There’s A Worm In My Stomach & His Name Is Harry

Why? Because he has hair all over his slimy body. Oh you mean why do I have a worm in my stomach? I have no idea. I just know that Harry quietly took residence last December and started full-on attack sometime in February. It’s been two months and he’s not letting up. He’s ferociously sucking every last calorie, inhaling every last trace of nutrient in my body … leaving me for dead.

While boasting the BMI similar to that of a pre-pubescent girl is the hungered-after beauty norm today, the Starving Bug-eyed Refugee Look has never been something I ever aspired to – at least not intentionally. What’s so sexy about gaunt, hollow cheeks? Sunken eyeballs? Protruding collarbone and painfully visible ribs? Pelvic bones sharp enough to poke somebody’s eye out? Bony, wrinkled fingers?

The aesthetic aspect of it is one thing, the shopping aspect of it is another. Having gone down one dress size in a couple of months has thrown my wardrobe into a bit of a tailspin. Clothes I’d purchased a mere month ago no longer fit me properly, which means I have to now go buy more stuff that will fit me. God, losing weight is tough on the purse strings.

To make matters worse, thanks to Harry’s relentless attacks, not only is the poundage melting off no matter what I eat, there are other miserable side-effects as well. My hair is drier and has lost its sheen, giving rise to what I count among the greatest banes of my existence: Bad Hair Days. My nails are weaker. Just the other day, my beautifully pedicured toenail broke off. That tiny nail cost me six bucks to have done. Damn, I wonder what else is going to fall off.

I don’t know what Harry wants with me and I don’t know if he’s ever going to stop. What I do know is that I’m going to have a huge plate of thick, gooey, cream-based pasta for lunch tomorrow and hope he’s not going to suck all that up too. He can’t. I’m running on empty as it is.

Doomed To A Life With Knee Obesity

I suffer from knee obesity. I’ve suspected it for a while now but it was only recently, after a massive amount of painstaking research, that I discovered it’s an actual condition and therefore, a real problem that requires immediate medical attention. Chubby knees. Fleshy knees. Fat knees. Freakishly obese knees. Call it what you want. It’s a horrible affliction and I have it. *Sob*

I’ve always wondered why my knees didn’t look like those of celebrities in the tabloids. You know, beautifully bony with sharp angles sticking out in every direction covered only by a thin layer of skin. They have this sublime geometric quality (the knees, not the celebs). They look almost architectural. Like a sacred sculpture carved by Michelangelo himself.

Celebrity A

Oooh, feast your eyes on those bone protrusions …

Celebrity B

I then looked at my own knees and I just couldn’t figure it out … until I learned that I’m a victim of SBF syndrome. As in Skinny But Fat Syndrome. As in I am ‘skinny’ by conventional standards but there’s a superficial layer of fat lurking directly under my skin. The deposits stored in the tissues under this superficial layer is called deep layer fat. Oh, even the name makes chills go up and down my spine! And it’s so sinister that no amount of exercise can ever get rid of it.

And among the many ghastly symptoms of SBF are: bat wings (flabby upper arms), arm scallops (fat armpits), buffalo humps (back fat), turkey wattle (flesh dangling underneath the jowls) and … FAT KNEES!

Fat knees are caused by two things – flabby skin over the knees and fat accumulating above the kneecap and the inner part of the knee. They make your legs (ie. my legs) look chunky, shapeless, totally unsophisticated and subsequently, make your whole life (read: my whole life) absolutely miserable. They must, therefore, be eliminated at all costs. Here are three possible solutions:

(1)    Vaser liposelection: a surgical procedure to remove the excess fats in the knees. Recovery period is between one and three weeks. Physical activities like running can be resumed after three weeks. But um, no thanks. I don’t fancy being cut up like a piece of pork.

(2)   Thermage: a non-invasive procedure involving radiofrequency technology.  This is so effective that you see immediate results that last forever after just one session. Sign me up!!!

(3)    Camo: as in flauge. Camoflauge. Good idea. I swear I am so-o-o-o wearing bicycle knee pads from now on.

