Dolly's night out

So the evening out was ab ab fab. I mean, really, I was all filled with wonder the whole night long seeing as I haven't been out in a fantastical aaaaggggggge- mainly because there's been a lot going on in my small world/cave and because I'm just too damn lazy. Anything past Bangsar is an adventure all unto itself.

I wore a brand new dress from Beach which is a record-breaker for me. I've never worn anything with so much material all at once. It felt very odd, you know, to feel so decent. Even my mother approved! I was going to make an effort tonight to go out in something other than jeans and Wonder Woman tshirts. I was even going to put on makeup, but as is typical in my life, the makeup pouch was left in the office, so I had to make do with some old cruddy stuff that I dug up from another makeup bag.

Then I was going to put styling stuff in my hair so I don't look like Noddy, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I dropped by parents house before going out and thought that while I was there I would go see if the old man had any good styling stuff. It was all that horrid gel stuff that only people over 50 use. So I had to settle with looking like Noddy.

Okay, so the real secret of going out tonight was to go perve on a boy. Ah but not just any boy! The most beautiful one in all the land! He was hiding behind some drums but I found him! I found him!

I had gone out to this bar the week before with parents for the old girl’s birthday and there was this fantastic bossa nova trio which was just beautiful beautiful beautiful sounds and this absolutely divine looking boy sitting there at the drums. I thought, if only they would dangle that in front of me as a carrot to get to Enlightenment, I’D BE ENLIGHTENED IN A SECOND! Really, if Manjushri decided to pop by earth, he would look like this boy.

So last night I dragged out a poor friend and her husband to go drink wine, listen to more bossa nova and perve on boys at this jazz place. Yay! This has become my new favourite place and I shall be there at least once a week. I intend to become best friends with at least one of the staff there and be so regular that they instantly recognise my voice on the phone when I ring to make a reservation!

The bossa nova trio were on first, followed by another act which was whatever lah, who cares. We got there, squished up on a tiny table and ordered our drinks, after which The Husband almost spilled all his beer on me. He then spent the next half an hour apologising to me even though he hadn’t actually spilled any beer on me. Silly.

Anyway the gig started. Without that boy. And I was all WHERE IS THE BOY? and The Friend was all WHAT! We paid RM40 and the boy isn’t here?!

The two percussionists of the week before had been replaced by a grand piano and a big set of drums. A pianist was a man who looked like he sold duck rice in the day and the drummer was this bad ass looking guy who would have been hot if not for the rotten attitude.

The Friend said, Eh, since your boy isn’t here, at least this drummer also quite cute wat.

I said NO NO NO NO NO. The other one is more beautiful and he has nice, more chiselled features. Wah che, like talking about art.

As the trio played on, The Friend kept saying, Eh not bad wat. He’s cute the drummer! In the absence of the other one I think you should just go for this one lah.

But he had this ugly up-himself smirk on his face the whole way through it and this irritating habit of chewing his gum in a really obvious way. I suddenly had this horrible, horrible thought that he would be one of those guys who just sits all leaning back with his hands behind his head, with this smug righteous look on his face while some girl gives him a blow job.

Ew ew ew

I told The Friend and she looked at me with this really disapproving look. Then she screamed a bit and said Yah you’re right actually.

And five minutes later, Eee yer now I can’t look at him anymore.


The beautiful boy walked in with his beautiful face and a lovely shirt. He sat down behind The Friend so I told her look – SLOWLY! – at him. Right then the blow-job drummer was doing some schwang solo, scrunching up his face like he was God’s gift to the city.

The Friend screamed just then, EEEEEEEEEE NO LAH The other one is SO MUCH cuter which filled, I’m sure, all the spaces in between drummer boy’s beats that were silent.


The fat old guai lo in the front turned around and gave us a real dirty look. hah.

But after the bossa nova trio finished their set and cleared off the stage, the beautiful boy started moving about with his buddies, setting up for the next act. I was all, Oh! It looks like he’s playing the next set and got very happy.

The Friend and Her Husband finally decided too, that actually he WAS better looking than the blow-job drummer. He looked nicer, he had better features, and The Friend said, He looks like a painting! and we ooh-ed and ahh-ed and felt very young.

The second group was so unexpectedly good it blew us off our seats. I felt bad for being so Oh whatever who cares about it when I first came bceause they were excellent. I mean, you know, objectively speaking. Even without the beautiful boys (yes plural) it was SO GOOD and you all have to come with me when they play again later in Nov. The Husband sat there very still with staring intently at the stage with a very fixed looked on his face. I wondered if it meant he was fascinated or bored, but trying to force himself awake. He said later, If a guy is staring at something like he’s looking at a stripper, it of course means he’s interested lah!

