind and heart he longs for.

R.I.P. Jordan. 

Five p.m.

Listening to: The Rain Must Fall – James Morrison

Currently Reading: The Cell – Stephen King

I’ve realised that when I am here, I imitate everything I can find in order to recreate an environment that is as close to home as possible. For example, my mom and grandmother have been huge advocates of the 5 p.m. tea break for as long as I can remember.

No matter what they could be consumed with at that moment, at or around the designated time, the kettle is put on to boil and the biscuits (optional) are brought out. I have never been a big follower of this custom; to me 5 p.m. is just an hour away from The Simpsons which means that I have to shower within half an hour so that I do not miss an episode of my favourite yellow people.

When I am here however…all the rules go out the window. I began to pick up a couple of habits.

I realised just recently that at approximately five p.m. I start craving for tea. Every single thing about the process reminds me so much of home. The kettle is put on to boil and a packet of biscuits is opened up. The familiar dunking of the teabag into hot water and the clinking of the spoon against the side of the mug as it stirs in the sugar – all these things seem and smell so natural to me. Hence, when I am away from home, I become a huge connoisseur of tea and a major advocate of the five o’clock Tea Time. However, I’ve realised that the second I step home, 5 pm reverts back to simply being that – 5 p.m.

It’s 5 p.m. and as I write I have beside me a cup of vanilla flavoured tea and milk coffee biscuits.

Anyone up for a cuppa?