Square One

There, are you happy now, Barry? Thanks to my ineptness at HTML, less than a month after unceremoniously discarding this layout, I have had to come crawling back to it. Honestly though, I'm quite bored of looking at it. But until I polish up my skills at the language, I guess I'll leave it as this for now.


And, to reward those few of you who stuck by me despite the unreadable text - and also because I have taken a deluge of them - Behold! Random pictures I could have used, but did not, in my last post.

I don't know why, but I have a compulsive habit of personally defecating on my painstakingly-constructed persona of a glam-queen. Build it up, take it down. Xian, this definitely tops (or bottoms, if you want to look at it another way) than what you had on your blog hurhurhur. And September, I hope this gave you a good chuckle or two (Look! I even have whiskers!) - I had you particularly in mind when I badgered my sister to take these shots.
Since I endangered the lives of all the occupants in the car each time I took to the wheel, I was holed up in the back seat most of the way back home, which was a long and boring way to spend one's day. What to do but to whip out the camera and amuse oneself?

You guys have gotta check out the pedicure I got at the resort's spa! We also had a treat of Javanese massage, herbal body scrub and body mask - the latter of which was slathered all over our bodies, clad only in disposable undies, by our Indonesian masseuses. Who could, by the way, individually deliver on anything at all you wanted that was on offer at the spa. You name it, they could do it.

Bad skin on display. Plus, does anyone recognise which Season 5 episode of Sex and the City my pose comes from?

And I leave you with: more goofin' off with the camera settings.

Merry Christmas, Everyone! (Post-Note: And A Happy New Year!)

Ho ho ho to everyone! I just spent my Christmas Day lounging around at home with the brand-new owner of this toothbrush -

- yes, you've guessed it, it's The Boyfriend's. This new-found status was a result of part slow-won trust from my parents, part conniving weaseling from us (read: we never asked for permission. Yet.). With a fat portion of it coming from the latter reason.

... Anyway, cutting the irrelevant show of smug Couple-dom short, I shall deliver what I promised in my last blog entry: The answer to where I'd disappeared to for many, many days on end!

Alright, it was only 4 days in truth, but a little stretching of the truth always makes the story more interesting. My parents' wedding anniversary was last week, but it just happened that me dad needed to head down to Terengganu for work. So he thought he might as well bring my mum along and celebrate their anniversary there! The fact that my sis and I got to tag along was just a fortuitous (for us) detail taken into consideration by our dad - we were there to provide companionship for mummy dearest while he was away at work.

We stayed at two hotels in total - because the trip was hastily arranged, we couldn't get the resort of our choice. So my dad's colleague managed to book us this new place which, apparently, was "quite okay".

But it turned out to be more a chalet than a resort. And think lease-expiring Costa Sands East Coast in recent years, rather than, say, Downtown East. With staff who can't speak English very well. Or operate credit card machines. The lady at the reception counter returned dad's gold credit card (ie no credit limit, right) apologetically after she swiped the card with the magnetic strip facing up. After a long drive of about 7 hours up, that was a show of ill-training we could do without. We waited more than 10 minutes for someone with the necessary training to arrive and clear things up.

To make things worse, at the humble coffee house where we had our dinner later, the waiter spilled a glass of cold water on me, who was already suffering from a cold. Well, that was the worst of it, really. But there were a few other things I noticed about the place:

Crumpled welcome notes

A burn-hole in my sheets,

And, the most jarring one of all,

A smoke-detector/water-sprinkler (or something along those lines) built within the cornice and then painted over. Tsk tsk tsk.

So the next day my dad called up the hotel of our choice to check if they had any rooms available, and, to our utter joy, there were!!!

We packed in 10 minutes flat (our collective personal best) and waited for him to drive over from his workplace and pick us up.

Now I'm sure you guys heard of the floods in Terengganu right? Well, although we were in no danger of being evacuated, it did rain on our arrival at the swankier second hotel, the entire day. So there was nothing much to do but R&R. But the hotel room was designed with windows that opened from the toilet into the room, and you can actually watch tv while soaking in the tub, which was exactly what I did for about an hour that day! Such bliss. Sorry, no pictures allowed of that!

The next day the weather was on our side, and after breakfast, we went for a swim and a soak in the glorious sun.

See the sun on our faces??

*Sound of DJ scratching vinyl to an abrupt stop.*

I wrote the above on Christmas Day, but didn't get to finish it cos I've been a busy girl (what else?) and now, I really can't be bothered to finish it anymore! I was gonna share my story of driving on the treacherous roads of Malaysia, where drivers are fierce and roads are pot-holed, but alas, no inspiration lei. Let's just say I caused my parents two near heart-attacks when I swerved to avoid a dangerously close Benz, and another time when I took my dad's words to "dive in" at a parking lot literally. Maybe I'll upload a few more pictures some time soon, but for now I'm a tad can't-be-bothered.

What, away for 9(!) days and no one's missed me???

