Hyperallergenic

Actual work conversation:

Me: Arghh! I'm itching all over! I think there may be a mosquito in here!

T: Mozzie? I thought you have allergies.

Me: Yes! I'm breaking out in hives!

T: Then it's a bee problem you got there.

Fo' Shizzle, Ma Nizzle

Keepin' thangs real in da deetour ghetto

It's Been a While...

Updates from the past 2 months to follow... I, uh, promise. Meantime, this is what I've been super busy with. Besides eating craploads and dancing naked, of course.

Make A Little Birdhouse In Your Soul

I'm obsessed with this song! It makes me happy and a little crazy. I want to dance around just like they do in the video. Except naked.



Any song that can include lyrics about screaming Argonauts is OK by me.

Action

click!
I don't know how not to come across preachy or self-righteous and it's so not my intent, but I just have to say this.
I remember feeling completely frustrated and helpless 2 Christmases ago when the Tsunami hit. The hot topic of the season, I must've discussed it with every person I came in contact with. We talked about volunteering, going to Phuket to help physically, maybe pack aid packages at the Red Cross, or make a donation, but I'm disgusted to say I ended up doing absolutely nothing at all.
Since then, I've travelled across the half the globe - Iran, India, Thailand, Cambodia, China, pondering this quote all the while and wondering if I haven't done enough, if I haven't done anything at all, even. Am I making a difference at all for all the trips I've made, the places I've been? You see enough disaster victims, poverty and disease, you become numb. Shouldn't I be feeling worse? Then again, should I even feel bad for feeling numb? But then again, feeling guilty and thinking lots doesn't exactly accomplish anything either.
Then Katarina hit, then the Pakistan Earthquake, then Typhoon Durian across Vietnam and Philippines...
Emotions and talk are cheap without something to back them up, so I reckon I'll shut up, right after I say one more thing: Take Action - however you can, wherever you can, in whatever capacity you can.

Mi Ni Ner Chesna! *

Adventures in teaching English in Inner Mongolia

brrrrr... recorded temperature @ a gas station enroute back to hohhot from saihan
* My Name is Snow!

Ok, it sounds dumb in translation, but at the time, really cool and exotic in Mongolian.

Anyway, this is in reference to the day I refused to stay indoors despite -20°C temperatures. If the students had to go outside in the crunching snow for Phys Ed (which involved doing hilarious, militaristic swimming movements with their arms and legs, to the beat of music and barked orders through a crackly PA sytem), so did I!

That's when the teachers decided to name me after the one thing I seemed to enjoy most.

So anyway, in the little pocket of calm between Christmas and New Year's, I shall attempt to document my most recent travels!

Here's what else happened between this & this. A few - OK, twenty! - of my favourite shots...



On the first day of school, right after we taught our first class, we got to meet 3 lovely Mongolian teachers who decided to sneak 3 of us out for breakfast. It felt deliciiously naughty to be skiving, even if it wasn't really - we had an hour before our next class! Of course, in typical Asian fashion, they ordered way too much food, insisted we try everything and picked up the tab.
So here it is, a typically Mongolian breakfast - Salty (YES! SALTY!) milk tea with little rock-hard buns, millet, dried cheese and boiled fatty lamb all dunked in it. Drunk out of a bowl like soup. Without a spoon.


Snow sculpture outside the first school we visited.


Outside the school at dusk - old man wheeling his broom-laden bicycle along the icy street.




Kids hanging out on the pavement across from their school. Check the cute lil' old granny in her hoodie on the left - she looks just like one of the kids (and just as short!).


This delightful class were eloquent, inquisitive and aggressive! We got mobbed after the lesson and treated like rock stars, everyone clamouring for an autograph.




Walking back to the hotel from school.


Most of Saihan looks like this - squat, terracotta-hued brick houses, the odd taller building and dirt roads (thankfully they were covered in pretty snow!).


Behold! Beyond the rooftops, the main street (which is paved and modern).


Behold! Upon the paved and modern main street, a dude and his horse-cartload of charcoal (still their main energy source). He even stopped and held up traffic so I could take his picture!


What a lovely way to start the day! Charred cow hooves and head, anyone? One super-friendly old dude was searing chopped cow on a charcoal stove outside his house to keep warm. He invited me in for lunch. Score!


The Dynamic Duo of Dairy (奶食)! A staple of the Mongolian diet, milk products like yoghurt, curds, cheese and milk are hand-made in this here shop.


One of MANY ridiculously large, lamb-centric meals hosted by schools we taught at. Clockwise from top, stir-fried string potato (土豆) and chives, lamb omelette, rice porridge, the famous "hand-pulled" lamb (手扒羊肉), chive and egg stir-fry & topping it all off, the Inner Mongolian version of our Murtabak - pan-fried, minced lamb pancakes!


Yet another ridiculous feast for our bursting bellies. After the generous teachers and principals stuff you with bottles of moonshine and lamb dishes, the "main food" (主食) arrives - usually rice or noodles or dumplings. But surely NOT usually all at once?!


Last day, last school. As the sun went down, the kids appeared to clear the courtyard of snow. Bless them!


We emerged from our final class on to the quiet, golden-hued street. Sunset always creates interesting shadows & shapes.




Two brothers, whom we taught earlier in the day, happened to be at the same restaurant where we were being hosted our final whopper of a farewell meal. They were really bored, so I let them play with my camera.


At a freakishly early hour next morning, we said our tearful goodbyes and piled on to the bus that would take us back to the capital city Hohhot. It was so cold, that the windows were completely frosted over. Everytime I used my credit card to scrape off the ice, I was treated to scenes of a winter wonderland outside.


But after about 2 minutes, the windows would freeze over again. Tired of scraping ice away so I could look out the window, I decided to amuse myself in other ways...


Finally back in Hohhot after a four hour busride, we get back to the hotel and are immediately beset by small human beings, eager to speak English with us. These little tourguide-wannabes asked me a million questions, suggested a whole bunch of places I should visit whilst in Inner Mongolia and showed off what they learnt in school: "HELLOHOWAREYOUI'MFINETYHANKYOUMYNAMEIS... WHEREAREYOUFROMWHATFOODDOYOULIKEIAMHAPPY!" They bellowed at me enthusuastically. I was besotted and gave away all my maps and postcards of Singapore. This is them, clutching their spoils and saying goodbye, as we skipped off to explore a little of the city.


Sunflower seed vendor.


Cantankerous old bike-repairer who had taken control of a street corner. Love his getup, especially the fuzzy Russian hat with earflaps.


More food! This time, the infamous Mala Hotpot ( 嘛辣火锅/ 刷羊肉). Paper-fine slices of delicious lamb is dipped in a tongue-numbing, spicy-hot soup and devoured with a sesame-peanut dipping sauce.


OK, so I'd read about this in Polly Evan's travelogue, Fried Eggs with Chopsticks, but didn't really expect to experience it firsthand! Apparently, in large hotels, you can find little perspex displays of products like these these in the bathrooms. For the, uh, convenience of your genitalia?


And after wondering why my phone kept ringing at night but when I answered, the person on the other line would hang up immediately, I remembered a little nugget of info from said book. Ladies offering "special" services often make random calls to hotel rooms, hoping to find male occupants willing to indulge. They can't be arsed with female occupants - if they hear a female voice answering the phone, they hang up.
Now if only I could just figure out what a pudenda means...
I never knew pudenda means THIS! Up your pudenda, schweetheart!


Completely meaningless picture. Included only because I am a compulsive buyer of useless stuff, completely swayed by crass commercialism and willing to fork out US$28 for a slice of China's history. In other words, I bought a boxed set of Olympic mascot plush toys at Beijing airport. Um, it's for my niece and nephews, you see. That's the excuse I'm sticking with, anyway.

They Didn't Leave Till 7am...

...I never make it to church Christmas morning, thanks to very enthusiastic, friendly friends... But I love you guys anyway!


Roast Goose got my uncle feelin' Loose!


The food didn't stay long on our plates


Neither did the wine in our glasses


Precious, limited supply of delicious 1975 (my birth year!) Château Pichon Longueville Comtesse de Lalande

It was a rip-roaring success, involving 39 bottles of Champagne and wine, Large oven-cooked beasts, mountains of mashed potatoes, our juiced-up version of Charades, dozens of ripped up Christmas crackers, and of course, pretty party frocks.

The Menu - clogged arteries and saturated livers be damned!

