parade of wanted things II

Contain yourself! How much do I covet these useless kitchen doodads from The Container Store. No more resting spoons while cooking and dirtying the countertop. And no more guessing if that frozen piece of mystery meat is worth thawing.

i scream

When three pints of Ben & Jerry's -- Magic Brownie, Chubby Hubby and Fossil Fuel -- in as many days still don't work, you know it's serious.

parade of wanted things

I'm so in love with the paintings of Kendra Binney. So pretty, yet with a tinge of the morbid and a touch of sadness.

She sells on Etsy and I can't stop looking at the prints, especially It's A Secret Only We Know (above) and Parade Of Unwanted Things II (can't post the pix, for some reason, but go admire it on her site. Vaguely Dali with the ants on it).

So tempting, because it's not pricey at all. Am I on the verge of buying my first piece of art?

[Note: I have shelved my grand plans of being an artist-slash-fashion-designer-slash-writer. It is impossible to learn to paint from a library book. And I don't have time for classes.]

half hearted

For dinner, I had half a pint of Ben & Jerry's Magic Brownie, half a punnet of raspberries and half a bar of Morinaga dark chocolate.

One tummyache, coming right up...

i want my tintin back*

The two of us were playing tourist around Covent Garden in the autumn cold, when we chanced upon a Tintin** shop. After agonising for the longest time over which characters to buy, we both decided on Tintin and Snowy***.

That was the last time I saw him while he was still attached. The next time we met, back in Singapore, he was living the too fast too furious lifestyle of the swinging "eligible" bachelor.

Somehow, we ended up making a pact, which I'm sure he has forgotten by now: Whoever got attached first would have to buy the other the complete Tintin collection****.

And somehow, as every year drew to a close, we would end up commiserating about hitting our year-end slump -- stuck in a rut yet running around like a headless chicken at the same time, going nowhere with work or relationships or life in general, another year over with nothing to show for it. No one else seems to hit the same slump, which starts right about November.

Just a couple of weeks ago, we were still going on with our annual lament. But how quickly things change.

He's seeing someone new, someone serious, for once [ie. not some random "pussy" he picked up]. And I'm left with a sour taste in my mouth.

Not because I have a thing for him -- We are so not each other's "type" -- but because I had counted on him being as moody as I would be over the festive season.

Because we're so purely platonic, he completely understood when I blurted out, "I'm jealous. I'm not jealous of her. I'm jealous of you. Because you're happy. And this makes me a small small person. I don't like this feeling. This year-end slump is going to be so bad for me."

* He whines all the time, "I want my car back." His Paul Smith car, which is supposed to cure text addiction, is still hanging on my mobile phone.
** Tintin the boy journalist was a serious crush of mine when I was too young and stupid to realise comic book characters can't quite requite.
*** Snowy is still with me, but Tintin was nicked from my desk some months ago.
**** My Tintin collection lacks 16 titles.

what was his name again?

A couple of weeks ago, I came across a common name attached to an even more common surname, and I found myself asking M, "What was Daniel's surname?"

To my horror, I found that I couldn't remember my ex-boyfriend's surname. Or that of the Daniel who came before him. [Yes, I dated two consecutive guys with the same name. I have issues.]

Yesterday, I was having dinner with an old friend J, who knew me when I was with Daniel the Second. She related how, right after we had broken up, she and her now ex had run into him at Borders and waved most enthusiastically at him from afar.

But as they came closer and closer, she realised she had committed a faux pas. What do you say to your friend's recent ex?

"How are you doing?" just opens up a can of worms. Your only common friend's name can't be mentioned, for obvious reasons. And you can't even say, "You're looking good", cos you'd be lying.

I found it hilarious, even when she told me she felt so bad because he looked so sad.

Today, as though by merely remembering him I'd conjured him up, he called me out of the blue.

It was nice to have a conversation with someone who can drop words like lambasted and flabbergasted without sounding like he was trying to use big words. And it was nice to hear the pride in his voice when he told me how cute his 19-month-old daughter was.

I now remember his surname. It was Ong. And the one before that was Choo.

call me god

The endlessly entertaining Poison Ivy has come up with a completely unscientific personality test: If you could live your life over, and were given a choice on what kind of person you could be, what would you choose?