Knee obesity is just one of the many, many beauty afflictions I never realised I suffered from until now. Thank god for women’s magazines, tabloids and bitchy celebrity blogs! Without them, I’d be walking around with overweight knees and not even know it!

4 Social Causes: Fatism, Ageism, Racism & Uglyism

This year, I shall become an activist and fight for worthy causes. It was during my Save The Workaholics campaign when I realised hey, I’m pretty good at this. And since I want more meaning in my life, I should take up some social causes. I have selected  few that are particularly close to my heart, where I can truly make a difference. So in 2010, I will …

(1) … FIGHT FATISM!

What is it? Fatism is when someone of considerable girth is discriminated against, like they get turned down for jobs like modeling, trapeze artist, diet coach or accounting; are penalised with chubby tax and need to pay for the extra seat they spill into in the plane, get looked at unfavourably at McDonald’s outlets, are eyeballed when wearing a bathing suit in public.

Why am I fighting it? Because anyone can become fat. While I may be on the skinny camp right now (some people insist I’m queen of that camp and the rest of the skinny people are my minions), I’m painfully aware of the possibility that I can very realistically put on weight. I have put on 10kg in one year on a snazzy diet of pizza and macaroni and cheese and ferocious late night Maggi Mee sessions, so if my body can retaliate and go amok that way, who knows what the future holds??!! There are many horrendous things that can happen – I might become all emo over something and turn to food for comfort. I might get knocked up, give birth and turn into a BFC (Big Fat Cow). I’m not foolish enough to think that these things will never happen to me, so I better not speak so soon.

How can I fight this? By refusing to read materials that bash fat people, watching shows that star fat people such as Biggest Loser, eating one donut a week and spamming pro-ana websites.

(2) … FIGHT AGEISM!

What is it? Ageism is when you are discriminated against and considered an old hag and over the hill and therefore, not worthy of hotness after a certain age. Unfortunately, this certain age is a number that keeps skulking farther and farther down the ladder, subject to fashion magazine editors’ whims and fancies. Because of this, signs of ageing such as wrinkles, fine lines and (god forbid) grey hair are viewed as nothing less than a horrible curse.

Why am I fighting it? Because everybody gets old. Very reliable statistics show that it affects approximately 100% of the population in every country on the planet. There are people who insist ageing is a ‘disease’ that needs to be cured. Only unhealthy people get old. I presume this means they believe healthy people will stay ‘young’ and live forever. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, so I’m flat-out ignoring this argument. Ageing is a natural part of life and you shouldn’t be made to feel bad about it. It’s also a tragically pointless exercise to try to look young forever. Famous celebrities all around the world, in their desperate bid to cling onto their last vestiges of youth (and hotness), have done unspeakable things to themselves only to wind up resembling felines and in the cases of some even more unfortunate, canines.

How can I fight this? By growing old – oh wait, I’m already doing that! Mission accomplished. Another way to fight ageism is to be extra nice to old people and to respond with great enthusiasm when kids call you auntie or uncle. When people ask you your age, tell them with pride: I am [insert (real) age here] years old! Don’t try to look younger than your age by dressing the way you think younger people would dress. A 45 year old trying to look like a 25 year old inevitably winds up looking like … a 45 year old trying to look like a 25 year old.

(3) … FIGHT RACISM!

What is it? Racism is when you are judged based on the colour of your skin. Dark skin? Bad. Fair skin? Good. Advertising campaigns are shameless in this area. Life will be better, you’ll look more beautiful, attract more men and be more successful at your job if only you were three shades lighter! Ever seen a Fair & Lovely or Fair & Handsome commercial? They go a little something like this: dark-skinned girl goes for job interview; interviewer blows her off; girl goes home and applies Fair & Lovely onto face; skin becomes 5 shades lighter overnight; girl walks past office building where interviewer sees her; interviewer offers her job (and marriage proposal) on the spot.

Why am I fighting it? Pasty white skin isn’t always attractive! Besides, what kind of message is this anyways? That you’re doomed unless you’re fair-skinned? Talk about going back to the dark ages. I figured we were more progressive than this.

