The Adventures of the Overprotected

The past two days seriously wore me out. I can stress enough how physically tiring waitressing is. If I hear anyone call it a dumb ass job, somebody gonna get a hurt real bad. One thing I must say though, it is becoming quite an experience with Interviewer getting me to do a lot of accounting work that includes vetting the stock-take. I’m kind of getting this whole restaurant management thing and I feel more confident now that I can do when the time comes. But I still have a long way to go and a lot more to learn. Thankfully Interviewer is the complete opposite of LD and he perpetually asks me if I have had a break. Unless I need to smoke, I don’t see why I need a break. What the hell is there to do? Stare at yachts and ducks?

I’m not sure if I mentioned that on Saturday last week (Day 14), it was just Interviewer and I on the floor serving an almost fully occupied bar and restaurant. As you can already imagine, the two of us ran like headless chickens throughout the night and by the time we cashed and closed up for the evening, it was way past midnight and I’d been on my feet for about 12 hours. Yesterday Interviewer recollect Saturday to explain how grateful he was that I did not have a nervous breakdown and that I trouped on alongside him. Apparently my work ethics are admirable. To be dead honest, I had quite a bit of fun that night although I ended up very tired and probably knocked right into sleep the moment my head touched the pillow. But the thing is I had a lot of fun. So I can conclude now that regardless of what I do,  I live for the stress. This also affirms that Rastahair is right – I am an over-achiever. I will never be happy being second best.

What was nice about last night was that I got to get off work by about 6pm because the new Model/Waitress seems to be pretty familiar with the systems in place at the restaurant. Last night was the first night after work that I drove home not feeling completely busted. In fact, I drove home feeling super pleased with myself having accomplished an entire week’s worth of waitressing and not having to work in the next two days.

When I got home, HM1, HM4 and I decided to go watch Superhero movie in the cinema nearby. It was not exciting, barely funny and a complete waste of time and money. It was so bad that I fell asleep halfway through the movie (even though I was all sugared up thanks to a large Coke slushee / slurpee) only to be woken up by HM1 poking me on my arm. I was relieved that the movie was over. I needed a smoke badly.

I was really knocked out when I got back home but when HM3 we indulged in things that come in little blue boxes and went straight into la la land.

So as you can tell, my work days are really boring and therefore I’d rather not bore you with procedures on how to make a perfect latte or how to pour a perfect pint of lager.

Today I got up at a reasonably decent time of 10am. Only because the postman literally knocked the front door down because he had a parcel for HM2. I don’t think I was in the deepest of sleeps then but I was really annoyed. When I opened the door, an irritated Postie mentioned something about a parcel that I had to sign for and almost pushed it into my hands. Needless to say, when I returned his stylus after signing for the parcel, I wanted very much to poke his eyes with them. Fucking bastard.

I get a text from HM3 this morning and we are supposed to go for lunch. Except this time I am supposed to get him from his office because he didn’t drive to work today. His text states the address and tells me to find it on googlemap. I sort of know the area so I decide to do my laundry instead and leave looking for directions to later.

At about midday, I quickly browse through googlemaps and the instructions were very clear – 1. Exit Great North Road and turn right; 2. Turn right again at Bond Street. Easy. Right and right. How difficult can that be. By the time I got there, a right turn didn’t seem, well … right. So like the champion that I am, I turned left instead. After about a kilometer, I still don’t see Bond Street, I decide to make a U-turn and go down the road where I was supposed to have turned right. It must have been about five minutes later when I realised I was completely lost. I lasted another 20 minutes on the road trying to look for the damn place and finally called HM3 for the third time to tell him lunch was not going to be possible because by the time I find the place, our visas would have expired and we’ll be travelling back to our respective homelands.

The conversation went like this:

I just finished my first split shift. If I have to do another split shift soon, my brain will split into half. HM2 says that it’s bad enough to have to drag your ass to work once a day but TWICE? She has a point. But because I am too nice to say anything, I agree to weekend split shifts. I am not nice. I am an idiot.

Brunch was bad. It is a Sunday and loads of people came into the restaurant to eat, drink and be merry. It was back to me and Darren again because Responsible had to go off early to her sister’s baby shower – right smack in the middle of brunch! This is not funny or fun anymore because I can barely feel my feet. Responsible also tells me that last night her partner (Note to readers: For some strange reason, NZ people refer to their bfs/gfs as ‘partners’. The one time I used the word ‘girlfriend’ I was corrected – ‘No, she’s not my friend. She’s my partner.’ If I bring this fucked up word home to KL, you have my permission to slap me) rubbed her feet because they were so sore. I wanted to smack her. She left early and didn’t have to close the restaurant. She didn’t deserve that foot massage. Biatch!

Indigenous Chef made a very salty breakfast. More bread again. I am going to throw up soon. I want to tell all Chefs that I don’t eat bread because it doesn’t taste nice and it makes me sick but I don’t because they will probably think I’m stupid or that bread does not exist in Malaysia, which they will probably think is a part of China. And they call us a third world nation. The irony of life!