1. Being a millionaire with the ugliest face that even a mother wouldn't be able to love
2. Being a great beauty who is destined to live and die alone
3. Being with the love of your life, but afflicted with a chronic illness, which may or may not be diabetes and may or may not involve your leg being amputated
   
4. Being a genius inside an obese body
5. Being a workhorse who is blessed with good luck in little things, such as always being able to find a parking lot
6. Being well-loved by countless friends but living in a two-room HDB flat for life
   
7. Being powerful and influential, but short as a midget, not unlike Deng Xiaoping
   

What you choose reveals what you value. Most of the lunch kakis didn't mind being ugly millionaires. Me? I'm willing to live with one leg for love.

who's that boy

I'm well pleased with my new haircut. Now, I just need some cheekbones to go with it.

down with dunkin donuts

Why is Krispy Kreme called Krispy Kreme, when it is neither crispy nor creamy?

But I don't really care, since I just had a surprise delivery of them this morning to my door at 8am.

Just 8 seconds in the microwave and it almost achieved HOT NOW status.

Thanks, lurve, for the morning sugar rush!

fool me

HE: How are you feeling?
ME: You must be psychic. I just saw a doctor cos I'm still not well...
HE: please just take two days to rest. REALLY rest. instead of trying to use it to do other things
ME: Im at work, actually. And I rejected the offer of an MC.
HE: you fool
ME: There's too much work. And I need the money, And you're supposed to say poor baby instead of you fool...
HE: Poor baby, you fool

i don't care if monday's blue

For days now, I'd been feeling crappy, for numerous reasons which will make me seem silly/superficial/selfish if I list them here, so let's just leave it at my feelings of utter and complete crap.

I was so surly that the Girl Next Door could tell from just exchanging two sentences that I was in a bad mood.

My mother didn't dare to even talk to me, much less nag, and my father felt compelled to, awkwardly, say something along the lines of, "You can tell us if you have any problems".

And I almost snapped, "Unzip it and pull it over your head, lor!" when a clueless customer pointed to a vintage dress and asked, "How do you wear this?"

But let's focus on the happy things which kept me from going completely over the edge (in order of appearance):

-- Downloading Sudoku onto my phone so I can now feed my latest addiction wherever I go
-- Jay Chou on repeat mode
-- Clarinase ["Poor baby" he said when he found out I was sick, but now I know all too clearly that that's all he can offer, so that's progress for me]
-- Totaling October's sales figures and, more importantly, finding that they tally
-- Tangy tomato soup from The Soup Spoon [Mushroom's good too, but then I'm partial to soup, especially when ill and feeling sorry for myself]
-- Managing to drag myself out for a nice quiet drinks after a long Friday and going to not one, but two new places at Dempsey Road [That's a major accomplishment for someone with zero social life]
-- Resisting the urge to party and imbibe on Saturday night and sleeping early instead [See above, about zero social life]
-- A clean house after three weeks of not cleaning [My laundry is another matter altogether]
-- Napping with a warm body next to mine on a Sunday morning [Memphis loves me only when the Girl Next Door is not around]
-- Confirming that there are only expensive and ugly bras available in Singapore [Good news for the Swirl Girls, who have exciting developments in the works]
-- Recovering from the nasty flu bug
-- Instant noodles and luncheon meat at C-Jade [which suaku me hasn't been to before]
-- Deciding that I want to take up painting, so that I can call myself a journalist-slash-dsigner-slash-artist [nevermind that I can't draw]
-- Cute buttons from TopShop which I can still afford
-- Productive production meeting for this month's designs, which includes a ultra pretty top I can't wait to wear [currently it only exists in my head in a buttercup yellow chiffon]
-- Tako for dinner at Sakuraya [yet another new place I haven't been to, so that makes it four over one weekend. I need to get out more]
-- Conquering last-minute panic and banging out a 10cms piece of fluff that doesn't even qualify as a story, let alone a column [I need all the peanuts I can earn]
-- A brand new episode of Grey's Anatomy [Semi-spoiler: I finally understand the "ham and eggs" relationship analogy]
-- And finally, finding this just before I was going to go to bed: Feeling popsicle?

Have a good Monday!

abandonment

The Girl Next Door is looking for baby photos for a public service announcement.