How can I fight this? By shunning products that claim to lighten / whiten / brighten your skin. Instead of hoping fairer skin will make you smarter, more attractive or more marketable, why not do something radical like read a book or grow a personality? That might work better.

(4) … FIGHT UGLYISM!

What is it? Uglyism is being unkind to people who are ugly – you refuse to talk to them, date them or add them on Facebook despite their jovial personalities. Or worse, you make them your best friend so you look better in comparison.

Why am I fighting it? Uglyism is an interesting animal, one unlike any of the other social causes I have listed. For one thing, very few people are truly ugly. Besides, what is ugly anyway? Unless you resemble a cross between the Bride of Frankenstein and Jack Nicholson’s left boob, how high up you are on the Ugly Ladder is a highly subjective matter. It’s also a relative matter – it depends on how ugly/attractive the people around you are. This murky situation has caused many people who are just plain or unattractive, and not bona fide ugly, to become victims of undeserved discrimination. And that’s why it’s so important to fight uglyism. By doing so, you’re improving the lives of the plain and unattractive as well.

How can I fight this? First, by defining what it really means to be ugly, and then making this knowledge known to the world. You’re going to need an army of scientists for this. And second, by not wearing makeup to work once a week …  the world may not be fully prepared for that but hell, when you’ve got a cause, you’ve got a cause!

DIY Plastic Surgery

Ever heard of it? Well, there was the guy who gave himself rhinoplasty with a chisel and inserted a chicken bone to replace the cartilage he’d removed, the woman who cut open her own tummy to do a tummy tuck, people who try to glue their ears back or iron – literally – the wrinkles off their face.

And who could forget the Korean woman who ran out of money for silicone injections and decided to use cooking oil instead. As in she filled a syringe with cooking oil (you know, like Mazola or Knife) and injected it into her face.

Because everybody wants to look like Jocelyn Wildenstein, right? The poster girl for plastic freaking surgery. *shudder*

These poor crazy nitwits don’t need surgery. They need to be bundled up in a straitjacket and sent to the loony bin.

Couple of weeks ago, I read about Discountmedspa.com, a site that sold injectable facial fillers and chemical peels it promoted as containing a “mystery” ingredient. Right. There are even videos on the website showing you how to self-inject – just stick the unsterilised needle in here, there and over there! Nothing to it, folks!

The site has recently been shut down and the budding entrepreneur behind it, a Laurie D’Alleva, has since been arrested. Because obviously, all of the women who’d been insane enough to buy from her had discovered that, gasp, not only did the injectables not work, they produced horrific side-effects too! Like third-degree burns, hard lumps and bumps, bacterial infections … duh.

In fact, one of the customers whose entire face became inflamed after injecting herself with god-knows-what, was on record saying, “My first reaction was, why did I do this? I’m a relatively intelligent woman!” Honey, if you’d been even mildly intelligent, you wouldn’t have done this in the first place.

Miss Singapore 2009 Goes “Boomz!”

I have nothing against Singaporeans. Okay, I’m lying. I have plenty against Singaporeans (you’re not a true Malaysian unless you do – hahaha) but this isn’t some anti-Singapore vendetta and you know how it pains me to make fun of people (yeah right) … but this is just too damn funny.

So anyway, this is Ris Low and she was crowned Miss Singapore World 2009.

And this is an interview with her after her big win. For those of you who can’t load the video or are too lazy to load the video, here are some quotes (I must tell you though, watching her say them will make you pee in your pants).

• “If I’m feeling notty, then I’ll wear something rad. And loud. Something, you know, boomz. Something that shouts me!”
• “Um, the only thing that I worn is a piece of bigini and just jeans and a short down Orchard road.”
• “Oooh yes, I’m a huge fan of South Africa. I surf safari. I love lebbard preents, you know, zebra, you know, yeah, that sort of a things. You can wear lebbard preents with dark jeens. It’s all right. You know, neutral colours and um, khaki. Khaki green. You can pull it off with lebbard preents and zebra preents.”
• “I believe dat you know, I want to show the world dat beauty has its own purpose and dat not all beautiful people are bimbotic.”