High: (and what a very high it was) Whilst aunt and uncle were doin' the rock 'n roll to, uh, rock 'n roll music, Daddy Dearest got down on the carpet, flat on his back, and proceeded to "swim" to the beat.
Low: (sigh...) With everyone snoring in bed, having to clear up till 9 am with G.

And a very Merry Christmas to you too! Falalalala, Lalalalaaaaah!

Cranky, Chocolatey Crimbo

The sum and total of this year's homemade gifting endeavour? I never want to see or smell or touch another chocolate truffle ever again. After hand-rolling 450 choc truffles, designing & re-designing the menu inserts/ gift-wrapping & tags and a week of working through the night, it's finally all done. The results, however, one has to admit, are more than worth the effort. Now if only I could get my body clock back to normal. I'm still sleeping at 8am instead of 2am.


L-R: Peppermint, Classic, Amaretto, Mocha.

The Year of Living Generously

Been toying with the idea of this instead of Christmas presents this year.

A sampling of how you can put the ol' plastic to use. A different kind of Christmas wishlist, so-to-speak:

Caring for Orphaned Refugee Children

Feed the Persecuted

AIDS care

Southern Africa Emergency Appeal

Child Sponsorship x 2

Two Snail Farms for the Ladies

Seeds for a Family

Please visit and lay down a little of that year-end bonus!

Or help me out by checking my wish list! :0)

I Can't Feel My Fingers or My Face

Saihan, Inner Mongolia. Enroute back to Hohhot.

I got just one thing to say: -24°C, baby!

Adventures in perilous public loos, teaching English to grade and middle school kids and salty, lamb-y milk tea for breakfast to follow!

Баяртай for now!

Singapore - Beijing - Hohhot

I had grandiose plans to bring thee, fair netizens of Deetour, numerous and wonderful updates, but in typical fashion, have faffed around till it was too late and now I type furiously from a free terminal at Beijing airport.

Yes, BEIJING 北京 airport! It's nip-shatteringly cold and I love it! We touched down at 6.45 this morning and it was -1 deg celsius. Am now waiting to board the flight to Hohhot 呼和浩特, capital of Inner Mongolia, a mere 1.5 hrs flight away northwards, where temperatures of -16 deg celsius await...

Yippee! Will post again when I can... 再见 Zai Jian!

Some Midweek Frivolity

I stumbled upon this today and squealed with much, uh, delight...

"cheesy-tees" is my middle name!

Ah... those giggly days, debating what exactly an "Afternoon Delight" meant... A dessert? A trip to the mall? A little (no way, surely not!) rumpy pumpy in the day time?

This blushingly delightful obsession got a humpjumpstart from a movie I can't get enough of. It's been making it's repetitive rounds on cable and somehow, I seem to be home and channel surfing at the exact moment that Anchorman is on. Oh, Ron Burgundy! Oh, classy city of Saahhn Dee-aahh-go! Oh, legendary 4-part harmony from men in polyester suits!

It may actually go down as my all-time fave song from the '70s, besides Suspicious Minds, Copacabana and Stayin' Alive, that is.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go set some Sky Rockets in Flight.

Poobah

Woe is... Committing a social faux pas of stratospheric proportions. Something I've heard happen to other unfortunate noobheads, but never thought it would me, until tonight...

Meet ex-colleague haven't seen in years.

Have good old natter about work.

She, "Let's meet up soon for drinks!"

Me, "Are you sure you should be drinking?" (as I pat her tummy)

The universe and all its inhabitants shriek maniacally, as her face turns various shades of rainbow and I feel the palpable reverberations of her outrage.

She, "I'll give you a head start, I'm reaching for my shoe..." She says only half-jokingly.

I dissolve into a large, pathetic puddle of humiliation at her feet.

But we all know in these situations, no amount of spluttering and squawking and explaining can save a conversational train wreck like this.

But in my defence, I didn't insinuate she looked fat. I did what I did and said what I said because I distinctly remember another colleague telling me she was preggers. Except (only now, with hindsight, do I remember) this was 2 years ago and I have no concept of time or space. Or decorum, for that matter.

Therefore, henceforth, you may address me as Her Highness, Grand Poohbah of all Schmuckstresses.

Bliss is... Coming home after a loooong day of work to discover a Bond movie marathon on cable. Earlier: Dr. No. Now on: From Russia with Love. Later: Goldfinger. They're showing 'em in chronological order - Waaaheey! I foresee a sleepless night of bondage with Sean Connery... Tee hee.

l LURRRVES BOND!

AND I LURRVES THIS TRIBUTE VIDEO by le Scissor Sisters:

My Brother Cracks Me Up

and he's pretty too!

They say comics are embellishments of reality, but in this case, it couldn't be more true.

And brother-dear's evil nerditizing influence has already infected his firstborn offgeekspring... It's happening as we speak... a whole new generation of dweebazoids spawned... Sigghhh...

Still, I have high hopes for his female spawn, whose preference for ballet, pink and assorted frilly things still far outweighs any interest she has in XBox brain-sucking, eyeball-melting machines.

As for the other male sproglet, I guess we'll just have to wait and see. At 1 year of age (TODAY! Happy Birthday, Baby Boy!), the closest he gets to the XBox is to drool over the controls and chew on the wires.

Feelin' Nuffin' But Love

Monged out in front of the telly in a severely carbed-up (2 packets of instant noodles - yeeah!) stupor, giving thanks for little pleasures (besides thoughtfully rubbing my belly overhang, of course!):

1. Yet another gem of a sign I shot off a truck. I love being Asian!

Oh, the bad puns I could spin, but I won't...

2. As if the carbs in my belly aren't enough, I want to go here, like NOW! I chanced by it once back in 2001 and it was an out-of-body experience. More! More! This isn't helping, either.

3. Realising that the self-imposed social ban was bad for my mental health. Meeting up with B for dimsum today really helped clear the insanity. Today & tomorrow are the only days I'm gonna get off for a LOOONG time, so I'm grateful for the rest - the voice sure could use it. Hurrah for little blessings!

With much inspiration from this blog of note.

Spicy!

Arriving late at S's annual Deepavali party, resplendant in all my shawal kameezed glory (how did I end up being the only one - Indian & Non - in traditional costume?), it struck me how much I miss being in the company of people. After keeping myself away from human contact (so I wouldn't have to speak or use my voice in any other way) for so long, it was strange to find myself surrounded by familiar faces. Yet my language seemed to have left me. Conversation wasn't readily familiar to me. But then everything went right again when T started getting teased for his secret Spice Girls obsession.

"I AM the Spice Girls!" He exclaimed.

"Oh yeah, which part of you exactly?"

"My arm is Sporty, my ear is Posh..."

"And that's Baby!" P interjected pointing at T's crotch.

I lost it. I just lost it. Wheeeeeeeee...

The Paralytic Stirs

Fear is a powerful emotion to live your life by.

And while I know how ridiculous it is to let it take hold, I still did. In debilitating ways. I was too scared to chat with the colleagues, to scared to answer the phone, too scared to play with the niece and nephew, too scared to hang out with friends. Too scared of messing up my voice. Too scared to write about it. The days stretched into a routine of wake-up, cry, go to work, come straight home, lock self in bedroom, cry, sleep. Repeat. Rinse.

But now, THANK GOD THANK GOD THANK GOD the gig is over. Literally, not figuratively. Voice intact (MIRACLE!!!), it went down a treat, especially the bit where my dad ran up to the stage in hero-like fashion & downed the pint S. (the sabo king!) dared me to bottoms up half-way through our song.

In celebration of being unshackled, this month, I shall pluck the good from the bad, see the humour in the sad, and...

Read Moral Disorder again and again. So good, it bears repeating.

Continue to revel in the oral vibrations delivered by my new toothbrush, the magnificent Oral-B Pulsar!

Drink water 8X a day out of my trusty Heineken pint glass, whilst fooling self into thinking it's ice cold beer.

Indulge in a spot of uni nostalgia and listen to a lot of early '90s brit indie-pop music, like Suede, Oasis, The Stone Roses, James, Lightning Seeds, The Farm and also more recently, The Thrills.

Watch old black and white movies on TMC in the wee hours.

Lose 10 pounds so my co-star can at least attempt to lift me into a loving embrace at the climax of the scene. As of now, I remain grossly 5kgs heavier than him. Bah.

Enjoy my erstwhile secret crush on Brandon Flowers.

I Wouldn't Call My Family Melodramatic II

The aunt and uncle from Down Under are having a raucous, champagne-fuelled mid-afternoon family fiesta with the rest of us when G pulls me conspicuously into the kitchen to tell me how frustrated she was about something she misplaced earlier.