HM4 downloaded the latest episode of Lost. Did not want to watch it last night because I was more interested in killing myself slowly by smoking lots of cigarettes and drinking copious amounts of cheap bourbon. Oh by the way, I saw Moonshine in the liquor store and I got so totally excited. Note to self: Must drink copious amounts of Moonshine to gain bragging rights and will force it down my throat even if it tastes like shit. I will watch Lost tonight. At least there is one thing to look forward to.

My coffee making skills are vastly improving. It finally looks like coffee. Spanish Chef paid me a big compliment on my flat white yesterday. I was very touched. If a Spaniard tells you it’s good, it most probably is. Spanish guys aren’t very sensitive to girls’ feelings. For example, the first time I made Spanish Chef coffee, he had one tiny sip and chucked the rest down the sink in disgust right in front of me. He also told me my coffee was shit. So I finally can make coffee now.

Got an email from TBKL today. I’m finally hearing from him and I’m pleasently surprised that he is not, as I thought, dead. The email reads as follows:

The party went on till pretty late last night and I was entertained by HM1 throwing up without much warning. HM4 crashed out mid way. I love drinking in the cold. It’s gets you going all night long, you never get sleepy and you can jump around and never get too warm. I can’t wait for winter to come and will definitely need to stock up on the booze. McKenna is growing on to me and I’m starting to think it’s better than Jim Beam.

Got into work at 9am which was horrendous. I drove to work in a daze but when I got into the restaurant, I met the new duty manager who I absolutely like. She is so different from the girls that just left the restaurant (thank God for that). She’s responsible, helpful and gracious. She’s also just a few years younger than I am so she’s a lot more mature than the teeny boppers I had to put up with for the past few days.

Work went very well today. Responsible seems to think I know lots about the restaurant which I don’t. I obviously know more than her now seeing that this is her first official day. She was full of nerves in the beginning, which I found plenty endearing. I’ve been helping her out and teaching her about the system the whole day. She likes me very much. She told me so. I am very pleased with myself today.

At about 11am Spanish chef cooked us up Eggs Benedict. It was creamy and the eggs were made just right but I felt really sick afterwards. Now if he could cook me up some BKT or pan meen, I’ll be super thrilled. Yeah right. Then at about 1pm, Kiwi chef gives me a plate of fried bananas and ice cream! The bananas were really good and his batter was super light and sweetish. Note to self: must use beer, corn flour and self-raising flour to make good batter. But the ice cream killed me. I almost threw up after dessert. If they keep feeding me like this at the restaurant, I’ll go back to KL looking like an elephant.

I came back home at about 4pm. Got rostered in for a split shift today which sucks madness. Read an email that I got from Rastahair and I was not pleased with its contents. I decided to ring him to shout at him but I ended up whining and whinging about having to do my own laundry, making my own bed, cooking my meals, driving a car that doesn’t go above 100km/h, having to wear a seatbelt all the damn time, no kopi shops, no kopi shop’s KOPI, no BKT, no dim sum, sucky Japanese food, no proper drinkers/drunks, no proper pubs, no snooker, no kaki to play snooker with … and the list goes on. I did however apologise at the end of the conversation for whining so much and that I definitely sounded like a cross between a spoilt brat and a bimbo. I miss manja-ing. Can’t do that with anyone here lest they really believe I am a spoilt brat and a bimbo. But Rastahair, like all the other goons that I have known since forever, forgives me. That’s because they love me. And I love them all the same.

I get off work and I do not feel my legs anymore. One waitress and a bartender decided to FFK us for illness or whatever it may be and I am a little apprehensive because I will have to break down the bar. It’s not as fun as it sounds. Believe me. I would love to break a bar but not break a bar like I have to do tonight. For two bars, nonetheless.

Everything is going on fine until I notice discrepancies within bills and I am told to tally up receipts and money. Rule number one. You never get new staff to handle money and if you really have to, you watch them. So either I look very trusting or Interviewer just doesn’t really know what he is doing. I’m going with the latter.

I got a very nice card from HM3 which he left in my room. That really made my day. If all Czech guys are so adorably thoughtful, I’m moving there next. I’m sure they have kids there that I can form my project around. Yup. I am a citizen of the world and I can live anywhere I want. Though, I will most probably be disowned by my parents. And the resident dog. But who needs parents at an old, old age of twenty eight. And we can always buy another dog. I am a citizen of the world.

Got to bed super late. HM3 and I got back home at the same time. He mentioned something about hitting a car and arguing with Italian/Afghan. My brain feels like mashed potatoes and I don’t listen to what he says at all. I’m sure I asked him what happened (in reference to both events) and I’m sure he answered but I seriously cannot remember what he said. I wonder if I should ask him again today.

