Rants & Raves of Jasmine’s Fiction

I don’t get it when people order steak well done.  Well done is when your meat is incinerated to resemble the bottom of your leather shoe.  When I ask these ‘connoisseurs’ about it, half of them will tell me they tell me that they don’t like the taste of blood.

What’s wrong with the taste of blood?  It’s juicy, slightly salty and metallic tasting, and it adds to the general yummy flavour of your steak.  I’d take warm blood any day over charred flesh.  Imagine the carcinogens you are ingesting.  But at least they are eating meat for what it is. 

Unlike the other half of the well done crowd.

They tell me that they don’t like their food bleeding all over their plate.  Oh right.  These are the same people that orders horribly expensive filet mignon well done and then proceeds to SMOTHER it with ketchup.

&%@#!!!

And these people have the gall to look at me weird when I order meat medium rare to mooing.  Bite me.  I like my steak so rare that it’s blue.  Sear it lightly on both sides so it’s got its beauty marks, then the best part!  The blood on the inside is completely warm.  Better if it’s served on a bed of mashed potatoes.  All the warm, juicy blood gushes out and soaks my spuds.  No need for gravy, no need for ketchup and no need for a steak knife.  I use a fork.  Bliss. 

Oh quit making faces at me! It’s not like I’m sucking down blood sausages okay?

Let’s be real.  Our society is obsessed with the liquid of life.  Don’t believe me?  Look at the evidence:

Religion (the Blood of Christ)

Legend (blood drinkers)

Monarchy (royal blood / blue blood)

Relationship (blood ties)

Emotion (nosebleed / blood lust / in cold blood / bloodthirsty)

Medicine (bloodletting)

Sports (bloodsport)

Violence (bloodbath / bloodshed / first blood)

Physical (bloodshot)

Food (blood orange / blood sausage / blood pudding)

Animals (bloodhound /blood eagle / blood suckers)

etc…

While you contemplate the life in all its bloody glory, I’m going to indulge in my daily dose of iron.

Chef, make it moo!

I’ve always liked to think of myself as an animal person.  You know how some folks are ‘Bird People’ or ‘Cat People’ or even ‘Fish People’?  I’ve always insisted that I don’t play favourites but after reading about several incidents involving dogs in the papers recently, I can confirm that I am most definitely a DOG person.  Yup.  I love pups.

The story was about this disabled lady, Jamie Hanson, 49 who had previously lost her leg in an automobile accident.  Since then she had trained a 13 year old Labrador Retriever German Shepherd mix to assist her in her daily life.  Basically she treated the pup like her own child and that pooch, having incredibly intelligent genetics seemed to understand Ms Hanson’s every word. 

Good doggie!  J

Now Ms Hanson also had a pet cat.  I don’t mind cats generally but I don’t like how they never respond when you call them and I hate it when they rip up your furniture.  Cats are also not highly rated on the ‘human intelligence’ scale. 

Ms Hansen was watching TV one evening when her feline suddenly decided to run along the back of the couch and jump onto the table that had a lit scented candle on it, consequently knocking it over.  A pot of artificial plants that resided nearby ignited instantaneously.

Bad kitty!  L

Ms Hansen, now panicking, fell off her couch and tried crawling for her artificial leg.  The flames, fuelled by numerous accelerants began to consume everything in its destructive path.

In the meantime, the smart doggie retrieved the cordless phone and brought it to Ms Hansen so that she may call 911 for help.  The pup also brought Ms Hansen’s prosthetic leg that she may get up and leave the house.

Fetch!  Good doggie!

Ms Hansen tried to put on her leg but it was too hot but not to worry!  The clever pooch returned to aid her once more.  Half dragging Ms Hansen, the dog managed to get its owner out of the house away from danger.

Sit!  Stay!  Good doggie!

At this time, the cat decided that it didn’t like the heat and started mewing.  The dog, upon hearing the cat in distress; disobediently left Ms Hansen and returned into the flaming house to get the cat.  Ms Hansen screamed and screamed for the dog to come back to her to no avail.

Sigh.  Play dead.  L  Poor doggie.

The burning house collapsed only moments after the dog went in.  Ms Hansen was the only survivor.

Sigh.

On another count, the [insert anal-retentive religion here] headmistress of a local girl school caught sight of her students feeding and petting a friendly stray dog in the school compound and she called in the dog catchers to ‘deal with the problem.’ 

The dog catchers promptly came during school hours with a shotgun and blasted the poor creature.  UNFORTUNATELY, the poor dog didn’t die from the shot.