As she starts talking, I hear the aunties whispering outside, before one of them bursts through the door in typical kaypoh-chee-fashion and asks in a conspiratorial tone, "What? What? What? What secrets are you two whispering about?"

We stare blankly.

"Why? Guy trouble issit?" She continues in a loud whisper.

Slightly annoyed, and in the same loud whisper, G. says, "Yah. Don't tell my mom, but I'm dating a married man."

"Hah? Really, ah? It's OK what, as long as he treats you well," she continues, trying hard to be the cool auntie.

I can't resist chipping in, "Yah, and he's got three kids. G's gonna be a stepmom!"

We move this loudly whispered conversation outside for the benefit of our other nosy relatives, where the attention suddenly turns to me.

"So G's dating a married man, what about YOOOOUUUU??!"

"Me? I'm engaged... I'm getting married to a cocker spaniel."

Spare me the female dog jokes, please.

The World Is Made Up of Only Two Kinds

Caught the creepy-cute feature-length documentary My Date with Drew on cable and was completely reeled in - couldn't stop watching. An average joe films his mission to bag a date with Drew Barrymore. The catch, he has $1,100 and 30 days to do it. The money, he won on a TV game show and the time frame, the number of days in the money-back guarantee of his video cam.
Countless deliciously cheesy 80's movie references aside, I knew sticking out the movie till its end was so worth it when the guy revealed that in his world, there are only 2 kinds of people and he judges them accordingly. Mock if you will, but after cackling uncontrollably to myself, I realised I agree with him.
Yes, how lovely! My world, too, is made up of only 2 kinds of people - those who love Grease 2 and those who don't. It gave me a little thrill when I discovered that Ms Barrymore loves Grease 2 too! OMG!!! Does that make me a stalker?! But seriously, I never met a person who loves Grease 2 that I didn't like.
Although I may have to draw the line at guys who sing Cool Rider to calm themselves down.

-------------------

22 Oct update: P. says even so, no wonder I don't have a boyfriend. Bah.

Stock Take COMPLETE!!!

In·ven·to·ry (ĭn'vən-tôr'ē, -tōr'ē)
n., pl. -ries.
A detailed, itemized list, report, or record of things in one's possession, especially a periodic survey of all goods and materials in stock.
The process of making such a list, report, or record.
An evaluation or a survey, as of abilities, assets, or resources.
tr.v., -ried, -ry·ing, -ries.
To make an itemized report or record of.
To include in an itemized report or record.
[Middle English inventorie, from Medieval Latin inventōrium, alteration of Late Latin inventārium, from Latin inventus, past participle of invenīre, to find.]

Resurrecting something I used to do - presenting, my innards served, from A - Z, on a pretty platter:

A - Aging Rockers. Blondie were here on the 11th for their Farewell Tour gig @ the Hard Rock Cafe. Somehow I got dragged along for the experience (Thanks, T). Look, I know they're pioneers of new wave punk. I know I may never see them perform again (although Farewell Tours never seem to be what they claim to be. They just keep coming back - like Cher). I like Rapture, Heart of Glass, Denis Denis, The Tide is High & Maria, but I think I missed the boat of blonde-ness by a few years. Don't feel insulted, but we stayed at the gig for all of 20 minutes, bothered by the sheer number of tall ang mors blocking us short asians in the standing-room-only venue. And it's not much fun listening to a deadpan Deborah Harry, whilst watching her on a plasma screen 'cos too many people are obscuring the stage.
Sigghhh... Aging is a beautiful yet grotesque thing. Beautiful because we wear every wrinkle, every scar as a badge of honour for lessons learnt and wisdom gained. Grotesque because I'm still not comfortable watching 40-something-year-olds in their Yuppie suits and greying hair relive their glory days, gyrating and screaming along to every song. Probably because in about 10 years, that'll be me at a Coldplay concert or something. Maybe I should go catch Sonic Youth (strike while the irony is hot!) gigs more often. Sheesh.
Ironically, see O.

B - Batam. Infamous home of laydees' spas... cheap krupuk & Kue Lapis... playground of dirty old men from S'pore... and now, me. Am off in a couple of days to this den of iniquity, but for very un-iniquitous reasons...

C - Crying & Caffeine. Boo Hoo Hoo... The tears have finally arrived. I'm missing New Zealand, I'm missing YWAM, I'm missing the team, I'm missing the kids from Waharoa, I'm missing the simple, disciplined life we lived. I feel overwhelmed by my lovely but distracting homeland. Many decisions, many things pulling me in many directions. I loathe nostalgia. It makes you yearn and miss and cry and hurt. But this too shall pass, that much I know, so bawl on, sister!
As for the metabolic stimulant, I decided to go 100% cold turkey. As of Monday, 18th Sept, I stopped drinking tea and coffee. Big Mistake. Huge. See H.

D - Debt. Did you hear the one about the girl who went away to New Zealand, Thailand and India for 6 months and racked up bills of all assortments and amounts back home in her absence? No? Lemme fill you in. I started with a $10,000 IOU to the parentals who paid said bills for me. Am slowly chipping away at the brain-numbing 5-figure amount by selling myself on street corners and ebaying off my vast Barbie doll collection - wahaha!
Current debt stands at $8,371.22.
Looking on the bright side, at least when your parents are the loan sharks you won't come home to find a bloody pig's head at your door!

E - E-mail. Thank God for it. Just got lovely long one from O, which makes me feel less like a bit of agae swirling around in a giant sea. The ebb and flow of being home (I know! Pathetic! It's been over 2 months now!) can otherwise leave one slightly neurotic laydee feeling desperately lonely and lost. So what a blessed treat to hear the familiar trill of my inbox, heralding the love of someone from halfway across the world. Hurrah!

F - Father. Is it me or is there something very strange yet very amusing to find your old man watching MTV and singing along to Beyonce's Deja Vu? Apparently, Dad's 61 going on 16.

G - Grace. What can I say? God is good. Even when the world seems like it's gone crazy around me.

H - Hiding & Headaches. Been doing a lot of that lately. Locked up behind closed doors, not talking much to anybody. Afraid of the big ol' world out there. Feeling ridiculous. I have to face reality and my fears at some point. Later.
Meanwhile, my head feels like elephants are enthusiastically breakdancing back and forth behind my eyes and up & down the back of my skull. Consequence of cold-turkeying on coffee and tea - my 2 most favourite bevs on God's green earth. Why this unnecessary show of bravado? For the sake of my vocal chords, I've decided to stop poisoning them with the super-drying effects of caffeine. I have a musical to be in soon - one whole gruelling month of singing - gotta start being good to my body. Unfortunately, my body is not being good to me. I never knew caffeine withdrawal was this bad. Day 3 today and it's worn off a little, but the first two days were horrendous. By mid-afternoon, I couldn't function because of the pain in the head. Guess I deserve it for going from 6 cups of tea & 2 cups of joe a day to absolute zero. Don't try this at home, kids. Leave it to the, uh, professional singing lunatic.

I - Improvement. Progress is slow, but being made. With regard to U & N, the suitcase has been unpacked (sigh) and put away, but its contents still stacked all over the floor, against walls; whilst the toiletries of neurotic nostalgia are being ruthlessly depleted day by day. In fact (see M), as of a half hour ago, all the Mor Fig & Olive stuff has been used up (double sigghh).

J - Juggling. The old life involved a million and one little things everyday that screamed for my attention and deftly, cleverly, I dealt. I will never know how I stuck for that long to waking up @ 4.30am everyday, working non-stop for 14 hours, squeezing in extra jobs on the side, gym, hanging out with friends at night, keeping up with everything scheduled. Now, if I have more than 2 things on my daily planner, I get confused and forget meetings, errands, etc. A four-hour rehearsal now and I'm a goner for the rest of the day. Look, also, under R.

K - Kindness. This seems a bit obvious, but I keep surprising myself with this simple fact: It's way easier to be kind to people whom you think deserve it and so not to people whom you think aren't up to par. And that's hypocrisy. So am trying to find any opportunity to be kind to someone daily. Even if it means having to suck it up and go against my every scroogerific instinct - especially on the road.

