Wednesday, December 31

"I fear that I'm hitting the end-of-year slump."

The moment those unguarded words left my mouth, I realised they were dead accurate. Supremely unmotivated to do anything, be it work or play. Not even the thought of boozin' and dancin' and countin' down can rouse me from pure apathy.

Sorry if I can't muster more enthusiasm than this, but here's wishing everyone a better year ahead.

Tuesday, December 30

Monday, December 29

"Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot
the whole day down"

Have this tune stuck in my head, thanks to Tori Amos.

Saturday, December 27

Either/Or questions inspired by Lord of the Rings

Legolas or Aragorn
Arwen or Galadriel
Shire or Lothlorien
Hairy hobbit feet or bushy dwarf beard
Eternal life or one lifetime of love

Thursday, December 25

No. of alcohol units consumed: 1/2. From a styrofoam cup at office do on Christmas eve
No. of Christmas presents: 1. A tray of Guylian truffles received at the office gift exchange, still unopened on my desk
No. of Lord of the Rings movies watched: 2. The Two Towers [extended version on DVD, 3 hours and dunno-how-many minutes on Christmas eve] and Return of the King [Golden Village Marina, 3 hours and dunno-how-many minutes on Christmas day]
No. of times Last Christmas has been heard: 238. Listening to it for the final few times now, before Christmas is officially over

Wednesday, December 24

“Last Christmas
I gave you my heart
But the very next day
You gave it away”

Don’t send the music police to catch me, but I actually like this song and have it on repeat mode now on mp3. What a pity it’s only played at this time of the year. There are some fond memories tied to it, probably because no one ever actually broke my heart on Christmas before. Now, Valentine’s Day, that’s another story...

As for the pix of the snow couple and snow canine, I took it about a year ago, when I saw so much snow for the first time in London. Apparently, it was the heaviest snowfall in donkey years, but, typical London weather, it all turned wet and into mush promptly the next day.

Being a tropical gal at heart, I'm not dreaming of a white Christmas. But regardless of whether you celebrate this holiday, have a blessed Christmas.

Tuesday, December 23

I usually hate posing for photos, unless when drunk and totally freed of all inhibitions. Or, as this photo shows, when running away from the office.

From observing the professional photographer at work, I've realised the key to getting people to bare their teeth naturally is not to say "smile" or "cheese". Instead, say "come on, hot lips".

Sunday, December 21

Been meaning to write about this “phenomenon” for a long time, but it’s too nebulous and fleeting to put into words. And for all I know, everyone experiences it but never mentions it cos it’s perfectly ordinary.

There are times when I close my eyes, and near-photographic images of particular places would float before my eyes, without any conscious thoughts or emotions accompanying them.

For instance, when I was in London, I would suddenly have this clear impression of standing at the busy junction of Orchard Road, just outside Borders, waiting for the traffic lights to change. Or I’d be right in the middle of Plaza Singapura, with shoppers rushing by me in the atrium.

Now that I’m back, I’ve been struck with London images. Walking down New Cross Road to the train station, with the dodgy mini-cab, kebab and fish-and-chips shops along the way. The grey and bustling alley opposite Charing Cross with the Oscar Wilde memorial that always seems to have fresh flowers on it, even in winter.

If I close my eyes and try to hold on to these intangible thoughts, I imagine I can almost smell the air. But the uncanny part is that these are not places I have particularly fond or even specific memories of.

Nostalgia is a strange creature, and it is the ordinary which sticks in the mind long after the extraordinary has faded away.

Saturday, December 20

Surprisingly sober pix from pre-Durian session. And yes, I got bangs. The jury is still out on whether I look adorable or like a big-headed village idiot. But still on the subject of bangs, I remember the following drunken conversation, pre-haircut.

Me: So do you think I should get bangs?
My lurve: Yes. You should sleep with the bartender if you really want to.

"Bangs" has become such a dirty word.

And moving swiftly onto the related subject of drinking. This is gonna make me sound v. Bridget Jones, but what the heck. I did indeed consume vast quantities of alcohol this week. As Ms Jones would say, v. bad.

Drink list
Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday

1 vodka lime
1 gin tonic
1 e33
1 watermelon martini
2 cowboys
2 illusions
2 apple shooters
2 champagne
4 lychee martinis
few mouthfuls of beer and unknown concoctions from jugs

Total alcohol units: 17
[According to a reputable source, the recommended number of drinks for women is seven a week.]

Friday, December 19

This is too good not to post, even though it didn’t happen to me.

My lurve was in the lift with an angmoh man and his daughter who looked about five. The girl then proceeded to stick her hand stuck down inside her panties and say very loudly and proudly: “Daddy, I have a vagina.”

Wednesday, December 17

"Duran Duran is over. So is my youth. I feel old and sad again."

SMS received at 1.57am last night after the highly-anticipated concert. My emotional friend was warbling most aggressively along to almost every song that night. It was a very expensive, $120 karaoke session for him. For the rest of us, it was a trip down memory lane, but filled with too many obscure songs that we couldn't dance to or sing along with. And like true old folks, we kept sitting down during the non-hits. Need to rest lah.

The pre-concert alcohol we were tanking up with didn't give a lasting high, so we only really screeched at the beginning when Simon & Co appeared. [He's still pretty limber for someone on the verge of 50.] And of course, at the end encore bit, when we kept going "flek flek" during The Reflex.