So, HM3 and I had a crappy day at work. We drink and indulge in the little blue box (not the best of ideas). Then I think we almost ate everything in the fridge. As I walked past the kitchen, there is HM3 sitting on a chair staring at the toaster waiting for his bread to pop up. He had a butter knife with butter on it on his right hand and had the expression of a cross between a baton relay athlete and a depraved man. Not the prettiest of sights. I see tomatoes on his left and that’s when it all started. We almost ate everything in the fridge.

Again we were drinking, smoking, indulging in things that comes in little blue boxes and eating. Again we talked about forgettable things but we talk for a long time. I’m not sure why I keep having forgettable conversations with HM3. But then again, at 3am, after 12 hours of waitressing, does one really need to talk about Communism?

I got the day off from work today because it’s Anzac day and HMs are not working as well. Since I got here, I don’t remember a day when we are all at home together because someone is usually at work. HM3 is in the kitchen cooking us a meal and I’m half expecting to be poisoned. No matter. I got another bottle of bourbon and more tobacco.

Today was incredibly peaceful. Got up at 2 in the afternoon because HM3 and I stayed up until super late last night. We met at home and polished off what ever that was left of the bourbon, smoking cigarettes and talking about everything and anything that is forgettable but fun. He brought a bottle of red wine back so after the bourbon was finished, we went to the muddy soccer field, drank wine, smoked cigarettes, looked at the stars and talked more. My ass got so wet and cold from sitting on the field but I can’t remember having a nicer time than I did last night. We drank loads and I cannot remember the ride home. HM3 hasn’t told me if I made an ass of myself last night so I probably didn’t. The drama-mama in me did not emerge. Very strange.

Muthu (Mahendran, Kotte, PK … whatever) rang at 7.30 am this morning (WTF!). I did pick up the call but it got cut off when I did. Usually I’d ring back but I probably just got to bed then (like I said, I don’t remember what time we got back) and was still dead tired. I sent him a text just now and apparently he couldn’t sleep so he decided to ring me. I think he misses me. No, actually I’m sure of it. Muthu, if you are reading this, I miss you a shit load too. HM2, HM3 and I went out to the basketball field. I decided to go because it’s almost been 2 weeks since I’ve been here and I’ve probably read a grand total of 20 pages in my book. I managed at least ten pages in the basketball court. We went to the soccer field. I was happy to see swings there and I think I probably read about 15 pages whilst swinging. Swinging and reading is always the best fun but it got a bit too dark and we decided to fuck off back. Oh, we did go to the supermarket today and I got the wine and the flowers (and more bourbon). Yellow and purple is a pretty sweet combo.

Interviewer rang me earlier. He heard that I wasn’t feeling very well last night from one of the girls at the restaurant. He wanted to know how I was feeling and if I was going in to work tomorrow. See, this is what I don’t get. If your boss calls you on your day off, it is usually because he wants you to go into work and there’s some stupid emergency. But I forget that this is not KL and Interview is not an LD. This is nice. I think I will quite enjoy working for him.

Like I said in my post yesterday, I haven’t been inspired to write for the past couple of days. Maybe nothing super interesting has been happening. The people that I meet in the restaurant do not amuse me. Although the chefs are super cool. Everytime I stuff up an order, they let me know and tell me it’s okay and that they’ll take care of me. Some regulars at the restaurant say the same thing. I do feel blessed and I am grateful because things could have turned out much, much worse.

Last night when we were talking, I told HM3 the real reason why I am here in NZ. He didn’t seem to shocked and I put it down to two reasons: One, he has absolutely no idea what I was talking about because I could have been slurring after one too many bourbons and he was too polite to tell me that I was uncomprehensible; or Two, I inspire so much confidence that my project doesn’t seem beyond me. So reason One is probably correct. He has absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

 Dinner is over and we have had a few drinks.  Today is ANZAC day and THEY are commerating the people that have died in the war. It’s bullshit. Many years ago, I had the most brilliant literature teacher in school. Ironically he was from NZ. Nigel Mitchell. I will never forget him. He taught me the most wonderful poem that I would ever read in my life. Dulce et decorum est.

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, 
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, 
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs 
And towards our distant rest began to trudge. 
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots 
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; 
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots 
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! –  An ecstasy of fumbling, 
Fitting the clumsy helmets^\just in time; 
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, 
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . . 
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, 
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. 
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, 
He plunges at me, guttering, choking and drowing.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace 
Behind the wagon that we flung him in, 
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, 
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; 
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood 
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, 
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, 
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory, 
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est 
Pro patria mori.

I feel completely alone. Trying to get Bean on MSN but he’s not there. I miss Bean because Bean understands what I am trying to say. And Bean and I always share the same opinions. I miss that. The constructive arguments and conversations that we had over too much wine. Red after White after Red after White. l hope it will not be too long before we can have those conversations again.

I love you, Bean.

I have not been inspired to write in the past couple of days because I am homesick and I’ve just started the job. Whoever said waiting on tables was easy should be shot. There’s an entire science to the running of a restaurant and you can imagine how much fun it must be to stand on your feet for hours on end. When I sit on the stairs during my smoke breaks, I feel like my ass is going to rip itself apart. It isn’t easy.