L - Little Shop of Horrors. Said musical is already living up to its name! 2nd week into rehearsals and I'm having sleepless nights and nightmares featuring the entire soundtrack played on perpetual loop at full volume. Sigghhh... Signing up for this = committing social suicide. Voice coach pushes us so hard that vocally, I'm drained as a longkang at the end of each 6-hour day. After which, I go straight home and cease speaking till the next day when the manic vocal acrobatics begin again. I haven't been out or seen spoken much to anyone in ages! I've given up bars, clubs and other smoky, loud places. I've given up alcohol and caffeine. Next on my ruthless list, spicy foods! Boohoohoo. I've started exercising (almost) everyday. I've started drinking 4 litres/ 1 gallon of H2O everyday. And so far, the only thing I've gained is an extra 6 urgent toilet breaks per day on average.

M - Mor. As in the divine cosmetics company from Oz. Finally found a twee little shop @ The Mount that sold their products and carefully carted one bottle of Fig & Olive Body Wash home. That was 5 months ago, thanks to careful rationing. Look also under N.

N - Neurotic. Do you know what neurotic is? Neurotic is rationing all the toiletries you may have bought over the last 6 months because you have weird, morbid fear of forgetting what has past. A fear that all your memories of the incredible, excruciating, sublime adventure across North Island & South East Asia will disappear down the drain with the soap suds. So there they stand sweating in a row, the usual suspects lined up on the humid mosaic of my bathroom, little jars and tubes and bottles with that last .0007th of product left clinging to their insides.

O - Old. Miss S. was tremendously relieved, as was yours truly to discover that we both can't hear anything in that TV ad about the secret cell phone ringtone that grownups can't hear. I guess it's easier to deal with your aging aural faculties when you're not the only one. Either that or the arses behind the ad are just screwing with our 31-year-old minds and they haven't actually included the sneaky teen buzz. In which case, I shall be very angry and take revenge with this.

P - Pregnant. Before the congratulations or complaints start rolling in... a) That's not me in the picture. b) It is a belly of the male persuasion (thanks, Mr T!), merely for visual purposes. c) I'm not with child. I just look like it. Hey, I've had a lot of catching up to do on Mom's home-cookin'!

Q - Quiz. As in yet another totally useless and meaningless self-test. I am truly ashamed. And curiously addicted.


R - Rest & Relaxation. Trying to strike some sort of balance between work and play. The workaholic in me is so hard to kill - Rehearsals are stressful vocally, but not mentally or physically, so I always come home feeling like I haven't actually worked. Then I spend the rest of my time at home faffing about, trying not to feel guilty for not having done much, except faff and watch telly. Feeling especially off-kilter because going out is also out of the question due to lethal combination of: a) being broke b) 2 month ban on caffeine & alcohol c) most R&R activities with friends involve lots of a) & b). Therefore I haven't seen beloved friends in ages and this sad state of affairs will continue till end Nov.

S - Signs. Love collecting funny ones. Here's another I spotted last night in a public loo:


T - TV. Is my new best friend. Due to self-induced social coma for the sake of preserving the vocal chords, my only connection to the outside world (beside IMM & email - I've even started ruthlessly screening phone calls) is via a 12-by-14-inch confection of glass, plastic and wires that sits on a shelf directly across from my bed. Therefore, I find myself home, yet again, on a Friday night, equal parts mortified and excited that Extreme Makeover is on now and Assault on Precinct 13 (judge if you must, but the pirated DVD of this movie I a friend paid good money for didn't work and so it's a matter of uh, indulging the deprivation) later. Right now, I am so deprived of human contact, that I'm not even ashamed to admit my insides leap about with joy to hear mom & dad are home and I can sit and watch TV with them. Sigh. Bah. Poo.

U - Unpacking. Or rather, the lack of said activity taking place! I've been home for almost 5 weeks now and am still living out of one giant suitcase, gingerly weaving my way around a room that resembles an obstacle course of bags, books and papers.

V - Vitamins. Part of the new health kick. As D. from work said, we're all on self-imposed social comas till the show's over, but at least it'll be the fittest (albeit loneliest) we'll ever be. True blue, Mr D. Especially since I now pop a multi vit, evening primrose/ ginseng combi and garlic/ horseradish capsule everyday. The latter is supposed to help with nasal ailments, but with the PSI readings soaring and the haze getting stinkier & thicker by the minute, my allergies are raging uncontrollably.

W - Words. Written by other people, they always help to make sense of the present:

5 feet tall and the ears say it all...
My ancestors were cross-breeding elves & hobbits.
"I tell you these stories because these things happen to everyone. It’s not about being starched or polished or cute or polite. It’s about having ears that stick out, about breaking yet another glass. It’s about seeing something for the first time and making a million mistakes and not getting completely discouraged."
– Maira Kalman

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond imagination. It is our light more than our darkness which scares us. We ask ourselves – who are we to be brilliant, beautiful, talented, and fabulous. But honestly, who are you to not be so?
You are a child of God, small games do not work in this world. For those around us to feel peace, it is not example to make ourselves small. We were born to express the glory of god that lives in us. It is not in some of us, it is in all of us. While we allow our light to shine, we unconsciously give permission for others to do the same. When we liberate ourselves from our own fears, simply our presence may liberate others."
- Marianne Williamson/ Return to Love: Reflections on a Course in Miracles - resurrected by akeelah & the bee

X - X. As in the roman numeral for ten. Which is the number of slices of bacon I've eaten over the last 3 days. In Jamie's twist on spaghetti carbonara, in the BK chicken sanwich for lunch, sprinkled over my minestrone soup for dinner. And if you are what you eat, then flip me in a frying pan and call me Salty Pig!

Y - Yum! It's all here, baybeh! The finest Earl Grey Cake I've ever made with my own two hands. Ok, I cheated on the no-caffeine ban, but come on, does it really count if it's baked in a cake?

Z - Zaftig. X + Y = Z. 'Nuff said!

Physics is Pretty... Or is it Math?

Taking a breather from the innard inventory and making the world wide web a more beautiful place, via the always purdy JellyGirl.


Make a gorgeous graph of your own & watch it unfurl prettily before your very eyes, using something called an HTML graph applet!

Suffer Little Children

Light a Candle for the Innocent Victims of Child Abuse

Multiples! Personalities! Disorders!

Help! The B-movie bacteria are attacking my brain...
AIEEEEEE... IQ point suckage....

Why else would she sit home alone on a Friday night watching Anacondas: The Hunt for the Blood Orchid & Blade: Trinity? Ever notice how most movies with a " : " proceeding the title is usually a B-grade sequel?

AIIIEEEEEEEEEEE...

OK, fine. Melodrama over. Brainless movies require brainless viewing activities... I feel, like, so 13-years-old right now!

Star Wars Personality: Princess Leia Organa

"This is some rescue. When you came in here, did you have a plan for getting out?" Technically you're a princess, but there's nothing dainty about you. When your royal blood runs hot, you speak your mind and tell it like it is. Only a true leader would have the courage to stand up to an enemy as ruthless as Darth Vader, and like Leia, your strength lies between your ears (although you're never afraid to go head-to-head with the boys).
You are the type of person who fights for their causes. You are a defender of the downtrodden and an inspiration to all those who have been oppressed. You may come off as a little headstrong and cocky, but how else could you pull off the "ear-muff" hairdo?

Imbibations:
a) What Kind of Server: Dynamic Bartender

Hey there, bartender, is it any wonder people love to open up to you and ask your opinion? You've got the most dynamic personality around. Whether you need to give sage advice to a broken heart or mix things up, you've got the imagination, wit, and heart to do it all.
You're as happy as can be when you're the center of attention, with everyone calling your name. People, action, new experiences — you crave to enjoy the world around you and learn as much as you can. We'll take another round!

b) Comfort Cocktail: Southern Manhattan

Just like SoHo and the West Village of NYC, your charm and sophistication go unmatched. It seems that you've got that incredible sense of style and the cultural know-how that inevitably impress everyone with whom you come in contact. It's called "class," and you've got a ton of it. What's even better is that you've managed to achieve this level of understated elegance without even a tad of arrogance.
You're extremely warm, open, and approachable — which makes you all the more irresistible! People might be intimidated because you definitely are the "whole package," but once they get to know you, they quickly realize that you're just as nice as you are cool. So maybe it's time to try a cocktail that suits your sophistication.

Signature city: New York

Whether you like to have lots of options at your fingertips or you like to be in a metropolitan environment that's buzzing with energy, the Big Apple is the perfect place for you. Maybe you like to mix and mingle at some of the edgiest restaurants, shops, and clubs in the world. Or maybe you like to be in the middle of it all — in the bright lights and big city.
One night could be dinner and a show on Broadway, a stroll through Central Park the next, or a trip to the Met the next. From Grand Central Station to Greenwich Village, New York's got some of the biggest and edgiest things to see and do anywhere in the world. No wonder a trendsetter like you would be right at home in the Big Apple.