Also, she's looking for volunteers to write some stuff for the website and newsletter, so lemme know if you can help out.

first love, last rites

In death, I learnt more about my grandfather than when he was alive.

But first, a "What It Should Have Been" [known also as a WISHB to journos].

His "companion" -- as my very proper school teacher aunt discreetly informed me, when I asked her about the identity of that skinny auntie waiting with us for the body to arrive at the casket -- did not have a family with my grandfather, as I'd thought [that would be my grandfather's philandering younger brother, but more on him another day].

Instead, she left her presumably grown children to be with him after her husband died. While my grandfather left his wife and children for her.

They had, perhaps, less than 10 years together. Or perhaps they'd always been lovers, meeting in secret, regretting their choices but trying their best to keep their respective families intact.

There's no polite way of saying it: They'd shacked up together, but as two old folks well past their retirement age, it could hardly be for the red hot sex. So, in the immortal words of Roxette, it must have been love.

I expected her to look like a femme fatale, some floozy with a poodle perm and red lipstick smeared on her lips. But she looked like one of those tiny wrinkled aunties who regularly elbow me in their bid to be the first to board the bus whenever I try to get out from Chinatown.

As we shuffled round the coffin while the Buddhist priest chanted the last rites, I saw her hand reach out, as if in slow motion, and tenderly touch his face.

No one heard her silent sobs. And there was no one to comfort her. Because he was gone.

till death do us part

My grandfather is lying in a hospital bed, dying of lung cancer.

His wife -- my late grandmother -- threw him out when she found out that he not only had a mistress, he also fathered an entire brood of children and grandchildren.

So all these years, he's been living with his "other family". We only see him once a year during Chinese New Year, and when my grandmother was still alive, she wouldn't even glance at him when he sheepishly turned up on the first day of Chinese New Year.

But when she died, my uncles and aunties prepared a tablet with two slots for photos -- one for her, the other for him.

So even though the dirty mistress -- as known on my current fave show, Grey's Anatomy -- had him for a few years, the legitimate wife will have him for eternity.

There is a lesson in there somewhere.

the curious incident of the ninja in the night-time

Somehow, I always dream of being back at my old house, in my old room with its peeling wallpaper, in my old bed with its snagged satin blue sheets.

It was late at night, and I was dozing off, when a ninja -- yes, true blue ninja who can scale high-rise buildings -- came in through my ninth-storey window.

Like lithe lightning, he was standing over me before I could even blink. In his hand was a sliver of a blade, sort of like a barbecue skewer, only sleeker and deadlier.

He then stabbed me in the stomach. Once. Twice. And then back out the window.

As I lay there, my hands pressed against the two puncture wounds, bleeding out, my Mum came in and I managed to gasp, "Get...help..."

But while she was calling for an ambulance or the police or the seven samurais, the masked ninja returned.

With short staccato moves, he proceeded to stab me over and over while I tried and tried to scream, even as my throat closed over and no sound came out.

I woke up with my mouth wide open in a silent screech -- and stabbing period cramps.

are you ok?

I'm sure that, like me, you have walked past this Singapore's OK Sculpture Park before. It features these pint-sized bronze figures of indeterminate sex with titles such as:


Keep Public Toilets Clean


See Doctor, Avoid Crowded Places If Unwell. Spit, Cough And Sneeze Into Tissue


Do Not Litter. Bag Your Rubbish And Place In Bin


Wash Hands With Soap Frequently


Eat Healthily, Exercise Regularly

I was grinning like an idiot while trying to get the best snaps of these Sculptures With Very Serious Messages. Bet the residents of Holland Village who were on their way home that night were wondering, "Is that girl ok?"

reality bites

He texted to say he was within spitting distance of my place.

I told him I was still closing up at the shop.

Later, he told me he was at Michaelangelo's.

I told him I just got home and was dying for good pasta.

He felt it was just wrong to tarpow Michaelangelo's.

I couldn't resist asking who he was with.

He said they were ex-colleagues.

Later, he asked me to join him at Wala.

I told him I was going to Cold Storage to get food.

He said me he'd help me with my groceries.

I thought he was kidding, until I crossed the road.

He was waiting by the entrance.

I wandered down the aisles under the harsh fluorescent supermaket lights.