This is a small price to pay if I do in fact achieve what I want to do. I keep telling myself that this is the first step to it all and that if I cannot hack this, then I might as well go back to working for Le Demons, whine and whinge about injustices to society and die a miserable and unaccomplished human being. And that’s encouraging myself to go on for the real reason. Even the fake reason why I am here is not working up my moods. This doesn’t feel like a holiday and the fun element has been ripped out completely because I miss my comfort zone.

Last night Bayi Woman sent me a text message saying Muthu just finished his paper and they are going out to Vintry’s for drinks. Muthu told Bayi Woman to send me that text to annoy me. It’s not so much annoying but depressing. I want to go for celebration drinks with Muthu, Bean, Bayi Woman, Hammie and wife. But I cannot.

Today is Shee Shee’s birthday. I sent off a card to him on Friday and I hope he received it. I haven’t yet text him and I think I’ll ring him later after my shift. I want to have birthday drinks with Shee Shee. I can imagine Dumb Ass Bro No. 1, Shee Shee and I (and maybe Bra) going to RedBox and getting pissed drunk, which means we will be dancing to Dumb Ass Bro No. 1 and Bra’s rendition of 50 cent or some rap nonsense. But it would be have been superbly fun. I forgot to remind Dumb Ass Bro No. 1 about Shee Shee’s birthday today and I feel so crap about it. I seriously hope he doesn’t forget because I don’t want Shee Shee to go to After 5 alone after work and drink MacCallan with a bunch of girls whose obvious motive for socialising with him is to get him to buy more drinks.

A few nights ago I rang my mom who didn’t really have time to speak with me because she was in a meeting. She promised to call me later that night but decided that dinner with some friends was, inter alia, more important. I called Aunt at Woodlands Ring Rd instead and had the nicest chat. I love them at Woodlands RR. WRR Aunt and Uncle never fail to remind me how much they love me and how much they believe I’ll be able to do it. And of course there’s the kids who probably think I’m some saint of sorts to want to embark on such a crazy, untested and unsupported project.

Overall I am still in tact and more or less in one piece. And I’m probably feeling down because I am tired. I need to space out for a couple of days and get my mind back on track. Actually, come to think of it, it’s probably due to the lack of alcohol. Over here the average is under 3 shots per night and some nights, none at all. It’s ridiculous. Now I understand why I feel depressed. There is too much blood in my alcohol stream. But tak de kaki la! I think if they saw us drink from kopi shop to T Club to Waikiki’s to Press Club all in one night, semua pun pengsan.

Also, I haven’t been swearing my here. Everytime I get on the phone with Adelaide Aunt, I can’t stop saying ‘chow hai’, ‘kanina’, ‘niama’, ‘tiu’. I miss kicking ass, especially Bean’s and G’s. I’ve had loads of target practice on theirs. I miss slapping Muthu. I miss shoving Dumb Ass Bro No. 2 and I miss irritating the Resident Dog. I miss telling TBKL that I hate him and that he’s a fuck and a half. I miss lunches with the Chinaman and I miss Shee Shee calling me at 3 in the afternoon on a work day and asking if I want go to out for a drink. Now I can’t imagine why I ever wanted to leave KL in the first place. What’s worse is that the Hokkien Mee here is not black!

But this is something that I need to do in order to start the project and I feel blessed because most things have been running smoothly. But because I’m so incredibly homesick, my mind and body has gone into auto pilot mode. I’m doing things for the sake of doing things and I am eating because the chefs in the restaurant make my meals and I’ll feel bad if I don’t eat. Thankfully tomorrow I have the day off so I can drink copious amounts of alcohol tonight and feel better about my present life. And tomorrow when I wake up with a massive hangover, I will go to the shops and buy myself flowers and a big bottle of wine. Life will be good. Soon.

Note to readers: Please. Don’t be a dumb ass and worry about me here. I’m just in one of my drama-mama moods and probably by tomorrow, I’ll be back to being ziKi again. If I get any texts or calls to ask if I’m okay, I’ll fart bomb your car when I get back. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

Today is the first day I go to work. Actually it’s not so much work but more orientation. I barely pull myself out of bed and I think I am late. I manage a quick coffee and a fag (absolute necessity) and get to work in good time.

This restaurant business is not as simple as it looks. The POS system is pretty complicated and they have position numbers for everyone seated at the table so that wait staff know who ordered what. One thing I cannot understand is the table numbers. It is not consecutive and it is not logical. What the fuck is wrong with these people. I’m not complaining. This is how it all begins.

The kitchen staff is older than the wait staff. The median age of the wait staff would be 20 and that makes me feel ancient. The person that was supposed to show me around didn’t really do a very good job. She’s all over the place but thankfully I follow. The other chick was much better. She had a great smile and a great attitude. She’s really helpful and I learn to make coffee from a coffee machine from her. It’s a lot of fun and we makes too many cups of coffee that will be poured down the sink because if we drank all that I made, we wouldn’t sleep until a week from today.

