The tale of the travelling cred card- and stupid maybank

So like EVERYONE knows malaysia has gone into crazy sale's mode. soo good for my systems. SO BAD for my bank account. if you're on my fb list, uve probably seen my shoutouts bitching about maybank- the dumbest bank ever. and this is the story of how i went from lovey dovey singing praises r/ship with my bank to non stop bitching NEVER recommending to anyone hatred.

a couple of weeks back i got a phone call from a visa mastercard centre in KL saying they needed to veify my card. i hate strangers calling to promote or persuade ppl to buy, sell, join, invest in anything. i will normally just say im driving or that i am in a meeting that will only finish at 630pm by which their ofc would have closed or i am just not interested, say thank you and hang up. so this was xactly what i did to this girl, told her i was in a meeting, thanked her, and hung up.

a few days later, she called me back.

girl- kak, hr tu saye call akak ckp akak habes meeting pukul 630. ofc dh tutup kak pukul 630. boleh saye nk verify kan account akak x sekarang?

i was in a pretty good mood that day, and i was fasting so i thought what the heck, wouldnt hurt to give this poor girl a min of my time. plus she was really polite n sweet n kindda nervous, like she was on her first week of work.

me- ok, nak verify ape?

girl- kitorg nk verify cred card akak.

me- verify for wat??

girl- kak boleh tak bacakan nombor cred card akak saye nk confirm kn ia masih di gunakan. klu ia tidak di guna kan kami nak cancel.

me- im still using my cc ok. xpayah cancel.

girl- ok saye baca kan the first 8 numbers of cred card den akak complete kan ok?

me- wat for. u dr centre, u patut nye dah ade sume tu dlm record kn?

girl- akak... tlg berkerjasama kak.. pls... *dlm nada kesian*

me- *alamak tibe2 ade kerja masuk*

girl- *proceeds to read first 8 digits of my cc number*

me- *stupidly completed it by reciting the last 8 digits*

girl- ok thank you akak. nampak nye card ini masih active ye.

me- *duh*

girl- ok skrg bole x akak baca kan cvv nmber?

me- *ok lembap. br nk catch on yg rupe nye sumtin fishy is going on* eh apasal u nk cvv nmber i?? ape company ni?? u name ape?? tunggu jap biar i call maybank n confirm. give me ur name.

girl- *voice shaking* ahhh?? name?? erm.. erm... lina..

me- lina ape?? binti??

girl- erm... muttalib...

me- u call me back in 10. i nk call maybank.

*proceeds to call maybank*

me- hi maybank, i got a call a few mins ago from this girl saying she's fr the visa mastercard centre in kl. she wanted to do some verification and was asking for my cc number. so i... *xsempat abes ckp*

maybank girl- did u give ur number?

me- yes and she asked for my cvv number but i didnt give it to her *feeling preety damn smart that i didnt*

maybank girl- *in a panicky voice* ok were going to block your card now. can you tell me ur last transaction miss?

me- but i didnt give my cvv number... can they do anything???? *heart falls into my stilettoes*

maybank girl- OH YES!!

*faints*

so that was how i lost my card.. or the use of my card... or my right arm.. u cant really tell the diff

maybank sed they were going to replace it n that i would get my card in the next 7-14 days. this was how the conversation went.

me- so i will get my card in 2 weeks? whr will u send it?

maybank idiot 1- we'll send your card either to your home or the nearest branch.

me- ok... bt can u send it my ofc? coz sumtimes xde org or ppl xdgr u ting tong n all. klu kt ofc senang.

maybank idiot 1- sorry we cant send it to ur ofc sbb policy kite xbole. if sumtin happs to ur card then we wont be held responsible.

me- oh ok. then u send to branch la. u send to damansara uptown branch in DU. ok?

maybank idiot 1- ok mam. we'll send it there. u can call back in 2 weeks time to check and see if it has arrived.

me- great! thank u!

*impatient me waits patiently for 2 weeks. all the while losing treats points when i shop or isi minyak*

2 weeks pass.

me- hi im calling to enquire about
my cc? its been 2 weeks. i want to kno if it has been sent to uptown branch so i can pick it up.

