Season's Greetings!!!

Last weekend, The Boyfriend and I did some shopping at the about-to-be-closed Concourse, where he deliberated for a very, very long time, whether to buy Snow From A Can and a pack of 9 Christmas-themed stencils. Eventually, finally, after a lifetime he did, and we had a field day decorating all sorts of glass surfaces!


My room:

My dad's car (my dad's away for work; I have no idea how he'll react when he sees these)(my dad didn't say anything about them. They were later washed away in the rain, which goes to show why people don't spray these things on car windows.):

If you look closely at the pictures, you'll noticed they've got this slightly blurry effect about them. That's because we drove through a short shower - the rain didn't destroy the snow pictures, but it definitely left its mark. As did some fingermarks belonging to some very itchy-fingered people (which can be seen on the reindeer).

Oh, by the way, since 'tis the season for giving, and some people might be scratching their hair out trying to figure out what I may want for Chrissymas, here's a short wishlist I have compiled, using the daydream sessions I've had at the office.

1. Cute/Funky pen holder. No cartoon characters please, unless they are bona fide cute. Thanks, Kelly!

2. Seat cushion. 'Cause my office chair is damn freakin' dirty. Thanks, Daph!

3. Simple lappie bag. Those kinds that look like a cushy A4 file. Thanks again, Daph!

4. Cute, one of a kind tissue box cover. The other time I came across one in the form of a hedgehog, which was the cutest, but by the time I'd made up my mind to buy it, it'd sold out. What are the chances, right? Thanks, JW!

You realise most of these are office-centric. Yes, I definitely like my cubicle cushy and cosy. :)

P/S I owe you die-hard readers photos of my trip to Cebu and Scandi. I haven't forgotten. Hang in there!

Happy Holidays, people!!

I Should Be in Cebu

That's the thing about being cheapo. You take your chances too often and somewhere down the line, something has to give. There I was, my sleepy ass waiting for my seat to be confirmed, running all over the airport trying to tie all the loose ends together before taking off - only to be told that all of the passengers showed up.

But it's ok, some good came out of it, at least I managed to get some more work cleared before I go for my holiday (which I hope will be fun!). I managed to get some more last minute stuff. I don't feel so flustered and rushed. I get to spend one more day at home, seeing my family. (Sadly, I only recalled an hour ago that Zouk's Flea and Easy was held today. But nevermind.)

Crossing my fingers. X

Go Gene Go!

Hadn't been blogging for a while, because the recent blogworthy things of date were company-related, and hence, out of bounds. Nothing else of note took place in my boring little existence. Until yesterday!

Yes, our very own Eugene is in the running to become one of two winners of a brand new Subaru Impreza!

A bunch of us were there last night and again tonight to support him. After almost 36 hours in the competition, he's still going strong.

(Apologies for the grainy picture - camera isn't the best, and he is quite a distance away from the barricades.)

It's prolly raining in Orchard now though, so tonight'll be a tough night. We're hoping he'll stick around long enough for us to go down again tomorrow night! In the meantime, here're some shots for your enjoyment.

Caught off-guard: It's his slacker posture and good people-skills (i.e. keng gai power) that has gotten his this far.

Supportive and enthu friends YM and HX and the placard they made to cheer him on. Funny right?

JW holding up his message for all and sundry to see. Gene Gene was caught chatting up girl 263 from the adjacent car. This guy! Forever at it. (By the way, the whiteboard was my stroke of genius. Heheh.)

My boy's two faces: One at 2am, and one at 9pm. Hint: A night owl he certainly ain't.

Edit: Yep, Eugene didn't manage to bring back the car. He dropped out because his sleep-deprived mind started hallucinating and he started losing his reasoning powers. But he's ok now. And we're still proud of him! We had a great time!

排排站，查查看

Restaurant review, inspired by the above-mentioned foodie show on Channel 8.

Credits: Video edited by YM (you can read his blog entry here too)

So, at WH's suggestion, we found ourselves in a small, tucked-away corner in Singapore that night, a place not usually patronised by people who aren't planning to make a move on their girls after dinner (i.e. us)

I won't touch on the bits they talk about in the video, but shall just comment on a few things:

1. Ambience was disappointing. I was expecting soft, amber light and the canopy of trees to serve as shelter, but instead got a food centre kind of feel. And though the bountiful fans saw to it that we never broke into even the faintest moisture-moustache, everything else about it was plebian and did not justify the price I had to pay for my makan.