So what they’re telling us is, of all the girls in their whole country, this one is the most beautiful, most talented and most intelligent. I know la, Singapore is small and there are limited choices, but come on. You’re kidding right?

Oh well. The good news is, Miss Low has given up her crown after her past conviction of credit card fraud was exposed. Apparently, the dear girl stole something like 7 people’s credit cards and used them to buy herself skimpy lingerie. I’m a little WTF about this. After watching that interview video, I figured credit card fraud would be the least glaring of her weaknesses!

Sigh … Singaporeans. You gotta love ‘em.

I Have Facial Dysmorphic Disorder

I have FDD. This morning, I discovered that I have this condition, which was why I invented and named it this afternoon. Yesterday, I was placed on a bed at a spa and extracted into oblivion (those of you familiar with facials will know what I’m talking about), not without a bout of weak protests on my part at first though, but that’s a whole other story … I eventually gave into the soothing music, comfy bed and the promise of flawless baby-buttock skin by the time my ordeal was over. What can I say, I’m a gurl (and a bit of a sucker).

Anyways, to make a long story … even longer, I emerged from the session refreshed but looking like I’d been bitten by one hundred very angry crabs. I went to work all pock-faced the next day. Since I already looked like hell, I figured there was no point in trying to mask it – if you’re going to look ugly, I say go all the way baby! So I skipped the makeup and the contacts, pulled on a McDonald’s T-shirt and paired it with flats – it’s as heinous as you can imagine. If people ask me what’s wrong, I’ll make up some deadly disease and tell them I have it.

So there I was at work, studiously shielding my face from passers-by. Instead of being horrified by my pocked-face, everybody was instead surprised that I wore glasses. “Eh, you wear glasses one meh?” Then they asked me why I was behaving all weird and hiding behind my hair. I took that as a cue to unravel my fancy yarn of tragedy, beginning with my encounter with the extraction pliers and ending with how they should call or email if they wanted to talk to me cos I didn’t want any human contact today.

What struck me most was how nobody reacted with the amount of horror or unbridled shock as I’d expected. Come on people! I was wearing glasses! I had pocks all over my face! I had no makeup! I looked like the Empress of Dorksville! I mean, if this doesn’t qualify me as a contender in reality shows like How To Scare The Living Daylights Out Of Your Kid, I don’t know what will. Instead, everybody acted infuriatingly normal. Like nothing was out of the ordinary.

This has made me realise something: I don’t look as ugly with glasses and without makeup as I think. Unfortunately, this also means that I don’t look as hot without glasses and with makeup as I think – what a sobering thought.

Which means I probably have a distorted self-image of some sort. Which means I’m probably creating drama out of nothing most of the time. Which means that’s probably what I’m doing with this post … and probably with most of my blog. Urk.

Welcome, Belly Roll & Stretch Mark

History was made in the snobby fashion world. Look ma! A picture of a topless woman who hasn’t been totally airbrushed, weighs an elephantine 180 pounds, is a US size 14, has chubby thighs and (gasp!) a belly roll drooping over her thong. Even though it was teensy 3 x 3 inch pic buried in pg 194 of this month’s Glamour magazine, the response has been incredible. It’s the first time a Real Woman has appeared in a women’s mag, which just goes to show one thing …

I don’t know about you, but I’m goddamn sick of seeing all these heavily airbrushed Barbie dolls, 99 pounds, US size 0, sunken cheeks, sunken eyes, concave stomach, giant silicone boobs, every wrinkly cellulite bit conveniently photoshopped away. Seeing someone like this …

… being hailed as a great beauty (you kidding me or what??!!) and hot and sexy and babelicious and all those other Hollywood-esque adjectives they flippantly toss around makes me feel that there’s something seriously wrong with us.

I mean, I’m all for beauty but come on! I’m not pro-chubs but I’m certainly as hell not pro-ana. When you see all these ‘beauties’ – every one of whom could easily star in the human version of the Corpse Bride – how can any normal woman feel anything but put down, insecure and most of all, FAT? My waist measures more than 24 inches, omg, I’m like soooooo obese.