*after 2 million questions to confirm the card is indeed mine*

maybank idiot 2- hmmm... it seems your card is back at the centre.

me- what??? dh 2 minggu kott!!?!?

maybank idiot 2- well mam. the card was sent to your house and no one was there so it was sent back here.

me- *telinga berasap ttp  di controll* awak... ive been waiting 2 weeks.. n i specifically asked that the card be sent to the branch n NOT my house.  

maybank idiot 2- i understand ur frustration mam. we will send it back to the branch and it will be ready for pick up in 7-14 days.

me- *fights urge to go burn down all maybanks in malaysia*

*impatiently waits another week and half*

looses mind for 3 minutes when yuyu calls to say coach is having massive sales!!
- u tau x skrg tgh sale???!?!?!??!

*composes self and calls maybank branch*

me- hi im calling to see of my card has arrived.

maybank idiot 3- hmm... your card isnt here mam.

me- what do u mean my card isnt here?!?!?!

maybank idiot 3- let me track down your card and call u back in 10 mins mam?

*blood boiling for 30 mins and still no call back*

*calls 3 oth ppls who promised to call back n did not*

me- hello i called earlier n spoke to nazim? nizam? asha?? ramzan?? watever. whrs my cred card?!?!

maybank idiots- *locates it sumwhr or other* ok mam we'll send ur card to ur HOUSE n ull get it in 7-14 days

me- *mentally bites this idiots ear off n throws it to the dogs* I S-E-D  D-O  N-O-T  S-E-N-D  I-T T-O  T-H-E HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!

ok kesimpulan nye last2 pg menara maybank n they found my card sitting kesian so lonely in CHERAS!!! poslaju CHERASS!!

i called the guy n he was puzzled how my card ended up in cheras when im staying in pj. had the cheek to sarcastically ask me how it got thr.

ask me laaa!!!

i sure know wan!! *mentally punches guy in the face*

got them to send it to poslaju pj n went by to pick it up yesterday amid the crazy traffic not to mention sesat beberapa kali n hilang the docket number so they made it xtra hard to look for the thing.

all this for a small piece of plastic....

so this is why ive been bitching non stop about maybank. their call centre ppl are so incompetant!!! HOUSE and BRANCH. seems pretty easy to differentiate the two if u ask me. sum ppl are just too bongok lah

i told my bf that if i dun get my card before the coach sales end then mayb its just not meant to be...

that i wouldnt buy anything...

but...

i got my card...

n the sales is still on...

:)

Adios world cup!!

so the world cup is over. none is more glad then me, to finally have my bf back. for a month i had to share him with so many countries and people. ive missed a number of movies i wanted to catch coz 14 men wanted to run after one ball and he HAD to watch it. he's bummed WC's over n im on top of the world.


but despited my bitching about it, i did catch one game with him. at laundry nonetheless. anyone who knows me know that i hate loud places whr conversations are impossible. that is why i dont club. and dont even get me started on the smokey air! gosh! you could drop dead in 2 seconds from all that 2nd hand smoke! i mean really!! ventilate much??


it was his frens bday n they were gathering there, plus they were gonna catch the germany- argentina game.. and papa had bought me a germany shirt from his recent trip (semangat sbb got baju!) so i thot, wat the heck! he accompanied me shopping, how bad could this be!? turns out.... not too bad! i surprised myself! by the end of the game i was still standing. not the least bit grumpy (as i tend to be when surrounded by loud noises n smoke)! i even enjoyed the game! eventho i didnt understand one bit of it! at all!!


i sat down at my spot n people watched at one point, dizzy from the smoke. it was a hodgepotch of races and supporters. all very vocal ones mind u. next to our group there was a bachelor party going on, a guy was wearing what looked like a disposable rain poncho with words scribbled on it, no doubt the lucky man. they were making so so so much noise! as the nite progressed the groom was asked to produce a bra as a dare. he wasnt really given a choice really. poor guy was almost on the verge of tears begging every single girl. i was just waiting for him to get the living daylights punched out of him. sadly- this never came. he did eventually get his brassier. good on u mate!


it was a riot of sounds. screams shouts n curses would ring out at every dramatic turn of the game. punctuated by drunken shouts from the groom party. i came out with only half my hearing intact. at one point we were left with about a 3 inches of view of the big screen, thanx to giant a**ess blocking it. it bothered even me who wasnt really watching it! coz sumone had to get up every 2 minutes n go xcuse me!! coz shouting it from afar would have as much reaction from them as it would if u said it in ur head. so noisy, sure kenot here wan.


anyway! germany won that nite!! woohooo!!! it was an experience for me. i didnt say it was great, but it wasnt bad. would i go again? probably not, but im glad i did. and as for the world cup? would i stay up in the wee hours to watch it again? maybe... if the crowd is good.. and if i have a shirt of which even team is winning- or at least sorta ok-ish.. or if robin van persie is playing.. n not at 230am thank u...