2. Service was not worth the 10% charge we had to pay on top of the food. The wait staff were listless, unprofessional and made inappropriate comments.
For example, our drinks were not dutifully topped up, and requests for them to do so sometimes had to be repeated.
Another case in point: Our dessert sorbets came in a rock hard milk-chocolate shell. One of the waiters, seeing our bewilderment that the supposedly soft sorbet was nowhere to be found, made this remark:

"Oh, it needs time to soften. You'll have to wait." Pause. "It's the same thing for everyone else here tonight."

?!?!?!?!? Are you referring to the sorbet, or did you make a Freudian slip about your slipshod service, Mister?

3. Did I mention how far away this place is from everything (except maybe Keppel)?

You have been warned.

Okay, enough bitching. Some interesting bits to notice when watching the video.
a. The constant giggling in the background is Ching.
b. The rojak way WH spoke. Hilarious!
c. How pro Linghui looked and sounded. Macham really on TV!
d. When she smiles, Ching speaks without moving her upper lip.
e. How weird I look and sound on-camera (vastly different from the way I look in my mind's eye).

Enjoy the video! I watched it, like, three times in a row. Thanks, YM!

Transience

Today marks my grandad's second death anniversary. His wife, most of his children and his grandchildren made a visit to the temple where his remains are housed. In remembrance of him, we offered up joss sticks, prepared his favourite food, burnt some offerings and (finally) unveiled his tablet. I still get a little emotional whenever I see his likeness on his urn, but on the other hand it's always nice to see the family gathered together like this. We don't hold family gatherings as often as we used to.

In the car on the way home from the temple, my grandmother showed me the wrinkled skin of her arm, citing her weight loss as the reason. Haven't having laid eyes on her up close in a few months, I was taken aback slightly at how much this sprightly woman has aged. As I held her arm, examining it, I quietly pondered how much time we had left to spend together. I was glad to have finally handed her her intended portion of my bonus payout, today. It's not much, I know, but it's nice to know that I did something that she appreciated.

A couple of hours ago, I was at the hospital to pay Chye's grandmother a visit. She looked so small and frail, hidden under the covers and illuminated only by the backlit yellow fluorescent light. At one point she removed her dentures and sat up slightly on the bed to rinse her mouth. Chye's father moved forward and put his hand under her back to offer her more support. It was a slightly incongruous scene, and I quickly realised why: I had always regarded Uncle as an "old man" and put him in the same "Old People" category as Chye's grandmother, even though he is a good 20 years younger than her.

In 20 years' time we might be that hand of support for him.

In 50 years' time, who would be our support? Our kids? And if we had none, our siblings? And if they were gone too? Would we still have friends at that age?

I know this is all very morbid, but. I just can't help but wonder how it feels like, to be in an elderly person's shoes. To know that your journey in this world is nearing its end. What kind of feelings would be going through your mind, then? How would you wish to be remembered? Will you be remembered?


Or will it even matter then, I wonder?

I am: a victim of my own delay tactics

Sigh, another weekend gone by, again. I don't know whether it is a function of age or work, but since both The Boyfriend and I started out as office drones, we have had less and less inclination to venture outdoors. And I only just started on the work I brought home around an hour ago, though I had the whole weekend to do it. Thankfully it was quite effortless. Either that or I'm just not putting in the effort required, heheh.

However, I must say that things have looked up lately. Less fighting, more cooing. Less work, more bus rides home - as opposed to the comparatively more expensive cab rides that were a staple of my weeknights nary two weeks ago. Honestly, I think a big cut of my pay goes into cab fares. It's so disgusting.

Speaking of which, I really hate cab-snatchers, of which there are plenty around in my company. And it's usually those auntie sorts. Their pattern is always the same, too: they pretend not to see you, and brazenly walk a few steps away from where you're standing to flag a cab. Luckily the frequency of cabs passing by the area is quite healthy, otherwise I would not be merely muttering "bitch bitch bitch" under my breath and eyeballing her like mad. Ugh.

