stripes are a girl's best friend

This is so spot on, me reckons.

You Are Boyish Sexy

You're the kind of girl who gets along with all the boys. Whether it's holding your own in a game of football...Or kicking some major butt while playing Xbox. You hang with the guys easily, while still keeping your girly sexiness.

Take the "What Kind of Sexy Are You?" quiz

touchy touché

I have this colleague at work, let's just call him Uncle.

Uncle is one of those dear, fatherly kinds. Everyone likes him, everyone respects him, everyone enjoys his company.

Everyone, including me.

That is, except for one thing which I feel downright uncomfortable about.

Uncle likes to touch. No, not in an OTG (orang tua gatal) manner, but let's just say that he's overly warm and friendly. You know, whenever he greets you, he'll put his hand on your shoulder or squeeze your upper arm, that kind of stuff.

Thing is, I am one who despises coming in contact with those whom I don't deem close to me. Especially not in an office, where professionalism should be the order of the day.

I know he means no harm, that his touches are clean and innocent. But still. Why must there be any touching at all?

And the thing that bugs me the most is: I am a Muslim.

So is he.

In fact, he's very knowledgable in religious matters. He prays five times a day without fail, performs the Haj yearly, the works. Granted, he's not an extremist, but it doesn't take a radical Muslim (nor a person with Islamic beliefs for that matter) to respect another's personal comfort zone, innit.

I'd hate to offend Uncle, but I know I gotta say something somehow. Any suggestions on how I can tackle this issue gracefully?

through fat and thin

Confession: I am an avid listener of ERA.

A lot of my mates—most of whom are Malays whose first language is English—will give me a LOOK whenever I admit this this. With a wrinkly wince, they'll blurt out that they just can't understand why.

Well.

I am Malay.

I love Malay and Indo music.

And I am an ardent supporter of the local music scene.

So, why not ERA?

Anyways, I'm getting carried away from the whole point of this entry here. Calm down, o' mighty angst. Booyakasha!

Now where was I? Oh, right. I listen to ERA. And from time to time, I'll hear excerpts of advice from Dato' Dr Fadhilah Kamsah. For those not in the know, this man is a highly regarded motivational figure whose speciality is anything and everything on marriage and wedded bliss.

Today's tip truly caught my attention. The Dato' started off with this reminder, especially dedicated to all husbands out there:

You chose to marry her; don't you ever forget that.

As such, hubbies should accept their wifeys as they are. Stop complaining about her size 34 waist, and about how it used to be a sweet, tight 24". I mean, what, did you seriously think that she was going to stay young and slender (and for that fact, free of wrinkles) forever? Wake up and grow up, please!

The best part of Dato' Dr Fadhilah Kamsah's advice?

"Awak-awak tu, pinggang awak tu ramping ke? Nak isteri yang cun melecun, tapi awak tu cun melecun ke?"

Ambik kau.

But while I agree completely with our Dato' Dr. Love, that's not to say that you should take things for granted. Many people are guilty of becoming complacent when they've been with their partners for a considerable amount of time. Some even have the mindset of "We're married already, so why should I go out of my way to impress him with my looks? If he truly loves me, he should accept me in any condition."

Yes, it's true that he should love you no matter what, but is there anything wrong with maintaining your beauty? Muslim wives are even encouraged to beautify themselves whenever they're around their hubbies. Think of it this way, if you practice this, not only will you earn big brownie points with your man, but you'll also score some pahala along the way. It's a win-win situation for us women, really!

I'm not saying that you should deprive yourself of epicurean pleasures. Notice that I used the term "maintaining your beauty" and not "maintaining your weight," so please don't starve yourself silly for your man because trust me, it ain't worth it.

As for the men, the next time you wanna grumble about your queen's seemingly rounder behind and/or thicker love handles, look in the mirror first lah, brader. If instead of a six pack you see one "prosperous" pack, then perhaps tis best that you just bite your tongue ;Þ

wise words

"Love should be free of all prejudices

—including matters of the weight."

-- yours sincerely ;)

the damned quarter pounder

Damn, damn. Double damn.

I feel so darn pudgy right now, thanks to my lack of wisdom in choosing food for lunch. Yup, yours sincerely disgustingly stuffed her face with a Quarter Pounder, as well as medium fries and Vanilla Coke. What the hell was I thinking?

But I can hardly be held culpable for this idiocy. For serious, it ain't my fault, people. How does one stay strong when as soon as one walks through the Golden Arches, one gets seduced without warning?

Now come on, you can't possibly tell me that you won't falter after seeing the juiciness of that.

And you know what else seriously doesn't help? The scrumptiously salty scent of fresh French fries... It's tough, oi!

But just like with everything else in life, you gotta know your limits. A large meal?

Calories in Quarter Pounder

A quarter pounder with cheese, large fries & large shake contain about 1300 calories. To burn off the calories, take a brisk 5 hour walk.

Five blinking hours of walking? Am so patting my back for settling with just a medium meal.

But still.

I'm definitely going for kickboxing today, man.

Curse you, McDonald's. Curse you to bankruptcy.

~*~

Perhaps I shoulda just had this...

After which I'll be surfing high on my very own...

~*~

If these bad-ass big boys from Pulp Fiction couldn't resist the evil seductions of the Quarter Pounder and its other sinful fast-food friends, how could I?

Vincent Vega: You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?

Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?

Vincent: No, they got the metric system there, they wouldn't know what the f**k a Quarter Pounder is.

Jules: What'd they call it?

Vincent: Royale with Cheese.

Jules: Royale with Cheese... What'd they call a Big Mac?

Vincent: Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it Le Big Mac.

Jules: What do they call a Whopper?

Vincent: I dunno, I didn't go into a Burger King.

Even weapon-bearing citizens in cartoonland have fallen prey to this evil of our world:

Lou: Well, at McDonald's you can buy a Krusty Burger with cheese, right? But they don't call it a Krusty Burger with cheese.

Wiggum: Get out! Well, what do they call it?

Lou: A Quarter Pounder with cheese.

Wiggum: Quarter Pounder with cheese? Well, I can picture the cheese, but, uh, do they have Krusty partially gelatinated non-dairy gum-based beverages?

Lou: Mm-hm. They call 'em, "shakes."

Eddie: Huh, shakes? You don't know what you're gettin'!

Hallelujah. I ain't alone in this predicament, no seree.