So bleeding profusely and in terrible pain, the dog tried to run away so the dog catchers used a MEAT HOOK and skewered the poor mutt while the dog was still alive in front of the whole school of screaming girls.

One can only imagine the torment and agony that pitiful animal was going through.

I am a Catholic and as a rule I don’t believe in extraterrestrial life or animals having souls.  In the case of doggies, I sincerely hope that I am wrong about the souls and I sincerely hope that all doggies go to heaven.

I’m going to go cry in my shower now.

I am like the millions of people out there in the world who enjoy sipping freshly brewed java.  The atmosphere is climate controlled and it’s almost blissful soaking it up at the many varieties of coffee parlours - from the pretentious American chains to the less polished local family owned.  Heck, I even enjoy the overpriced yummy ice blended syrup flavoured concoctions stuffed to the brim with calorie goodness!

If you think blog is going to be a happy one you are dead wrong.  Brace yourselves people, this is going to be one long rant.

I always enjoy my Starbucks experience.  I love the velvety smell of fresh coffee as I walk in and I really appreciate the staff greeting me with the “hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you?” everytime.  But last night when I went in for a late night fix my rosy outlook on bux was very rudely busted as Mr. Bitchy Barista Bastard gave me a very long and pained sigh as I walked up to the counter.

Fine, he’s having a bad night.  I can understand so I let it slide.  Putting on a smile I pipe up “good evening, how’s your day been?”  Mr. BBB glares at me like I just killed his dog.

“What.”  BBB spits out at me.

Whoa, diva much?  Still on polite mode I go, “hmm are you still having the pumpkin spice syrup…”

“NO!”  BBB barks as he cuts me off abruptly.

I just stand there in opened mouth shock.

“WELL?”  BBB sighs like I’m a HUGE and ugly chore.  Very impatiently he rolls his eyes and growls, “Hurry up.  I have other things to do.”

Okay that’s it.  No more Ms. Nice Girl.  I give him both barrels of my Death Stare.  “Then I suggest you go replace yourself at the counter with a manager and you can go do your other things.”

“UGH!”  BBB throws his hands up in the air dramatically and storms off, leaving me standing at the counter.  What the?

Someone needs his Prozac.  And I still need my coffee dammit!  I was about to walk off in search of another green apron when BBB come stomping back with a scowl black enough to be at the bottom of a coffee grinder.  “WELL?”  He tsks irritably.

Still giving him the double barrelled death stare now fuelled by a serious blood sugar low I sloooooooowly enunciate, “I specifically asked for a manager.  As far as I know you’re not it.”

BBB fidgets uncomfortably.  “Why can’t you just order your goddammed drink?”  He whines with a little stomp of the feet.

Oh first he’s a tough guy, now he whines like a baby.  Talk about bipolar.  Sighing because I REALLY need my sugar fix, I give in.  I think I’m too nice.  “Fine, just give me a Grande low fat Hazelnut Hot Chocolate.”

“Ugh finally.”  BBB divas it up with an eye roll.  He proceeds to grab a cold cup to mark it. 

Note: Bux has 2 different cups for cold drinks and hot drinks.  Cold drinks get the transparent plastic cups; hot drinks get the opaque paper cups with the cardboard sleeve.  I point out his mistake.  “Uhm, I ordered a HOT chocolate.  Why are you marking a cold cup?”

“I KNOW how to mark the drinks thanks!”  He practically spits at me.  And to top it off, there’s no one at the bar making drinks but he just puts the incorrectly marked cup on the counter like it will magically make itself!  He then punches in my drink into the register and he oh so very rudely sticks his palm out to me and barks, “$13.95!”

I give him $15 and only the devil knows what the heck BBB’s problem is but he practically THROWS my change back at me, missing my hand completely as the coins bounce unceremoniously all over the counter and onto the floor.  Then, sniffing loudly at me he huffs off into the backroom leaving me to gather my money.

Like, hello???  Its almost midnight, there’s hardly anyone in the store; I don’t see you cleaning or prepping for your close (which happens to be only at 2am!) so why the heck aren’t you doing your frigging job??? And why do I have to look at your ‘face’ when I’m there for a pleasant experience?  If you don’t like working at bux, QUIT.  Your customers will be happier, your management will be happier and Lord knows YOU will be happier.  I won’t even get started about how disgusting the condiments counter looks, how filthy the pastry case is and how cluttered the uncleared tables are.