excuse me.. i love u!

and im back in the game

Being a newsreader has always always always been my dream. when the incident happened, i was not allowed to appear on air for fear of 'my safety'. in truth, i had become an overnite liability to the company. I fully understand their predicament being a media company. But however way i look at it, the consequence was the same, my lifelong dream, was gone.


since that day, i had tried and tried again to get back into this line i love so much but with every mention of my name and the association to you know what, doors would shut in my face, and resume's would get lost. I would see their excitement when i am auditioning, and then when it was questions time i would see the arch of their eyebrows and the knowing nodd, and know my fate was not to be. I even saw them put a note in red on one occasion 'labeling' me to the case.


I felt i was unjustly treated. I just wanted to be judged fairly based on my talent and nothing else. I have been to auditions held by every tv station in Malaysia save for one, and i get the same looks of pity and shrugs each and every time.


A couple of months back i went to the career fair at Midvalley. My dear friend Mariane had told me there was an audition going on. it was a friday evening. I wanted to rush there in my shabby state to audition- bear in mind the crazy friday traffic getting from cyberto midvalley would probably take me two days but i didnt care! Till i spoke to jj and mama about it and they told me to be patient, and to go tomorrow.


i was glad i listened to them. We went there bright and early the next day and i was so eager to go i could have bitten anyone who stopped me. I had only one thing in mind, and that was to audition to be a newsreader. I was oblivious to the other booths that only seemed to slow me down. i was jumping out of my skin! by this time i was practically hyperventilating! i couldnt feel my toes! jj had to calm me down and ask me take deep breaths. When we got there, we were told auditions only begin at 2pm. it was 10am. are u kidding me??


I am not a fan of midvalley. Crowds are just not my thing. So we left, and returned at 2.30, bless him for braving the crazy traffic n i kno how much he hates malls at weekends, what more midvalley with career fair going on! it was crazy! but he kept silent coz he saw how much i wanted this. Plus id probably have bitten his ear off if he didnt take me.


after (again) braving the sea of pesky booths and 1000 flyers later, i got to the audition (they were still setting up the booth) and i was the first. very impatient person i am i know! and i gave my best! i auditioned in front of so many people and it was nerve wrecking! but i had decided this was going to be my last audition, and that if i didnt get it i was going to throw in the towel and think that maybe its just not meant to be.


I did my best and left. and waited for that call. 2 weeks passed and i had heard nothing.. i sent an email to some people and bluntly told them that i am no longer associated to the case, and that i would like to be judged solely on my talent and nothing else.


a week later i got the call :) and last nite, i relived my dream


alhamdullillah my prayers were answered.


my closest family and friends were glued to the tv come midnight. my parents slept early and set their clock to go off close to midnite. and my nenek in sarawak stayed up wayyy past her bedtime. my friends gave words of encouragement. Im glad and thankful to once again be in that seat, albeit at another station.


Alhamdulillah.


Thank you for the well wishes.


I love you guys.

~ on a lighter note. I AM NOT THAT FAT!!! u put on 30%  of extra weight on tv. Im actually closer to Kate Moss' size. btul xtipu... ok maybe siket..

A Marine's journey home

Chance Phelps was wearing his St. Christopher medal when he was killed on Good Friday. Eight days later, on April 17, I handed the medallion to his mother. I didn't know Chance before he died. Today I miss him.
 Over a year ago, I volunteered to escort the remains of Marines killed in Iraq should the need arise. The military provides a uniformed escort for all casualties to ensure they are delivered safely to the next of kin and are treated with dignity and respect along the way.

Thankfully, I hadn't been called on to be an escort since Operation Iraqi Freedom began. The first few weeks of April, however, had been a tough month for the Marines.


On the Monday after Easter, I was reviewing Department of Defense press releases when I saw that a Pfc. Chance Phelps, 19, was killed in action outside of Baghdad. The press release listed his hometown of Clifton, Colo., which is right next to Grand Junction, the town I'm from. I notified our battalion adjutant and told him that, should the duty to escort Pfc. Phelps fall to our battalion, I would take him.


I didn't hear back the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday until 1800. The battalion duty NCO called me and said I needed to be ready to leave for Dover Air Force Base in Delaware at 1900 to escort the remains of Pfc. Phelps.


Before leaving for Dover, I called the major who had to inform Chance's parents of his death. The major said the funeral was going to be in Dubois, Wyo. (It turned out that Pfc. Phelps had lived in Clifton for only his senior year of high school.) I had never been to Wyoming and had never heard of Dubois.