He carried the shopping basket.

I decided to send him back to his friends, while I had Burger King alone.

He drove past my place after having some drinks and decided to come in.

We fooled around -- no, no, not that sort of fooling around -- with Photo Booth for five minutes.

He suddenly got up and said he should go.

I saw him out.

He described Friday night as "so surreal".

I can only agree.

heavenly creatures

My fave White Dog Bobby painting, currently proudly displayed in my shop. It's supposedly for sale, like all the other paintings, but I refuse. Cos this is "our painting", my sissy and I. We were travelling in Italy and, somehow, ended up posing as Raphaelite angels. I'm always on the left, she's on the right.

I'm still waiting for the artist to get back to me on the price.

lazy hazy daze

I have been getting dirty looks when I tell people I like the haze.

Yes, I agree that there's a acrid smell in the air, but it is not altogether unpleasant. Sorta like a barbeque, no? And don't hate me, but I don't get difficulties breathing or eye irritation.

And I love the way it imparts ordinary roads and buildings with a soft-focus, Christopher-Doyle feel. Even having lunch in the office canteen seems extra special, like we're in some highlands resort instead.

trick or treat

As Halloween approaches, the denizens of Chip Bee Gardens start taking on otherworldly personalities...


There is the little girl from Japanese horror movies...


The girl-turned-vampire from next door...


And presenting the one-eyed cat.

located located located

I'll be the first to admit that I am not very good at keeping in touch with friends.

I don't know where all my primary school friends are, except for a psycho who once had a crush on my neighbour and calls me now and then to ask if I know where he is now. Another long-lost primary school friend emailed me after seeing something I wrote, and I emailed back with the obligatory "let's meet up". But we never did.

I only keep in touch with two secondary school friends. A third one, I know what she's up to only through her blog.

My JC friends have all drifted off to god knows where. The last time we had a reunion was three years ago. But last week, two old friends whom I hadn't seen in more than 10 years turned up at the shop. They had seen the article in Today and came to look for me. Amazingly, I could recognise them instantly.

My clique in uni still maintain a email list but they're all so busy with kids and career that we never manage to meet up.

Then there are the miscellaneous friends from different faculties and weird activities from my misspent youth, such as MUD. A mudder friend came by the shop to look for me yesterday, but I wasn't there. He came again, specially, today. I hadn't seen him for five years at least, and I was quite wary, espcially when he told me he had tried to call me to wish me happy birthday in January, but I'd changed my number. This is the same guy who once folded a whole box of paper cranes -- How nostalgic! Same era as those paper stars! -- for me.

But I needn't have thought too much of it, even when he politely and none too subtly asked about my "boyfriend". For he then proceeded to tell me that he was planning to get married in December. Phew. I think.

cupcake is the new black

Check out these cute cupcakes! And more adorable stuff made from recycled sweaters here.

Makes the curly wurly scarf I'm knitting at the moment seem so dull.

saturday swirl shenanigans

HIM: What's the address of your shop?
ME: Stamford House. Why?
HIM: I'm telling my friends. May drop by later.
ME: Who you coming with?
HIM: Some friends... and my girlfriend. Would it be weird?
ME: Why would it be weird?
HIM: Well... you know... you sure it won't be weird?
ME: I'll be fine.

I'm fine. Because he didn't turn up. It would have been weird.

But quite a few friends did turn up, so it was a fun Saturday in the shop. We had tea, we ate piglets, we played with the giant Swirl chop, we caught up.

So, come visit if you're in the area.

10 times 10 things

I turned on the telly this morning to find cable repeating 10 Things I Hate About You. I had to watch it. I even taped it, even though I'd seen it 10 times at least, for future rewatching.

How can anyone resist Alison Janney as Ms Perky the guidance counsellor? Or any movie that has an opening scene with the words "pulsating bratwurst"? And Heath Ledger, butofcos!

The Weakness In Me

I'm not the sort of person who falls in and quickly out of love
But to you, I give my affection, right from the start.
I have a lover who loves me - how could I break such a heart?
Yet still you get my attention.

Why do you come here, when you know I've got troubles enough?
Why do you call me, when you know I can't answer the phone?
And make me lie when I don't want to,
And make someone else some kind of an unknowing fool?
Make me stay when I should not?
If you're so strong then resolve the weakness in me.
Why do you come here, and pretend to be just passing by?
I need to see you - I need to hold you - tightly.