I was about to march into the backroom and demand that BBB either make my drink or give me my money back when the elusive manager runs into the store laden with products.  Obviously she had gone to do a restock run leaving sulky BBB behind to mind things.  When she see me standing at the counter, a wide-eyed look forms on her face.  Ooh things are looking up for me.  Smiling apologetically at me, she mouths a ‘one moment please’ to me before busting into the backroom.

From where I’m standing I can see BBB with headphones plugged in, totally engrossed with his PSP.  (At least he wasn’t jacking off or something equally gross!)

This is going to be good and I have front row seats. 

Totally Awesome Manager very calmly puts away the products and them very firmly rips the headphones away from BBB’s head.  Sputtering as he looks up, I see BBB’s face change from irritated to terrified.

I gleefully do the happy dance. 

Snarling threats, Totally Awesome Manager literally kicks BBB’s rear into gear.  She sends him for a floor run and I catch her muttering something about him scrubbing the toilet drains for a week.  She puts on her happy face before turning to me.  “Hi, welcome to Starbucks, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.  What can I get for you?”

Smiling back at her, I tell her my story.  Apologising once more, Totally Awesome Manager not only UPGRADES my drink size (which she made correctly), she also refunds my money down to the last cent AND scores me a free drink coupon. 

Aah bliss.

I’m thinking of making another bux run this evening.  I swear if I get another Bitchy Barista I will go postal.  I’m gonna go clean out my shotgun now.

Dammit!  A blogger mate of mine tagged me!

According to the tag rules I have to write 6 weird things or habits about myself and then tag 6 other bloggers by notifying them in their comments section.

Aiks, I have to tag 6 other bloggers???  I don’t think they will appreciate being tagged by me but oh well.  All is fair in blog and war.  J

Okay, my weird stuff first:

1. I have mild seizures if people with dirty hands touch my precious hard cover books.  WASH YOUR GRUBBY HEATHEN HANDS FIRST YOU PEASANTS!!!

2. I’m deathly allergic to black skinned chicken.  Serious anaphylactic shock allergic.

3. I have ZERO ability to tell if food has gone bad through smell.  I constantly have to spit out sour milk and some really awful stuff.

4. I love coffee but I cannot drink it past 3pm in the afternoon or I cannot sleep at night.  That and I go into caffeine high and bounce around like a hummingbird that swallowed a pound of Mexican jumping beans.

5. I am addicted to old school computer games.  I roxors at Dig Dug and Pac Man!  I also still play Diablo.

6. I avoid the fish displays at the pet shops because I get really freaked out by the

   Chernobyl goldfish.  Take a look!

Now for the people I’m tagging!

1. Bear Bear

2. Sunny Baby

3. Sweejikins

4. Bobot

5. Chingz

6. Yern

I wanted to tag you Whistlerick but you don’t have a blog!  BAH!

Friday the 13^th.  Honestly, I don’t really care.  Sure, Jesus was supposed to have been crucified on a Friday 13^th about 2000 years ago.  Remember that he died for our sins I will.  Worship Friday the 13th I will not.  I also will not stoop to being afraid of it like a LOT of superstitious people out there.

I’m not SUPERstitious.  I’m plain stitious. 

I’m not about to avoid stepping on the pavement cracks lest I release ghostly spirits; or stop pointing at the moon in case my ears gangrene up and fall off.  Neither am I going to stop shooing away my stupid neighbour’s black cat from harassing my puppy and I’m sure as hell not about to hack off some poor defenceless rabbit’s foot so I can taxidermy and wear it as a lucky charm!!!  Yes I wear rabbit fur but I draw the line at a whole foot!

IT’S A FLAMING BODY PART FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

It’s like all those fucking retarded gamblers who *RUB* their cards like its going to make a difference!  Or the dice throwers (you know who you are!) who claims that using their main wanking hand obtains better results than their off hand…  OMG!

Most of my Friday 13^th has not been noteworthy except for the time Carol, my sister Joanne and I were stuck in Genoa, Italy during a train strike.  THAT was fun.

-_-’

We were in danger of being stranded in Genoa on our way to Barcelona.  We HAD to be in Barcelona and the ONLY train that would take us there was leaving from Milan that evening.  Genoa to Milan is a 2 hour train ride.  Did I mention it was in the middle of the train strike?

Problem 1.  It was imperative that we got a ‘reservation’ to get on this Milan-Barcelona train.  No reservation, no ride.  That was a do or die.