With two other escorts from Quantico, I got to Dover AFB at 2330 Tuesday. Early Wednesday, we reported to the base mortuary. In the escort lounge were about half a dozen Army soldiers, and about an equal number of Marines were waiting to meet up with "their" remains for departure. Pfc. Phelps was not ready, however, and I was told to come back Thursday. Now, at Dover with nothing to do and a solemn mission ahead, I began to get depressed.


I was wondering about Chance Phelps. I didn't know anything about him, not even what he looked like. I wondered about his family and what it would be like to meet them. I did pushups in my room until I couldn't do any more.


On Thursday morning, I reported back to the mortuary. This time, there were a new group of Army escorts and a couple of the Marines who had been there Wednesday. There was also an Air Force captain there to escort his brother home to San Diego.


We received a brief covering our duties, the proper handling of the remains, the procedures for draping a flag over a casket and the paperwork attendant to our task. We were shown pictures of the shipping container and told that each one contained the casket and a flag. I was given an extra flag because Pfc. Phelps' parents were divorced. This way, they would each get one.


I didn't like the idea of stuffing the flag into my luggage, but I couldn't see carrying a large flag, folded for presentation to the next of kin, through an airport while in my Alpha uniform. It barely fit into my suitcase.


It turned out that I was the last escort to leave Thursday. This meant that I repeatedly got to participate in the small ceremonies that mark all departures from the mortuary.


Most of the remains are taken by hearse from Dover to the airport in Philadelphia for air transport to their final destination. When the remains of a service member are ready to leave the mortuary, an announcement is made over the intercom system. With the announcement, all service members working at the mortuary, regardless of service branch, stop work and form up along the driveway to render a slow ceremonial salute as the hearse departs. Escorts also participate in each formation until it is their time to leave.


On this day there were some civilians doing construction on the mortuary grounds. As each hearse passed, they would stop working and place their hard hats over their hearts. This was my first sign that my mission with Pfc. Phelps was larger than the Marine Corps and that his family and friends were not grieving alone.


Eventually I was the last escort in the lounge. The Marine master gunnery sergeant in charge of the Marine liaison brought me Pfc. Phelps' personal effects. He removed each item: a large watch, a wooden cross with a lanyard, two loose dog tags, two dog tags on a chain and a St. Christopher medal on a silver chain. Although we had been briefed that we might be carrying some personal effects of the deceased, this set me aback. Holding his personal effects, I was starting to get to know Chance Phelps.


Finally we were ready. I grabbed my bags and went outside. I was startled when I saw the shipping container loaded three-quarters of the way into the back of a black Chevy Suburban that had been modified to carry such cargo. This was the first time I had seen it. I was surprised at how large the shipping container was. The sergeant and I verified that the name on the container was correct. Then, they pushed it the rest of the way in, and we left. Now, it was Pfc. Chance Phelps' turn to receive the military and construction workers' honors. He was finally moving toward home.


As I chatted with the driver on the hour-long trip to Philadelphia, it became clear that he considered it an honor to be able to contribute in getting Chance home. He offered his sympathy to the family. I was glad to finally be moving yet apprehensive about what things would be like at the airport. I didn't want this package to be treated like ordinary cargo, yet I knew that the simple logistics of moving a box this large would have to overrule my preferences.


When we got to the Northwest Airlines cargo terminal at the Philadelphia airport, the cargo handler and hearse driver pulled the shipping container onto a loading bay while I stood to the side and executed a slow salute. Once Chance was safely in the cargo area, and I was satisfied that he would be treated with due care and respect, the driver took me to the passenger terminal.


As I walked up to the ticketing counter in my uniform, a Northwest employee started to ask me whether I knew how to use the automated boarding pass dispenser. Before she could finish, another ticketing agent interrupted her. He told me to go straight to the counter, then explained to the woman that I was a military escort. She seemed embarrassed.


The woman behind the counter already had tears in her eyes as I was pulling out my government travel voucher. She struggled to find words but managed to express her sympathy for the family and thank me for my service. She upgraded my ticket to first class.


After clearing security, I was met by another Northwest Airlines employee at the gate. She told me a representative from cargo would take me to the tarmac to observe the movement and loading of Pfc. Phelps. I hadn't really told any of them what my mission was, but they all knew.