Jamie Aditya, the MTV VJ from Them Days was also there, doing a flashy smashy special guest appearance where he played along with the group for a bit. There were cameras following him around, and panning the room for enthusiastic shots of the audience applauding. This will probably mean that bloated and unflattering footage of me will now end up going out somewhere on some TV when I least expect it. I used to think he was gorgeous, and, as with any boy who’s called Jamie, I run around saying, Oh my god, if I married him, *I’D* be Jamie Aditya. Hah. Up close, he has these fascinating long eyelashes, like an emu. A very pretty celebrity emu.

Not as beautiful, of course, as the Beautiful Boy. I had thought last week that if I wrote a short story about him it might get him out of my system. It didn’t. I all sorts of funny prose running around my head while the gig was on and he was being all lively and energetic and full of general gorgeousness. So I sat and did what I usually hate of writers, which is to scribble all these self-indulgent notes to myself about the shape of the lights in the room and how to describe the background noise in lyrical ways.

After the gig ended, the musicians bounced all around the room air hockey pucks and the audience buzzed about trying to tell them how fantastic they were and how much they loved them. The Friend was so excited she rushed up to the manager and bought their CDs like a Real True Fan. As one of the other drummers passed by our table with a drink, I screamed at him OH MY GOD That was so great! like a crazed fangirl but he was all nice about it, clinked glasses and had a chat. He was also a kind of gorgeousness – the kind that can swash about in flipflops and folded up slacks like a fisherman, and still look good.

We decided to go home, finally, so The Husband went to the bathroom while The Friend and I waited for him near the bar. The Beautiful Boy was standing there drinking water so The Friend hissed very loudly That’s your chance to go tell him how fabulous he is. Go. Now. Go.

If I think someone is remotely attractive, I instantly become this awful pubescent 13-year-old girl again and get all stammer and nervous and forget all my grammar. I faltered and looked around then looked at her helplessly like help-you-know-I-can't-do-that-because-I'm-a-big-chicken but The Friend was hissing in a really violent way, so I thought I’d better go over. NOW!!!! Gooooooooooooo!

I had a wonderful elaborate plan to be all subtle and stylish and casual so I slid next to him in my long slinky dress with lots of decent material and asked the bartender also for a glass of water. I thought that while he fixed the water, I would turn around to the Beautiful Boy in a by-the-way kind of way and say Oh, you guys were fantastic! Really! And gush in a very sophisticated way.

But just then, he turned round and walked away.

The Friend was glaring at me from across the bar with eyes like thunder. But to keep up the sophistication, I had to drink the water lah, like I really wanted to drink tap water because I really was thirsty.

Memang potong stim!!!! I was so mad with that 13-year-old pubescent personality that resided deep within all my split personality(ies).

I shall have to endeavour to say hello. At least. One day. Really. I love to talk so much so I can manage this I think. Really.

It was now 2am and my head was aching from the wine. When you haven’t drunk for ages, one glass floors you completely. (The Friend said, There is a solution to this you know. You just have to drink more and more often! So clever, The Friend).

We went home. I did some complicated file transfer thing with someone 8 hours away in London and had discussions about something I can’t remember anymore. Then I went to bed.

Just as I was falling asleep, I suddenly realised that hey, The Beautiful Boy has this really familiar sort of look about him, like I’ve seen him before. It was 3am at this point and I was exhausted and had to wake up in 4 hours, but it was one of those things which you just have to figure out when you think of it. Like when you need to think of a particular word and won’t rest until you trawl through the whole dictionary to find it. Luckily though I remembered real quick that he looked exactly like this boy Mark, from high school, like 12 years ago (oh gawd, the ageing process is fast and scary).

12 years ago! I was impressed enough that I could remember someone from that long ago and what he looked like. So I HAD to get back online and go through Facebook, find Mark and look at his photos. And yes, yes that’s who it was. A dead ringer for the Beautiful Boy. He’s so good looking he even married a totally beautiful girl – it’s like total beauty karma. I left a manic message on his wall that I found his doppelganger in KL, then went to sleep, contented.

Thursday Night Dolly

I'm going out tonight for a girls' night out but still feeling more-than-half guilty about it.

We're supposed to be setting up for an exhibition over the weekend so all the KMP elves are heading down to Sunway after 10 to do all the carting back-and-forth of stuff. But but but I'd made these huge plans to go out and I so so so did not want to cancel them.

