Saturday, April 23

six days seven nights

I've always hated packing for trips. I fear forgetting to bring my passport or more importantly, my underwear [which has happened before].

I've always loved springcleaning the junk that I hoard -- photos, Christmas cards, costume jewellery, cute little bottles, magazines, Dirty Dancing cassette tapes, Doraemon figurines -- because of the memories they invoke.

With the Big Move scheduled tomorrow for fengshui reasons, I have been ordered to pack at least enough clothes and toiletries for a week. The family will be going on a six day seven night holiday to our new place in West Coast. [I'm moving too because my current place is going to be rented out and I will only get the keys to my very own place in Chip Bee in June. And also to appease my mother.]

Packing for the Big Move has been pretty trauma-free, so far. Dumped all my clothes into suitcases without even taking out the hangers, just like how people in movies pack when they skip town in a hurry. There was no anxiety about accidentally forgetting to pack anything, cos I can always just come back for it.

While sorting through some boxes at the back of my cupboard, I unearthed a stash of crisp $50 "bird print" notes and a well-fed piggy bank. I think it was my angpow money from 20 years ago. Just like that, I'm $300 richer.

In other news, I went for a BBQ at Chip Bee last night, the farewell do for a couple who are moving out. They were so nice to invite us to introduce us to the neighbours. Once again, I was told that I look like Ah Girl.

As I sat under the fairy lights, nibbling a chicken drumstick and playing with the neighbour's fluffy poodle, I found it hard to grasp the reality that this could possibly be my life very soon.

Tuesday, April 19

spelling bee

The Washington Post's Style Invitational once again asked readers to take
any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing
one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are this year's winners:

1. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright
ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign
of breaking down in the near future.

2. Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of
getting laid.

3. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject
financially impotent for an indefinite period.

4. Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

5. Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the
person who doesn't get it.

6. Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

7. Hipatitis (n): Terminal coolness.

8. Osteopornosis (n): A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

9. Karmageddon (n): It's like, when everybody is sending off all these
really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like,
a serious bummer.

10. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming
only things that are good for you.

11. Glibido (v): All talk and no action.

12. Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when
they come at you rapidly.

13. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've
accidentally walked through a spider web.

14. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your
bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

15. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the
fruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:

16. Ignoranus (n): A person who's both stupid and an a-hole.

Sunday, April 17

tupperware party

I have today acquired two cardboard boxes filled with retro Tupperware, which is roughly half of my mom’s stash from her days as a Tupperware party hostess.

Most of those air-tight containers -- water bottles, jelly molds, salad bowls, cups and more in deep brown, vivid yellow, olive green, carrot orange -- have never even been used.

Even though I’m delighted to inherit these brand-new 20-year-old heirlooms, I’m even more delighted that my mom has come round to the idea that I am, indeed, moving out.

Saturday, April 9

damsel in distress

Part I

A moth fluttered into my room just as my sis and I were about to turn in last night.

It wasn't one of those menacing black ones which fasten themselves to the wall and stay immobile while sending evils vibes. Instead, it was the (equally evil) type with erratic flight patterns that careen about wildly while threatening to land on your face.

So there I was, screeching away like a banshee and diving under my blankets. My brave but ineffectual sis tried to swat it out with a broom, but the evil creature taunted her by fluttering around before suddenly vanishing.

We couldn't find it, and we needed to sleep, so we gave up the search. But it was a restless sleep, as I was haunted by thoughts of being smothered to death by powdery black wings while slumbering.

Part II

It was one minute past offstone and I was the only one in the office.

Then the phone rang. There's a problem with the cover. A major, urgent problem that I couldn't solve without the help of someone from Art Dept, but none of them were in yet, and would not be for another two hours.

So I had to call one of the artists who lived across the road and haul him back to work. He sounded none too pleased about it over the phone -- who can blame him? -- but 15 minutes later, he was at his desk with sleep in his eyes, bed hair concealed under a cap and a day's worth of stubble on his face.