Feeling guilty,
And I'm worried, and I'm waking from a tormented sleep
'Cause this old love, you know it has me bound,
But this new love cuts so deep.
If I choose now, I'm bound to lose out;
One of you is gonna have to fall...
I need you, baby.

Why do you come here, when you know I've got troubles enough?
Why do you call me, when you know I can't answer the phone?
And make me lie when I don't want to,
And make someone else some kind of an unknowing fool?
Make me stay when I should not?
If you're so strong then resolve the weakness in me.
Why do you come here, and pretend to be just passing by?
I need to see you - I need to hold you - tightly.

cheese

Fooling around with the nifty Photo Booth application on my new baby. Coneheads look normal compared with what we subsequently came up with...


We think we look like those baboons with red asses.




But these two really crack us up. We look like figments of Tim Burton's imagination. We considered uploading them onto the Swirl site, but then got worried that it would scare off customers.

dot dot dot

One day after the Swirl launch, Dot launches her Dotted Line. I love her Anna's Blouse, but somehow, I look horribly washed out in the peachy-pink colour. Or perhaps it was just my tired complexion.

You can see her lovely clothes in person at the Maad market, Red Dot Museum, Maxwell Road, this coming Sunday, 15 Oct, from 11am to 6pm.

She is also offering 15% off that day, so hurry!

Swirling good time

The Swirl boutique is finally open.

s w i r l
stamford house 02-05
39 stamford road
tel: 6338 5020
monday ~ saturday
12pm ~ 830pm



We had a little tea party yesterday, a soft launch of sorts. No, no, no ribbon cutting or lion dance. Thank you, all who came and for all the marvellous shop-warming gifts.


See more photos here.

Please help spread the word. Tell your girl friends about our pretty frocks, and your guy friends about them too. Who knows, they may want to buy something for their girlfriends. Or they may be closet cross-dressers. I need all the customers I can get.

"What keeps you awake at night?" Ms Midori likes to ask her interviewees. For me, for now, it's the thought of not making the shop rental.

ready, get set...

The clothes have been taken down for the move to the shop.


The Swirl Girls are excited over their new mirrors.


The mirror uncle is amused by the enthusiasm over shiny reflective surfaces.


Sneak preview of the shop decor.


Gee Wee Goes To New York's new display.


The glass cabinet we got for $30.


You do know pink is our favourite colour? And this is just one of the four chandeliers we have.


We're so poor, we're making our own paperbags. All 500 of them.

bali hai hai

Welcome to my villa at the Bvlgari Resort. I was the first one to ever stay in it -- and the very first guest to arrive at the resort.


I spent more time in the bathroom than in the bedroom.


The biggest bathroom I've ever been in. And I adore the tub and the outdoor shower (straight ahead, just beyond the glass doors).


View from the deck by day...


...and by night.


The, erm, pool. Duh.


At the private beach. Which we were brought to by helicopter. How decadent is that.


This is the best my lousy camera can do. I've always preferred sunsets -- a time to reflect on the day past.

bali hai

Feeling right at ommm at the Como Shambhala Estate.


Water ballet performance.

seoul searching

Missy and me.


Korean pancake and me.

shady business

This is so genius I have to share it asap. I can't believe it's made of Post-Its! Reminds me of Lady Liberty's torch.

I'm now looking around my place for any lampshade and leftover Post-Its I can use to experiment.

where's wally?

This is fun. Find 100 movie titles hidden in this picture. Now, go entertain yourself while I slog over the shop opening.

pr offensive

Lately, I've been dealing with this PR girl.

She's poised and perfectly groomed. Good dress sense too. Not conventionally pretty, but feminine and sweet. Long-haired and slim, butofcos.

From past experience, I expect PR girls to be incompetent airheads or fake air-kissing wannabes, but she is none of those. Intelligent, well-spoken, always polite and helpful even when I forget to email her my questions as promised. Or when I can't be bothered to give her the time of the day when she calls. Like today, for instance.

For, despite how inoffensive she is, I hate hate hate her. I imagine this is how his girlfriend to be -- she is exactly his type. And he told me before that she works in PR.

