Miss Universe Moment

Haha, this just tickles my bone whenever I think about it.

I had to do a phone interview with this Vietnamese guy, but as he isn't fluent in English, he got a translator to speak to me.

Now mind you, this was completely via phone.

So what happened was I would speak to the translator in English, she would translate the question to Vietnamese and ask the Vietnam dude, he would take the handphone and speak to me in Vietnamese, and then the translator would help to translate his answer to English.

It totally felt like a beauty pageant Q&A segment. I had to stop myself from asking him, "So if you were crowned Ms Universe, what would be the first thing you would do?" or "What does this world need most?"

Teeheehee.

On a more sombre note, I failed my voice test again. And got reprimanded. And had my commitment questioned. And she did it without raising her voice at all. Adding to the pressure, an intern just got HER voice cleared.

I never realized how bad my pronunciation, enunciation, pacing and tone was. In short, I never realized that I couldn't speak properly.

Oy vey.

Worst day of my (working) life (so far)

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

YESTERDAY WAS SUCH A SUPREMELY SHITTY DAY THAT I NEED TO VENT ALL MY PENT UP ANGER.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck, motherfucking fuckers with fucking, arrogant, fucking attitude.

Ok, that feels better. I don't usually curse to this magnitude, but sometimes, it's so gratifying to sum up my feelings by screaming....

FUCK. Short and concise.

Yesterday was seriously shitty.

Nearly got drowned in the torrential downpour in the afternoon. I was stupid enough to wear a skirt and high heels, thinking that the weather would hold out for me. Urgh.

My pitiful umbrella was no match for the rain that kept beating down upon me, causing my legs, feet, skirt to be drenched.

I was to attend an event at 7pm, so that meant I had nothing much to do from 2 to 6pm. So being the hardworking person I am (yeah, right), I tried to practice recording my voice.

After numerous, numerous tries, my voice still sounded highly awkward. And my editor commented that I sounded unnatural. Sigh.

Then I pressed the wrong button, causing my headset to screech so loudly that I saw stars. And I think I've become deaf. And brain damaged.

So I left for my event with a massive headache and a ringing in my ear, only to meet more rain (urgh).

Here's the extra shitty part.

I was attending this event at SMU held by this FEMALE group, to discuss about whether Singapore was ready for a female premier.

Sounds interesting, right?

And it really was, to listen to all the different opinions and views about females in the political arena.

I had to do a feature on this issue so I lingered after the event (and this was around 10pm) to speak to the group's President and another panelist.

Wah lao, that stupid bitch was a giant asshole! She is so stuck up her ass on certain feminine issues that my probing caused her to see red. Excuse me for not being a man-bashing, iron-willed bitch! Sorry for representing most people in acknowledging that Singapore is a patriarchial society and accepting women in a dominating role would be difficult! Sorry for not having spent my whole life fighting for female issues that my ignorance caused you to glare at me as if I were a narrow-minded simpleton.

Ka na sai. Invite me to cover your pitiful event still act all holier than though. Bitch.

The other panelist wasn't any better. She's this professor at a local university and evidently, another man-hating old woman.

I know she was tired, but so am I, yeah? I still needed to get soundbite and whatnot, right?

So seeing how it was 10.15pm and I still needed to rush back to file a report THAT very same night, I tried to steer the interview using specific questions.

I asked what I had to asked, and thanked her.

Then she turned around and asked me, "So how long have you been in this job?"

I said, "This is my 5th week".

And she was like, "Oh. So not a hardhitting, hardnosed journalist yet, huh?"

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO INSINUATE? THAT I'M NOT A GOOD JOURNO ISSIT? THAT I DON'T ASK ENOUGH PROBING QUESTIONS ISSIT? MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE ASKED IF YOU WERE MARRIED BECAUSE I HIGHLY DOUBT ANY MAN CAN STAND A BITCH LIKE YOU.

Urgh, you want to represent women's rights, fine. But you also represent what's worst about women in power: overly emotional and bitchy. And you wonder why even women dislike working for women.

So back to the office I went, arriving only at 11pm. Jialat. I wanted to finish before 12 midnight, so that involved some mad writing and cutting of soundbites from the incoherent rubbish the 2 stupid women gave me. I frankly didn't care at that point. I was close to killing people.

I finished, packed up and headed for the cab. Lo and behold, I get another incoherent, loud-mouthed crazy cabbie.

He talked and talked, yelled and yelled, screamed incoherently at the injustices in the world... and I sincerely tried to make out what he was trying to say, but I couldn't. There was something wrong with his speech. So it translated to 15 minutes of random yelling.

Bloody hell. Just get me home lah. As if I care about your opinion. Bleagh.

Fast forward to this morning. I reached the office at 3pm for my night shift, thinking that I was still on for a 6.45pm event. Turns out, my editor switched events the previous night and only told me through an email. Seeing how I was a) out of office b) so harrassed last night that I failed to check my email, I didn't know that I was supposed to go for another event. At 12.30pm.