Once again, I can't believe it's Monday again tomorrow! You aren't exactly going to find me prancing in to the office, that's for sure. Maybe I should take half a day off to go shopping. I'm interested to try out Triumph's new Deep V range - hopefully, it'll do something to temporarily alter my nearly-titless state - and also check out the new Bugis Village. Was in the vicinity last week and it looked nicely spruced up, and (more importantly) with more shops per square inch. Ah... to dream....

Best Tressed

Me, at a company event last Friday, at which I was part of the organising committee. It was tiring, but fun!

Yes, I know: I am irritatingly act cute.

Stream of Consciousness Rant

Bah. I missed Fash Bash. For the second time. And it was held over two days! Man, the weekends are simply too short. I woke up late yesterday after playing sitter to a bunch of my drunk/high workmates the night before, and alternated between being present at my dad's birthday bash (I struggled with that, even) and going out with The Boyfriend's friends from out-of-town.

And today - Work. I'm fast becoming a no-Lifer! Ughhhhhhhhhhh. The dumbest thing was, when I was ready to sit down and start punching into my lappie, I realised that I'd brought everything home but the most important bits. Thinking back now, I can't quite believe that I made the trip back to the office and back just to fetch those silly sheets of paper. Argh. Thankfully my sis was nice enough to accompany me. She just sat patiently next to me, with her revision in her lap (complete with calculator) while we made our journey through the rain and back. *pat pat*

Some photos of the energy-draining night.

Their way of saying Farewell: forcing drinks down her throat.

My colleagues trying to strip me. Such nice people they are.

"I just can't get enough. I just can't get enough!"

I wanted to put up more photos, but I think my colleagues'll kill me if they found out I'd pasted their drunken miens for all and sundry to see on the world wide web. And there weren't more of me I can share, because it's much more fun taking pictures of high people doing silly things than sober people sitting around avoiding getting trampled on by stiletto-clad feet, you see.

My Red, Red Heart

As a little girl, I was seriously patriotic. Whenever Majulah Singapura was played over tv or the pledge recited, I would stand, ramrod straight, and belt out the lines with gusto. Ah, those days of self-consciouslessness.

But those things changed as I grew older. Slowly, I started to notice the adults giggling at me when I sang my national anthem at attention. As I moved onto secondary school, it suddenly dawned on me that it was uncool to be seen singing at assemblies in earnest, and learnt to play down my siao-onness, as they call it. Things came to a fore in JC, when I learnt things about my country's governance I'd never even dreamt of before, and started becoming more skeptical about news articles extolling how well the Party had done that year, or how many more jobs the growing economy had bolstered.

So when I was given tickets to my first NDP last year, I wasn't very enthused. In fact, even as a kid who loved hanging the state flag outside my flat, I was never enamoured of the broadcasted event. It simply wasn't able to capture my short attention span.

That changed, however, when I actually attended the event. The flying of the flag as we sang the Anthem, the communal taking of the pledge, and of course, the fireworks, ignited the latent patriot in me once again. There was just something that roused me when I watched it live for the first time. I'm a sucker for these things. Except for the actual parade pieces.

It was the same this year (yes, I was lucky enough to be given tickets again to the event). I may complain a lot about Singapore, but I do love it at the end of the day, warts and all. Here are some pictures I took at the event.

Local Gems

Forever yummy, The Dim Sum Dollies! (And I think I recognise another famous mien in the bottom left-hand corner of this picture.)


The T'ang Quartet! I love their verve. And I like that they looked happy to be there.


A close-up of my fave, Leslie Tan.


Kit Chan! My favourite local singer.

The Parade (or at least, the bits that I caught)

One of the "Red Lions" doing his thing, which, unlike his moniker, is really quite amazing.


Happily milking the parade for what it's worth.

The Sights

I took this picture using digital lens, which accounts for the poor quality. But look at the number of people gathered across the river! Which is a really nice spot to perch (next to actually being a member of the audience, of course) to see a lot of the displays like the fireworks and showcase of the Navy's powerful toys.


A sea of colourful clappers. My favourite was the blue which, alas, I did not get.


A scene which warms the cockles of my heart. This, to me, was worth more than anything the parade could offer. Despite not actually wanting to work in any of these buildings, they nevertheless represent to me the "peace" and "prosperity" bit in our pledge. Mostly peace, but some prosperity too (though not mine). Oh, and the jellyfish are a nice touch. Too cute.