Problem 2.  Train strike = sorry, all counters are close.  No reservations can be done. 

Problem 3.  It was also imperative that we get to Barcelona on this train or we’d a) lose our rooms and suffer a full penalty of about a 100+ Euro and b) we would be stranded in boring little Genoa for 4 days with nowhere to sleep, nowhere to go and nothing to do AND we’d lose 4 precious days on our very limited two month trip.

Did I also mention we were in the middle of the freaking train strike???

That entire stressful day involved a lot of charades and rapid fire Italian.  And considering our Italian is limited to ciao, grazie, pizza, pasta, that was a whola lotta Italiano thata we didn’t understando… 

We spent several hours trying to find out about the trains and after asking about a billion people, we concluded our best bet was to try and hop on the ONE and ONLY train that was leaving Genoa for the day and try to get ourselves a reservation on that Milan-Barcelona train.  Simple, right?

No such luck.  The Genoa-Milan train was CHOCKERS with people trying to escape to a more central location.  Trying to get ON the train was a challenge with our luggage and my poor sister even had to hug her suitcase while sitting on one of those tiny aisle seats…

THEN WE GOT TO THE MILAN STATION.

We had about an hour to find a way to get those reservations but with about several thousand people with tickets and no trains etc our problem was getting bigger as the clock ticked on.  We split up to look for travel agencies, ticket vending machines, ANYTHING that would let us get that reservation.

Then we saw that our train had already arrived!  Ok we’ll hedge our bets that we can get that blasted reservation on board the train.  Then we are greeted at checkpoint 1.  Several Spanish police officers asked us for our passports.  No problems there.  Checkpoint 2 was a bunch of train officials checking everyone’s tickets.  Oops. 

A bunch of American girls were in front of us with the exact same train passes that we have and they were turned away for not having a reservation.

Time to panic is at hand.

Door number 1 was now closed as the official was shooing away the girls.  What’s behind door number 2?  We approached a different train officer and we begged and pleaded but no dice.  No reservation, no ride.  &%#@!!!  We needed to get on, NOW. 

And it was then and only then that we realised that the Milan-Barcelona train was a SPANISH train.  Dum dum dum!  The sodding Italians were on strike but the Spanish were not!

Ah &%#@!!!

Carol then had the bright idea of just ‘hopping’ on the train.  We bundled our luggage and snuck into the front of the train (where the food cart was) and we locked ourselves in the first compartment that we found.  We just sat there for a bit and then WHAM a whole bunch of thoughts of what ifs and what woulds ran amok.

Would we get thrown in jail?  Would they throw us off the train?  Would they fine us 100 Euros or more each?  Would they drop us at the closest stop and leave us stranded there?  The train had started moving by then and we were half hoping that we wouldn’t be discovered…

Then there was a knock on the door.  EEK.  We open the door and all three of us little Asian girls gave the Spanish Train Official very sheepish smiles…  And…

To our relief he smiled back at us.  He said that he understood that the Italians were on strike blah blah blah and he’d take care of the reservations for us.

PHEW!

We paid him and he bundled us to another compartment befitting our lowly 2^nd class status.  All that worrying for nothing!  We slept really well and although we were smelly and rumpled from the cramped ride with no shower, the weather was bright and sunny when we arrived in Barcelona on Saturday the 14^th.  All was right again.

Moral of the story? 

As much as I hate people who herald Friday 13ths with dread and fear, when karma come to bite you in the arse it will bite you HARD.

So I say screw it!  Where’s that bloody rabbit?

Today’s blog is dedicated to the great man that was once my mentor, my teacher and my friend. 

You were like a father and a brother to us, always encouraging and supportive.  We will remember you for the brave & strong man that you were, all the great deeds that you’ve done and for the ones that you compelled us to do.

We will stand together to uphold all that you worked for and all that you believed in.  And we will try to become all that you wanted us to be.