Which Friend from "Friends": Rachel

She's everybody's sweetheart, despite some (mostly) endearing quirks. And it looks like you too, have a little Rachel Green inside you. (If you're lucky, you might share her good looks too). Some may see you as a little spoiled, or at times naive. But overall you're a total doll. Like the real Rachel, you make your way in the world, figuring it out as you go.
Sometimes your story-book ideals of how things should turn out keep you from taking life as it comes, but that lovable vulnerability just makes people feel closer to you. You have true compassion, an idiosyncratic side your friends delight in—and, of course, great taste. Reminder, o charming one: People love it when you call them "hun."

Celebrity love matches (It's a toss-up between):
a) Dylan McDermott

Order in the court! Yeah, we mean you. We know it's exciting that Practice hottie Dylan McDermott is your celebrity match, but for heaven's sake, calm down. After all, the TV lawyer may be tall, dark, handsome, smart, suave... Actually, on second thought, woo hoo! Celebrate all you want; this brainy babe (and ex-fiancé of Julia Roberts) is exactly the right kind of guy for you — you love men who sweep you off your feet with their words, not just their biceps. We can just picture the two of you on a date: candlelight, a vintage wine, a deep discussion about literature or foreign film. Definitely swoon-worthy. He may be married (and a daddy!) in real life, but in the TV show in your head, we the jury find that this bright East Coast hunk is all yours.

b) Brad Pitt

We can hear your heart fluttering from here. Yes, it's true — Hollywood golden boy Brad Pitt is your celebrity dream date. This outrageously handsome, disarmingly sexy Missouri-raised cutie may have had Jennifer Aniston and now Angelina Jolie, but that doesn't mean you can't daydream about a passionate affair. After all, your preference for sensitive, romantically boyish guys means Mr. Sexiest Man Alive (according to People in 1995 and 2000, that is) is right up your alley. We can just tell that his athletic build and clean-cut charm are matched only by his desire to keep you satisfied (look what he did for Geena Davis in Thelma and Louise!). Sure, he dressed up as a giant chicken to make money when he first moved to L.A., but that smidge of goofiness intrigues you, doesn't it? We can just picture a perfect date between the two of you. Imagine a night at the drive-in: one milkshake, two straws. Need we say more?

Monster Match: Mummy

You've been dead for 3000 years, but you are still the life of the party because your monster match is the mummy. Has anyone ever told you that you look sharp in linen, and white is definitely your color? From head to toe, you are the best dressed of the zombie clan. You throw the best parties this side of the Nile, whether you rented out a suite at the Luxor or you're just chilling in your tomb, you know how to unwind and have a good time.
You put the "Rahhh" back in Rock and Roll and forget hip-hop, you're the original wrap artist. But mummies, you may need to get outside more. You could use some sun and that sarcophagus is starting get a little stuffy. Go for a walk (like an Egyptian) or maybe even a jog. It's important to have an outlet so life's details don't bury you alive.

Dog: Pug

No bones about it, you're an intelligent, playful Pug. Witty and charming, you're a lot of dog wrapped in a small package. People just love you — a wonderful approachability and sense of humor put you at the top of everyone's list. And because you're smart and quick-witted, you attract a crowd wherever you go. (Have you ever considered running for office or starting a company? You've got the charisma for either.) But that doesn't mean you can't be a little naughty or mischievous when opportunity knocks — you've definitely got a nose for fun! A happy, optimistic breed, you're admired and respected by all. Woof!

Vehicle: Convertible

Ooo wee! You've got the wind in your hair, the sun on your face, and anyone with two eyes wishing they could nestle into your passenger seat. You're all about top-down, Convertible fun. We're thinking '69 Mustang, '64 Corvette, or Mazda Miata, in cherry red, of course. The car for you embodies youth, freedom, and summertime excitement. You've got a wild outlook on life and are always game for a good time. Since you're comfortable being the center of attention, you zip around town looking sleek and fresh, stealing flirty glances from your rearview mirror. Being so sexy and open, you attract friends, love interests, and joy riders wherever you go. It's no surprise if some hot number pulls alongside to challenge you to a little drag down Lovers Lane. You're the classic party mobile so crank up the music and hit the open road.

Theme Song: Funky Town

Bold, outrageous, and unafraid to ham it up. Like your signature song, you're upbeat and tons of fun. When it comes to having a good time, your imagination knows no limits. Whether you're out on the town or at home with friends, you can be counted on to be the ringleader.
People are drawn to your lightheartedness and offbeat sense of humor. You're not one to take life too seriously, and that's why you're such a hoot to be around. Not to mention, you always manage to keep people guessing what you'll do next. Stay funky!
woot-woot! blast from the past!


Movie Match: Groundbreaking Documentary

If you think documentaries are boring, think again. Like your movie match, you're an intelligent individual who makes people think. Documentaries span all sorts of topics, from the trivial to the profound. Perhaps your interests do the same, but one thing's clear — you're a smarty and you like to learn.
We'd guess you're the person at the dinner table or the water cooler who stirs up lively debates about the latest news or tidbits from the Discovery Channel. Part of you probably gets a kick out of creating controversy and getting people fired up about their beliefs. Another part probably likes opening people's eyes and sharing your thoughts. And for that, you get two thumbs up for trying to get to the bottom of things and making waves!

Hollywood Blonde: Gwen Stefani

From performing songs to designing her own clothing line, Gwen Stefani has never been a girl who just blends in. Like her, you're an original who's got your unique style that makes you stand out from the crowd. Even if you don't feel the pull of platinum, you know that you're a true individual with a flare for getting noticed — and staying in the spotlight.
Strong and sassy, you know who you are and enjoy expressing yourself — whether through music, fashion, or simply with your creative take on life. You'll never be just a girl — unless of course we're talking It Girl.

via




I am, like, so cool and popular and IT right now! Ya-huh...
I have to go twirl my hair now... Buh-bye!

Often Licked, Never Beaten

Caviar today, Crusts tomorrow. Champagne today, Vinegar tomorrow is what I wrote before. It's OK. Everything's going to be OK. And when it doesn't feel that way, I breathe deep and look up.

Even though what I really want to do is hunt down another block of cheese and scarf it.

Actually, I don't have a sense of needing anything personally. I've learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I'm just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I've found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am.
Philippians 4:11-13/ The Message

Semiotics is a Big Word

Is it because I don't love you enough?

Is it because I don't love you enough that I stray?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I run?
Is it because I don't love you enough that doing becomes the excuse for not being?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I fear?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I cannot decide?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I cannot commit?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I will not stay put long enough to listen?
Is it because I don't love you enough that I'm afraid of what I will hear?

Is it because I don't love me enough to care?

.......

so you found a girl
who thinks really deep thoughts
what's so amazing
about really deep thoughts
~ tori/ silent all these years

Trying not to think really deep thoughts, feeling not very amazing.

Hit By A Tai-taidal Wave

i feel preettee... oh so preetteeeee...

I remember 13 weeks into my life on the road, I had the freaky chance of having a hot shower at a posh hotel in the heart of Bangkok. After 2 weeks of cold bucket baths, it was too much.
Rows of L'occitane products beckoned, recalling for me a distant past of spa weekends, luxury toiletries and weekly mani-pedis. Standing under the powerful jet of hot water, I cried, bewildered at this sudden and shocking display of emotion. Part grateful elation, part abject shame, I cried. Because of a hot shower.

As the end of my third week home draws near, I feel like crying again. But the tears won't come.
I'm getting used to the clash of feelings - I can eat caviar one day and crusts the next. Sip champagne today, drink vinegar tomorrow. It's ok. It's ok to go from the lack of to the surfeit of luxury. IT'S OK.

Being home is a curious thing. Everything is so familiar, but I can hardly recognise it. And yet as easy as a desperate hooker, I put on the old life once again. Calls this to mind. Maybe I'm being melodramatic, but these 2 things make me struggle (even though they happened quite by accident):

1. 2 hours at the salon getting scalp expertly massaged, hair expertly washed and conditioned then coifed. And I only happened to be there to keep stunning bride S. company, whilst she got hers done. But it was soooo much fun!

2. 2 hours at Sage & Sole getting fingers & toes descaled, detoxed and expertly dipped in the divine Hazel (neon mango) & Stephanie (shimmery midnight blue) polishes by Christina Fitzgerald. And I also only happened to be there to keep the purty Ms P. company, whilst she got hers done. But it was, like, soooooo much fun! Soooooo muuuuuuccchhh Decadant fuuuunnnnnn!