I feel an insane and irrational urge to be truly nasty every time I have to deal with this poor innocent PR girl.

Clearly, I have unresolved issues.

absence makes the heart grow something

More fragments from my brief blogging hiatus this month.

The same guy who wheeled me through the "Walk" of Shame at the Bali airport was assigned to escort me through Customs on my second visit. We eyed each other uncertainly when we met again. Him not sure if he recognised me merely from the top of my head, since that was what he spent a good 15 minutes staring at while pushing the wheelchair. Me equally unsure, as I only remember his cheery voice. Finally, after casting surretitious glances at each other for a good five minutes at the conveyor belt, he asked apologetically, "This is not your first trip to Bali, is it?"

Finally, I can stop moonlighting as a property agent. I have a new housemate at last. Her name is Claire, she's a teacher from south London -- not far from where I used to live! -- who now teaches at a private school. We're still at the super-polite stage, still sussing each other out, not unlike the way scaredy cat Memphis is going about it. So far, she seems easy-going and friendly and clean.

It's terribly disconcerting to walk around a resort and have every bellboy, chambermaid and butler you run into greet you as "Miss Suzanne" in a singsong voice. How do they even know my name? And amazingly, no one calls me "Susan", even though my seamstress -- who has known me for more than a year -- still calls me that. Mousey constantly says my name to her in an attempt to subliminally correct her, but it hasn't worked. Oh, and my theme song should be Whitney Houston's My Name Is Not Susan.

We have two more mannequins to name. There is already Jaime -- sexually ambiguous name for a sexually ambiguous doll -- and Aubrey, our first girl mannequin. What to name the other two girls?

I got Skype and my webcam working, so talk to me! You can also watch me pottering around my room. So far, the only person I've used it with is my sissy who's in China.

rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated

I'm back -- in more ways than you can imagine.

[Frazzled fragments of memory listed below in lieu of a proper post.]

Back from a whirl-wind junket to Seoul for adidas to interview Missy Elliott, which I must confess I knew little about pre-trip. But good hardworking journo that I am, I did my research and I managed to bluff my way through, with lots of help from Wikipedia.

The misnamed Misdemeanour was thoroughly nice, though completely air-brushed in her publicity pix. In person, she reminds me of a giant brown raisin. And she is, like, double my size. [Pix to come to prove my point.]

Midnight in Seoul and we [three journos and one adidas guy] decided we had to have ginseng chicken soup before we left the next afternoon. Or rather, one journo insisted and the rest of us were too nice to object to the wild chicken chase. Along the way, we learnt what it is called in Korean -- say "sang geng tung" or something close to that, and the helpful Korean people will put you in a cab and direct the driver to bring you to a restaurant.

A distracted dinner on the flight home from Seoul resulted in food poisoning. I swear it was the smoked salmon I absent-mindedly ate while watching X-Men 3 [which once again reinforced my opinion that I really don't miss much with my self-imposed cinema ban], but SQ begged to differ.

This was the reply to my complain letter:

"Thank you for sharing with us your experience on flight SQ 17 from Seoul to Singapore on 8 September 2006.

I am very sorry and concerned to learn that you had taken ill after your flight and I appreciate the tremendous discomfort and inconvenience you experienced on this occasion. Upon receiving your email, I had initiated an investigation into the matter with our In-flight Services Manager and our caterers in Seoul and I hope you will allow me to share my findings.

May I firstly share with you that we regularly conduct food-sampling tests on our in-flight meals to ensure that they meet our stringent standards of food quality and hygiene. When there is a breach, it will usually show up in the tests. As we prepare our in-flight meals in batches rather than individually, one indicator of a breach is the incidence of several cases of food poisoning from passengers on the same flight.

To this date, we have not received similar reports of food poisoning from other passengers on this flight. Also, our laboratory sampling tests for the smoked salmon you had consumed are shown to be microbiologically satisfactory, without any irregularities.

Nonetheless, please be assured that I have personally shared your experience with our Food & Beverage Manager, who will review it with our caterers concerned to continue ensuring that our stringent standards of food hygiene are adhered to strictly."

In other words, SQ is implying that I didn't get food poisoning from their single-serving meal but from some rubbish I ate instead. I have yet to formulate a reply because my retort is an infuriated, "So you saying I lied izzit?"