There is tension in the restaurant. I finally realise that all the wait staff are leaving on Friday probably in a bid to protest against Interviewer’s new policies. Apparently the floor team will be completely new by Saturday this week. It comes as a shock and I am a little bit disturbed. But as I spend more time with Whiny (the one that was supposed to show me around), I am slightly relieved that she’s leaving. She’s slip-shod and lives in her own world. She cannot stop talking about herself and at some point, I want to slap her. But I don’t.

At some point during the day, Whiny and Smiley have a conversation in front of me about how they want to stay on because they like the place and they would stay if Interviewer increased that pay but NZD1 per hour. Now I really want kick some ass. I’m happy that they are leaving. Let’s leave stories about work at this. I have many things to consider now that I kind of understand the basic mechanics of running a restaurant. I feel closer to my goal.

When I get home I feel completely dead. To cheer myself up, I cook up a lot of noodles. HM2 is hungry which is great because I have too much food anyway. We ate and then we chatted about everything for a good two hours or so. It’s very rare that I see HM2 this much at home and that’s only because she decided to take the day off today.

HM1, 2 and 4 decide to go watch Keanu in the cinema. I’m not interested because all I want to do is take a shower and sleep. Before I jump into the shower, I realise I’m so out of saline solution so I take a drive out to buy some. Two supermarkets and a drug store later, I get some. Note to self: contact lens solutions are not sold in supermarkets. This is all very strange.

I get a call from Aunt in Adelaide and it was fun. Oh and Bayi woman called earlier today to congratulate me on my car. She thinks it’s great so I have to tell her the following:

a.       There is no central lock system.

b.      There are different keys for the door and ignition.

c.       It vibrates like a whore on crack if you go about 100 km/h.

Bayi woman has a fit. She says this: ‘It’s like we put you into a time machine and sent you back in time’, which was followed by a very hysterical laugh. I can’t help but laugh just as hysterically. It’s funny but I like 1993. It makes a shit load of noise and it makes you wonder how road worthy it is. But I absolutely love it.

It’s 10.35pm and I haven’t eaten since noodles in the afternoon. Need food. Off.

Today started off with a rather pleasant surprise. I got a text message from HM3 about having lunch near his work place. This is all great timing because I need to run a couple of errands and go to another job interview and HM3 and I meet half way. HM3 and I have hit it off really well. We have a lot in common and I feel less homesick when I am in his presence. There’s something oddly familiar about him. Big plus points – he adores Billie Holiday and he’s been singing Landslide (the Fleetwood Mac version) for days. Bean will surely approve.

Lunch was unfortunately short but it was a lot of fun. He nicks my lighter again! This must be the third time and I do not notice this until I get into my car. At this time, I want to stick a chopstick into his eyeball and swirl his brains around. Maybe that’ll teach him a lesson.

HM3 leaves for work and I go to the post office to register myself as a proud new car owner and send Shee Shee a birthday card. His birthday is on Thursday and I cannot believe I will not be there to see him get pissed drunk, puke all over the place and Dumb Ass Brother No. 1 trying to carry him into the car. Good luck with that. Now I wonder if Shee Shee’s put on weight since I left. God knows he doesn’t need it.

The job interview is like a zillion miles away but it’s a nice drive and I finally get to see Harbour Bridge. It’s a bit like the Penang Bridge but much, much smaller. The lanes are filtered in a very strange way and there are barricades all over the place. I’m a little disoriented because the sun is directly in my eyes and the Gucci’s are not helping! My cheap ass 20 bucks sunglasses that I bought in Phuket were much more comfortable. Gucci is going to blind me.

So I am at the job interview and completely forget that this agency hires catering staff for events and such. This is crap. I’m already not interested. What am I supposed to achieve from a job like this? Worse, the interviewer, a stick thin, tall and gangly man in his mid-30s, does not inspire much confidence. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a really nice person. Just not confident, does not inspire confidence and I get the feeling that he’s giving me a presentation that he’s not prepared for. He also uses the phrase ‘you know’ in every single sentence. At some point, I got bored, switched off and started counting the number of ‘you know’s. In a total of 60 seconds, I counted 35 times.

I am relieved to get out of the office and I promise to call them the next day to let them know if I am interested. I could have told him there but I pretend to be polite and tell him I will definitely consider this very interesting and prospective temping job. Bullshit. Big time.

How could I explain my drive home? I got lost and 90 minutes and 100 kilometres later, I get back. I got very lost. At about 50 kilometres, I am completely lost and I could have driven to Wellington and not know it. So I pull up at a petrol station and there’s this macha behind the counter. Apparently I’m not too far off. That’s great. I’m still in Auckland. Macha gives very good and specific directions in his macha-slang. It’s all good. I know where to drive towards now. God bless macha.