When the man from the cargo crew met me, he, too, struggled for words. On the tarmac, he told me stories of his childhood as a military brat and repeatedly told me that he was sorry for my loss. I was starting to understand that, even here in Philadelphia, far away from Chance's hometown, people were mourning with his family.


On the tarmac, the cargo crew was silent expect for occasional instructions to each other. I stood to the side and saluted as the conveyor moved the container to the aircraft. I was relieved when he was finally settled into place. The rest of the bags were loaded, and I watched them shut the cargo bay door before I headed back to board the aircraft.


One of the pilots had taken my carry-on bag himself and stored it next to the cockpit door so he could watch it while I was on the tarmac. As I boarded the plane, I could tell immediately that the flight attendants had already been informed of my mission. They seemed a little choked up as they led me to my seat.


About 45 minutes into our flight, I still hadn't spoken to anyone expect to tell the first-class flight attendant that I would prefer water. I was surprised when the flight attendant from the back of the plane suddenly appeared and leaned down to grab my hands. She said, "I want you to have this, " as she pushed a small gold crucifix, with a relief of Jesus, into my hand. It was her lapel pin, and it looked somewhat worn. I suspected it had been hers for quite some time. That was the only thing she said to me the entire flight.


When we landed in Minneapolis, I was the first one off the plane. The pilot escorted me down the side stairs of the exit tunnel to the tarmac. The cargo crew there already knew what was on this plane. They were unloading some of the luggage when an Army sergeant, a fellow escort who had left Dover earlier that day, appeared next to me.


His "cargo" was going to be loaded onto my plane for its continuing leg. We stood side-by-side in the dark and executed a slow salute as Chance was removed from the plane. The cargo crew at Minneapolis kept the shipping case separate from the other luggage as they waited to take us to the cargo area. I waited with the soldier, and we saluted together as his fallen comrade was loaded onto the plane.


My trip was going to be somewhat unusual because we were going to have an overnight stopover. We had a late start out of Dover, and there was just too much traveling ahead of us to continue on that day. We still had a flight from Minneapolis to Billings, Mont., then a five-hour drive to the funeral home, followed by a 90-minute drive to Chance's hometown.)


I was concerned about leaving him overnight in the Minneapolis cargo area, but my 10-minute ride from the tarmac to the cargo holding area eased my apprehension. Just as in Philadelphia, the cargo guys in Minneapolis were extremely respectful and seemed honored to do their part.


Once I was satisfied that all would be OK for the night, I asked one of the cargo crew if he would take me to the terminal so that I could catch my hotel's shuttle. Instead, he drove me straight to the hotel.


Returning to the cargo area in the morning, I saluted as Chance was moved up the conveyor and onto the plane.


When we arrived at Billings, I was again the first off the plane. This time, Chance's shipping container was the first item out of the cargo hold. The funeral director had driven five hours up from Riverton, Wyo., to meet us. He shook my hand as if I had lost a brother.


We moved the shipping container to a secluded cargo area so that I could remove it and drape the flag over the casket. I had predicted that this would choke me up, but I found I was more concerned with proper flag etiquette than the solemnity of the moment. Once the flag was in place, I stood by and saluted as Chance was loaded into the funeral home van.


I was thankful that we were in a small airport, and the event seemed to go mostly unnoticed. I picked up my rental car and followed the van to Riverton. During the five-hour trip, I imagined how my meeting with the parents would go. I was nervous about it.


When we arrived at the funeral home, I had my first direct meeting with the casualty assistance call officer who had informed the family of Chance's death. He was on the inspector-instructor staff of an infantry company in Salt Lake City, and I knew he had had a difficult week.


I gave the funeral director some of the paperwork and discussed the plan for the next day. The service was to be at 1400 in the high school gymnasium in Dubois, population about 900, some 90 miles away. The casualty assistance call officer had some items that the family wanted to go into the casket. I felt I needed to inspect Chance's uniform to ensure everything was proper even though it was going to be a closed casket funeral.


Earlier in the day, I wasn't sure how I'd handle this moment. Suddenly, the casket was open, and I got my first look at Chance Phelps. His uniform was immaculate -- a tribute to the professionalism of the Marines at Dover. I noticed that he wore six ribbons over his marksmanship badge. The senior one was his Purple Heart.


I had been in the Corps for more than 17 years, including a combat tour in Kuwait, and was wearing eight ribbons. This private first class, with less than a year in the Corps, had already earned six.


The next morning, I wore my dress blues and followed the hearse to Dubois. This was the most difficult leg of our trip for me. I was bracing for the moment when I would meet his parents and hoping I would find the right words as I presented them with Chance's personal effects.