The dreadful smoked salmon, which I am now forever turn off by, left me retching at 6am into the toilet bowl. And I had another plane to catch to Bali in three hours. It's tough being a high-flying jet-setter.

I had to see a doctor at the airport before flying and was knocked out throughout the flight. In my weakened state, upon arrival, I needed a wheelchair to go through immigration. My lurve, who had so kindly asked me to be her plus one for the trip which she had won, snapped photos of my chagrined face as the friendly guide wheeled me through the airport. [Photos to come when my lurve, another jet-setter, returns from cavorting with cute Italian boys in Portofino.]

I made a miraculous recovery in the wonderfully luxurious Como Shambhala resort. We had an entire two-storey villa to ourselves. The size of the bathroom was bigger than my bedroom at home. [Pix to make you turn green to come.]

Received an SMS which informed me that he dreamt of me, which I filed under "Annoying/Interesting" in my mental cabinet.

Came back reluctantly and guiltily to the mad rush of preparing the shop for opening. Did a faintly ridiculous opening-of-doors ceremony, which involved throwing rice and salt in the corners, muttering auspicious "fa" words while giggling, and placing four extremely large oranges in the middle of the shop.

Lots of aggravating phone calls to banks about credit card facilities and corporate accounts. Did you know you need to maintain $10,000 for a corporate account? And you only get interest if you have more than $100,000 in the bank? Preposterous!

We bought some essentials for the shop -- mirrors, mannequins -- and also some frivolous items, such as a swing. Did some painting [Mousey did the bulk of it and she claims that she is now "more stupider" from inhaling the fumes], installed some chandeliers. [There will be four in total in the shop! How extravagant!]

There was a laidback Hawaii 3-4 birthday party with so much tender lamb and beef that I couldn't sleep well that night, the weight of all those dead sheep and cows were weighing on my conscience -- and my stomach.

Then it was off to Bali -- again. This time it was for a junket for a new resort by Bvlgari. I thought nothing could top Como Shambhala, already one of the most expensive resorts on the island, but I was wrong.

There was a US$5,000 ocean-view villas, an in-house jewellery store, gourmet meals, and helicopter rides to the beach. But really, I wished my lurve had been there with me. [Pix to come. Don't hate me for living the high life, if only for three days. The reason pix have yet to be uploaded is that I got my new MacBook -- at last! -- and I've yet to sort it out to my liking. I'm very anal about how my desktop looks and all those preferences.]

I dreamt of him while in Bali and texted to inform him. Somehow, he thinks I'm having an affair with someone, so I let him continue thinking it. Filed that under "Annoying/Interesting" as well.

More elf work to be done. Packing the stuff for movers on Thursday. Will be exciting to see all the furniture and lights and fixtures in the shop. Fixing patterns and samples to be ready for party season. Making signage and stamps and namecards and paper bags and a million other things. Any elf volunteers would be greatly appreciated.

Anyway. I'm back.

see through me

On Monday, to stave off the blues, I wore an OZOC dress that I had stun from my sissy, seeing that she's away in China again.

It was a diaphanous dark navy blue, all chiffony, really lurvely, with cream piping and a silky ribbon, and a nude-coloured lining below.

Unbeknownst to me, however, it was also translucent, horrendously so.

Only the forthright Ms C was frank enough to tell me that she could see my G-string when I bent over. But I didn't realise it was that bad until I happened catch a glimpse of myself in the loo, with little left to the imagination.

But by then, it was too late. I had already shown half the office my skimpy black underthings.

[No photos accompanying this post, for obvious reasons.]

Post script: My sissy says, "At least you were wearing nice undies!"

send her packing

What do you wear to a press conference slash fashion show slash hiphop party? On a car showroom rooftop? Which will go on till midnight? In chilly autumn? In Seoul?

Pile on the bling? That's so not me. Velour purple hoodie, courtesy of L? A bit too snug, I don't want to stretch it irreversibly. Clubby clothes? Too skimpy and unprofessional. Heels? Cold feet, literally. Skinny jeans? Water retention, so can't fit. Tiny clutch? Nah, have to carry shorthand pad.