The Boyfriend and I fooling around with a silly hat (which incidentally all the ministers had to wear. Teehee.)

Age is Just a No.

Yesterday (was it really just yesterday?) I turned a quarter-of-a-century old. And although I started celebrating - for lack of a better word - my official entrance into the mid-20s since last Friday, it only really hit me when my close friend sent me an MMS of me holding a cake (my fifth) with the caption "Happy 25th Birthday!".

I most definitely do not feel 25. Heck, sometimes I still can't believe it's been so long since I was in a school uniform. Which begs the question: is age just a number, then?

Aren't people supposed to be getting married and having babies at this age? At least that's what I thought, back in JC days - or at least that's what an old classmate said I had said, when we were having a chat a mutual classmate's wedding. Which is highly unsurprising, seeing as 25/26 seems a long way away when one is 17 going on 18. About a gazillion light years away, in fact.

But we forgot we first had to complete our education. Then, get a job. And after that, get accustomed to - and hopefully, good, at that job. Stuff 17- or 18-year olds don't really factor into when they think about their future.

That said, however, I do have friends who are planning on settling down. 3 of them, in fact, from the same clique (actually 4 because one of the fiances is in this clique as well). Which is really cool and I am pretty darn happy for them. It's just that... I can't picture myself in their shoes.

I mean, yeah, I can picture the wedded bliss, a beautiful home, cooking for The Hub... all the picture-perfect things which fall into the "Too Good To Be True" and "In Love With the Idea of Love" categories. But the reality behind all this? So unchartered and so scary. Will I really have time to cook? Will we fight over what furniture to buy? Where to live? Who to do what household chores? To feed the cat? And, when the time comes, how many kids to have? Whose mother will take care of them? The differences we'll have in how to bring up the children? Will we be good parents?

And that, to me, is the moot point. As it is already, I feel woefully incompetent as a human being. Am I really up to it, this whole sharing my life with another half thing, bringing another life into the world thing - and being responsible for this life/lives for, by the looks of it, the rest of my life? *shudder* Am I really capable of doing that?

Argh. All this, and not even having been proposed to! Which is just as well. One of the to-be-Marrieds asked me if all this is making me feel pressured to wed. And I, quite honestly, told her that no, I subscribe to the Good Things Come to Those Who Wait belief. (Although, and quite honestly as well, I was also secretly wishing I had a Big Dose of Euphoria to cart around too. But that, as afore-mentioned, should also be filed under "In Love with the Idea of Love".)

And thus, I am forced to conclude that age is just a no. (or possibly, simply a big No!) in your head. It doesn't mean a damn thing.

In the meantime however, I shall work on BBP (Becoming a Better Person) and becoming of MMM (More Marriageable Material): both of which are, you would agree, inextricably linked. That is to say, in simpler terms: I'll be ready when I'm ready.

My Opinion of Her Just Sank Even Lower.

I cannot resist commenting on this:

"I also hope that besides seeing my diligence, he also sees how attractive and beautiful I am."

If you've read today's Life!, then you'll know who spouted that utterly bimbotic line.

Now if she said: "I also hope that besides seeing my beauty, he also sees how diligent I am," I'd hold my piece. Peace. She'd earn a lil of my respect. But, yeah, I'm sure Andy Lau loves your plastic beauty, Jolin.

What Jolin Tsai wears under her clothes.

(Ok, this was the original I posted.)

A Tale of Unremarkable Courage

Every morning, I take a bus to work. You've seen them before, those schoolbuses that double up as private transport for office-going people (my carbon footprint looks good, no?) who wait punctually by the curbside for them.

So every morning, I get on this bus, greet the ladies who are seated behind me (only one of them ever deigned to reply), plonk down on my usual seat, get cosy and nod off to sleep. (Things get territorial if you take the same bus with the same people, every day, much like what happens in a classroom.)

Of late, though, I began to experience problems carrying out this usual routine. The culprit? Paper. Not any normal paper, mind you. Sheets and sheets of it. It's newspaper, wielded by the hands of the lady behind me who is determined to read it spread out in its full glory, instead of folding it up into squares politely like everyone else does on public transport (and on this particular transport, too). Everytime she flips to a new page, she jerks the paper heavily, straightening it, conking my head in the process. On particularly news-worthy days, the paper is thick and heavy, and the resultant conking gets rather so hard that it became quite difficult to get any shut-eye at all.

