How NOT To Tackle Exams

For the first time in two weeks, I’m up before the sun is. Seeing that sunrise is at 9.54a.m., you know what I’m getting at. I wish I could say it’s because I’m hard at work, drinking in page upon page of my Surgery textbook, but the truth is, my friends and I have never been this lazy before an exam, especially not one this important.

Today is the day I attempt to do work instead of sitting around like a House-addicted twat (yeah, I know. The show’s not even cool anymore.)

But before I do that, let me pull some wisdom out of my bum and tell you how NOT to prepare for important state exams that determine your future.

1. Get At Least 10 Hours’ Sleep

I’m usually a person who only needs about 5-6 hours of sleep and some coffee to function somewhat well. While I was happy that classes were over and I wouldn’t have to wake up before birds did, I was confident I wouldn’t sleep more than the luxurious 7 hours I normally give myself on weekends.

What rubbish.

My body has been a pathetic disappointment. I’ve been sleeping at 5a.m. and waking up at 2p.m., followed by a 90-minute nap after brushing my teeth and reading the news. Add my chores like cooking and laundry to my day and I’m left with very little time with the books.

2. Eat Lots

This is my procrastination method of choice. I could read while snacking or having tea, but this person who used to sneak a book to the dining table as a kid now has issues with reading and eating at the same time. Let me give you an example of how I use eating to ruin my chances at a decent exam results AND fitting into a Karen Millen dress:

2p.m. – Roll out of bed

2.10- Weigh out the pros and cons of my breakfast options while reading tweets and Facebook notifications

2.30 – Have breakfast

3p.m. – Brush teeth and make myself look generally presentable for human interaction.

3.30 – Realise that I could’ve had lunch as soon as I woke up. I mean, it’s the afternoon, right? It makes perfect sense.

3.35 – Surf the Net for lunch recipes that are healthy and not boring.

4.30 – Decide that everything on the Internet is too fancy and settle on making anything that has the chili supply of a small country in its gravy.

4.35 – Have a cup of coffee and biscuits before I begin cooking (you know, because cooking is such a taxing task and breakfast may not be able to sustain me till I’m done.)

5 p.m. – Start cooking.

6.30 – Have lunch

7p.m. – Have tea and Kinder Bueno for dessert

7.20 – Hang out with friends while food makes its way down the GI tract.

8p.m. – Have coffee so I can stay awake to study

8.30 – Realise that it’s late enough to have dinner…

You can see where I’m going with this, right?

3. Live On Social Networking Sites.

Imagine Twitter is a bright shiny thing. Well, I’m the fucking magpie that keeps flying to it. I swear, the tab is always open and I check Heck, if Twitter were a person, they would have a restraining order out for me. What’s worse, I talk to my roommates about tweets I find funny. I bet they’re looking for a Twitterholics Anonymous in Moscow or something.

4. Find New/Interesting/Creative Music Videos On Youtube

Every time I have an exam, I create a playlist of about 400 songs that I’ll never be able to listen in one sitting because I have the attention span of a goldfish with ADD. This year is no different, except that I’m a little bored with the songs on my iTunes and the world is not coming out with anything worth listening to. Thankfully, the good people I follow on Twitter sometimes share music links. While I may not like the song they’re sharing, the related videos featured on the page may have some gems. Here are my current top three favourites:

1. Utah Saints – Something Good
( I prefer the High Contrast remix, but this video is pretty cute)

2. David Armand (as Johann Lippowitz) and Natalie Imbruglia – Torn

3. Gotye – Somebody That I Used To Know

Okay, I probably should use my burst of early morning energy to read about pancre….Oh, new tweet! Gotta go.

Before 2012 Ends

As always, I’m late. I wanted to write a post about the ups and downs of 2011, but was too busy having fun. That’s a good way to jump into a new year, don’t you think so?

Right. 2011 in a nutshell.

1. Twitter Friends

The primary reason I got myself a Twitter account was to get away from people I know personally. It’s sounds awful, but trust me. When you live, study and do almost everything with the same people everyday for almost 6 years, you need a break. 

