Oh, for a washboard!

In my quest to be all slim and 'fit',I resorted to a slimming massage yesterday-and as a result of this impossible feat, I now walk like I had wild romp session last night.My whole mid section aches, agonisingly.

She was this harmless looking, young lass who looked about 25, but the strength she possessed was astonishingly akin to that of Goliath. I lay like an offering on that parlour bed, envisioning daisies and chirping birds-an image that came to a screeching halt when she bared my tummy and slathered on seaweed lotion (I think). Still bearable,eh?

Wait.

Then she began massaging and kneading with such vigour and fury, that I had to bite my lip and focus on someone I really wanted too whack out the bliking daylights.I actually managed the 20 minutes of the torture without pleading her to stop- either the pain wasn't that unbearable,or I really hate this dude. I think it's the latter..

Anyway, after all that she fixed me up to this cellulite busting machine that had 6 oval pads placed on my 'stubborn areas' which vibrated on a moderate intensity. Thank goodness that didnt hurt.Apparently, this electrical 'appliance' breaks the fatty acid molecules...something like that lah.

The whole one hour experience was truly memorable in every sense-and it's gonna be repeated for another 5 sessions. Maybe after that...Fonda's?:)
Can't belive I'm resorting to this....

Grasping

You know, the only things that's keeping me together thus far is my to-hell-with-the-world self.
The other Anucia-the one that keeps saying "Life's too short,get a move on woman!" everytime I dwell upon my dull, unfulfilled life.

Yes, I'm envious.I envy those who have it together, those who have it all going for them.
Why?Coz I am supposed to be there...I had it all planned out, damnit! Everyone was supposed to be envious of MY life!

But look where I am today-stuck with a great job that I can't for the life of me appreciate, try as hard as I might, no family, no doggie, no social life, no love life, NOTHING!
I love my company, I get along very well with my colleagues, most of them at least....but I'm not happy.
This is not my calling. I want to get up anticipating going to work. I know the right atmosphere is half the battle won-but I want to win the whole journey. I want to conqeour my life.

It's easier to sit and bitch about things than to get off my butt and do something about the very things that make me dread each waking morning-but I try. I really do. Perhaps not hard enough, perhaps it's not my time to 'shine'. I dont know. I wish I knew.

I'm ashamed of myself, ashamed that I don't have it in me to get over someone whom I meant nothing to.
Ashamed that it's been well over a year and I still think about him everyday. Every single bloody day. Every single night. It's killing me..and slowly draining me out.

Sometimes I think that I'm ready to go out and meet new people. Then, like an unexpected wave, the reality consumes me. It's him that I want to see in everyone else. The irritatingly imperfect him.
It's him that I want to talk to, It's him that I miss dearly.

Take today, for instance.
I met this guy, kinda cute...well...my kind of cute at least.
He winked, I smiled-then I hear this voice in my head, "What the hell do you think you're doing?
And I never looked his way after that.

I'm sick of this. I'm sick of holding on. No one's asking me to-yet I don't know why I'm so obliging.
Sometimes I wish Penang would be erased like an episode of amnesia. The other times, I wish he cared.
He says he does- I wish I felt it.

Once, Twice...5 Times A Woman..

Each time I mentioned lingerie shopping to my ex, he’d give me this “Haiyo, why laaaaaaaa” pleading look. A look that would be reason enough for me to launch into a “I don’t see why you’re so embarrassed to…..” nitpicking argument.

It’s not that I needed help picking out brassieres- no one has a say in what I wear, trust me, undergarments or otherwise
Putting it plainly, I occasionally enjoy a ‘just because’ fight (after all, I AM a woman) and this was one of my favourite topics simply because he could never come up with a better excuse than, “I don’t know la…I don’t feel comfortable with all those ladies hawk-staring at me like I’m invading their territory.”

Then there’s my silly younger sister of an awkward age who’d rather have 3 eyes and 8 hands than be caught dead in that forbidden department. She would never know if she needed a new bra-my mom would. Even after that, she’d still insist that her old ones are fine, never mind that the straps have lost every bit of their elasticity. Frankly, we’re always only one step from putting her on a leash and dragging her, kicking and screaming to get her HER essentials.

On the same note, I was naturally delirious when I came across a Victoria’s Secret clearance sale ad in the Star daily last week; the good Lord above mercifully responded to the plight of my well-endowed likes!
Hence, Saturday noon found me at the Pan Global building in PJ-alone (sweet freedom) sifting through the abundant piles of bras. Coming in view of the DD, F and G cups was a humbling experience indeed.

And every bit hair-raising as well.

It was bad enough that there were sleazy looking males walking about, there was an appaling count of women with no apparent sense of dignity.
Then there were men obediently following their other halves, on the pretext of being loyal husbands/boyfriends I assume. Hah!
I caught so many of theses loyalites stealing disgusting glances at the chests of the next woman picking up bras for inspection, smiling cheesily to themselves. It made me so uncomfortable, since I caught mine being stared at countless times as well.
I guess they thought they were being discreet but little did they know that yours truly is every bit as observant as how blur she normally seems.
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for their spouses who trusted their wandering eyes to bring them to an event of such.

Horrified is the only word that remotely expresses my shock at the way some of the women were trying on the bras-they wore it over their clothes, just like how anyone would wear a bra. How utterly disgusting! I was reeling in pained embarrassment.
Firstly, how could you ever tell if it’ll fit properly if you wear it over another bra and a top? That is excruciatingly dumb.
Secondly, NOT SHY AH? Feeling and cupping yourself in public!
Imagine, I had to bear the embarrassment of two; one of theirs, another of mine-multiplied by the number of incidents.

It wasn’t stated anywhere that you couldn’t try the garments on, they just matter-of-factly did not provide fitting rooms-a total breach of consumer rights!
But the organizers were a real ‘sympathetic’ lot though, you could return your purchases in exchange for something else (which you’d have no guarantee of a good fit). Either way, skin contact will be made!
The organizers are more than willing to inconvenience their customers just to guarantee sales. Smart and insensitive.

Bitching aside, I went home a contented woman. 5 gorgeous pieces at RM19.90 each, 5 times sexier ;)

I was talking to my cousins about the sale and female assets and how hard is it for Indian women in this country (I’m not saying everyone else has it easy, I’m just representing the bulk of the Indians who share the same sentiments), when one of them said irately, “These planks! Everything is catered for them. Why the hell do you need push ups on a 32A? PUSH WHAT??”
Funny, but true.

I had my first Bharathanatyam class last Friday, and my thighs and butt still hurts till this second. But the aches are perfectly worthwhile for the teacher said that I’m extremely good for a beginner. She’d normally teach beginners a step or two but I learnt FIVE! Clap hands, clap hands…
I texted my parents and Sha after the class, saying that I just attended my first class and what encouragement I got.

Appa: WHAT????
Amma: hahahahahhaahha
Sha: You’re gonna get a fat ass going for those classes!

So much for family-Idiots!