We got to the high school gym about four hours before the service was to begin. The floor was covered with folding chairs neatly lined in rows. A few townspeople were making final preparations when I stood next to the hearse and saluted as the casket was unloaded. The sight of a flag-draped coffin was overwhelming to some of the women. We moved the casket to the place of honor. A Marine sergeant, the command representative from Chance's battalion, met me at the gym. His eyes were watery as he relieved me of watching Chance so that I could eat lunch and find my hotel.


At the restaurant, the table had a flyer announcing the service. Dubois High School gym: 2 o'clock. It also said that the family would be accepting donations so that they could buy flak vests to send to troops in Iraq.


I drove back to the gym at 1:15 p.m. I could've walked -- you could walk to just about anywhere in Dubois in 10 minutes. I had planned to find a quiet room where I could take his things out of their pouch and untangle the chain of the St. Christopher medal from the dog tag chains and arrange everything before his parents came in. I had twice before removed the items from the pouch to ensure they were all there -- even though there was no chance anything could've fallen out. Each time, the two chains had been quite tangled. I didn't want to be fumbling around trying to untangle them in front of his parents. Our meeting, however, didn't go as expected.


I practically bumped into Chance's stepmother accidentally, and our introductions began in the noisy hallway outside the gym. I soon met his father, followed by his stepfather and his mother.


I didn't know how to express my sympathy for their loss and my gratitude for their sacrifice. Now, however, they were repeatedly thanking me for bringing their son home and for my service. I was humbled beyond words.


I told them that I had some of his things and asked if we could find a quiet place. The five of us ended up in what appeared to be a computer lab -- not what I had envisioned for this occasion.


After we had arranged five chairs around a small table, I told them about our trip. I told them how, at every step, Chance was treated with respect, dignity, and honor. I told them about the staff at Dover and all the folks at Northwest Airlines. I tried to convey how the entire nation -- from Dover to Philadelphia to Minneapolis to Billings and Riverton -- expressed grief and sympathy over their loss.


Finally, it was time to open the pouch. The first item I happened to pull out was Chance's large watch still set to Baghdad time. Next were the lanyard and the wooden cross. Then the dog tags and the St. Christopher medal. This time the chains were not tangled.


Once all of his items were laid out on the table, I told his mom that I had one other item to give them. I retrieved the flight attendant's crucifix from my pocket and told its story. I set that on the table and excused myself. When I next saw Chance's mom, she was wearing the crucifix on her lapel.


By 2 p.m. most of the seats on the gym floor were filled, and people were finding seats in the bleachers. There were a surprising number of people in military uniform. Many Marines had come up from Salt Lake City. Men from various VFW posts and the Marine Corps League occupied multiple rows of folding chairs. We all stood as the family took their seats in the front.


It turned out Chance's sister, a petty officer in the Navy, worked for a rear admiral, the chief of naval intelligence, at the Pentagon. The admiral had brought many of the sailors on his staff with him to Dubois to pay respects to Chance and support his sister. After a few songs and some words from a Navy chaplain, the admiral took the microphone and told us how Chance had died.


He was an artillery cannoneer, and his unit was acting as provisional military police outside Baghdad. Chance had volunteered to man a .50-caliber machine gun in the turret of the leading vehicle in a convoy. The convoy came under intense fire, but Chance returned fire with the big gun, covering the rest of the convoy, until he was fatally wounded.


Then, the commander of the local VFW post read some of the letters Chance had written home. In letters to his mom, he talked of the mosquitoes and the heat. In letters to his stepfather, he told of the dangers of convoy operations and of receiving fire.


The service was a fitting tribute to this hero. When it was over, we stood as the casket was wheeled out with the family following. The casket was placed onto a horse-drawn carriage for the mile-long trip from the gym, down the main street, then up the steep hill to the cemetery. I stood alone and saluted as the carriage left. I found my car and joined Chance's convoy.


The town seemingly went from the gym to the street. All along the route, people lined the street and waved small American flags. The flags that were otherwise posted were all at half-staff.


For the last quarter mile up the hill, local Boy Scouts, spaced about 20 feet apart, all in uniform, held large flags. At the foot of the hill, I could look up and back and see the enormity of the procession. I wondered how many people would be at this funeral if it were in, say, Detroit or Los Angeles -- probably not as many as were here in little Dubois, Wyo.