*sniff*

So I guess no one wants to know where I went.

Who cares! I'll upload photos soon. When my sis comes back with the camera. *curses*

On another, more sombre note, I was satisfying my voracious appetite for voyeurism and noticed how so many of my friends have been down lately. On reflection, it made me realise how wrapped up in my own feelings I've been, and how lucky I am in truth. I'm a little ashamed of myself, really. And (I know I'm not exactly at my most cogent right now) I'm sorry I never noticed earlier.

Hold On. After all, no one stays down forever! 2005 is almost over; may 2006 start on the right note for all of us.

Soaking In the Mood

Listening to Christmas songs on internet radio now, and oh what a nice and warm feeling it's giving me. I think I must be the biggest lover of Christmas that is not Christian, haha.

Though I like the contemporary versions too, I love traditional carols best. They conjure images of soft snow drifting onto white, snow-covered ground below which lie cobbled pavements that lead up to a cosy little cottage with a warm fire burning in a suitably beautiful fireplace. All in soft focus, please.

Of course, it also reminds me of the days I used to carol with my JC choir. The sound of our voices blending as one - stuff of heaven, I tell ya. Unfortunately, I can't sing along to my favourite songs right now. My throat's hurting rather badly. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that I went out "clubbing" (ie: drinking) twice last week? (And no, neither of those two girls in the picture is me.)

This wasn't our poison of choice, by the way. Hm, the way that was put, you'd think there was a choice. See, we were at a private bash where there was free flow of drinks (for a limited time only, of course), but we arrived late and by that time, the bar had run out of vodka lime and ribena. And, they used lousy vodka! Bleargh. There weren't any shots either, unless you were willing to shell out money for them. All this led my boy to complain, "The sponsor so ngiam siap!" Indeed.

A Night of Inebriation

I'm such a swakoo, I didn't know that nowadays ladies get free entry into Zouk on Wednesday nights. But then again, I've never been a Mambo fan, so this was practically only my second time there on such a night. It has to be said, though, that these days Mambo doesn't mean retro so much as it means Top 40 hits. But I still heard the very very out-dated (remix of) Macarana, ow ow ow.

Anyway, once the clock struck that magical hour of 11, the guys started going crazy and went on a drinking binge. One of the guys I met there was already quite far gone by the time we were introduced; he took the cheapo route of getting high by visiting a nearby 7-11 first. I didn't see him much the rest of the night - heard that he either goes dancing or starts hitting on girls. Jarvis got really high too (as usual) and I had to resort to confiscating his cards and wallets (yes, wallets - he has two) so for the rest of the 1-for-1 hour, he was screaming, "Gimme back my wallets! I wanna drink! Only 7 minutes left!!! 7 minutes! Gimme back!", amusing the rest of us who were more in control of our faculties.

I wasn't spared the intoxication either - drinks were passed left to right, right to left, up and down, outwards in, inward-out. Madness, I tell ya. When the drinks kicked in - and it didn't take long, because I must be the lousiest drinker there is on this planet - I went quite wild myself. As a result I now have a bump on my tailbone to show for it. For some reason the pillar I was leaning against seemed to slip out of my hand, all the way til I landed, without ceremony, on the drink-spewed floor of Zouk. It was a disgrace I was unaware of at that point in time, but I now hang my head in shame. A hex on all those bastards who scurried out of the way while my poor butt slammed on the floor!

Oh yeah, we took some pictures too, despite Zouk's no photography rule. At one point I even told the bouncer to join in! Thankfully he didn't yank me by the neck and hurl my tipsy self outta there, but instead allowed us to take one shot (check out Jarvis' blue-green eyes! Rather weird, but it sorta, kinda, went with the colour of his tee):

As I have absolutely no idea who took it, I'm afraid it cannot be duly credited

Events Like This Leave Me Broke (But Happy)

I tired myself out playing the grannyish, tile-matching game Mahjongg on Gamerival, but I'm still bored and reluctant to go to bed, so I'm gonna post some photos taken at the Ching & Fang Post-Birthday Dinner last Friday.

Dry ice! Dry ice! Never fails to fascinate.

Like the auntie at the restaurant said it'll be, the"Ali Baba" effect. (That's Ching in the background admiring the teapot-turned-pseudo-lamp.)

The same auntie finds it hard to operate my new camera (really my sister's but I insist we share. I mean, such things have to be inculcated in kids while they're young, no?).

After dinner, we adjorn to the KTV lounge.

But, this being the end of the day that marks the end of the work week, we are all very tired indeed.

Just as I am. Goodnight!

Quickie

I've been too lazy to blog lately.

Yet another feather on the cap of this professional bummer. But I shan't be for much longer, because, yes, I have (finally) accepted a job offer. (For those of you who are wondering, it's an amalgamation of Jobs A and B. But I'll bet you'd be still wondering if you didn't fish for more details from me personally, because I've let on so little. Hur hur.) Nothing's been finalized, and I may have to wait up to another two months before I can finally start training - which isn't welcome news because I do want to stop digging into my well-depleted saving - but that would mean, as Ching reminded me, more time for family and friends.