Boy, did I get a break! In the past 12 months I’ve got to know so many interesting people with amazing lives. I’ve been stuck in a rut for so long and these people got me out of it. Let’s be perfectly honest: would you expect a med school student to know about stone sex toys, krav maga, erotica writers with little sexual experience or pretty much anything that happens off-campus? Twitter has been my free pass to all of that, and I’ve never been more grateful.

2. Maroon 5 Concert

I waited NINE friggin’ months for this one. You see, the concert was supposed to be in March 2011, but Adam Levine decided to be an attention-seeking twat and had to be on NBC’s The Voice instead. Thankfully, he’s hot and the band’s performance more than made up for the torturous wait. Plus my friends and I had pretty decent seats.

It was a pretty big deal for me, since it was the first concert I’d been to in Moscow and the second concert I’ve ever been to in my life. Yeah, real ‘Dear Diary’ moment right there.

Holy crap. That’s all worth remembering about 2011? Excuse me while I go make 2012 the bee’s knees.

‘Tis The Season To Be Jolly (TMI Tuesday)

Some of you may know about this thing called TMI Tuesday. If you don’t, go Google it or something.

Ugh, fine.

It’s a bunch of questions with a theme that comes out every Tuesday and it’s kinda fun to do if you’re in the mood for some “It’s all about me” blogging. I am in that sort of mood today, so here’s my TMI Tuesday.

This time of year there are so many holidays and celebrations that overlap, which is why it is called Holiday Season.

1. What will you be celebrating? If it isn’t a commonly known holiday or celebration (i.e., Christmas, winter solstice, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa) briefly tell us about it.

Christmas, although there’s no public holiday for it, what with Russians celebrating Christmas on the 7th of January and all.

2. What’s your favorite Christmas or holiday tune?

All I Want For Christmas Is You- Mariah Carey. I know, I know. It’s old, it’s cheesy but so is Christmas.

3. If you are giving or receiving gifts this holiday season:
– What’s the gift you most want?
– What do you think is the best gift you are giving?

I don’t know what I want the most. I want to be cheeky and say, “get laid” but I suppose Thomas Combezou in nothing but a Santa hat and a grin will do.

The best gift I’m giving? I really don’t know. I just try to make my gifts to people as personalised as possible and hope for the best.

4. If you could spend this December holiday season anywhere, where would that be?

At home, with my mom, my family, my dog and all the drama.

5. Your family has announced that the holiday celebration & get-together will be at your home. You think to yourself:

a. Yes! Finally…the more the merrier.
b. I don’t have enough room for all of you, but let’s rent a hall and you all get hotel rooms.
c. Over my dead body, I don’t want you freaks in my house.
d. Hmm…I wonder if it’s too late to book a flight to anywhere, leaving on Christmas eve?

We all do meet up for the holidays but everyone lives in the same city, so accommodation is not an issue. Gotta love small countries and small families. And I like my family, so I do look forward to Christmas gatherings.

6. Have you ever given a fruit cake as a Christmas gift or a gift at all? Do you even like fruit cake?

I’m not really big on giving food as a Christmas gift, and something as typical as fruit cake is a big no-no for me. And yeah…I don’t even like fruit cake.

Bonus:  Share with us one of your holiday traditions.

In Malaysia: Christmas morning mass, breakfast at The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Christmas lunch with the family and zone out on a full stomach.

In Moscow: Gift exchange on Christmas eve, Christmas morning mass, breakfast at Starbucks, Dinner with the friends. Ooooh! Pot roast!

Electricity, Exams and Eyewear

I’ll be honest. I don’t fancy blogging in December. I’ve mentioned it before; it’s my least favourite month of the year and the only thing I like about it is Christmas. Which is kinda funny because the suckiest parts of December usually popped up around Christmas eve when I was a kid.

But enough about that. Here’s some random thoughts. You know, because I don’t feel like reading about upper gastrointestinal tract bleeding.

1. I’m partially homeless at the moment. The wiring in my asbestos-laced hostel is 30 years old and after a couple of electrical fires and students with 3rd degree burns (I’m not even kidding about this one), the university has decided to rewire the entire building, one floor at a time. My floor is being done now, so I’m living in an empty room with two other roommates, Anu and Tina. We’re trying to see this as a 10-day long slumber party, but it’s hard when there’s no cute, girly pillow fights and we’re all trying to study without a table.