So I sent this big long pleading grovelling begging message to everyone, please let me know go out tonight and I'll like, volunteer at the exhibition ALLLL WEEKEND
pack up and clear up and cart things back to the office when it ends
clean the office for a month


if you do still need more hands, please tell me and I will still come to help out.

There's this thing, you see, which I never thought I'd ever get: and that's that responsibility thing. It occured to me that I'm actually starting to see all this - KMP, KH and the whole big family - really as a part of me. Not going to help set up wouldn't actually be such a big deal to anyone else. Before, I would have thought, "Aiyah there's bound to be someone there who will do it" but then after a few years on a spiritual path, I suppose you do start to become a liiiiiiiittle bit more aware about other people and and liiiiiiittle bit less selfish about just fucking off and doing what you want. So I've been thinking thinking thinking 24hoursnonstop about how to make up for really fucking off tonight.

They were all lovely about it. Everyone said, "It's fine. You go ahead with your plans. It's okay wan."

Susan sent a message, "Oh my god you sure are 'trading' in a lot just for one night. haha"

I replied, "Have to have to! Takkan later I kena scolding for being selfish!!!! I don't want to be selfish so I make up for it double double okay. Seriously, is it okay or not?"

She said, "Yes it's okay. haha so funny!"

Okay, so I'm going to have a fabulous night tonight and then I'm going to work my ass, my legs, my liver, my every organ off this weekend at the exhibition. Even if I have to tie all the stock onto the roof of the matchbox car I'm now driving, I'll find a way to clear up the whole exhibition and cart it all back to Bandar Utama!

YouTube Dolly

I was being very good about taking videos and making video diaries about The Life of a Dharma Princess (except, I am perhaps more Ogre than Princess at the moment) which can be viewed here except that I got inefficient again and soon forgot all about the fact that I even had a YouTube account. Oops sorry.

I was videoing everything on my phone but I think I stopped bothering when the battery in my phone got all burned out and wouldn't last past noon every day. By the time I got a new battery, I'd forgotten that I even had a camera on my phone.

All these excuses, pish!

I think, perhaps, it might be easier to see if I can pilfer some videos off people I know who have been very good about videoing things, and plopping them onto my account. Call it cheating, or pirating, or plagarism or whatever. If it's entertaining, that's all that matters.

And in the meantime, I shall endeavour to be less inefficient and more proactive and snoop about into people's lives with my trusty camera.

A normal Dolly

Really, I cannot stress how strange it is to be living a normal life. You know, the kind of normal where you get up early in the morning and eat breakfast.

The problem is that by about 5pm I get all sleepy and end up sleeping for 2 hours, flat out on my bed, on the couch in the office, anywhere! (I've been telling myself that for my Good Work of waking up early, doing my sadhana early and getting lots of work done in the day, a nap wouldn't be such a bad reward!)

Rinpoche is still away in Nepal right now so we're all kicking ourselves into high gear to GET OUR ASSES INTO ACTION. I think we must be the only organisation where, when the "CEO" is away, we gotta work doubly hard. Thing is, if we slack off, that might be it. Bye bye to the centre as everything falls apart when the Guru's not around and we don't want that because it'll be all Back To The Shit Farm for us. And for me, that means writing dreadful articles for local publications again. Ohhhhh dear. Ohhhhh no. Ohhhhhh never again.

We spent all day today thrashing out ideas on HOW TO MAKE KMP GLOBAL. We looked at other books by other great Dharma publishers and decided very quickly that their covers were *ahem* Not Quite So Pretty (to put it nicely). So how did they get to where they are? Right on top of Mt Kailash (figuratively speaking)? We want to get there too and out books are going to be even better. So neh neh.

(That's not very Buddhist to start with, I know, but well, we do need something, anything, to kick us up to standard).

Sometimes it seems impossible because there are only two writers and we seem to do everything from editing endless amounts of STUFF (I don't know what else to call it), preparing copy for brochures and posters, to drafting letters, to preparing newsletters. How is there ever time to actually do any proper writing?

We need writers, desperately, now now now now now so if you can string a sentence together and would like to drop everything, move out here and live a fabulously enlightened life with a bunch of dakinis, please get in touch with me!

8.30am Dolly

Well yes, I finally figured that there was no way I would get out of bed unless I made a proper vow in front of my altar - then there's karma and all that involved, and it's never a good idea to deliberately aggravate your bad karma.

So this morning, I was up by 8am. Well, okay, no, 8.30am. I was awake by 8am but I had some extra dozy dozy time and didn't get out of bed until 8.30am.