The quotes below are my tribute to you and your legacy.  You will be truly missed.

~~~~~

Cowards die many times before their deaths but the Valiant never taste of death but once.  - William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Death is nothing else but going home to God, the bond of love will be unbroken for all eternity.  – Mother Teresa

What we call the beginning is often the end; and to make an end is to make a beginning.  The end is where we start from.  – T.S. Eliot

Precious in the sight of the Lord are the death of His saints. – Psalms 39

Death ends a life, not a relationship.  – Jack Lemmon

The bitterest tear shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.  - Harriet Beecher Stowe

Birth and Death are the two noblest expressions of bravery.  – Kahlil Gibran

Fear not death, for the sooner we die the longer we are immortal.  – Benjamin Franklin

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come.  – Rabindranath Tagore

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures

He leadeth me beside still waters

He restoreth my soul.

Yea as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

I shall fear no evil for thou art with me.

Psalm 23

This Saturday past was one of the more tasteful nights I’ve had in a long while.  Note, when I say ‘tasteful’ I mean it exactly as I say it…  YUMMY!

So butterflies first. Act One:  A couple of weeks ago I came across a little flyer for the Chinese musical Butterfly Lovers.  You should note that aside from this being one of my absolute favourite stories, I’m also a HUGE theatre buff.  As I skimmed through the flyer, I noted a very familiar name in the title credits…  Immediately, I whipped open my cell phone and dialled.

“Hello Uncle Aaaaaaaaadrian?”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I have in my hand a flyer for the musical Butterfly Lovers.  I know for a fact that Aunty Genevieve is performing in it…  Can I get a free ticket?  PWEESE?”

“Eesh, I have to pay for my own tickets la.  Fine, fine I’ll get you one too.  Is your mom going to be in town for the show too?”

“No, mom’s going to be in

China

.  Just me!  Please and thank you!”

“Okay, okay.  I’ll let you know the details when I get the tickets”

“Oh and I’ll need a ride there too…”

“Aiyah!  Okay, okay!”

Woot, free ticket and free ride to boot.  I love my Uncle Adrian; he’s so easy to wrangle, hehe.  Fast forward to Saturday evening, Uncle Adrian, his two boys, his three sisters, a niece and her husband, a family friend and I all troop to a warehouse theatre deep in

Kuala Lumpur

’s former Indian mafia district of Sentul.  The place is stinking hot and stuffed to the brim with very well dressed rich people.  The lights dim and the show starts.

Now for all of you who are unfamiliar with the story, it’s almost like Romeo & Juliet.  Spoilt little rich girl wants to go to the famous literature school to study with the masters.  Problem is school is for males only.  So she persuades her parents to let her go in disguise as a man.  There in the school she makes friends with a poor boy who’s studying to become a court official.  After 3 years of hanging out with each other, the girl is obviously in love with him but she has to go home.  Here’s the dilemma:  she can’t tell him that she’s a girl yet she can’t express her feelings lest he thinks she’s gay (she is pretending to be a man after all).

To overcome this problem, she tells him of her ‘twin sister’.  He’s very interested, and promises to go visit his buddy and the twin sister.  The girl goes home to her parents who unfortunately have arranged for her to marry the son of the richest family in town.  She screams and cries for days but her folks won’t relent.  So when her friend finally comes to visit, he is told the truth of her identity but is also broken the bad news that she is already promised to someone else.

He goes home very confused and heartbroken and from the shock of everything he falls sick and tragically, dies.  The poor girl is told the news on her wedding day and she demands that her wedding palanquin travel past his gravesite so she can bid him farewell before starting her new married life.  Her parents relent.  When they reach the gravesite, the girl leaps out of the palanquin and runs to the grave where a thunderstorm promptly begins and then, she screams that because they were separated in life, they will be together in death.  The tomb splits open dramatically and she throws herself in, committing suicide.  As the storms blows away, her minders search frantically for her to no avail and someone sees two butterflies flitting around the tomb.

Tragic ain’t it?  That is exactly why I love theatre/opera.  Someone always gets to die.  And the production was AWESOME.  After the show Aunty Genevieve very happily introduced all of us to the cast members, the director and the concert master.  As we all got ready to leave, Uncle Adrian suggested supper.  Bak Kut Teh.  Woot.

And thus begins Act Two of my tasteful Saturday:  Pigs, YUM.  All eleven of us adjourned to a street side coffee shop (this was like, almost midnight Saturday) and supper officially began. 

To the uninitiated, Bak Kut Teh is a Chinese soup concoction cooked in a clay pot.  The soup is a mix of medicinal herbs & spices like pepper, garlic, cloves, cinnamon, star anise etc all boiled together with pig bones for hours.  Inside the pot, we add various parts of the pig including the meat, ribs, feet, ears, and the highlight; copious amount of innards!  Intestines, liver and stomach are all fair game.  Yum yum!  Several varieties of mushrooms, dried tofu and lettuce are added to the mix as well.  Traditionally this fat laden dish is eaten with rice and tea.  Positively artery clogging!

Tasteful don’t you think?  I dreamt of Butterflies and Pigs that night!