The carriage stopped about 15 yards from the grave, and the military pallbearers and the family waited until the men of the VFW and Marine Corps League were formed up and school buses had arrived carrying many of the people from the procession route.


Once the entire crowd was in place, the pallbearers came to attention and began to remove the casket from the caisson. As I had done all week, I came to attention and executed a slow ceremonial salute as Chance was transferred from one mode of transport to another.


From Dover to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to Minneapolis, Minneapolis to Billings, Billings to Riverton, and Riverton to Dubois we had been together. Now, as I watched them carry him the final 15 yards, I was choking up. I felt that as long as he was still moving, he was somehow still alive. Then they put him down above his grave. He had stopped moving.


Although my mission had been officially complete once I turned him over to the funeral director at the Billings airport, it was his placement at his grave that really concluded it in my mind. Now he was home to stay, and I suddenly felt sad, relieved and useless.


The chaplain said some words I couldn't hear, and two Marines removed the flag from the casket and folded it for presentation to his mother. When the ceremony was over, Chance's father placed a ribbon from his service in Vietnam on the casket. His mother took something from her blouse and put it on the casket. I later saw that it was the flight attendant's crucifix. Eventually Chance's friends moved closer to the grave. A young man put a can of Copenhagen on the casket, and many others left flowers.


Finally, we all went back to the gym for a reception. There was enough food to feed the entire population for a few days. In one corner of the gym was a table with lots of pictures of Chance and some of his sports awards. People were continually approaching me and the other Marines to thank us for our service. Almost all of them had some story to tell about their connection to the military. About an hour into the reception, I had the impression that every man in Wyoming had been in the service at one time or another.


It seemed as if every time I saw Chance's mom, she was hugging a different well wisher. As time passed, I began to hear people laughing. We were starting to heal.


After a few hours at the gym, I went to the hotel to change out of my dress blues. The local VFW post had invited everyone over to celebrate Chance's life. The crowd was somewhat smaller than at the gym, but the post was packed.


Marines were playing pool at the two tables near the entrance, and most of the VFW members were in the bar area. The largest room was a banquet-dining- dancing area renamed the Chance Phelps Room. Above the entry were two items: a large portrait of Chance in his dress blues and the eagle, globe and anchor. In one corner of the room was another memorial with candles burning around another picture of him in his blues. Also on the table were his Purple Heart citation, his Purple Heart medal and a framed excerpt from the Congressional Record -- a tribute delivered on the floor of the House of Representatives by Rep. Scott McInnis, R-Colo. Above it all was a television playing a photo montage of Chance's life from small boy to proud Marine.


I left Dubois before sunrise for my long drive back to Billings. It had been my honor to take Chance Phelps to his final post. Now, he was on the high ground overlooking his town.


I miss him.


Michael R. Strobl is a lieutenant colonel with the Marine Corps in Quantico, Va. This article is being published with the cooperation of John Phelps, the father of Chance Phelps. His Web site is johnphelps.com.



* Michael R. Strobl is a retired United States Marine Corps officer. After serving in Operation Desert Storm in 1991, he later took a desk job at Marine Corps Base Quantico in Quantico, Virginia. Feeling guilty that some of the men he served with in the Gulf War were serving in Operation Iraqi Freedom, Strobl volunteered to escort the remains of fallen Marines to their homes in the United States.


A movie was made based on this true story. It is called 'Taking Chance'. Ive had the DVD forever but never got around to watching it coz looking at the cover (Kevin Bacon in full army regalia) i thought it was just another boring war movie.


Till i saw the trailer on HBO. Then lastnight as i was about to hit the sack the movie was on. i had missed the first 10 mins but i watched it anyway. Though the movie was slow paced and had no action scenes or climaxes, it was so touching.


I am not an american nor do i condone what they are doing over there in Iraq. This movie is not centered on the war, rather it was a story of a courageous young man who sacrificed his life for his comrades, his brothers.


It is about his journey home, after serving his country, and the respect he gains from strangers who held him in their hearts.


The article above has been shorten. The original piece is 12 pages long. If you do have the time, please watch this movie. I cried at every turn.


I got so emotional watching Kevin Bacon do the slow salute every single time they changed vehicles.


And there was this one scene when they were driving up to Wyoming on the last leg of the journey, a lot of cars overtook them to go faster, then when they saw that this hearse was carrying the casket covered with the american flag, holding the remains of a fallen soldier, they all turned on their headlights and joined in the convoy.


Before long, there was an entire line of all sorts of cars and trucks, headlights on, silently accompanying this marine on his journey home.