It's not like this obstacle to rest just recently came into existence. No, it has always been around, but recently it has developed to become much more acute than before. Perhaps Newspaper Lady thought she could gradually build up my resistance to the conking over time.

But I, determined to maintain the genial neighbourliness of our relationship, resolved to be tolerant and make no mention of it. (Even though at times I really wanted to turn round and pointedly ask her to read the papers with more consideration for others.) And so, too shy to comment, too embarrassed to ask, one, two or maybe even three months passed by for me in this uncomfortable fashion.

Oh, who was I kidding? On one particularly violent day, I received a knock after falling asleep with much effort. And that was it; enough was enough: Positively fuming, I gritted my teeth and, in a deliberate move, shifted to the outer edge of my seat.

And with that, my troubles were over. I smiled, settled down and smiled, happy that I could enjoy my morning naps once more, now that I was outside of her range - or so I thought. Nary a few days after my momentous move, the unthinkable happened - Newspaper Lady passed her weapon onto her seat-mate, who promptly began to rain blows at me. What use could she still have for it, after all, when she could no longer use it to torture me? I was devastated. I liked my seat on the bus, but I couldn't be as rude as to tell her how Newspaper Lady should be reading her papers now, could I?

A colleague and fellow bus-mate noticed my woe-begone look that day, and asked me what ailed me. I told her my story, and to my surprise, she nodded knowingly and said, "Yah, I had that problem too. That used to be my seat on the bus. That's why I now sit in front of you."

Then it dawned on me. Newspaper Lady was trying to get me to vacate my seat! There wasn't enough space, it seemed, for her to spread her paper just the way she liked it, so that she could read it from left to right, top to bottom, in one glance. Good for the muscles too, judging from the way she holds it up.

And so, my mind was made up. It was time to move. Far, far away.

The next time I took the bus, I cheerfully greeted her like I did every morning, then proceeded to prance happily to the back of the bus. And now, my dear readers, I am able to enjoy my morning energy naps undisturbed on the bus - except for the fact that the air-con blows relentlessly down on me, making sleep all but impossible.

Oh woe, woe is me.

My 1st Meal

Tadah! Here we are, after two-and-a-half hours of preparation and cooking, me still in my office wear, he so zonked he doesn't even know where the camera is.

... And here is a close-up...

In this next picture, the very burnt chicken wing was my tester wing. Other people would've used a bread crumb instead. But that's Ms Coddled for you. Half of the batch you see here were undercooked to varying degrees, and The Boyfriend somehow ate all of those.

And these is the dish I had the most problems with. First, I marinated the prawns in the sauce meant to be drizzled over the dish. Then, while frying the prawns, The Boyfriend noticed that they were drying up very quickly. Are you sure you're supposed to do it this way, he asks. I reply, yes, Alicia (my colleague and provider of recipe and cooking tips) said so. When do you pour the sauce in, he pursues. When the prawns are cooked, I say. Then he says, "I'd better pour some water into the sauce."

But clever me heard, "sumathing pour sumathing sumathing the sauce." And woo! In goes the whole thing, and let me tell you, grayish-pink prawns swimming in brown goo does not a pretty sight make.

He panics, I panic, and it took another 7 minutes or so before the prawns decided to curl up and blush in defeat. Here is the result:

Alicia will be very disappointed to see that I didn't arrange the broccoli neatly in a ring around the prawns. But by then, I didn't care. It was 9.30pm, for goodness' frigging sake.

P/S In case you were wondering, the soup was the best dish. No surprise there, it doesn't take an award-winning chef to throw in a few pieces of pork and lotus root and boil them in water.

P/P/S In case you were also wondering, no the food didn't taste horrid. (Disappointed now, aren't you?) In fact they were rather yummy, with the exception of the omelette, which was the first dish cooked and hence had to suffer the ignominy of my inexperience in front of the wok. (The Boyfriend actually had to come to my rescue, taking over for a few minutes. Oh, the disgrace of it all.) It was overcooked and, by the time we sat down to eat, hard and very cold indeed.

We've Turned Three!

Yesterday, The Boyfriend and I quietly wrapped up our third year as an item. A few simple sms-es exclaiming "Happy 3rd Anniversary!", a phone call, and that was it. But still, happy I was.