Went to Wild Wild Wet yesterday with the kids and courtesy of Uncle Edward, and proceeded to get pummelled by the kids. My cousins were determinded not to let me just float idly by in the Shiok/Lazy River (two names to cater to two different clientele) like all of us ought to - I mean, that's the whole idea in the first place, right? But as kids will be kids, they threw the whole spirit of Shiok River down the drain. As I was saying, they eventually succeeded to flip me out of my float, and as I went down into the the water, up popped the right side of my bikini top. I don't know whether the ang moh behind us was grinning cos of his girlfriend's gargantuan boobs, or cos he saw my tinny one (only the right side popped).

And that is the reason why, for all the pictures of the day, I was fully clothed.

I was also humbled by the energy of the Under-12s - we took at least 10 rides on the Ular-La, their favourite attraction at the theme park, each time having to climb up about 5 storeys to get there. Five of them were devoted to taking the perfect shot, but alas, in the end we couldn't find it, and had to settle for this one:

(Edit: Which, by the way, we had to pay only $9.90 for, less than half the price of what it cost back when it just opened. Economics, bah.)

And for those of you who're wondering why I'm going there again this Saturday when I've just been there, well, The Boyfriend's sour about me going there without him (despite saying that I wasn't that interested on an earlier occasion), and so that's why.

New Look!

Eh, but I've no idea how to make the margin for the content a lil wider. I mean, more existent. Oh well, I figure it out eventually. Gimme time. How's it look, though? Not too bright I hope? Colours still friendly? Comment comment comment!

Hark!

I've always loved Christmas, and this year is no exception. Had higher expectations, though - since there was much fanfare about how much more money was poured into the Yuletide decorations on Orchard Road, and how much less materials from years past were recycled. I did like the little detail of placing quaint little listening booths all along the streets - useless la, since it's so noisy very few would actually notice that these were speakers and not DOA festive lights - 'cos I'm a sucker for details, and c'mon, you gotta giv'em credit for attaching lyrics so we could stand by the booths, cock our ears, and try to sing along. Really gets me in the mood. A big shout-out to Daph (whom I need to credit for the above photo), with whom I've not had so much fun since.... sec sch, I reckon? It was one of those rare days where we could talk and laugh at just about anything. (Yes I remember the photo; but because I still can't access email from this com please wait a lil k?)

Today was also the mark of the end of Chingerling's 23rd year of existing on this earth, and the embarkation of her 24th (think about it people: when you celebrate your 1st birthday it means that you've been around for a year, and are starting on your second year). Being sticklers for tradition, we had some cake from Secret Recipe (only good for cake, never good for main courses as far as I'm concerned).

As is evident, she kinda devoured it whole. That sorta spoiled my day and as a result, The Boyfriend now knows me as The Girl Who Gets Moods. So I asked him if this revelation led him to regret his choice of Hand-holder and his training in Girl-dom (though meagre) told him to immediately reply: "That's not what I said! Don't put words into my mouth." Meagre, like I said, but it is impossible for me to stay angry with my boo for more than 3 seconds, so wonderful is he.

What is also wonderful is that, despite all odds, my sister and I managed to pull the show together at the last minute and she got to go to her prom a stunner! A whole host of dramatic episodes ensued before we got to the finished look (below), believe you me.

That's me on the right, the bedraggled but immensely proud big ole sis, and my sis on the left. I am very proud to have styled her from top to toe, barring the hair - which she got done at this place I've been going to since my JC days - yup, make-up included. All together now - Awwwww.

The Waiting Game

This picture shows Ms Coddle mulling over the situation she was in. She had interviewed for two jobs at the same company (big, internationally-recognised local brand) and made it through to the last rounds for both. Job A is something she prefers over Job B, but she has been told that the final decision lies on her prospective employer; what this means is that, apparently, from the culminative knowledge of herself that the two people at each respective interview session garnered - that is, the twenty-odd minutes they saw her under a very specific context, and which, by this very fact, could only possibly give them a glimpse of a very small facet of her personality and abilities - they are supposed to make an informed choice regarding, she has been told, "which job suits you better".

But yes, it is doubtless that they have the help of sophisticated tests designed specifically to tease out the nuances of said personality and abilities, tests which, by virtue of the fact that they are expensive to administer and were even more expensive to develop, are very accurate and revealing of the candidate indeed.)

The Novelty of It All

Barry came back from an overseas trip to Taiwan recently, bearing gifts:

1. Candy sure to start 101 questions rolling if kids get a hold of 'em:

(Yes, I know one of them was taken upside-down.) Taste yummy, Chye?

2. Apparently, one of the hottest novelty items being sold in Tainan right now - hang-on-your-mobile pepper spray. But I don't know if it works as well as it should in an emergency, coz it's only good for 3 spurts and Barry wouldn't lemme waste one of them on his face.