Arrrggghhh... Was not planning on returning to the life of a pampered Miss with Taitai aspirations. Will I ever be ok with who I am?

And in the End, He Made Me Foot the Bill!

It was good to meet up with T. for Sushitei and a catchup tonight. We talked shop for several animated hours then I decided to fish for sympathy.

"Boo hoo, my foot very pain, leh! Did I tell you I think I fractured it?"

(Big sigh) "Yes, you already did. Didn't you fracture your foot once before?"

(Whining ever-so-slightly) "Yes! But it was the other foot!"

"Ah hah, must be the shock of defeat deFEET!"

Much snickering (from T's side of the table) & glaring (from my side) ensued.

I Think It's Broken

I didn't want to say anything, but !@£$%^&*%!! my left foot hurts like !@£$%^&*&^%$£@! Pending an actual X-ray (and we all know my track record), I, in typical hypochondriac fashion, maintain that I may have fractured my left fifth distal metatarcel. And the reason I am so well-acquainted with said medical jargon is...

10 years (Lud!!!! TEN YEARS?!) ago, I fractured my RIGHT fifth distal metatarcel whilst pretending I was in Fame. Actually, I was taking my first dance class at the Northern School of Contemporary Dance, where the students REALLY danced through the hallways wearing tights and legwarmers! Feeling very impressed and very Fame indeed, I threw myself passionately into barefoot dancing to the beat of live African drums.

Halfway through corner-to-corner turns and leaps, Miss Twinkle-toes makes one ferociously enthusiastic jump and lands awkwardly, on the side of her twisted right foot. Sickening crack notwithstanding, she carried on leaping heroically till the pain threatened to eat her brain. "I think it's broken!" She wailed plaintively. Of course, none of her friends believed her. Of course, the rest is just fractured history.

A trip to the A&E next morning, when the foot in question had swelled up to twice its original size & developed a lovely deep purple hue, confirmed the Drama Queen's worst fears. She spent the next 6 weeks in a fibreglass cast, greatly inconvenienced, yet secretly revelling in all the attention the crutches and cast brought her.

Now I'm not saying I want attention now (though SOME WOULD BE NICE!), but my current foot woes smell like the the putrid past. Why won't anyone believe me? I'm in pain, dammit! And ponstan just doesn't cut it. I want an X-ray, and the tender ministrations of a hunky doctor, please.

Anyhow, this time, dancing was involved too. Occupational hazard, I guess. Allow me to set the scene:

2 kancheong girls on stage bump into each other while rushing to put away props and get back onstage to do next scene.

In the ensuing debacle, one pointy stiletto heel of one girl comes crushing down on the top of other girl's left foot.

Showbiz protocol darling... Just grin and keep shimmying through the grinding pain.

Get home 9 hours later, limping like a gangsta rapper.

Go to sleep with foot elevated.

Wake up with swollen purple foot.

Call doctor dad.

Painkillers prescribed.

Spend all of yesterday in bed watching crappy cable.

Write miserable, sorry-for-self post on blog.

Tomorrow, I'll get out of bed. Tomorrow I'll go get an X-ray. Tomorrow I'll find someone who'll offer me tea and sympathy.

Homesick?

“Homesickness is. . . absolutely nothing. Fifty percent of the people in the world are homesick all the time. You don't really long for another country. You long for something in yourself that you don't have, or haven't been able to find.” - John Cheever

It's ironic I finally came home just as National Day celebrations were building to a fever pitch. As Singaporeans waved their little red-and-white flags and sang jubilant, nationalistic songs, I found myself familiarly indifferent. Detached. I haven't bubbled over with patriotic pride since I was a school kid singing, "One people, one nation, one Singapore...", so the indifference didn't surprise me much. But what did surprise me was how accutely homesick I felt, despite actually being, well, HOME.

I deliberately shut down the head & heart so I could cope with jumping straight back into rehearsals/ work/ being bridesmaid. I deliberately chose not to allow myself to process being away for the last 5 months. And I deliberately conducted emo erasure to avoid having to deal with settling back here.

Until now.

The emotional switches are slowly coming back on, but I'm not capable of articulating what's going inside yet. I will make these observations though:

Nothing on the radio or TV has changed - same songs, same shows - it's like I never left.

I have, though. Changed, that is. And being stuck between these 2 worlds is weird & surreal. And cliched.

Plunging Straight into Work + Killer Jet Lag = Extremely Anti-Social Behaviour. I haven't spoken properly to good friends yet and some people still don't know I'm back. Am making half-hearted attempt to feel remorseful.

Relief is going at least 3 times a day after 5 months of constipated travelling!

I ate a block of cheddar cheese and 4 tofu puffs today.

My 3-year-old niece speaks at least 3 times more than she did before I left and tells me she loves me everyday - yay!

I lost 5kgs whilst I was away - double yay!

I can still put on the glitter, false eyelashes and fishnets effortlessly.

MY. BODY. HAS. BEEN. REJECTING. BEER. Whaaaaat?!!! Expected, I guess, after being a teetotaller for the last 5 months.

I like Tim Tams and espresso (the parental units have purchased a spanking new machine that serves eye-poppingly good Illy coffee. Am telling everyone I know how to enjoy Tim Tam Slams.

Am trying to rid self of verbal habits. Especially using the word "awesome!" every 2 seconds.

Please don't ask me how I am. The answer is, for now, "I REALLY DON'T KNOW."

Absolutely

It's a subjective world we live in.

We're so used to doing what feels good to us/ accepting what's good to others/ constructing our own versions of truth, that talking about absolutes doesn't exactly win you conversational brownie points.

I guess I can say one thing for sure. I absolutely believe in God. But I didn't expect to be discussing what I believe so soon after returning home. Over red wine (1 for me, 3 for him) tonight, P. challenged me:

"What makes you think that there is only one true God? How can you say that for sure?"

Uh-oh, out of nowhere, the proverbial can of religiopolitIcal worms sprang open... P. didn't exactly let me interrupt his stream of consciousness - he was on a roll... I guess he was trying to argue that everything in life is relative. Tipsily, I might add. Which always leads to an entertaining exchange.

Amidst bungled attempts at explaining my conviction, P. edged in the last word:

"Aiyah, D, the only absolute in life is vodka, lah!"



His humour remains as disarming as ever. But am I the only one who finds it ironic that the disarmer was getting absolutely legless in the process?

Holy Cow! Holey Possum!

So here I am finally back in civilisation and it's weird.

Toilets that flush?! Showers that aren't from a bucket? Running hot water? Zero degree temperatures as opposed to sweltering tropical heat? Starbucks and wireless internet? Laptop and cell phone?

My body and mind almost can't handle the sensory overload!

Here's what the last week's been like:

Thursday 29 June: Dusty dirt roads and random neighbourhood cows in Bangalore, India.



Sunday 2 July: Proper tarmac and possum roadkill in Mata Mata, New Zealand.



It's winter! There's frost! I love it!



Pretty, naked trees everywhere and clear blue skies. Did I mention I love winter?



Back to the grind, working with local Maori kids.



I love these scamps! And they love hip hop - a random afternoon dance party...


Oh, and I turned 31 on July 3rd. Yay me. Thirty-something zone? We have penetration!

Aab Ka Nam Gya Hai?

From Singapore to Mata Mata, New Zealand to Bangkok, Thailand to Bangalore, India...
Just a super quick hello to the www - Miss Dee is alive and well & invigorated by the stingingly aromatic curries of her current host-country.
Namaste!

Miss Contrary

It feels like I've drunk more in the last 3 weeks than I have in the last year previously. Could it be overcompensation for, what in my mind is, a very long (impending) hiatus from any form of partying and booze? My mind is my greatest enemy these days. And even upon recognising this, what does the girl do first thing through the front door after a night out? 1 large serving of Tiger Beer sorbet. Oh, and a cup of tea - as if it negates the night's activities in any way.

Seeing Red

Today has been a surreal day of exertion & exploration. I feel like I've just returned from a quest of mystical proportions. Probably because it’s beyond my comprehension how I let myself get talked into going in the first place. Miss D has plumbed the depths of dementia by plunging head first into the bewildering chaos known as the Heartland - all in hopes of purchasing a plastic stool. Yes, you read me. PLASTIC. STOOL.