As he took over the cover, I stood helplessly behind him, wringing my hands, sending out stress vibes and generally being 100% useless.

And then the most wildly inappropriate thought hit me: "Wow, he's really hot. Like one of those grizzly Survivor men. How come I never noticed it before?"

I sent a message to my evil twin to tell her about my revelation, and she replied: "Haha you are just turned on cos he was the knight who rescued the damsel in you."

Wednesday, April 6

still life, fast moving

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Apparently, if you see the above images moving, it means you're stressed. The faster, the more stressed you are. Or it might just be an optical illusion.

Monday, April 4

material girl

What my heart desires: Crystal chandelier
What I'd make do with: Crystal earrings

What my heart desires: My very own tropical island
What I'd make do with: A week-long holiday in Phuket

What my heart desires: Complete set of Tintin comics
What I'd make do with: Buying one comic everytime I feel down

What my heart desires: DVD recorder
What I'd make do with: VCR and DVD player

What my heart desires: Prada gown
What I'd make do with: Home-made copy

What my heart desires: iPod mini in blue
What I'd make do with: digital camera which can store 12 measly songs

What my heart desires: Nigella Lawson's cookbooks
What I'd make do with: Watching her on TV

What my heart desires: Walk-in wardrobe
What I'd make do with: Big cupboard and lots of shelves

What my heart desires: Fresh flowers everyday
What I'd make do with: Plastic daisies

What my heart desires: Rollerblades
What I'd make do with: Birkenstock

What my heart desires: Black Labrador
What I'd make do with: Animal Planet

What my heart desires: Baby blue Volkswagen Beetle
What I'd make do with: Comfort cab

Insomnia drives me to think about things I can't have...

Sunday, April 3

seeking oblivion

I made my lurves join me in getting drunk -- to the brink of happiness but not the point of puking, we all agreed beforhand -- but we were all still lucid at the end of the night.

Did not even come close to the Worst Time I Ever Saw You Drunk moments we had been through together, which include:

-- Brushing your teeth naked and having a boy and his girlfriend walk in on you.
-- Accidentally making out with a friend you have no business kissing at the end of a bar.
-- Lunging at your man at a traffic junction and being spotted by your friends in the next car.
-- Sitting on the sidewalk, cradling a tilam on your knees to rest your throbbing head.
-- Too many to catalogue during our infamous Slut Party.

I might have been tipsy, wobbly and giggly last night, but no matter how much I drank and how much I wanted it, oblivion just did not sink in.

I still remember everything I wanted to forget.

Saturday, April 2

one two three four five


My hairdresser has refused to cut my hair.

"I've already planned your next hair cut and your hair needs to be longer," he explained with a pained expression on his face.

"But my fringe is very annoying and keeps poking into my eyes," I protested with an equally pained expression.

"If it is really very irritating, I can cut it..." his voice trailed off and his expression became even more pained. "But if you can keep it for a few more weeks, it will be very nice."

"How long more?"

"You come back in six weeks, ok? I'll cut for you."

"SIX WEEKS???" I wailed.

I suppose I should be glad that my hairdresser cares enough to plan my next hair cut. But I can't believe he is now dictating when and how I should cut my hair.


"When are you going to climb your mountain again?"

"Next week," he replied gleefully, filling me on his plans to white-water raft, take photos of holy men who never bathe and spend time with his Nepalese mistress and his brood of illegitimate kids.

"When will you be back? I need you to help me shoot some photos of my clothes leh."

"I'm going for six weeks."

"SIX WEEKS???" I wailed.


The lease has been signed and we're officially in business.

By the end of April, we should be able to go into our newly rented place at Chip Bee Gardens and survey the terrace house that will be our showroom-cum-sweatshop as well as my new bachelor-girl pad.

By the end of May, we should be decorating in earnest. Already, we're picking out colour schemes, thinking of where to hang chandeliers, scavenging for second-hand furniture and appliances.

How to wait another SIX WEEKS???


The countdown to New York, as of today, is precisely SIX WEEKS.