3. This nondescript box, measuring about 13cmx3.5cmx1.5cm (soulburnz tells me he thinks this is the correct way to write it).

What kooky nugget have they thought up to put inside? Can't be the 'ole toothbrush-and-paste routine, fer sure. !!! Could it be... a condom-carrier masquerading as a toothbrush-and-paste carrier??

Sadly, no. (And let me state that I have nothing to do with condoms, whatsoever.)

Erm, plastic screws? Well, screwing is involved, but of the kind related to neither of the two above.

Like so...

And...



Tada!!! Now you can have a pair of chopsticks with you, on the go!

4. This gem!

You must click on the photo to get the ingenuity of the packaging.

Read the fine print! I especially love the part which goes: "Please do not throw the packaging away. It can be kept for further use." How about that people?! Cheeky, clever, packed with thoughtful details and enviro-friendly!

Still have no idea what the product is?

Marshmallows!!!! Haha, brilliant.

Travellator Blues

Well, I decided there's no point in sulking about being locked out of my webmail, so I shall stake my down-but-not-out-ness in recounting what happened that fateful day on the travellator at Changi Airport. I'd actually contemplated cutting-and-pasting that irate letter to the press so that I wouldn't have to recount the entire incident all over again, but that option's not open to me now. Which is, on hindsight, better because I wouldn't have to restrain myself and try and sound civil for credibility's sake.

So I was at the Departure Hall of Changi Airport, wearing the aforementioned 3½-inch heels, simultaneously drinking water, being on the line with my mum about something of a certain importance to the both of us, and looking to go down to the bus terminal on the basement. Although I was really nearer to the stairs, I made a detour for the travellator when I caught sight of it. This I did even though I couldn't really tell, from where I stood then, whether it was in service or not. I figured it was in any case better than clambering down flights and flights of stairs on the ball of my feet. For the guys who are reading this, imagine pounding down hard concrete steps, your feet in a Barbie-poised brace that renders them completely inflexible, over and over again, all the while trying, not simply to retain your balance, but also to maintain a posture decent enough not to earn you the nickname "Crippled Duck".

My suspicions about the travellator not working were confirmed when I got there. Only two others were present: an elderly man, already making his way gingerly down its not-so gentle slope, and a middle-aged man with wavy, shoulder length, ( badly-dyed) brown hair in a blue polo-tee, ostensibly the uniform of the company by which he was employed. The latter was standing somewhere next to me. That the two of them were having a rather genial conversation of some sort was the only other thing I noticed about them, and thus I commenced my own journey down the people-mover.

Little did I know how perilous it was to become - halfway in my descent, without any warning that I could discern, the travellator abruptly started moving. Caught off-guard, my left leg went into a bicycle kick, and half the contents in my water-bottle shot out of its receptacle making a dramatic splash all over the window next to the travellator, before my reflexes kicked in and I finally managed, thank heavens, to regain my balance. The elderly old man meanwhile, had alighted safely and now stood at the foot of the travellator, gaping at the events that were unfolding before him.

Naturally upset, I whipped back immediately to where the middle-aged man still stood, and was greeted by not a few shocked faces of awaiting passengers, and his one very indignant mien. Not bothering to conceal his impatience and annoyance at my aberrance, he shouted for all and sundry to hear, these responsibility-shirking words: "I already told the uncle I was going to start (the machine)!"

Nonplussed and cowled by his aggresiveness, I turned back and fought back initial tears of wrongful accusation. Nevertheless, after regaining my composure, I looked up and shot Mr Bad Hairdo, also travelling downwards, dirty glances ever so often. He never once deigned to look in my direction. I had half a mind to whip out my digicam so that I could post his disgraceful face up for the whole of cyberspace to behold, but flashes of him raining punches on me changed my mind.

Let me now state that, admittedly, I have part of the blame to shoulder. Being engrossed in the phone conversation with my mother meant that I wasn't as aware of my surroundings as I ought to have been, and I really should have put my water bottle away while walking down the travellator - but really, I did not think he would turn it on without first issuing some kind of final warning. Or maybe he did, but I didn't hear it. Fair enough. I also have to give him due credit for waiting til the elderly gentleman got off the travellator before starting it up again; on the same note, he was probably also only trying not to delay the ladies who were waiting to ride the travellator.

That said, however, he should have also ensured that it was well and truly safe before turning the travellator on. I mean, yes, I am an able-bodied woman in my early twenties, but he really should have factored in my being on the phone. Surely he couldn't have missed my right hand clasped over my ear? It's not a migraine, for goodness' sake (and if it were, he'd have even more reason to be careful)! Or did he buy into the stereotype that women are great multi-taskers?