And wow! I never knew so much could be done when you wake up early. All those millions of people who wake up early and go to work - wow! It must be a great life.

I did my offerings
and laundry
and my WHOLE SADHANA with bells and everything
and tidied my room
and did all my outstanding work (which was a lot)
and even had time for a nap before going off for puja this evening.

This morning thing is wonderful and I think I'm definitely going to have to do it more often. It feels so..... normal!

8am Dolly

Since coming back from Nepal, I haven't been able to wake up. I told Shin the other day, "I went to Sleepyland but I got stuck there. The trains broke down so I couldn't get a ride back until er, very late."

Shin and I love going to sleepyland. You can go there any time you know - you just catch a train, and you're there. The trains go to and fro very fast. It's always beautiful there and you can do anything you want. Sometimes, it's so nice, you just never come back. Even when the alarm clock rings, it's very easy to just hit the snooze button and go back to sleepyland again.

This is a problem, of course, because then you just don't get things done and it's not a very productive way of living. And you can't NOT go to sleepyland because it's a bodily necessity. You HAVE to go there, and then you have to find a way to get out, which is proving very difficult.

So I shall have to force my way out of it, no matter how many invitations they send me.

I thought long and hard about how I'd get myself out, and finally, have decided to take a formal vow in front of my altar to wake up before 8am for the next week.

Can you believe it. People make wonderful, big, aspirations: "Dear Buddha, may I transform my mind to embody all your enlightened qualities and gain wisdom and compassion to help all sentient beings; may I learn to let go of my selfish attachments and learn to live for others; may I realise the 6 paramitas and gain enlightenment."

I sat in front of my altar and said, "Dear Buddha, I promise I'll wake up no later than 8am from Monday to Friday. Please help me."

Well, they say that with spiritual practice you have to start where you are. And well, I can't be wishing for world peace when I can't even get out of bed in the morning. Bombs could be going off around me and I wouldn't know. If I vow to wake up early, then at least I could try to do something about the bombs.

So, I shall be up and about early early tomorrow and I have great plans for the day!

Blah Dolly

I feel like I want to dig a very big hole, fill it with chocolate and pillows, and hide there forever.

Which is really the worst thing to do at the moment, when we should be all up up up and away and doing things and creating our futures. I must be the most lethargic person under 30 in the whole wide world. Sometimes I feel like I literally walk slower than the rest of the world.

I need someone to give me a slap, or threaten to fire me from my job... or something drastic. Except, you can never quite get fired from spiritual practice. You just got to shut up and get on with it, stop with the moaning and all that.

I do feel like my writing's going a bit to shit. Sometimes I can't even speak properly anymore and I've started to make up words that don't exist. Sharon looks at me like I'm mad and then falls off her beanbag laughing at my dreadful Engrish.

They should customise the Refuge vows for me. There's an 11th one - to write a paragraph of something-not-work-related every day, if not you get the karma of a pock-marked face for the next 15 lifetimes. It'll be the only thing to get me moving, because for an aspiring writer, I sure as hell am a lazy, unmotivated one.

Dolly: resurrected

Well, what d'you know. It's already October. That's three months since I last blogged. Time flies when you're being a busy Dolly.

Aye, yes, this time the absence cannot be attributed to mere laziness anymore. Quite the contrary. In fact, there has been such a HUGE OPUS of stuff happening, I could write a whole 10-part series, turn into to mini tele-series and then make a movie of it. If they had 24-hour cameras on this little life I live, I promise it would make a very lucrative reality show business that would put all that crap on Channel E to shame.

So the other day I was saying to someone, "Aiyo my blog's died. I haven't written in ages."

She asked why.

So I said, "Well actually, there's LOOOOOOOOADS of really really really juicy stuff to write about but I can't post it up publically."

Why not?

Because it's confidential stuff about people lah.

Like what?

Cannot say larrrr! That's why it's confidential, yo!

So that's how it is. My soap opera shall have to remain under wraps until someone offers me a million pounds to sell the story to the Sun or something equally trashy.

Now that things are almost back on track, I was trying to think of ways to force myself to blog regularly. Kena big big lecture last night already from my father about how my creativity is now dampened because most of my writing is in Dharma and not out there in the commercial world. bleah.

If I have to spend any more of my life writing trite articles about politicians, the infinite benefits of a certain lipstick from this certain brand, the many deep, underlying social commentaries of this piece of art, I.


The halfway house between keeping my "creativity" alive and not having to succumb to the evils of commercial writing is to blog. Even if only 11 people are reading it. So what. I'll read it to myself. Many many times. And that will count for more. So there.


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