Traffic on the motorway is bad. Think Sultan Ismail with traffic cops at the lights. A large man on a larger bike is in front of me. Motorcyclists actually queue on the roads in the country. I am very impressed. Suddenly a cop car comes out of nowhere and Large Bike Man moves to the lane on my left. We are side by side and stuck in bad traffic. Thankfully I have a new lighter on me and I light a cigarette. I’m still bored. So I start singing (the radio does not work on 1993). I sing Billie’s Blues in the car, smoking my cigarette and I am happy because I am less bored. Until I notice Large Bike Man looking at me. And he’s giving me one of those ‘are you a fucking retard’ look. I start praying for the car in front of me to move. Nothing moves for a good two minutes. I swear Large Bike Man stared at me the whole time. He thinks I am a retard.

Finally I make it home and I feel completely busted. But a couple of bourbons later, it’s all good. Alcohol makes me happy.

I got up at an un-Godly 6.30am this morning because I promised HM1 to go to the fruit and vegetable market with him. Did not want to go after he told me that he wanted to leave at 6.45am (WTF?!) so that he can finish his shopping before the crowd gets in. It took me all of 10 minutes to realise that HM2 would still be at work at that time so the poor thing would probably have to go along. So I agreed. I had to. Otherwise God wouldn’t let me sleep well after 6.45am. Thankfully I managed a quick coffee and smoke before leaving for the market. Should I thank God for that?

Anyway, the market is like what we get in KL. It kind of reminds me of the Bangsar morning market but slightly bigger. I’m really pleased because I get my favourite things in life (in this order): NOODLES, fishcakes and radish (HM1 refers to radish as ‘crazy Asian vegetable’ but secretly is curious to find out more about it because he asks me what I would do with it). I am pleased. I will finally have oodles of noodles today. And they are fresh yellow noodles and not the awful dried up shit that you can get from any damned supermarket in any part of the world. Like I said, I am pleased.

We get back from the market at 8am (double WTF!) and I’m thinking the that the good people of the world are still asleep on this bright Sunday morning. I go to bed. I want to be the good people too. But I have to be up by 10.30am. We’ll cross the bridge when we get there. ZzzzZzzzz ….

Today is a day that I have been waiting for for the entire week. I don’t think I’ve told many people about it but today I GOT ME A FUCKING CAR! That’s right, baby! I don’t have to do the whole walk/bus thing anymore (sorry, Mom) and hilly Auckland can kiss my ass that will no longer ache and can safely continue to be fat, flabby and fabulous.

HM1 takes us (including HM4) to a weekly car trade fair type thing near the city. People take their cars for sale and basically buying a car here is no different from buying a fake Rolex on Petaling Street. You haggle. HM1 is good at haggling. My brain was still in bed. I am thankful for HM1 and today I will elevate him to superstar status.

The car reminds me of Egotrip’s red Volkswagen in Leicester. Yes, the one that cost £100. Mine cost NZD1,425 and I have to get a new registration ticket (road tax) tomorrow because it expires on Tuesday. It is the size of a Kelisa and the gear stick is no different from the one in my old Proton Saga circa 1996. It’s a 1993 Mazda Familia and I bought it off a 25 year old Iranian dude who sells second hand cars as a part time job but really aspires to be an IT consultant. He’s currently still in college and has been in NZ for the past 9 years with his family. He doesn’t like Iran but he misses his friends. Oh yeah, and he lost NZD2,000 once after fixing up a 1994 BMW that didn’t sell for as much as he hoped for. Poor thing. He’s actually quite a sweet kid and seems relatively honest. I hope he does well in life.

So I get the car but Iranian dude has to deliver it to the house later because there is a problem with the window on the driver’s side. It needs to get fixed because whilst the purpose of a car is technically to get me from point A to point B, it should also be a smoke zone. Windows no working means no smoking. No smoking means no good. And no good means what the fuck am I buying the damn car for? Oh yeah, so that I don’t have to walk anymore =) Hee hee … I’m so pleased! Life is good and God loves me.

Well, HM1 is cooking dinner tonight and he’s going to make a pork roast (Muthu: Is this considered real, acceptable pork?) so we go down to the local butchers to get the meat. After that, HM4 says something about going to the liquor store to get some booze and suddenly a great day becomes a fucking awesome day.