Even if I can discount the possibility that it was an earnest oversight on his part, I cannot forgive his antagonistic attitude after witnessing my near-fall. In the worst-case scenario, I could've cracked my skull and be lying unconscious in hospital right now. Or I could've sustained a broken limb or twisted ankle. (Right, Chye? *sniff*) And - I can't resist this one - this being Changi Airport I was at, imagine the repercussions if this did not happen to a Singaporean, but a visiting foreigner. What kind of stories would he/she bring back of our city-state, which is at this point in time trying to position itself as a uniquely wonderful tourist spot not to be missed? What of Changi Airport's much-trumpeted status as one of the premier airports of the world? And - okay okay one last one - what if, hypothetically speaking, I were unknowingly in the early stages of a pregnancy (and married, of course), and fell? Many women don't know so when they're in their first two months of carrying a child.

I think I've made my point.

In the end, however, I decided not to send out that email. Having the letter all typed out and just a "send" button away from making it official made me cognizant of the power I wielded to potentially put that guy out of a job. Plus I know, it's bloody damn hard for people who are over 40 to find a job once they've lost one. So you better wake up your idea Mr Bad Hairdo, thank your lucky stars and damn well learn from that incident.

Why is this happening to me?????????

Sigh. First the dratted MSN virus, then irritating applications which refuse to die and now, this. I can't log on to any of my webmails. All other websites which require a username and password are very compliant - so why? What's happened? With regards to my previous post, I'm now pretty sure it isn't a symptom of hijacking (by the way, thanks, Daf, for your reassurance), 'cause Barry told me if it's webmail (which it is) then the problem ought to be only confined to the internal workings of the mail provider - so once again, why? Earlier this afternoon I'd logged in with the intention of writing an entry regarding an impassioned letter to the press involving an incident of me tripping on 3½-inch heels, on an abruptly-started, sloping travellator, but... not in the mood.

Has My Computer Been Hijacked???

Having nothing better to do while I waited for my hair to dry, I decided to check my mail. And while I was at it, why not check my bulk mail folder, right? Notwithstanding the fact that I almost never check it.

There were three mails in the aforesaid folder. Two were junk mail, as expected. The third was a delivery notice failure.

Hold on, when did I last send out a mail that didn't get through? I clicked on the mail to open it, and this is what greeted me:

Once again, click on it to enlarge. The alleged personal (I'm assuming it is, because I didn't recall sending this out) details I sent out is, most obviously, a virus. What the #^*%!????

Can somebody explain how in the world this could've happened? Preceding this unpleasant revelation, I had rebooted my computer, then doused it with a good measure of Spybot, AdAware and HijiackThis log programs already. I'm still receiving help for the latter one at this point, but I didn't think someone would be sending emails out in MY name. Damn. My email address must be finding its way onto a lot of junk mail lists by now.

Throaty Ululations

With the weekend that just passed, I'm feeling contentment and pleasure at just staying home, unlike the week before. I expect that has something to do with my busy schedule this past week - which in turn has something to do with daddy handing me out my monthly sum of financial assistance, I suspect.

One of the events that kept me happily scuttling about was a KTV session at KBox. Yes it was fun, but it was also marred by one small but irritating detail: an advertisement that was insistent on popping up every half-hourly or so, disrupting our merry-making ever-so-often:

That's it; while the Suzuki Swift was never a contender in my list of "Potential Cars to Buy Once I Strike It Rich" to begin with, it can now officially kiss my potential-dollar goodbye. I mean, the cheek of it all, blasting its message to us, a captive, freaking paying audience for the 5 hours we were there (which, by the by, was originally only meant to be 4 hours, but thanks to my irresistible charm - on a person of the same sex, no less - we got it extended, at no extra charge)!

That aside: the inaugural Lungs of the Day Award went to SJ, who was the first to start singing, liberally inserted her songs to the top of the list, and continued singing songs consecutively after the rest of the girls (with the exception of Ms Coddle of course) dropped out, one by one, from fatigue or plain unsustainable interest in vying for the award - prolly wasn't pretigious enough for them, hmph.

And the undisputed champion of Photowhore: KTV Session - Huiz, whose pretty head managed to pop up in just about every single photo I took:

Other winners were Fangz, who walked away with the Lethargy Award, by virtue of the fact that she pretty much just languished on her seat most of the time, watching the screen; and Xianz, aka Ms Attention-Deficit - have you ever seen someone so addicted to Sudoko she plays it while awaiting her turn to sing??

click to enlarge)

Fast Approaching Grannydom.

This was my agenda for the weekend:

Saturday

Slept in, stayed home while my parents' went over to gramma's early. Breathed in and out, motionless, til my dad came to pick me up for the family gathering. The End.

Sunday

Slept in, stayed home til my sis got a call from my aunt inviting her to go to the Converse warehouse sale happening this weekend. Tagged along and got a pair (for those interested, it was a high cut, in cranberry). Got home, breathed in and out, motionless, til Barry called. Chatted for a bit; he expresses amazement that I did not venture out of my home except to buy brunch. Suggested I meet The Boyfriend* for supper - offered to come pick me up. I declined, choosing instead to slouch on the couch watching "Ong Bak".