I know, I know … very convenient to blame the media, the media’s just giving women what they want to see, blah blah blah … whatever. I just know that when I saw the pic of Lizzi Miller, I felt a slight tinge of relief and a little bit of hope. We’re a generation of women with the most ludicrous body hang-ups. We must be perfect (physically perfect that is; nobody gives a damn what’s in that brain of yours, as long as your body’s hot and tight), no room for flaws. It’s a ridiculous standard but one that we pressure ourselves into following. Quite moronic, when you think about it. Oh, you got cellulite? Omg! You have jiggly arms? Omg!! You got a fat butt? Omggg!!! Eh, come on la. Nobody ever died from cellulite, jiggly arms or a fat butt okay.

I just hope that this – belly roll and stretch marks and all – marks the beginning of the death of Super Skinny. It’s been so long … maybe it’s time we realise that cellulite isn’t a Disease and will not lead to a horrific and untimely Death. And neither will stretch marks or a little roll of fat.

Bali: Purify & Beautify (5/5)

I put on my sarong and tie the sash around my waist. It’s 6am and I’m off to the beach for my Purification Bath. The sacred water – which includes water from Tirta Empul – had already been prepared yesterday evening and left to infuse overnight. I’ll be ‘bathed’ in it this morning.

Pic by Marcus Wong

I head to the beach and … it … was … cold … and … l … don’t … like … cold. I hurry down to find Fauzi and Waya, the priest, waiting. I’m to bathe in the sea first. “You can just wet your head, face and feet if you wish, but it’s better if you take the plunge and get completely soaked,” Fauzi tells me.

Being kiasu (I was Singaporean in a past life), of course I want the maximum benefit from the ritual, so I go all the way nearly freeze to bits. I get out of the sea, shivering.

Pic by Marcus Wong

Back on the beach, Waya tells me to stand facing him, hands held together in a praying position and close my eyes. I do. Then I feel the first scoop of icy cold water splash down the top of my head, drenching my already soaked body. I’m so cold, it might as well have been a bucket load of ice! Chanting softly, Waya continues to scoop water from the pot and pour it on me. On and on he goes … he will do this till the water in the pot finishes. The thing is, it’s one BIG pot. I try to be yogi-like and think pure thoughts but all I can think is that I just may pengsan from hypothermia.

After about 15 scoops, the pot is empty. Waya tells me to open my eyes. There are flowers on my head, shoulders and arms, and all over the ground where I’m standing. He places a magnolia behind my right ear and a generous pinch of grains in my hands. “Place a few grains between your brows,” he says. “This is to keep you seeing only good things. Place a few grains in between your collarbone so that your heart radiates goodness. And swallow a few grains so that you only speak good things.” I’m not sure about that last one but I eagerly swallow half a dozen grains – a little supernatural help can’t hurt.

I’m bundled up in a big fluffy towel and sent back to my villa. I smell yummy. I take a quick shower and head out to breakfast – need a full stomach for my Final Day Facial & Hair Treatment ma.

I start off with the Mesipat facial, a traditional Balinese beautification ritual which involves sandalwood and tamarind leaves. The face is exfoliated with grains of rice and massaged with mini floral pouches.

Then, there is the Mekramas hair treatment where my scalp is massaged with coconut oil and candlenut. After the massage, a mixture of hibiscus leaves and aloe vera is applied onto my hair and my head wrapped in banana leaf and secured with bits of ‘lidi’ – just like a packet of nasi lemak, only bigger. Walking out, my heads feels about 10 pounds overweight.

This is my headgear, taken off after 15 minutes … kan I dah kata macam sebungkus nasi lemak?

… and the result of my hibiscus-leaves-and-aloe-vera treated hair: ta-da! A python-like coil on the top of my head. It’s so sturdy even a bout of semi-violent shaking doesn’t upset the do.

It takes me 30 minutes to shower and pack. Our plan is to drop by Ubud on our way to the airport. So, the earlier we get there, the more time we (by we, I mean me) have to browse around (by browse , I mean shop). After making our goodbye and thank you rounds at the spa, we arrive in Ubud with 1.5 hours to wander around aimlessly. Which is exactly what I do. By myself.