So what does it really mean, "The reflex is a lonely child just waiting by the park"?

Tuesday, December 16

I can always count on my ex -- the only one I’m still on speaking terms with -- to be brutally frank. And I’m glad we have reached the stage where we are beyond impressing each other and know each other so well that we can say anything without causing offence.

Just met up with him after my haircut and I was fluffing my hair and fishing for compliments: “Nice or not?”

His reply? “Nope. If you look gorgeous, I’d tell you.”

His description of my baikar? “Your feet look like you wore wet socks for a week. And then turned them inside out and wore them for another week.”

His take on me still being single? “Your COE is running out. All these newer, faster models are coming out and you cannot compete.”

His reprimand when he knew I was tempted to have a fling with unsuitable attached man? “You are immoral.”

His reason for not reading my latest story in the papers? "I was going to read it. Then I saw it was written by you."

But of course, I give as good as he does. I was about to apply lipstick after dessert, when he commented that it was unseemly. I retorted: “I don’t care. It’s only you.”

And I love reminding him almost everytime we meet: “I’ve never dated a handsome man before”.

Monday, December 15

Last phone call last night

Him: Darling, when can I see you again? I miz you.
Me: Erm, I'm quite busy.
Him: Meet me tonight? I knock off at 1am.
Me: I can't. Have to work tomorrow.
Him: Monday? I'm off.
Me: Busy.
Him: Tuesday leh? I'm also off.
Me: Erm, I got something on.
Him: Okie, you SMS me when you free?
Me: Erm, okie.

I think he finally got the message.

It was fun while it lasted, almost like being a teenager again, except that I was such a good girl I never did have a misspent youth.

I knew I had to end things before things got too far. Furtive late-night meeting at the playground. Stealing time off to catch an afternoon movie. Silly messages about the speed of turtles. As I told someone, "He's the boy I never had when I was a teenager."

Sunday, December 14

"I've just been drifting for a while now. It's time for me to fall in love."

A lazy drizzly Sunday afternoon spent in bed, catching up on my emails. Finally got round to looking at this site with quotes eavesdropped on the Tube, which is where the above came from.

More gems:
"I think you have put me off sex forever."
"Excuse have some sleep in your eyes."
"This love's not a game, you know?"
"When I was young I was so short that my legs didn't reach the ground."
"Gordon, have you ever considered that I might not be gay?"
"I've gone mouldy between my legs."
"There is a touch of vomit still on your lapels."
"Of course I love you. I tell you every bloody day."
"I live in a creative vacuum. It's a Dyson."
"I am very nearly cured of happiness."
"I love eating my scabs. I can't help it."
"I am not your father. Stop calling me dad."

There's something about British humour. Somehow, I doubt I can overhear such stuff on the MRT.

All of a sudden, I feel like I'm back in my little flat in London. The weather is cold outside, I'm nice and toasty under the blanket. I'm all alone, and I just made excessive amounts of pasta to feed myself for both lunch and dinner. Has it already been a year since I spent winter in London?

Saturday, December 13

Ahhh 15-day abstinence from alcohol has been ruined by half a bottle of e33. Burp. It's gonna be downhill from here. 'Tis the season to eat, drink and be merry.

Tuesday, December 9

The best part about working from home is not having to spend an hour in front of the wardrobe and the mirror before starting work. Just roll outta bed, brush teeth, bundle up hair like an auntie, and turn on my laptop. Some more can leave TV droning in the background with cooking and decor shows. And of course, can be barefoot, which is very important to baikar people.

The worst part, though, is that my bed -- with its cool satin blue bedsheets -- is now calling out my name like a siren. [When I say siren, I mean like those scantily-clad Greek women which try to tempt Hercules. Not those on top of police cars.]
Have been kinda out of this world for the past more ways than one.

The more prosaic reason is that I've been sick with flu-like symptoms and also drugged out by painkillers because baikar problem has flared up again. Having feet the size of pig's trotters is no joke. Especially when I had to walk for three hours around the departure lounge of the airport to scout for shopping deals. Or when I had to tail a princess-for-a-day contest winner for 12 hours, watching her get pampered with free shopping and manicure and beauty makeover and limo and French food.

But I've also had my head stuck in the clouds cos I spent the whole weekend in bed reading the Princess Diaries -- all five books! -- and wishing my parents were king and queen of some small European country so I can live in the lap of luxury, wear a pretty tiara and rule over the peasants. Also watched Spirited Away -- at last! -- and was totally captivated by the haunted magical theme park.

Why can't real life be so ethereal? Why must it be so...real?

Wednesday, December 3

Tuesday, December 2

I thought the Brazilian wax was already passe, since some foreign mag recently had an article titled "Bush strikes back". But apparently some people haven't heard of it, cos a clueless guy just told me today: "I thought a Brazilian wax is some sort of candle."
Second day of detox: I have fallen sick. To comfort myself, I made a steaming pot of Chu Qian Yi Ding. Not exactly detox food, but I'm feeling cold and miserable, and am still working from home. And have to go to the freezing airport later for story-cum-photo-shoot. Brrrrrrr...

Monday, December 1

First day of detox: Cha soba with two dubious-looking pieces of tako sushi, downed with green tea, for lunch. Feeling very weak and unable to work now.