Friday was my only saving grace: Supper and a midnight show at the behest of Barry, a passably entertaining "Legend of Zorro" - which suited me fine for a zombie-ish night.

Before that, however, I had dinner at a restaurant located at the Kallang Theatre. It was a rather ho-hum affair for me - definitely over-priced for what they had on the menu: a small selection of food to put in your steamboat, some leftover buffet dishes (eg. stale cereal prawn, normally my favourite; self-serve popiah I made a mess of; this exotically-named dish below), a few soups, some starters none of us dared touch, a few clusters of fruit and some ice-cream. There were some rather palatable dishes, nevertheless: salmon sashimi, fresh oysters - though of course I steered clear of those - and aromatic, if a lil garlic-drenched, escargot (these don't grow in the sea so they aren't a problem for me).

To be fair, however, I guess the food would've been of a better quality had we not gotten lost - within an hour of our arriving, give or take 20 minutes, we were to get our last helping from the buffet table, for they were going to close it soon.

*currently indisposed, mugging for the exams.

Cognitive Dissonance

Oh ma gawd, I just ate shark's fin for the first time in four, nay, five years. And it's not due to the fact that my family hardly gets to eat it, no. In fact, they eat it rather frequently, whenever they are in a celebratory mood (i.e. somebody's birthday, someone struck 4D etc) or feeling indulgent. So no, rather it is due to this obscure, sometimes unfathomable concept of Personal Principles that I don't eat it (though I love it, love it).

And I don't give in easily, mind. A big bowl of it was once served at a wedding dinner I attended alone (read: paid for out of my own pocket), and I very magnanimously gave others a chance at a second helping, or at least a bigger bowl of the delicacy. And each time my family cooks the dish, two uncles and a father will try to get me to eat it, in all manner of coaxing, teasing, reasoning, shaming or plain terrorizing, but never did I once give in.

Well, tonight I learned there is a hierarchy of principles, just as there is a Maslownian hierarchy of needs. My dad da powed a tub (yes, you read that correctly) of shark's fin soup for my sister, who had been absent from the gathering 'cause she had been out somewhere. But when she got home, she was still too full from dinner to eat it all up, not to mention too tired from the day's activities, so she gave me an offer I could not resist: she beseeched that I share the take-away with her. And really, you can't keep shark's fin overnight, right? Besides, it would've been a bigger sin to let the poor animal die in vain and pour all that wonderful, heavenly broth down the sink. So I obliged.

And it was amazing. I wolfed down a good portion of it in what must've been a record-breaker, because to be honest I was half-afraid that my dad would walk out of his room and catch me with my mouth agape, shovelling spoonful after spoonful of the goodness of the sea. There would be no end to the teasing. I would never live that moment down. Seriously though, could you blame me?

A Stolen Moment

My machine is down. All thanks to a virus that's been floating around MSN. Be careful, people! Don't download any .exe files of unverifiable source. Don't give in to your vanity, as I did, and click on a URL extolling "Wow, is this you?" (Though, masquerading very successfully as a profile of me - which despite distinctly remembering I had no picture posted up on - was very credibly done, I must add in my defence.)

So it rendered my antivirus and firewall software unuseable. And would send out said URL to other friends surreptitiously, which is why my friends have seen even less of me of late online. So I said, what the hey, my computer's been damn slow of late, so I may as well just re-boot the entire thing.

The thing is, HP, from the goodness of its soul, decided that it would save some of my data already in my computer. So I still have remnants of past applications - though I suspect most of them to be just empty shells. And that means that the darned virus may still be in hiding somewhere, in there. Because truth be told my computer isn't working as well as it should. Damn, damn, damn. Oh, damn.

Another thing: As all things in life must go, it doesn't rain but it pours. Well that is a malapropism, because really what is happening is a GOOD thing. Ok before I get ahead of myself - I have been offered a job, and have another interview for another coming up next Friday. But I do want that other job job pretty badly, and I know that this is pretty much the window in my life I'll be able to get it, so I shall have to reject the nice HR personnel that will call me up on Monday. HR personnel, this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.

Alright, I have run out of time on my cousin's computer. Til later.

Dilly Dalliance

I missed my tuition session with my cousin today because I was late leaving my place (Chye, I blame you for this because you called me!), and so now I'm at home, in limbo for the next half-hour or so before I leave the flat for my next assignment - Test-driving L'Oreal hair products! Hey, someone has to do it.

It's a deal I got from one of the girls I met at the mysterious interviews I've been going to, and apparantly, at the end of the one-week test period, I will receive $30 worth of L'Oreal hair products. Woo~hoo! Too bad I didn't snag the deal by virtue of the fact of how famous I've become due to my internet exposure (unlike another fellow blogger I shall not name), or else I'll bet I'll be getting more than what I've been promised in exchange. Ah well, one shouldn't lament one's position too much. It ain't bad really, though I'd much rather receive cash. (Who wouldn't?)