The prices here are so damn weird. A bottle of Black is almost the same price as a Glenfiddich and JIm Beam is cheaper than JD. What’s up with that man? Anyway, HM1 points out this super funky looking 1 litre bottle of bourbon from the good ol’ U S of A. It’s NZD35 (translate: RM91) for a 1 litre bottle of bourbon. Are you kidding me? I nearly died! If this turns out to be good shit, that’s gonna make me some happy days. Woo hoo! The cashier looks at my purchase and immediately comments that what I picked out is in fact good shit. Monday, Tuesday HAPPY DAY …

By the time I get back, it’s just before 2pm. The Indian in me tells me to open up that damn bottle and pour me a nice drink as a reward for getting up at an insane hour today. HM1 and HM3 are calling me an alcoholic or something to that effect but when the heart gets what the heart wants, the bloody wankers get muted out. I get a couple of cubes of ice and pour myself a decent sized drink. I take the bottle out to the liquor shelf and by the time I get back to my drink, HM1 and HM3 already had a swig each from my glass. Did I say bloody wankers? And of course, since everyone was drinking anyway, HM4 decides that he deserves a sip as well. It has been a long time since anyone tried to share my whiskey or cigarette. But these dudes don’t know any better and I silently forgive them and remain calm, lest I shove them all into the clothes dryer to dry out the water in their brains. But I am happy. I let them off. I have a car that I can smoke in.

The day is almost over but in my head it was over 3 hours ago. I am almost brain dead and I can’t think of anything better than to try to at least finish one chapter of Stoker and go to bed. By the way, HM1’s roast was excellent. I already smoked in my car (twice) as I was driving back to the house (I had to send Iranian dude back home after he delivered the car to me - it was a bit of a stupid ding-dong situation). One set back that I can already forsee, no, TWO setbacks – will have to wear seatbelt (FUCKED UP) and will have to obey speed limits (TOO FUCKED UP). KL seems like a cowboy town in comparison. Cowboy towns are good. At least they’ll never run out of cigarettes and whiskey. No matter. I have a car that I can smoke in.

P.S. I’m posting pictures of my car and a picture of the bourbon. I don’t know how it’s going to look like after I upload them so bear with me. If you look closely, next to my bourbon is HM4’s Absinthe.

Movin’ to the country, Gonna eat a lot of peaches

I’m movin’ to the country, I’m gonna eat a lot of peaches

…

Millions of peaches for me,

Millions of peaches for free

It’s completely stuck in my head and it’s probably because I saw a large tin of peaches in the pantry. I cannot get that song out of my head and I don’t have that song in my HDD so I will just have to distract myself. It shall be Snow.

Today is Day 7, which means I have been here a full week and I have accomplished absolutely nothing. I spoke to Fabio on MSN today and he tells me something about a pig-farming issue in Selangor. I vaguely know of the issue but I will download Fernandez’s article from the Sun.

I am missing Malaysian politics, contrary to what Bean says. New Zealand news is really boring. The people are simplistic and peaceful and that means minimal drama. It is really cold today and for the first time, I’m in my jeans.

Last night I get a text from Bra who tells me that he will see Bruno/Monster on Sunday because he is in Melaka today. I wonder how the poor mutt is doing. The longest I’ve been away from him is 3 weeks and when I got back I felt a distance that took a couple of weeks to rebuild. It’ll be damage control on overdrive in October then.

I packed a couple of books to bring with me on my trip but so far I haven’t finished the one that I’d been reading a couple of weeks ago. Small Jo will be severely disappointed that Stoker did not manage to grab my attention enough to finish by now. I make myself a promise to finish it by the end of the week but there’s a movie to watch on DVD and I want to drool over Mark Ruffalo. Ga ga ga!

Karaoke in Auckland is very much catered to the Orientals and it’s nothing like Redbox. There are alternative karaoke joints in bars but you sing on a stage and everyone can hear you! I blame Bra and Pappy Cheah that we missed out on Redbox that night, but I must admit that I had such a blast. I still don’t like vodka but when you are in an ice room at minus a zillion Celsius and vodka comes in test tubes all is GOOD.

Shee Shee mentioned something about how vodka keeps him awake. That should explain why Bra and I were jumping around all night long. Now I cannot wait to get back to the monkies. I absolutely miss them to death. And of course, Bruno/Monster.

Someone please tell Robert that I am in New Zealand and will be back in October to keep T-Club profitable once again. I think he called me a couple of days ago but I can’t be sure. Maybe I should send a card to the crew there. I can’t believe I forgot to tell them about my travels and this makes me miss T-Club even more. I didn’t get to say bye.

One thing I cannot understand about drinking culture outside of Malaysia and Singapore is that they don’t do bottles! I remember trying to ask a bartender in Adelaide if I could purchase a bottle of Black and park it at the bar. He stared at me for the longest time and possibly thought I was an idiot of sorts. Fucker. I’m not going to try that here but I will continuously remain unhappy about paying for shots! I mean, it’s not my fault that no one here drinks copious amounts of Black. As you can imagine, it’s a huge beer-drinking culture here. God gave me a brain to make an absolute choice to prefer whiskey over anything else and that should not be subjugated by having to pay absurd amounts of money to enjoy a life that rightfully mine.

I’m getting bored.

It’s almost 2pm and I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere today. Today is the first day that I am actually bumming in the house and it seems pretty ok because HM2 and HM4 are here as well. Like I said, it’s almost 2pm and I haven’t had anything to eat yet not because I’m not hungry but because I really only want BKT now and everything else will be crap. Instead, what I would most probably end up doing is drink coffee all day long, smoke a shit load of cigarettes and read Malaysiakini all day long.