I’m not very good at doing things on my own. I don’t like it. It makes me nervous. Whether this is an indication of some deeper psychological childhood-related disorder, I will explore in another post. For now, I’m alone in Ubud and not liking it terribly much. Not until I make my first purchase (a bright red pair of fisherman pants!), after which I feel a lot more relaxed and … less lonely. I wonder what says about my mental/emotional state?

I’m walking along the road and except for the occasional calls offering taxi service, nobody bothers me or pesters me to buy stuff, which is a definite plus in my books. Situated in the middle of the island, in the midst of rice paddies, Ubud is Bali’s cultural capital and has been so for over 100 years.

With three main streets, the central town area is made up of what appears to be hundreds of tiny little stores – from artsy coves selling beautiful paintings to workshop-type holes peddling sculptures to kitschy souvenir stores …

… there are chic little boutiques and shops displaying beach dresses, sarongs, kaftans and fisherman pants by the truckload …

… all tossed in with quaint little cafés, restaurants, guesthouses and B&Bs – each with a distinct personality of its own.

I’m walking on the sidewalk, which is no more than a mere 2 feet wide. There are plenty of loose bricks, holes and uneven steps, so I trip every now and then. I can imagine walking around at night – better watch your step! There are also dogs everywhere. They don’t really bother you although the idea of a big black dog and his hyperactive friends jogging along at your heels can be unnerving.

By 5pm, it’s time to leave for the airport. The roads are clear, so we get there with time to spare. Which isn’t an entirely good thing cos the airport is – sadly – boring. There are too many souvenir shops and not enough F&B outlets. Next to none, in fact. So instead of relaxing in a café and waiting over a cup of steaming coffee, we wind up sitting restlessly on a steel bench for over an hour.

Out of boredom, I go shopping and I use the term ‘shopping’ loosely. I buy a packet of prawn crackers, two boxes of Pocky chocolate sticks and a pack of Pringles. I know. Five days of fresh fruit juices and organic food shot straight to hell. I bite into a prawn cracker. It doesn’t taste good. I’m bored, so I eat it anyway.

Just when we’re about to board the flight, an announcement comes: flight will be delayed. $$@%$@#$%^&#%WTF!!! So much for the purification bath, huh? I spend a few minutes cursing at Air Asia before opening up my pack of Pringles. I bite into a potato crisp. It doesn’t taste good. I’m bored, so I eat it anyway.

We finally board an hour later. It’s boring on the flight too, which is why I while away the time eating Pocky and feeling sorry for the flight attendants. I know Air Asia is a low-cost carrier and all that but I simply can’t get over the whole selling of food/drinks and cenderamata onboard. It’s just tacky, like operating a pasar malam 30,000 feet in the air. Why would anyone would buy Oreo cookies or Maggi mee or whatever while on the plane? The only thing to buy I’d buy (and only cos they confiscated my water bottle earlier) is water. And that’s already sold out. Hey!!!

Seriously, the purification bath from this morning isn’t working.

I buy iced tea instead. It doesn’t taste good but I drink it anyway cos I’m thirsty. Now, back to why I feel sorry for the flight attendants: they’re peddlers of tacky crap. I mean, selling a cup of Milo or Kit Kat is kesian enough; they also have to hawk Air Asia merchandise (hence the tacky crap).

“Any food or drinks (or tacky crap) to purchase,” they drone, vacant looks on their faces. With any purchase, the attendants then take money and give change from a red plastic pouch. Like hawkers. And if people order hot drinks, they mechanically slice off the top of the sachet, pour hot water into a Styrofoam cup and pass it to you, throwing the empty sachet into the makeshift dustbin hanging off the corner of the cart.

And they do all this while clad in tight red uniforms, faces coated with thick makeup, cheeks stamped with bright pink powder, false eyelashes dangling crookedly from tired blue-shadowed lids, bleached hair with untouched roots … and sometimes, they wear a little too much perfume – something you’re unpleasantly reminded of every time they march past you in the aisle.