2.My super important state exams are in approximately 6 weeks. When I say ‘important’, I mean my entire medical degree depends on this exam. I have more than 2000 MCQs and roughly 300 cases to go through. Thankfully, language is not much of an issue anymore. I can read chapters with minimal Google Translate usage. But still…

Over. Two. THOUSAND. Questions.

*passes out from shock*

Five minutes later

Right, I’m back.

3. It’s time for new glasses. I kinda threw my old pair away. No, not because I’m a diva and my pair was out of fashion or something. My glasses were 8 years old and they were the pair I hated the least. Here’s the thing. My table is cluttered, to say the least. It stems from my pathological inability to keep things back in their place. I think they fell into my waste basket and I threw the trash out without noticing them in there. Come on, who checks their trash before throwing it, right?

I guess it’s less embarrassing than the time I accidentally flushed them down the loo, but that’s a story for another day when I feel like procrastinating.

November Rain

The birthday post is long overdue. In fact, the plan was to write it before November ended. The plan was also to attend all classes and lectures so I wouldn’t have to write 6000 reports and presentations. An unplanned acute overdose of various forms of chilies kicked those plans to the curb while declaring them his bitches.

From the time I was in primary school, I’d been waiting for 11.11.11. You see, my birthday is on the 11th of November, so tiny little me thought it would be the bee’s knees to celebrate my birthday on a date so obviously cool.

Naturally, over time the excitement was less and eventually I didn’t think much of it at all. Until we got to 2011. To be more specific, it wasn’t a big deal until Harikrishnan, the havoc-wreaking mastermind in our circle of friends said, “11.11.11. Hmm..we should make it memorable.”

There’s something you should know about Harikrishnan. He studied at the Royal Military College before entering med school. Boys who study there see things. Things that can never be unseen. And he was planning to make my birthday memorable. I knew it would be a “Dear Diary” sort of memorable; it was going to be a “it was touch and go for a while, but the doctors managed to stabilise her” kind of memorable.

A month prior to my birthday, I got wind of rotten eggs, orange juice (I’m terribly allergic to oranges) and the idea of people throwing 11 things at me. While I personally don’t see the appeal of pelting people with things, especially food, the same cannot be said of my friends.

For one month, I was left to stew in my apprehension. I was duly “rewarded” on my birthday. This was the master plan: 11 things for every 11 in the date. It doesn’t sound like much, but I hear there was practically a committee that sat down and had a meeting to plan this auspicious event. A list was made, for fuck’s sake.

I was not told when what would happen where, just that I should wear clothes that I intend never to wear again. My execution clothes, I called them.

On the 11th, I waited and waited. Then I waited some more. At 11.11 pm, my friends barged into my room, singing “Happy Birthday”, cake in hand. In my mind, the cake was interpreted at my last meal. Man, I was feasting with my firing squad.

After the cake, it was time for my three 11s. I don’t know how much thought was put into the order in which everything was carried out, but I must admit, it was perfect.

First, I was given 11 shots of drinks, not all of it alcoholic and not all of it pleasant. Then, I had 11 different things poured on me in the bathtub. This was smart because if I chundered, it would be easy to clean up and I could have my shower after all the mess was made. The final 11 were gifts from my persecutors. You know, to make me curse them less.

I could tell you how it went, but why do that when I can show you everything?

1. First 11: Shots

2. Second 11: Crap

3. Third 11: Gifts

The 3rd Set of 11

And there you have it. The best date of my life so far and that’s how it went down. Ain’t I one lucky gal?

Frayed Nerves

I’ve been pretty good, I’d say. I’ve not written a rubbish post since May. Of course, this also means I’ve only been blogging like, once a month, proving once and for all that writing would’ve been a horrible career option for me.

It’s been ages since I wrote random rubbish, so here we go!

A few weeks back, we had our Occupational Diseases’ cycle. The guy from The Making Out Couple was there. If you don’t know this, I hate him. He’s an annoying apple polisher who makes out with his girlfriend pretty much any time the teacher is not looking. Bastard. This time around, he was sans girlfriend and looked really skinny.The vampire-loving ones in my group decided that he looked like Edward Cullen, making him cute (I still can’t remember whether that’s the actor’s name or the fictional character’s, so you can tell that was two fucks I didn’t care about.)