I had two and a half pleasant surprises today. Aunt in Adelaide called this morning. We still want to kill  Bastard but I think we have to seriously re-strategise. If they decide to give it up at some point, maybe I’ll bring a 3rd party action against him under some obscure legal ground. God bless me with the opportunity to whop his ass and then castrate him. We speak for the longest time and I’m glad to know the kids are doing well despite the crap ass situation they are in no thanks to Bastard.

Second, Interviewer called me to tell me that the job is mine. He must really like me because I remember him saying that he’s interviewing a couple of people today and tomorrow. So far, I’ve been quite likeable in NZ. Or maybe it’s because my nonsense hasn’t really surfaced yet. But for now, I think I will leave the good people of Auckland (and the HMs) and keep my dramas in check.

Muthu called me again. He was in court. Like I said, it’s always nice to hear from someone I know well. That’s the half pleasant surprise. It’s only half because I spoke to him last night. I should grant him a full pleasant surprise since he’s probably spending a shit load of money calling me but he’s Muthu. He’ll love me no matter what I say.

I just realised that it’s HM4’s first day here. Damn I should have taken him into the city earlier because it’s too late to do that now. But I got up feeling shite (did not sleep well last night for unknown reasons) and selfishly forgot that this dude is totally new to this place. I get the best idea: On my first day, HM1 told me about a couple of pubs up the street (when I say up, I mean uphill, again!). He says he doesn’t really go there because old people go to those places and that’s not really his scene. Sounds like T-Club to me. And if you know me, T-Club ROCKS! Spoke to HM4 and we’ve decided to go pub hunting. HM4 is a big Absinthe fan and he plays pool. Anyone who likes drinking and playing pool are good in my books. Now if only I can find a snooker kaki … I am too embarressed to tell HM4 that the only time I tried Absinthe, I only managed to down half a shot. Fucking thing is vile man! I’d rather Red Label/Kerosene anytime. Cool. I am happy now.

HM4 and I walked all the way to Henderson. It’s friggin far away but I didn’t realise it because I am expecting to see a pub within the suburb and not having to go all the way to Henderson. I would have taken a bus there but I guess I got the wrong directions in my head. We walk and walk and walk and we get to Henderson. God damn! My ass isn’t aching as much now. I think I’m getting used to this walking bullshit.

We go into a sports bar. It’s not very pub-by. The furniture is plastic and the pool table is covered. I buy the first round of Speights and all’s good. A lady who works in the pub tells us that there’s a hypno show tonight and they are closing at 5pm. By the time we’re done with our first round, it’s 4.30pm. Yes, it took that long to walk there.

We find out that there’s another pub across the road. Pub Woman tells us that that’s not a very nice place but we go anyway. It was so cool. There are two pool tables and we play about 3 rounds of pool. I kick ass only because HM4 hasn’t played pool in a year. That’s a long time and I suppose you get really crappy when you haven’t played that long. His game progressed better as we played though. I got to give him that.

We drink a little and at about 8pm we decide to walk(!!!) back home. It’s a long walk but we have a nice chat. He holds my hand probably because I’m wobbling. I can never tell if I’m wobbling. I probably am. I haven’t had anything to eat all day and I have been drinking. Initially it was beer but I couldn’t help looking at the lonely bottle of JD on the counter. I had to have some. Some became quite a bit.

Well, HM4 is cooking my dinner. I suppose maybe it’s because he feels bad that I did the cooking and washing up last night. In any event, it’s chicken and pes-gehttti. Fantastic. You couldn’t possibly ruin something like that but I think it’s awesome to have my dinner cooked for me.

I’m waiting for dinner. Absolutely starving. I don’t think about BKT and HM1 is playing this online game where he shoots birds. You can hear gunshot sounds from his computer. I go out for a fag and the sky is friggin clear. You can see the stars – all bright and brilliant. In the background, I still hear gunshot sounds. I haven’t read much of Malaysiakini today.

Dinner was fantastic. Food tastes so much better when there is little in your stomach. For us people who don’t do manual labour, we really eat way too much. I am thinking about the Sharman Apt Russell book ‘Hunger’. It is only when we don’t over indulge, that we truly appreciate every bit and flavour in our tounges.

HM1 puts on a DVD. We are watching David Lynch’s Wild At Heart. I’ms eriously thinking that Lynch’s movies only really make good entertainment when you’ve dipped into the little blue box. Otherwise, Nic Cage or not, it is boring as hell.

I think I’m going to turn in early tonight. It’s been an eventful day and to be honest, I’ve walked way too much. I cannot wait to get my car on Sunday. Then everything can go back to normal. I miss WPK108 and all those nights when I used to drive back alone with Billie on the radio and a lit cigarette. I miss home and I miss the monkies. But I am one step closer to achieving what it is that I am here to do.

Selamat malam sejahtera.