While the world fluttered about in economic frenzy, I was busy lazing about at a beach resort in Penang.

We frolicked in the sand and jet skied.

We soaked in the peace and tranquility of our environment even as we put ourselves at increased risk of skin cancer.

Nearby, someone’s pet dog found the courage to pursue its dreams of being an ostrich.

We all had to put in a huge load of effort to enjoy ourselves while the world around us suffered its financial crisis.

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I have two minutes to blog today, so here’s another archived entry. It’s quite interesting (for myself) to read my old writings and laugh at my state of mind back then.

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The following post first appeared on Sheylara.com on Mar 25, 2004.

I need bigger boobs

I am quite happy today, disregarding the fact that my boobs are not performing to standard, but, you see, my happiness has something to do with boobs. In a way.

If you’re not a hermit, which I assume by brilliant Sherlock-ly deduction that you’re not, based on the fact that you’re reading my blog, then you would have noticed that cosmetic surgery is on the rise.

More and more beauty salons are springing up and bombarding us with sleazy ads on MRT trains of models with their assets spilling out onto your lap. Magazines and newspapers revisit the subject of cosmetic surgery every month. More women are admitting to having “done it”. More cosmetic surgeons are buying mansions and Porshes.

All that, in itself, is unremarkable. What’s remarkable is that fewer and fewer people are viewing the act as taboo or shameless or [insert bad adjective yourself because I’m too lazy to think another one up].

In the first place, what is so wrong with cosmetic surgery? Let us examine the classic arguments against it:

1. You should be happy with what God gave you.
2. Beauty comes from within.
3. Men should always keep the toilet seat down.

I’ve always wanted to tell the people who spout these gems to shove it up their nostrils. Now I can.

Shove it up your nostrils because:

#1

NOBODY is happy with what God gave them. Not even you. Do you want to know what God gave you? God gave you an infant’s body with cute baby human parts and a dumb baby brain. What the hell are you doing changing all that? How DARE you grow up and how DARE you go to school and modify the dumb baby brain God gave you?

I’ll give you a concession. Let’s assume that growing up is part of God’s plans for you. Fine. Then why do you go to the hospital when you have cancer (or SARS or a bunion)? God gave you the cancer/SARS/bunion. You should jolly well lie around at home all day and give thanks because you’re going to meet Him soon.

And if half your face gets burnt off in a fire, ask your doctors not to fix it because you’re perfectly happy looking like Freddy Krueger.

#2

It’s not like you’ve never admired beautiful things and (outwardly) beautiful people. And, like it or not, you can’t help but to favour beautiful things/people a little more at first sight.

And EVERYONE wants to be a little more beautiful on the outside and a little more favoured by other people. Otherwise, you wouldn’t go shopping for nice clothes. You wouldn’t go to the salon to get a nice haircut. You wouldn’t spend half your salary buying goo to slather on your face in the hope that skincare and makeup can help you look like Claudia Schiffer’s navel.

You would go to work carrying an NTUC plastic bag instead of a Hugo Boss brief case or Gucci handbag. You would stop shaving and stop buying pimple cream and stop going to the gym to get that nicely toned body.

Why do you do any or all of these things if you don’t want to look good on the outside? So, you go ahead and get those fake eyelashes and I’ll get my new nose, thank you.

#3

Who the hell cares? Women should stop being lazy and put the seat down yourselves.

Now that I have presented my arguments, I can explain why I am happy. I’m happy because I believe that, with the help of the media, there are now fewer bigots on earth who would point their fingers at women who go for cosmetic surgery, accuse them of witchcraft and burn them at the stake.

Which means that I can start planning my shopping list of new body parts and stop worrying about people accusing me of being an evil temptress whose plan is to seduce all men to their doom with my newly acquired body-to-die-for.

Now, all I need is a brilliant scheme to get the money to fund my shopping spree, and to find a reputable surgeon who won’t make me look like Michael Jackson.

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Afterword: No, I still haven’t gotten any surgery done because no one would donate to my boob fund. And I was wrong. The number of bigots against cosmetic surgery doesn’t seem to have decreased over the last four years.

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Today’s Gamer Girl Friday has been replaced by a newspaper cutout of my interview in My Paper.

[Click to enlarge]

(I know you’ve seen this photo taken by Justyn for my Fashion Diary. I guess the editor likes it, too.)

By the way, I was joking. (About GGF being replaced.)

But please don’t expect too much of it today. It will be short and late because I was abducted by aliens some time this week (but I can’t talk about it cos they made me sign an NDA with maple syrup), which really ate into my personal time.

So, for now, please read my interview and my Star Blog article!

Thank you for your maple syrup.

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That’s right!

I’m inviting you to come and stalk me tonight!

And I won’t be able to ignore you because I’m bound by contract to interact with readers (and stalkers) at Star Blog every Wednesday night, 9 pm to 10 pm (GMT+8)!

Just post your stalkerish comments in my post here and see what I do!

So, comin’ or what?

I’m not entirely serious about the stalkerage.

Just be nice!

And, like, you don’t have to chat with me only. You can also chat with your other favourite Star Bloggers at the same time.

Go nuts! :)

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A thousand foreign workers will be moving in across the street from my apartment.

That’s okay. I was planning to sell my apartment and move out, anyway.

Oh, wait.

No one would want to buy my apartment now that they know they would have to be neighbours with foreigners of an unknown origin and dental habits.

Shucks. What am I going to do now? This is so going to dampen my plans to live a normal, happy life.

Continue reading…

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