Now I know my blogs have been getting fewer and farther between, and the content more and more mundane. I can't help it! I'm a jobless slacker. I hope, however, that all this will change soon, once I get through that last interview with management and sign on the dotted line.

And I wish I have some interesting new photos to post, but the fact is I've been home vegetating in front of movies and various reality/documentary series playing on my screen. I've just finished the first series of the fantastically bo liao but hilariously funny Mythbusters, currently playing on Discovery Channel. In it, the hosts do all sorts of stupid, money-wasting things, like finding out if the engine of a 747 can blow a car over (it can), if the daddy longlegs is actually the deadliest spider alive (it isn't), whether running or walking in the rain will get you wetter (it's running to them, but inconclusive to me) and if a duck's quack actually echoes (it does). Most of the things they do on the show are total time-wasters, but it's so funny to watch, I'm hooked! Imagine going through 45 days of trouble just to find out if golfish have a memory of more than 3 seconds, or putting your life on the line trying to prove that escape from the waters of Alcatraz is actually possible. The infinite amount of care and consideration put into recreating these myths are laudable, while watching their sheer delight in duplicating them (when the myth doesn't work, but they want to see the results anyway), most times to dramatic effect (cue plenty of explosions) is pure entertainment.

And now, I reckon I have said more than enough on the subject. 'Nuff random typing.

How Incredibly Bimbotic

I'm so freaking tired. How tired? I trust this anecdote shall suffice: After today's interview session, my potential colleagues-to-be and I headed off to Mos Burger for a bite and some chit-chat. I ordered their garlic and lemon fried mussels - focusing on the delightful tastes the first two ingredients would bring on, and totally blocking out the word "mussels". It is a strict rule I follow that organisms that are basically muscles growing in a shell are not food. No, not even the mighty abalone can sway me. Yet I felt very happy with my order up until the point that it arrived, and one of my companions asked me what it was I was having. The moment the "M" word came out of my mouth, the gears in my head finally clicked. Luckily, the order was so hot and my tomato sauce so well-used as a dip that all I could really make out of the taste was - breadcrumbs. The same cannot be said of the rubbery texture, unfort. No amount of frying will take that away. So I just bit, chewed, and swallowed really quickly, like you see contestents on Fear Factor do.

Right. With that out of the way: I made it through to the FINAL round of interviews to be held in the middle of next month. Yes, it is unbelieveably coveted.

House-Louse

I did some exercise today! By no matter of coincidence, I did some housework *gasp* voluntarily today too. I scrubbed, vacuumed and mopped. Worked up the closest I'd been to sweating since, oh, a month ago. I know, I'm so lazy with exercise! If I had the money though, I'd buy a pair of blades. For now it has to remain on my wishlist, together with an iPod, lasik and braces (in order of cost).

Speaking of housework, my many months of parking in front of the computer (and next to my window) has alerted me to a guy who's vying for the "Exemplar Househusband of the Year" Award. He's from the block behind mine (and because our kitchens are face-to-face, our block is behind his, too), and I've seen him on various occasions, bringing in the laudry, yakking on the phone like an Auntie as well as cleaning the kitchen windows. Imagine what else he does around the house, out of my sight! Let's see, what other exemplary husbands are there in my life? There was my grandad, who cooked our meals, my dad, who tidies the house, and The Boyfriend's dad, who mops the floor. Ooh ooh and there's my uncle(-in-law), who does the laundry! And the best part is, my aunt is a housewife. That really takes the cake, for me.

Well enough of my thinking-out-loudness. For those not yet in the know, I'm up for another round of interviews this Thursday. Don't ask me what job it is - I intend to bitch about it and I don't want to be slapped with any fine, jailterm or notice letter telling me to scoot.

Fashion Friday

So I was doing my thing, reading Life! (and as always, skipping the main newspaper itself) while drinking my day's first glass of water (Daddy says it helps to cleanse the system). Then I came across a picture bearing the likeness of these two people:

accompanied by the headline "Odd fellows". The picture was taken on the runway of John Galliano's Spring ready-to-wear collection, best summed up in this droll single-sentence paragraph:

"The models were chosen for their unusual physical attributes. But instead of selecting only aberrantly tall young women who weigh 50kg, there were beanpole men, tiny old folks, models with jet-black skin or who were as pale as an albino."

(An aside: I also found the same article online, only with slight changes here and there. I suppose what we got was a version edited to suit the version of English - "50kg" instead of "110 pounds" - used as well as dumbing down in culture-specificity - "yard-long, auburn dreadlocks " omiting the following "who looked like a Rastafarian Rumpelstiltskin". Oh another possible, more probable reason, for its practicality - word limit.)

But the article wasn't just reporting the rarity of such a fashion show. The question was two-fold: what message was it trying to send? And: what message did it ultimately send out?