To top it off, he was fucking the class up. I wasn’t over the moon or anything, but it certainly felt better to see the teacher get exasperated with him rather than call him brilliant and all that other junk. I know, I know. I’m SUCH a petty bitch and all that. Let’s continue.

Turns out, this slump lasted all of two days. He was back on form after the weekend and aced the class like he’s been doing since he could babble coherently or something. You must be wondering why I despised some guy I’ve never even spoken to. Trust me, I was wondering the same. Seriously, what was it about this guy that made me want to kick him in the shin?

I found my answer on the last day. Turns out, he wants to be a neurosurgeon. I have nothing against neurosurgery, just the surgeons. They all seem to be cocky bastards who look down upon others. This awful personality is not something that comes instantly once they become neurosurgeons; it’s something that takes form and develops from med school just so they’re the right degree of syphilitic cunt by the time they’re done specialising.

I’m not usually this big on stereotypes, especially when it’s merely an observation made by me and my roommate about a few people we know. I’m probably wrong. I’m sure there are some nice ones out…oh, look! Is that a zebronkey trotting down the street?

Boys and Eyes

This blog is moving so slowly, snails want to give it a ride. I’ve been wanting to post stuff for a while, but nothing good has come to mind. Until now, when I’m on sick leave and probably experiencing mild intoxication.

For reasons unknown, I’ve been ogling guys like a lusty wench (far more socially acceptable than a crazy wench.) Most of my lusting takes place sat in front of my laptop, which makes me kinda loser-ish but whatever. My latest loin-crush is thanks to @nosweetnothings on Twitter, who mentioned a player from the French rugby team during the Rugby World Cup finals. Curious to see her specimen of choice, I Googled the team and came across a very lovely calendar called Dieux du Stade (Gods of the Stadium) instead. This is where I found him:

He is Thomas Combezou, the something for Montpellier Hérault Rugby Club. Okay, okay I’m not that shallow. He plays centre. From my “research” I’ve gathered that his job is mainly to tackle anyone who has the ball. What else could I come up with after seeing practically every photo of him playing with his face in somebody’s ribs?

Me lusting over him and making it known to the whole world even before blogging about it has resulted in two things: bacterial conjunctivitis and the catty side in guys. Well, the latter has always been there, but Combezou is the one that helped me get some clarity on the matter.

First, let’s talk about the conjunctivitis. I didn’t want to admit it at first, but I think prolonged staring at hot/cute guys results in me getting some sort of grotesque eye issue. You may think I’m being silly, but when it has happened three times, people stop laughing.

1. In November 2007, I discovered the awesomeness that is Gerard Butler in the movie “300.” He was big, ripped, in minimal clothing and killing other men violently. My knees were liquid. I also had a subconjunctival hemorrhage that took 2 weeks to get better.

2. In January 2009, I watched Seungri’s music video for “Strong Baby.” It’s not much, if I want to be honest about it, but something about him and that slight hint of developing rectus abdominis made me like him. Bam! Kerato-conjunctivitis for 3 weeks, followed by another subconjunctival hemorrhage. That was a total of FIVE weeks with a shitty looking eye.

3. November 2011 (are you seeing a pattern here? I am.) I am blessed with the knowledge that a sculpture like Thomas Combezou exists. After just a week of gazing upon his (insert any word that describes Adonis-like perfection) I have bacterial conjunctivitis. My eyes are spewing colonies and their by-products, and I’m praying that it will be gone in a few days.

Now, about boys being catty.

I’ve gone on about how crazy and ridiculous women can be sometimes, but I’ve never really touched on the topic of male behaviour. I have a fairly decent number of guy friends, and they’re all lovely chaps. Some girls even want to date them. *snigger*

These guys are also the ones who call us girls petty and jealous when they point out an attractive woman and we don’t agree with them. This is their classic line:

“you girls can never admit that another girl is beautiful, there’s always some justification. Look at us guys; if another man is handsome, we have no problem admitting it.”


Guys can only say that another man is attractive when THEY are the ones pointing it out. If us girls point a handsome or physically attractive man out, these are the most likely responses:



“small penis”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!!”

Usually, these words further prove to me that my eye-candy is indeed hot and bonk-worthy. I heard all of the above when I showed my guy friends that picture. Perfect.

