The Impossibly Happy Ending

Before the dust finally settles here...

Hi. I am glad I still remember I own this space. This private little space. This private little polymorphous space of mine which I've been keeping for five years. Happy 5th anniversary virtual insanity. To kick off things better... I have to share that I had an abstract piece of mind a few nights ago before sleep. I somehow managed to transform my sanity into somewhat a limbo state, dreaming about the impossibilities or the inevitabilities, fully in control and in a very relaxing motion.

The Impossibly Happy Ending

And so, the plane has touched down. Right before my eyes, I stood in the midst of a crowd. A place no less than a stranger to me, where I finally felt that I stood out conspicuously. The focus was hard to obtain, especially when you are a chinese in white land.

He didn't come to pick me up. So I made my way to Brighton Place in my first Caucasian chauffeur's ride. Oh.. Careless cheap taxi talks, how much I loathe them and how hard it is to avoid them.

What greeted before my eyes was a white house with a brownish red roof, a two and a half kind, where the garage was actually the half floor beneath the two floors.

I sat down in the dining room around the, of course, dining table. The Dentist had shown his hospitality and taken my luggage into his son's room. Now came The Lawyer. The only woman whom I felt intrigued by and obliged to meet and adore. The only woman whom I have heard so much nastiness about, whom I cannot hurl any form of abuse ever known to mankind to even if she starts to get on my nerves. Her eyes were as striking as a python's, screening me naked, shredding every piece of armor I've had on, piercing and most probably venomous. And if this is Hogwarts, she must be a student in Slytherin. Her lips parted... the very first word which came out from that intervening space in between two lumps of wrinkled cocktail sausages, "So..."

Damn.

The Bitch IV

Now we are all familiar with The Bitch. And she is a very prominent part of me which I don't wish to lose. Because we all know, that good guys always finish last, and do not necessarily go to Heaven to chase hopping bunnies or soak in the sun with hues of a rainbow gently beaming down from the clear blue skies.

And if anyone ever reads this space and cries because, yes, so I indeed wrote about you. But try to understand why I did. Because I am too kind to say this in your face, I had to switch on my laptop, log onto fucking blogspot.com in order to make sure I don't forget the experience, the anger, the soreness, and well, because I am a bitch. If no one ever tells you what's wrong with you, you'll never learn, correct? And if you never learn, you will never grow, no? So here goes.

My awesome colleague who's supposedly to be the head of the team, the writing team, does not write well. Well, I cannot say she can't write well, the truth is, she can't. There was an idea between another colleague and I to set up a SMLJ page on facebook to showcase the SMLJ English we have to bear our eyes to everyday. And you know, most of the times, they are motherfucking hilarious, eyesores nonetheless. And the reason why I am angry, upset and tickled or even amused, is that no one knows that she cannot write.

Take what happened today for example.

"Bag is in a prestige condition except for minor scratches..."

/rubbed eyes and affirmed myself I didn't drink. Ctrl F and checked through the entire thing, and realized there were a lot of "Prestige" being used in the same context, in an assortment of writing styles... and almost fell off from chair when 20 matches came on highlighted.

Now, can anyone point out to me what the unpardonable erroneous mistakes are? Let me list down the mistakes. Plural, mind you.

1. Prestige is a Noun. Prestigious is an Adjective. And in this case, you use an Adjective.
2. Prestige means reputation arising from success, achievement.

So I discreetly reminded her that the usage of the word was well of course, ma'fucking wrong. And I asked her politely whether she meant "Pristine".

So I waited for ten minutes or a good fifteen. And she finally replied.

"Duh! Of course it's Pristine! I took it from the R09 (history; company's lingo). Thanks for highlighting,"

Now this made my blood boil like the molten lava underneath a dormant volcano because she 'duhed' me.

1. I have an IQ slightly above average and I know you used the good ten to fifteen minutes to come up with a (in your sense) perfect way to shirk this blame and avoid embarrassing yourself.
2. You did not check through your work (and you've been the one nagging us to).
3. If you really did indeed copy and paste from history, enlighten anyone why are there 20 matches of Prestige being used in the same context, in an assortment of writing styles?

If you're handicapped, do not try to sell me your wheelchair and tell me it's a skateboard. Thank you.