So yeah, I feel bad for them. They’re flight attendants, not tacky merchandise mongers. I’m beginning to feel what I believe are the first stirrings of … compassion. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this before. It feels … strange and … rather pleasant. Whoa. Maybe the purification bath is working its magic after all.

The 10 Signs Of Auntiehood

In other countries, auntie means the sister of your father or mother; the wife of your uncle. Here in Malaysia, auntie means different things. It represents a certain phase in life, a certain type of appearance and certain ‘auntie-type’ characteristics. When someone calls you an Auntie, it’s not a compliment. In my post today, I invite you to do an Auntie Quiz, which I have so ingeniously devised. Answer every question with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ and find out if you are indeed an Auntie.

1. Do you have a general disdain for the sun and will go to any length to avoid it? [Y / N]

You wear a straw hat (and not like the ginormous designer one like Kim Cattrall had on in SATC) but more like the type farmers wear to tanam the padi. You also wear those ‘sleeves’ that go all the way up to the upper arm – either that, or you half-wear a long-sleeved shirt (if you don’t understand what I mean, you’re not Malaysian).

2. Do you waddle from side to side instead of walking? [Y / N]

Your arms are bent most of the time at a ninety degree angle, shoulders swing from side to side, duck-like. Sometimes, there is over-enthusiastic arm-swinging. Your purse is humongous and bursting at the seams, and is usually situated right under the arm in a typical kepit fashion.

3. Do you have Auntie Hair? [Y / N]

Auntie Hair is a mysterious thing and is hard to pin down. But by and large, Auntie Hair is Big Hair just like those you see on mak datins (this of course, mostly refers to Aunties with a lot of money). The hair is monstrous in proportion and is frightening enough to startle both large animals and small rodents. Auntie Hair can also be permed and short, kind of like a bouquet of black candy floss coating the skull.

4. Do you wear carrot-cut jeans? [Y / N]

In America, they call these mom jeans; in Malaysia, we call them Auntie Pants. Auntie Pants are high-waisted – this elongates the distance between waist and crotch and wraps around the tummy in a most unflattering manner. Auntie Pants emphasise the hips and thighs (something no woman – no matter what age – wants) and then taper down to abruptly end right above the ankle bone.

5. Do you have cracked heels? [Y / N]

You mostly wear slippers or sandals, which expose your feet to all kinds of dirt and grime on a daily basis. And because you pay more attention to your face than your feet, you have these horrible cracked heels with dark grey lines, dirt all seeped deep into the cracks, which can be easily eliminated with Scholl cracked heel balm in just three days! [insert advertisement jingle here]

6. Do you have tattooed eyebrows, eyeliner or lipstick? [Y / N]

If your husband / boyfriend has never seen you sans makeup, it’s cos you have it tattooed onto your skin. And the tattoo job is poorly done. Eyebrows are charcoal black with a bluish tinge, harshly drawn – you bear a close resemblance to a Chinese opera singer. Eyeliner also charcoal black with bluish tinge. Lipstick too red to be real.

7. Do you talk about buying things … A LOT? [Y / N]

Your conversation topics revolve around shopping, shopping and shopping. It doesn’t matter shopping for what – food la, clothes la, real/fake Gucci handbag la, sambal belacan la, whatever – you love a good bargain and will go on and on about it. What you bought, why you bought it, where you bought it, how you bargained to buy it, how you want to buy some more of it and how everyone else should also go and buy it the same way you did.

8. Do you wear makeup when doing physical activity? [Y / N]

You are fully made-up at the gym, in an exercise class or at the park. Of course, if your makeup has been tattooed on, then this statement is irrelevant. This statement is meant for those who haven’t gone the tattoo route and are still fully made-up when working out. Most of the time, you wear an exercise headband (that matches the rest of your outfit) and sometimes, if you’re in the mood, a visor.

9. Have people accused you of being an Auntie? [Y / N]

You have been at the receiving end of comments like, “Aiyo, why you so auntie one??” or “For heaven’s sake, can you stop being such an auntie or not??”

10. Are you worried about how you will score on this quiz? [Y / N]

This fear is an indication that deep deep down, you already know that you have the Auntie Gene. It has been laying dormant all these years and you have this terrifying feeling that it’s about to manifest itself.