Not only that, it shows that men and women aren’t very different when it comes to being envious. Women are capable of looking at other females and thinking that they’re attractive too, just not the ones you fellas point out.

Oh, my snail’s here. I’ll see you around!

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

It’s been a while since I had a proper crush. By proper crush, I mean I like the guy but I don’t want to pounce him. I think the last time that happened, I was still wearing a school uniform.


When I liked a guy in school, I went through a period of self-loathing. I have no idea why, but I was convinced that liking a guy whilst in school was a bad idea. In my head, liking boys meant that I was neglecting my studies and forgetting my priorities. I used to beat myself up a lot about it. I would do my best to try and forget the object of my affections. Stupid, I know. Who was I to go against raging hormones? It didn’t stop me from trying, though.

Most of you may know this, but to those who don’t, I was far from attractive in school. My plan was to get by with my brains and wit. Not my best plan, but that’s another story. Back to not being attractive. Glasses, braces, overweight and some inexplicable belief that I’d never find jeans that could fit me made me hide behind cargo pants, baggy t-shirts and boots. Till today, my cousin will never let me forget that I bought men’s shoes once. To 16-year old me, my (lack of) style made perfect sense. My personality and my taste in music were married. People were supposed to “get” me by knowing what sort of music I listened to. I was into bands like The Smashing Pumpkins, Bush and Garbage. The fact that rock chicks did not dress up like Gavin Rossdale or even Kurt Cobain totally escaped me. Don’t ask me how I didn’t notice that Shirley Manson wore short dresses and looked totally hot while singing “Only Happy When It Rains.” It also didn’t occur to me that the guys I liked were at that age where they might be confused about their sexuality and if they had any sort of attraction to a girl who looked like she could skin a moose in 2 minutes, this could leave some pretty bad scars.

The guy I liked studied at the school my mom worked in. My mom worked in a library and with the sort of curriculum the students had, trips to the library were frequent. Back then, there was no Friendster, Facebook or broadband internet and stalking was done physically. So I’d miss school and follow my mom to work to study in that library. I missed a total of 25 days of school in an academic year, but my grades were fucking awesome. How did that work out? I kept telling myself that if I studied, God would reward me with a glimpse of my crush. Lame, I know. I never said I wasn’t.


One gorgeous afternoon, while I was berating myself for liking someone, my friend Farina stopped me and said, “Being in love is nice, you idiot. Why can’t you just enjoy the feeling?” I’m pretty sure my answer was, “but but but..” and nothing more, but it got me thinking. Why CAN’T I enjoy it? Liking a person makes me all warm and happy inside, and being happy is good, right? Why was I denying myself happiness? Since then, I stopped getting on my case about liking a guy. Nowadays, I only stop short of throwing glitter at people on the streets and farting rainbows when I like someone.

On the fashion front, I discovered plus-size clothes that are stylish and feminine. Not only that, I’ve learned that dressing up like I’m part of the Vans Warped Tour ain’t gonna get me any sugar, if you get what I mean. This doesn’t mean I’ve sacrificed any part of my identity by changing the way I dress up. I just know how to look (somewhat) appealing now and on a good day when I think I may see the object of my affection, I even make an effort. You know, with makeup, earrings and high heels.

You’d think that with the avalanche of social networking sites and the awesome Internet speed here in Moscow, I wouldn’t even have to leave my room to check out what been going on with the apple of my eye. Fat chance. I have to like the one guy who only has an account on a Russian site and rarely does anything there. On the bright side, my class attendance has never been this good. I keep going to class with hopes I’ll see him at the bus stop in the morning, or maybe we’ll be in the same hospital. To make things even better, I still maintain the belief that if I study, God will let me catch a glimpse of him, so my work isn’t suffering, either.

Clearly, I’m much better at this crush thing now. 🙂

Welcome To Joe’s Apartment

I’m going to hate starting out with this, but I have to.

The Bane of My Existence

I’m quite ballsy about most things, but this miserable fucker usually leaves me paralysed with fear. I’m not even exaggerating. Just a few months ago, I considered spending the night at the dining table because there was a cockroach blocking my path to the stairs.

This phobia of mine has been around forever. I lived in a tropical jungle as a child, and with my memory and the size of these cunts,(trust me, ALL insects are bigger in rainforests) I didn’t have a chance. You know what’s worse? Malaysia has like, I dunno, EVERY FUCKING SPECIES of roach out there.