The mothership had foot surgery this morning and needs a cheap, waterproof seat in the bath. Filial offspring that I am, I set off on said brave quest. Plastic stool? No problem. I was sure I’d find something simple. Tasteful. Grey. That’s when the problems began. Clementi Central was the first stop. Amid the uncles spitting out blender demos in Hokkien and the 10-bras-for-$20 sales, I stumbled upon XXXX Enterprise, which was next to YYYY Enterprise, which in turn was next to ZZZZ Enterprise, and found what I was looking for. Thinking to myself, “What an enterprising lot these shopkeepers are”, I noticed the stools only came in red. Pounding the scorching pavements and scouring the shops of Clementi, it finally dawned on me that stools only came in two styles. Red and plastic.

Now, red and plastic are, in all probability, the worst combination since shoulder pads and bubble skirts, headbands and teased fringes, Liza Minelli and David Guest… Unless of course, you’re into fetish gear. But please understand, we’re talking stools here! Stools that would in no way match the parentals' black and yellow bathroom. Ironically, the half-dozen or so coffee shops surrounding me were filled with the exact grey plastic stools I needed. Undefeated, I drove to Ghim Moh only to find the same red plastic situation going on there. Defeated at last, I handed over $10 and brought the offending plastic posterior propper home to mom, where it’s been doing its job. Fugly-ly.

Deereeshus!

I'm still terrified, but coming round to the idea of going away, I guess...

Quick, any distraction is welcome... so I went surfing and found an oldie but goodie. Engrish at its finest:
I'd like a Number 69, please!

Then on my travels in Reykjavik last September, I found this at a little (exhorbitantly priced) cafe - I highly recommend the Number 68 (salty!):

Baaaaaaaaaaa

I'm Going!
I'm Going!
I'm Going!
And I'm BLOODY TERRIFIED!

New Zealand looms... I leave in less than two weeks & six months of my life hangs in the balance.

Why is it when you want something soooo much, you totally don't want it when you finally get it?

Humour hasn't eluded us yet, though.

Breaking the news to D, he remarks sarkily: Wah, so you're going to the countryside to learn about Jesus??!

Me: Hahahaha, if you want to put it that way (I call it a spiritual/ humanitarian retreat - everybody needs a timeout for soul food).

D: So how? You gonna come back a nun?

Me: Whaaat?! Protestants don't become nuns.

D: Ok, a Pastor then.

Me: ???

D: Although with you going to New Zealand, you'll probably come back a Pasture!

To quote JG, "MEH!"

Wicked Waste of Time

{Via} If only it was this simple, to have your levels of goodness and evilness reduced to a mere formula! Because if there was a formula for this, then there'd be a formula for being gooder.

This Month so far:


Last Month:


Compared to a year ago when this blog started:


Ah, I see a slight improvement - 4% increase in goodness? I'll take it!

How wicked are you?

I Wouldn't Call My Family Melodramatic

It was a very slow day at the office...

G says: (4:06:32 PM)
our horoscopes say we should go into business this year. rabbits and goats.

D says: (4:06:53 PM)
wahahahahaha. but i don't believe in horoscopes.

G says: (4:07:07 PM)
neither do i. unless it's good.

D says: (4:07:12 PM)
We can go into business anytime. Not just this year!

G says: (4:07:17 PM)
hahahahahah. chinese zodiac ok?!

G says: (4:07:22 PM)
and we are chinese!

D says: (4:07:41 PM)
oh my gosh! I'm Chinese????!!!!!!! gulp! gasp!

G says: (4:07:51 PM)
yes

D says: (4:07:51 PM)
and wait- YOU'RE chinese too?????!!!!

D says: (4:07:58 PM)
when did u find out?????!!!!

G says: (4:08:00 PM)
sorry to break it to you that way

G says: (4:08:04 PM)
it's hard i know

G says: (4:08:06 PM)
but....

G says: (4:08:07 PM)
well....

G says: (4:08:12 PM)
erm....

D says: (4:08:34 PM)
do my parents know?

G says: (4:08:42 PM)
well....

D says: (4:08:46 PM)
do YOUR parents know? how will i break it to them?

G says: (4:09:01 PM)
i think they have been trying to find the right moment to tell you all these years.. sigh

D says: (4:11:08 PM)
u mean...

D says: (4:11:13 PM)
*sob*

G says: (4:11:23 PM)
there there, don't take it too hard

D says: (4:11:28 PM)
they've known all this time?

D says: (4:11:43 PM)
hang on - that means you've known all this time!!!

D says: (4:11:50 PM)
and u never told me????

D says: (4:12:05 PM)
waaaaaahhhhhhhhh! i feel so betrayed!

G says: (4:15:10 PM)
i am sorry you had to learn it like this

G says: (4:15:14 PM)
but yes

G says: (4:15:17 PM)
WE ARE ALL CHINESE

G says: (4:15:22 PM)
the whole entire family

D says: (4:17:20 PM)
AIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. SAY IT ISN'T SOOOOOOOOOOOO! Chinese????? what will the neighbours say?


Says It All, Doesn't It?

How will you be defined in the dictionary?

Deetourguide -- [noun]: An alien

Highly unsatisfactory, so I tried...

My Real First Name -- [noun]: A real life muppet

WTF?! What if I add...

My Real First Name + Last Name -- [adjective]: Fuzzy to the touch

In futile last ditch attempt, she whips out her full name...

My Real First Name + Last Name + Chinese Name -- [noun]: A person who enjoys the smell of rotten eggs

I like the smell of poo, wee and dog's feet too. Sniff Sniff.

Wonder what they're called?

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Will someone help me out of this conundrum already?!

What's with the sweetie-darling-muah-muah air-kiss thing? I don't ever get it right. Is it once on the cheek? Twice on both cheeks? Right cheek or left first? Three times allegedly like the French?

Obviously my kissing karma is not up to scratch because there's always that awkward moment when the person you greet only wants to kiss you once, but you lunge for their other cheek, bump faces and there's that awful, awkward moment. Or you pull away but they want to kiss your other cheek.

It all seems a tad trite and pretentious, but hey, so is life here in general. Why can't people leave off the European affectations and just give each other vigorous hand-shakes or hearty slaps on the back?

But OK, back to this air-kiss epidemic - I've tried committing to it, even if they pull away after the first muah, grab them and finish what you started - never hesitate, plough through the awkward should-I-should-I-not moment! But then again, I'm so not that kind of girl. I'm the kind of girl who wonders what kind of oily facial secretions are going to end up on my face. I'm the kind of girl who hates PDAs with strangers, or worse, people I don't like.

But then again, I don't ever get it right with friends either. It's neurotic, I agree, but I've tried keeping track of which friend air kisses in what way:

A. starts with right cheek and only once.
B. likes it wet and juicy on both cheeks.
C. pecks you on the lips (Arrggh!!! Another bloody spanner in the works!)
D. grabs your head and smacks you four times.
E. doesn't like being touched (I like your style, E!)

WHO ON EARTH KEEPS TRACK OF STUFF LIKE THIS?!
Oh, yes. Me. In any case this little experiment failed. Because none of my friends are constant with their labial affections (or is it infections?).

One day, they kiss me once, the next it's twice, then next time, they chock me with the old peck-on-the-lips routine. Why can't everyone just settle on one way and be done with it? Am feeling like the only geek who doesn't synch with anyone else. Is it too much to ask for an air-kiss SOP? It'd make social situations so much easier.

It could look like this:

Chapter One
1. Air-kisses are permitted only between consenting parties.
2. ALWAYS begin with the other person's right cheek.
3. Each air-kiss may only be performed for a maximum of 2 seconds.
4. Limit air-kisses to 2 per person, unless you are French, in which case please ensure that tongue remains stowed securely in mouth.

Although if it was up to me, I'd add these:
5. Do not air-kiss unless initiated by Ms. D.
6. Good-looking male specimens, however, may initiate anytime & in anyway they like.
7. Before engaging in air-kissing, a thorough face (no sweat, grease or acne, please) & breath (minty is the way to go) check is mandatory.

Glad to know other people have pondered this wondrous pratice of germ-mingling: lost in translation & savvy traveller.

Oh, and in honour of today's post-title, and in my best Shirley Bassey voice, PRRRRRESENTINNNNNG THE PRRRREMIERRRRR JAMES BONNNNND WEBSITE!!!


technorati tags: air kiss / PDA / Shirley Bassey / Mr Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

I had Fun, but I Lost a Rhinestone Off My Shoe

Seen:

Dieting for loose women.

Heard:
"I can't believe Mariah wasn't at the top of the worst-dressed list!