I started panicking like hell, because I so don't want to piss off my editor. In the end, he tried to mask over a look of irritation (sigh, I guess I deserved it), and told me to do a phone interview instead.

Luckily the guy was friendly enough to acquiesce and talked a lot.

Sigh, sigh, sigh. This week ain't looking so hot. I even lashed out at Fadz this morning cos I was feeling damn pissed off by the rain.

Another harrowing day in the life of a clueless journalist

Someone please tell me why I'm in this line.

I don't read the papers often enough, I don't update myself with current affairs, my voice is Ching Chong (Jialing: I'm guessing she meant that I had a Chinese-twang or something like that) and I evidently have no idea what the protocol is when it comes to greeting ministers.

Someone please shoot me....

I'm joking lah. I love my job! Which other job provides jolts to the heart and unexpected adrenaline rushes at all times of the day?

Tell you, covering the Mas Selamat case was kick ass. Even if all I did was walk up and down and stare at army men.

Oh oh, and the A levels.. HILARIOUS. The levels of secrecy when I tried asking for percentages and breakdown of the grades, schools tooting their own horns, pimply army boys who are so proud of themselves it's adorable watching their pleasure, one top school which barred reporters into their school hall (we think it's cos they screwed up the new syllabus)... fun fun fun.

But alas, I made a boo-boo today. I was covering a simple (or so I thought) event. I thought I'd go in, look around, take a couple of shots and call it a day.

But lo and behold, there's a Minister present and the press swarm him, asking his opinion about this issue that was raised in Parliament.

The protocol when that happens is to report what he said. Cos cannot lose out to the other press companies what.

Ahem. Do I look like I follow the Budget debates? Do I look like I would know what the hell the other journos are talking about?

Of course not.

So.... as the other journos were from the Chinese language papers, and I was the only English journo and I needed an English soundbite critically... I started sweating like mad.

What to do? Hang my head and ask the Chinese journo for clarification on the issue she wanted to ask. Luckily she was nice enough to help, even though we're from rival companies.

And then when it came to interviewing the Minister, instead of greeting him "Minister ---", I said "Mister ---".

All the other journos called him Minister. Apparently, that's how you show respect.

Can I get any greener?

Sigh, sigh, sigh....

Poking Fun (Inappropriately) at a Terror Situation

Haha, this just turned up in my mailbox today.

If I wasn't so disgruntled over having patrolled Dunearn Road on Wednesday morning trying to put a story together, it might have wrung a few more chuckles from me. My bruised and battered feet are still screaming for justice (which I put right yesterday with a very soothing pedicure. Hoo ha!)

Anyway, this might be useful if you encounter some very suspicious activity near you...

Courtesy of TalkingCock.com

Trust this website to make light of a serious situation. Go check out the SCGS version. Hilarious lah!

Ok, I officially conclude that I'm stressing out over work.

Proof? My period hasn't come.

I swear that's the most accurate assessment of my stress and fat level. Exams, presentation week, unreasonable amount of homework, breakup.... all had 1 common point.

My period didn't turn up as expected.

And no, stupid cows, I'm not pregnant. Confirm, guarantee plus chop. I would know these things.

And yes, my body is so out of whack that should I even dare to put on 300grams, my period doesn't come.

I don't think it's fat this time, so yes, I'm attributing February's absence to stress.

I still haven't cleared my voice. I finally screwed up the courage to record my voice and let the Senior VP listen to it.

Verdict? I'm too CHING CHONG. That's right, her exact words. Fuck ching chong. You can't imagine how crushed I was.

Add to that, my editor had asked me to try my hand at a Q&A segment. I didn't even interview the right person. He proceeded to figuratively pet my head and tell me that luckily, he had a backup plan. He had given me a 50% chance of failure.

Then he said, "you are representing SMU well", before cackling and laughing his head off.

HOW NOT TO BE STRESSED, YOU TELL ME!!!!

But the worst thing is, I've been practicing recording a news story in the presence of the other reporters. Figured I had to get over the self-conscious issue. You know what happened? A couple of them stopped to listen to my speech and pointed out my mistakes one by one.

RRROAAARRR!!! I know I should be grateful that they are helping me, but that doesn't stop me from feeling like a complete fucktard, right???? I can't help sounding Singaporean... I AM Singaporean!!!! And not everyone wants to have an American accent ookaaayyy!!!!!

Senior Reporter: "It's Uh-lym-pics, dear."

Me thinking mutinously: "Aren't we following the British standard? It's Oh-lym-pics llaaaahhhh".

And it's ker-mu-nity, not com-munity. Fine, that one I admit is my mistake.

Not to forget, it uh-ttri-bute when used as a verb, and a-ttri-bute when used as a noun.

Oh god, I didn't realise my English was so bad.

Maybe I should just throw in the towel now.

God (sister's side), Buddha (mother's side), Allah (Fadz's side), deliver a sign and tell me what to do!!

See, this is what happens when you're an atheist.