Right, we’ve established that cockroaches + me = years of expensive therapy or truckloads of insecticide.

My hostel room is not immaculate, but at least we’re pretty roach-free. I can handle an average of five or six tiny-ass cockroaches a year. I should also add that that handful (Ugh, I can’t believe I just said ‘handful’ about those disgusting eff-ers) is my limit. After I kill those few, I’m done. I run out of reserves for cockroach-induced adrenaline release.

Imagine the cardiac arrest I had when I entered my room after two months to find cockroaches everywhere. On the walls, on the ceiling, in my kettle, in my stationery drawer…all over the godforsaken place. I went dizzy for a while and nearly passed out. You can’t blame me; I could HEAR them walk!!

I was a lone ranger here because my roommates weren’t back yet. I had to kill the bulk of them myself. I left my bags and went out to get as many chemicals possible to kill these revolting buggers. A thousand rubles poorer and armed with every aerosol can that had a picture of a dead roach, I started my work.

It was awful. Most of them didn’t die instantly, they fell off walls and ceilings, and crawled all over the floor. The ones in hiding came out to suffer. I didn’t appreciate them making their presence known; it only showed me that there were hundreds of them living with me.

Three weeks have passed and most of them are gone, but I still kill a few everyday. Thankfully, they’re not as big as the ones back in Malaysia. The ones here are about an inch in length at their largest. They still creep the hell out of me, but at least now I’m not so hesitant about smashing the pulp out of them.

The World Is My WC

“Women are non-violent, but they will shit inside of your hearts.” –Louis CK

I think that basically sums it all up.

I don’t normally tread on gender related issues, because you know, I usually like to talk about myself. However, I’ve been paying a fair amount of attention to women lately (no cute guys at The Curve, it’s a real shame) and I’ve managed to pick out three things that women do which should make them consider a psychiatric evaluation, or yoga classes at the very least.

1. Stalking the object of their affection/ former object of their affection

I won’t lie; I do some mild stalking. I don’t do anything that might result in me receiving a restraining order, but it’s very likely that I’ll manage to get your mailing address which I’ll never have a reason to use. While I’m content with giving up on digging dirt about my crush the moment my attention span bails on me, the same cannot be said of many other females. They can sit online for hours, follow the same people he does on Twitter, casually plan their day so the guy can be observed and hack his email account just to find out what’s going on in his life. For some odd reason, even long after the guy stops playing a significant part in their lives, the stalking continues. It may not be as hardcore as before, but it goes on.

2. Making a big fuss about stuff they’re not even supposed to know

This one is an extension of #1. I don’t do this, because then the person I’m stalking will think I’m a creepy stalker. Which I’m not. I’m just a regular stalker, but enough about me. Women will find out all sorts of things that should not be any of their concern and confront the stalked about it. Here’s an example:

Girl: How could you have such dirty chats with that fake-boobed tart?

Guy: Her boobs are fake? No way! Wait.. what chats?

Girl: The ones you password protected on your laptop! Why do all you guys go for skanks?

Guy: Why are you going through my private stuff?!

Girl: That’s not the point! You’ve hurt and disappointed me terribly. How could you?

Guy: *looks confused* But we’re just friends! What’s it to you if I’m chatting with another girl?

Girl: *mentally disembowels guy and walks off*

To top it all off, it is very likely that the woman will tell her posse of friends who will tell other friends, and thanks to the world being so fucking small with almost 7 billion people on it, everyone will know something that she should feel guilty about finding out in the first place.

Stupid Broca’s area.

3. Hating people for really, really dumb reasons

I’m not talking about being a little annoyed because a colleague chews gum really loudly while humming the theme song from Desperate Housewives. I’m talking about the kind of loathing that causes a woman to bully and backbite another person. I might understand if a woman hates a person for stealing and drawing on her first edition Lady Chatterley’s Lover or running over her dog, but reasons like, “because she doesn’t deserve the iPad 2 given by her boyfriend who is not related to me in any way” and “he says my name too many times when he talks to me” will forever baffle me.

I’m sure there’s more. Some of you may even have lists of your own, so please feel free to share them. We can all be confused together.