"That's 'cos she was hardly dressed!"


technorati tags: funny picture / Mariah Carey / Mr Blackwell / worst-dressed list

What It Is

technorati tags: comic / blogs / non-sequitur

The Deetourguide to Bowling

For a gratifying game (assuming your goal is to actually hit something besides your fellow human beings):

1. Stand and aim from the next lane over.
2. Throw ball at the at the centre arrow-shaped lane marking (at no time should there be a graceful swing & release motion).
3. Listen for ensuing thud.
4. Watch ball hurtle toward pins.
5. See (some) pins fall.
6. Allow teammates to make encouraging comments like, "You was robbed, man!"
7. Make Drop it Like It's Hot your official team motto.
8. Always have nifty dance moves handy (if the All Blacks have their Haka, so can you!) - essential for limb-loosening & morale boosting.
9. Adopt said dance moves as occasional shock and awe tactics over rival team. Include shrieks of, "You're allergic to testicles!" for extra incredible results.
10. Beer optional, but recommended.


technorati tags: bowling / guide

Pfffffffffft

I'm so glad to be working with S. again, my constant, my twin, my mirror image and yet, also my total 损友 － friend who's bad for you.
Case in point, our msn conversation tonight.

S: OK, that's it, I'm having a beer.

Me: Arrggh, don't tempt me.

S: Come on, you know you want to...

Me: Stoppit! You know I can't.

S: Yes, you can... Come on, the beer is calling your name... Sssssssss.

Me: Don't lah, you know my cellar is just a few steps away.

S: Come on! It's calling out to you, drink me... Sssssssss...

Me: Ssssssss?! Is that a beer or a snake?

S: Sssssss... It's the sound of a beer can being opened.

Me: Sssssss?! That's a beer can?! I thought they went Pfffffft.

S: I dunno what kind of beer you drink, but mine goes Sssssss! I drink Tiger.

Me (going for the obvious): In that case, shouldn't it be going Rawwwrr?


technorati tags: Tiger Beer

Gwa Mah See Leow Gai...*

The February column finally done, rehearsals underway and the New Zealand trip extremely probable, I'm a happy bunny.

So this month, I shall continue to enjoy:

The! Great! Lynda! Barry! @ Marlys Magazine: starring Ernie Pook's Comeek.

Pretending to not eat carbs.

Getting in touch with my inner Ah Lian.

Memorising * Hokkien songs and singing them with a totally straight face (a one, and a two, and a three, to the obiang cha cha beat... Gwa Mah See Leow Gai, I also understand... Doo doo doo doo doo...

Dancing with Chinese fans.
This kind:
Not:

Reading, Reading, Reading!

Sewing, Sewing, Sewing!

Making, liberal, use, of, PUNCTUATION!!!?????!!!!!

technorati tags: lynda barry / Ah Lian / Broadway / Beng

I May Not Know Much, But This Much I Know

I wear beautiful shoes that hurt my toes and rub my heels until bubbles appear on my skin.
Raw, painful bubbles appear.
Then I unbuckle my high-heels and poke at the extra puffs of skin.
Welts and bubbles pucker as I peel away until the exquisite pain bites into my conscience, protesting until I become acutely aware.
A raw, gaping hole remains to remind me of who I am, to remind me of my humanity.
I alternately pick and wince at it, to indulge my masochistic leanings.
I also pick at the delicate, sensitive skin on my lips. Peeling strips off, watching them as they dry, purple-brown, dry curls of dermis, enjoying the sharp streak of ouch as each curl departs from its origin.
Does your tongue hurt sometimes? Do the little dots of buds swell and scream?
Mine do.
Then I, like a biased teacher, single out each little bud of weakness and tweak it, prod it and scratch it with the nail of my index finger.
I soak up the blood with a pristine tissue, examining the crimson imprints - a beautiful, terrible pattern of myself.


technorati tags: pain / blood / personal

Doesn't Everybody Love a Controversy?

I loved the book. And the only reaction I can muster, so far is, I don't give a rat's ass. It stands as is, ok?

The book still resonates, whether it's a piece of fiction or not.

The Controversy

The Allegations

The Retort

Just so you know.


technorati tags: james frey / book / scandal

Smells like Play Doh & Strawberry Shortcake

Awww... I'm all nostalgic now. You had one of these too, didn't you? I LOOOVED my Speak & Spell when I was 6.
I musta spent hours twiddling with my Texas Instrument - wait that sounds SO wrong.
I musta spent hours playing with, uh, it.
But if you're from this neck of the woods (i.e. a Commonwealth, Post-colonial Anglopet), then you'd understand why I spent many of those hours frustrated with the little man I thought was trapped in the orange box.
You try spelling neighbour or colour with the Speak & Spell! I still have "That is incorrect, the correct spelling of colour is C-O-L-O-R." ringing in my ears. O, the childhood trauma! Somebody hand the lil' bugger an Oxford English Dictionary, already.
You have a go. Much fun!
Play with the Speak & Spell Emulator now!

This is of totally no coincidence, of course:
What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

You're a Speak & Spell!! You nerd, you. Just
because you were disguised as a toy doesn't
mean you weren't educational, you sneaky
bastard.


technorati tags: toys / quiz / speak and spell / eighties

Cold Creativity

After having my overnight bag along with all my favourite things knicked on New Year's Day, a fine cherry to top off my auspicious start to 2006 must be the lousy cold I've been tolerating all week.

My ears are blocked, my nose is blocked and wait - my right ear is squeaking. SQUEAKING! IT IS!!! Should I feed it some cheese or something? Must be all the pressure building up in there. Now if my eyeballs explode from it, that would truly be a spectacular start to the new year!

But I digress. I'm here again to lay down proof of my supreme narcissism and inexplicable obsession with documentation for posterity (actually, sod the future generations, I want to come back here 20 years from now and laugh at myself. Assuming 20 years from now blogs and the internet still exist. Maybe by then all humanity will communicate telepathically through micro chips implanted in their foreheads. Who knows?!).

ANYWAY. Am still feeling extremely gulty for being a lousy, ingrate of a daughter to lovely parents who are probably now wondering who this changeling living in their house is. I'll admit it. Instead of smiling sweetly and thanking the parental units, I kicked up a big stink about not getting the exact iPod Nano I wanted for Christmas.

Want: Black, 4GB.
Got: White, 2GB.

My cheeks burn thinking how immature I can be. My 3 year old niece probably has more sense than me. OK, no, she's a demanding little wenchlet, but STILL.

So after a week of ignoring the offending present sitting on my dresser, I finally opened it up on Monday, thanked mom and dad and started syncing it with itunes on my mac. I shall reserve judgements on my brand-new piece of white plastic for now.

You may be wondering where this is all going. I dunno. The mucus is eating away my brain. Wait. Focus. Er... Yes! So in my bid to make amends (though I'm not sure how it does), I decided to make something beautiful out of the whole ugly mess I created.

Ladies & Gents, when in doubt, SEW!

I made a pretty case to encapsulate the object of my guilt. As if this concoction of felt and thread can make it all go away. The state of suspended reality I live in.

How incredibly girly of me, but here it is:


*inside*


*front*


*back*

And now someone wants me to make more to sell! Should I? I shall leave decision-making till the mucus has subsided.


technorati tags: flu / cold / sew / craft / guilt/ ipod nano

Your Wobbly Bits Will Thank Me...

Uh-huh-huh... Thank you, thank you very much...

... actually, they'll thank Miss S. who sent some post-seasonal-binge cheer by way of this article from Oz paper, The Age.

In a nutshell, scientists in Bristol, England have discovered that fat people are happier than skinny ones.

Love the closer:
"If there really is a direct correlation between body mass index and mental health, when, exactly, are we going to start charging skinny people for their own Prozac? Huh?"

Then reality sinks in... I'm beginning to think I may need some of that Prozac! Am ashamed to admit am full of self-loathing over enormous weight-gain.

I submit Exhibit A (snapped during vigorous New Year's Eve Charades) as incriminating evidence:


caution: wide girth and dangerous overhang

Where's the fat-induced happiness the article talks about? Or maybe fatties SEEM cheerful to overcompensate for what they really feel inside (awww... group hug, please).

Or maybe Day #1 of my self-imposed carb-free South Beach Diet (I know, I'm a traitor to the fat-is-fabulous cause) has garbled not only my brain, but my insides too. Feel the need to hold-up the Macky D'S drive-thru RIGHT NOW!!


technorati tags: fat / thin / eat