So emotional i tell you..


* Article taken from here

Recipe: Roast Chicken

So a couple of weeks back i made roast chicken for lunch. I actually do a lot of cooking bt the hassle of running up the stairs to grab my camera is just too much for me sumtimes (all the time). but the last time i made it the camera was on d dining table from the last time i took it out so i snapped!


so here is my 1st recipe post!! weehooo!!! *que cheerleaders cheering my name*


so u'll need
- a whole chicken (i used 2)
- about 2 heads of garlic (ull repel edward cullen for sure)
- olive oil
- thyme and rosemary (preferably fresh)
- 1 tsp salt
- 1 tsp chicken stock
- potatoes
- button mushroom
- white onions
- tomatoes
- leek


Basting
*mixed
- 2 tbs oyster sauce

- 2 tbs honey
- 2 tbs bbg sauce

i love burnt garlic. its more flavourful and aromatic

1. first u need to clean the chicken. i clean chickens with a water mixed with flour. it gets rid of the gamey smell. u can also use the exess water u use to clean rice.


2. then insert a very sharp knife under the skin of the chicken. do this all over.


3. peel and slice a head of garlic and slice em up and stuff it in under the skin. do this with the rosemary n thyme as well. save some herbs for garnish and stuffing


4. take the other head of garlic and cut it lengthwise (skin and all) and stuff it into the cavity along with herbs.

5. rub chicken with some chicken stock and salt.


6. then brush the basting sauce all over the chicken and let rest for a while.


7. cut the potatoes and boil in water with a little salt added. boil till half cooked and drain.


8. cut onions (quarters), leeks, tomatoes and any other vegetables you may have and mix it all togather with the potatoes and place them into the same baking tin as the chicken. Brush them with the basting sauce. drizzle all with olive oil

9. cover with tin foil (shiny side down) and roast at 180 degrees celcius for 40-50 mins depending on the size of the chicken.
i like to occasionally take the chicken out and brush with more basting sauce for more flavour.


10. when it looks about done (juices run clear when poked), turn temp up to 200 celcius and let it roast uncovered for about 5-7 mins and turn it over.


11. when both sides have been browned. take it out and let rest for 15 mins for the juices to be redistributed.

Bon apetit!

i love this coz its simple to make and the aroma of the rosemary and thyme is gorgeous! and the best part is, leftovers can be made into sandwiches or a chicken salad! 


also the garlic doesnt really smell after all that roasting so u wont repel those hot hunks from twilight~ or ur boyfren. in fact he'd love u more for making such a delicious meal!


and u can mash the garlic and mix it boiled potatoes along w sum cream to make a superb mashed potato. bt lets save that recipe for another post ey?


~luff from Jane's kitchen~

Soap Opera

So i was just minding my own business on a slow friday evening when i got an email from Sandwich telling Donut- and evryone else on the team whom she had so thoughtfully cc-ed that she was unhappy with the way Donut worked as it was affecting her. the words she used were rather.. erm.. blunt? i was unhappily minding my own business when i got the email. n dat little voice inside my head went. oooooo drama!! yes yes im shallow like dat get over it!

so Donut wasnt just gonna keep quiet n let sandwich walk all over her like dat no way sirrr!! so she sent another blunt email telling Sandwich off. again. so thoughtfully copying all of us, who by this time were all IM-ing each other, disecting the newly aquired gossip.

den tibe2. Sandwich IM-ed me asking for my take on this new happening. eh jgn la IM i. i was happily kepohing to ppl pls dun. Sandwich wanted to know if i was unhappy with the way things were going. i sed i thot evrything was going swell, n dat i had no complaints n that i didnt want to get in d middle of anything (u kno just in case she was recruiting an army or watever). den she asked me if i thot d email was 'blunt'. to which i replied..

Janna- erm... i wudnt say 'blunt'...

den i panicked! i hate being put on d spot! hate hate hate!!!

i went

Janna- haaaaaa!!! i dont knoww!!!! *faints*

dat was exactly wat i wrote. i dh ckp dont put me on d spot. ive got sum condition or sumtin. i get panic attacks over the simplest things. gossips i love. but dun ask me to like u kno.. justify sumtin sumtin to get back at sumone sumone. too much for me!!

so as im typing this, im waiting for the next cc-ed email to come in.

thank you Sandwich and Donut for providing my boring dry lunch-less friday with much needed icing.

* im fasting (ganti xabes2 lg) hence the lunchless friday

**names have been changed to foods that i want to eat right now.