On the surface, it seemed like a celebration of diversity, something flippantly acknowledged by Style.com's reporter: "(t)his season, his roll-up, roll-up fashion sideshow had a moral: Everybody's beautiful; live and let live; respect one another—that sort of thing." But these people were dressed up and walking down a runway show designed to convey a carnival, sideshow-esque atmosphere. The reactions of the audience was even more revealing, according to the author of the article. Laughing, frowning and shifting uncomfortably, no one really knew how to react.

My interest piqued, I decided to check out more of the photos. And what surprised me more was how natural-looking some of the non-models looked, compared to the professionals.

Sure, Mr Sage looks out of place in his bright yellow-and-red wise man costume, but at least he doesn't look like his head was a former peanut, transplanted onto an otherwise dead body.

And look how glam and goddess-like this Bottecelli lady is:

Or how distinguished this lady looks:

Okay, this one is kinda gross, but once again, old man looks normal and totally happy to be there. Model looks... well, blank.:

On a related note, I have a contention to make against Urban's feature of good-looking people: either devote more space to it, or cut back down to one good-looker per week. Although I know there are many good-looking people to be found on our shores, for sure, it's a waste when the people whose fashion sense you applaud are so small I can hardly see what the big deal is. Or worse, have an opposing opinion.

I was extremely tempted to do a blow-by-blow of what I thought of the people they featured, and in fact started to do so, but realised that my remarks were much too scathing to merit being posted. After all, these people are normal folks like you and me, so it's not fair that they get lambasted for all and sundry to read about just because I don't agree with Urban's choice.

Shopping Woes

As I have already announced to most people, there is an Important Interview coming up this Saturday, for which I went out to buy a new dress (yay! Legitimate reason to shop!). However, in my elation at finding a decent, nice-looking dress at an affordable price ($58.80, pictured below, from M)phosis), I neglected to take into account the fact that the interview venue would probably, in a show of how much money it has that it could turn the place into a mini-replica of the North pole, be invariably of the freeze-one's-nipples-off variety.

And so off I marched to get me a nice nipple-warmer (not discounting areolae, shoulders and arms, of course). But damn, I went with the wrong kinda shopping partner. Although it is imperative that you get a friend who will tell you honestly if you're looking like a bag lady or her favourite couch, this does not mean that you want someone so brutally blunt that it could shatter your painstakingly built up confidence - or bravado, if you want to be specific - with a simple "you need more lift" (gesture with hands in the chest area) upon setting eyes on the above-pictured dress which I put on together with the shrug I was test-driving. And that I'm-not-too-sure-about-that-dress look he was giving me? Withering.

It was even more humiliating that said friend uttered this within the earshot of shoppers, salesgirls and tag-along friend (his, not mine) alike. And the straw which broke this camel's back?

"You should wear a maximiser™ along with the dress". I was wearing a bloody maximiser™! And I told him, using all the effort in my entire being not to turn a bright tomato-red or die of embarrassment, whichever came first.

At another shop, while I was trying on a cropped cardigan, he told me that I should fasten only the lower of the two buttons. This I found weird, and in bad taste, but which I did to prove so. His response? "You need to pull the top down." By that time I'd already hastily undid the button. Tag-along friend (who, by the way, was very nice and did not complain once even though I very inconsiderately ploughed through two or three shops with full knowledge that he hadn't had dinner yet, and was hungry. I apologise, tag-along friend. But in my defence - I did suggest that he and my friend go off an eat their dinner first (I didn't really need them anyway). But of course they were too polite to take up my offer.) also was of the same opinion as me, so imagine my disbelief when he said "that'll make your boobs look bigger, mah".

At that point in time, I think I totally shut him off, and as such did not realise when he said my ass looked big in one cardigan, nor was I aware that I responded with a "shut up". Later on that night he told me he was very hurt at what I said, and I was - and still am - dreadfully sorry. It's just that my mouth sometimes moves too fast for my brain.

Disclaimer: I am in no way dissing my friend, whom I know was speaking with the best intentions. My point is that there are certain people (i.e. men) whom you should never go shopping with, not because they are mean and nasty, but because they'll unwittingly crush your fragile ego (and by "you" I mean me, not you of course, ohwonderfulreader). Oh and by the way, if I sound at all upset, I really am not. Anymore. But looking back, it was rather funny, so that's why I decided to blog about it. Friend, if ever you read this, do not be offended! I love you and I know you meant well.

Anyway, I ended up buying the Lower-Button-Only cardi - actually, I don't know what to call it. And, at $69.90 (Esprit, below), was considerably more expensive than my dress.

Also, people, I still do think I look rather chic in the dress. So no need to leave ego-boosting comments, bless your souls.

Edit (16th October 2005, 12.58am): And just so I can prove it, this is me, in my best model-esque pose (read: lousy - see fat oozing out my left underarm). Oh by the way the interview went well! I hope I get the job.