That was what kept me awake last night after trying to pack. When I should have been racking my brains over intelligent-sounding questions to ask Missy Elliott.

smile 101

Enough of being a crybaby over spilt milk. I cheered myself up with a new dress from Lipstick Bandit.


The Girl Next Door cheered me up with these pretty beads from Bali.


Mini flamingo perched among basil leaves, which makes me smile everytime I look at it while I do the dishes.


Flamingo pen, which is too cute to use.


Saltest should be a word, even though I'm not sure what it should mean.


My Wabbit Book I bought on a whim [cos how can anyone resist a bunny in tighty whiteys], which will be used to record all happy/nice/pretty/pink things to cheer me up when I feel down.

i'm too sad to tell you

Came across this on the truly excellent Fashion is Spinach and had to pause and take a moment. Because it is precisely what I feel now.

Artist Bas Jan Ader sent this photo, I'm Too Sad To Tell You, on a postcard to his friends but never revealed what it was that made him cry, only that it was genuine.

tired of being tired

ME: I'm so tired. Why do we need men?
LURVE: I dunno sigh. And we never learn from our mistakes either.
ME: Surely everyone deserves to find love? Why is it so hard for some and so easy for others? It's just not fair!
LURVE: Because life's not fair! And lurve is a battlefield.
ME: I'm tired, lurve... It shouldn't be this hard. Or this unfair.
LURVE: I don't know how to answer, lurve. I think a lot has to do with finding peace within, of not always wanting or needing, and just being still and happy with yourself. There's a reason for everything, even sadness and pain. I think it's to teach us to face our deepest fears so that when what we really really want -- and deserve -- arrives, you'll truly appreciate it and treasure it.
ME: I know I'm whining but I feel like I always have to work so hard for anything I want... To study overseas, to start a business, to even just be healthy... Surely I'm not such a rotten person that I don't deserve anything good to happen to me without me having to work for it?
LURVE: That I cannot answer. But lurve, you have many blessings in your life. You're not stuck working full-time, you've had some success with Swirl, you have been in good health for quite a while and you have friends who care very much about you. Things could be a lot worse than that.
ME: Yes, things can be worse. But my point is that I've had to work so hard at it just to be a little happy, contented, successful or whatever. And frankly, I'm tired.

Yes, I know, we have to work hard for things we want, nothing in life is free, and anyway, I don't trust things which come too easily. But is it too much to ask for someone to be there to hold me and let me rest, just for a while, when I'm too tired to carry on?

And of course, even when you have someone, you have to work at it to keep it going. Which brings me back to...I'm so tired.

photo shop

The latest Swirl fashion shoot photos are out. See anything you like?

Thanks to Alfie for his usual outstanding work and Sheryl for being so sporting.

ask not for whom the bell tolls

As I snuggled fitfully under the covers, trying to prolong the state of being semi awake, the thought snuck up on me: "He's getting married."

Call it premonition or woman's intuition or something akin to that. I felt it would be happening very soon. Or it could be still some time in the future. But, eventually, he would marry her. That's for sure. And I was the trigger, the catalyst, the one who made him realise he can't play anymore.

There was an uncomfortable stab -- not quite a dagger, not even a pen knife, more like a blunt pencil, maybe -- somewhere in the region of my heart. And I woke up completely.

down with monkeys

Mischievous monkeys strike again. I'm not sure if I can mention the lawsuit here, but it's enough to say us swirly tigers are plagued with problems this month indeed.

M was so distraught she shed tears. I fumed so much I had to call my twin to vent. And then I got so upset I had to call a certain someone, thereby breaking the unspoken agreement we had about unspeaking.

HE: You can call me anytime to whinge ok?
ME: Ummmkay.
[In the background, a girl's voice asked him whether he was coming.]
HE: I have to go.
ME: [Simultaneously] You better go.

monkey business

For all you Tigers out there -- like me and Mousey -- this is supposed to be a very bad month as it is the Monkey month. And Monkeys and Tigers don't get along. So be careful until 24 August.

on air

I've been telling everyone to plug in to Pandora, but if you still don't believe me how marvellous and fantastic and easy it is, just click on the stations below the archives on the right.

I'm such a groupie, I actually wrote fan mail to Pandora. And they replied! The very next day! I lurve Pandora!