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THE AUNTIE VERDICT

(0 YES) Congratulations!!! You are safe and will not be inducted into Auntiehood anytime soon.

(1-2 YES) Uh oh, Auntiehood is beckoning. You must be vigilant and whatever Auntie things you’re currently doing, STOP them right now.

(3-6 YES) You are quite Auntie already. There’s no hiding it. There’s still a sliver of hope though, but you need help and you need it fast.

(7-10 YES) Embrace your Inner Auntie for there is no turning back. Look on the bright side – Auntiehood isn’t that bad. It’s one step away from Ahpohhood, which most people will greatly respect and no longer make fun of.

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No aunties were harmed in the making of this post.
(A few may have been offended though)

High Heels: To Wear Or Not To Wear?

1. Keep your eyes up.
2. Suck in your stomach and butt so your weight doesn’t shift backwards.
3. Imagine there’s an orange between your thighs.
4. Imagine you’re wearing heels higher than the ones you have on.
5. Think confidence. Think glamour. Think red carpet.
6. And run like a Hollywood princess.

And that’s how you run in high heels? Good advice for all the Carrie Bradshaw wannabes and participants of those crazy High Heel Marathons.

I thought High Heel Marathons were nuts and then, I saw pics of Italian policewomen who wear high heels on the job.

I also thought the Italian govt was nuts and then, I read about Christian Louboutin’s creation: mainstream fashion’s first pair of 8-inch stilettos.

Now, let me first state that I personally love high heels. Can’t help it. Like I’ve confessed before, I’m a product of today’s society. I wear heels five days a week and I love the way they make me look and feel (or rather, the way I’ve been manipulated into believing how I should look and feel) … as much as I adore them, however, I’m not addicted. There are limits to my heel-wearing – for instance, I’d never wear them out on a five-hour shopping stint or anything. I’m all for fashion but hey, I’m not a fan of pain.

High heels have been linked to a form of masochism. They’re likened to torture devices such as so-tight-you-can’t-breathe corsets used back then as ways to subjugate women … kinda like the hundreds worn by this crazy woman, Cathie Jung, to achieve her freakishly tiny 15-inch waist …

… I know: yuck. Just like the corset, high heels torture and impair women. The argument is, anything that deforms your figure, cripples your movement or harms your health is a form of masochism. And high heels – I must admit – fit all three. Wear them long enough and you just may suffer from incontinence, stress fractures, back and hip problems, broken ankles, pain in the jaw, neck and head, menstrual dysfunction and fertility problems (!!!).

My initial reaction was a big scoff … until I read about women going under the knife for the perfect feet (read: high heel-friendly). They’re sawing off their toes to shorten them, snipping off the last few toes to create that desirable ‘cascading’ toes effect, draining the fat from the ankles, injecting Botox into the balls of the feet for more cushioning so they can wear heels for longer periods of time, subjecting the lower calves to lipo so that the calves are slim enough to fit into sexy knee-high heeled boots, shaving down the ankle bones and narrowing the feet so they can fit into European-style shoes like Manolos. I hope you’re horrified right now cos I sure was when I first found out about this!!

Even in today’s world where people are reconstructing their entire faces and bodies, there’s just something so horribly extreme about feet surgery. Just like Chinese women who smashed their bones to “reshape” their feet so they could fit into the tiny three-inch Golden Lotus shoes back in the 900s …

… women today smash up their feet so they can wear Manolos and Louboutins (today’s Golden Lotuses) for longer periods of time and look good doing it.

Esh, can you blame them when you see Hollywood princesses wearing blue-soled YSLs with a 1.5 inch platform and 5.5 inch heel? That’s a whopping 7 inches already. That woman needs a crutch.

I feel physical pain just thinking about the extent women will go to in order to teeter and totter in those 8-inch heels. And we think we’ve achieved equality???

The more things change, the more they stay the same. No matter how far we’ve come, the fact is undeniable: most of us are still slaves to beauty. Or at least, what certain people tell us beauty should be, a large number of whom are men who will happily design 8-inch heels they themselves will never have the misfortune of wearing.