Okay to be truthful, we did our celebrating on Sunday 'cause he couldn't manage to take leave, but that was also a quiet, laidback affair. We'd intended to go visit the Sungei Buloh Nature Reserve that morning, but at 6:30am our eyes decided to do our weary bodies a favour and told us (him, rather. I just grunted and fell back asleep) that the skies were threateningly dark, and lo and behold, the next time we stirred, it was 11:00am. Woo hoo!

So we brunched together, after which we went back to our respective homes and scrambled to do some preparation of the last-minute variety of our prezzies for each other. I spent something like 3 hours putting together a menu of the meal I'm going to whip up for him next Friday, while he spent an hour ironing his clothes. Did I say we? Ok, it was just me doing the last-min preps.

But not without reason, okay?. Check out his prezzies!

And I like my presents too!

Not forgetting our lovely dinner at this French cafe off Little India (North Sturdee Road, I should think) called, well, The French Stall.

Looking yummy is this Roast Leg of Duck.

That's the best picture I got, which does no justice at all to the dish, but my chicken thighs tasted good too.

The only problem? No way am I ever going to get even remotely near The French Stall's standard with my cooking.

Yep, very quiet, very simple and very laidback. But still I felt blessed, contented and yes, happy.

My Neighbour is Such a Tease

He is, in fact, a highly inconsiderate man.

This person lives in the block opposite of mine, has no grilles on his windows, and uses bright florescent light to illuminate his room. Add to that the fact the he likes to sit, bare-bodied, in front of his computer for hours on end, and that makes for a very distracting view.

Not that he has rippling muscles or anything of the like; no, he is actually un-toned to the point that I always think that I'm looking at a woman's naked torso whenever I see his bare back.

Despite the definite regularity that this guy does this, my brain still gets tricked into thinking that there might be some tryst happening there somehow. But that dissolves into (dare I say it) disappointment when my eyes linger a few seconds longer.

Such a boring place, my neighbourhood is!

... No Time, To Stand and Stare

Have you ever felt frustrated at not having enough time to do your own things? I know I have. And increasingly so. Ah, well. There never is enough time, is there?

My family celebrated my sister's birthday today. I'm by no means a very good conversationist, but it's always nice to have a family gathering once in a while, to catch up with relatives, and generally soak up the atmosphere.

I also had an extended lunch with The Boyfriend and Jarvis, just keng gai-ing about all and sundry. We also indulged in a little reminiscing, as is de riguer for us. Seems like it's much easier to engage in a bit of nostalgia than talk about the exciting things we have done lately (maybe it had something to do with the fact that there really were none to speak of).

So, very good la, but now I have to rush work that is due tomorrow. Serves me right. I have been putting it off a whole month.

And how did you spend your Labour Day holiday?

Dreary Day?

Suddenly, I felt totally ratted out on.

Maybe I Should Uproot

Just came back from Bangkok, and had a rockin' time there. I spent a disgusting amount of money on 7 pairs of shoes (sadly, all that I've worn so far will cause me to get arthritis prematurely), 7 skirts, 9 dresses and a countless array of tops and accessories. Actually, after the shoes, I'm not very sure if I got the figures right. I tried counting, really, but I started to get a headache. But 'tis ok, because I played the bloodsucking girlfriend for once and let The Boyfriend foot the bill for 'most everything else. And yet, despite this, I managed to blow in one week what my obviously more prudent other half spent in a month.

Of the aforementioned shoes, one of them gave me such gargantuan blisters that the next day, when I slipped on my normally comfy mary janes in anticipation of a day of walking at Ayutthaya, all I could do was wince from pain. I had to fashion a kind of bubble-wrap using handiplasts, and hobbled, duck-walked and whined the whole day. The Boyfriend did not once offer to give me a piggy-back ride, though I once jumped on anyway, but promptly failed 'cause of the constrictive nature of dresses.

We also visited this really cool, uppity bar sitting atop a posh hotel at The State Tower.

the best I could do without a tripod or flash

view from the top

I know it costs a bomb to spend a night at the hotel (which, for interests sake, I think is called lebua), but a glass of martini, at S$15, didn't really burn a hole in our wallets.

my promegranate martini

lovely balustraded balconies

I tried to take pictures at the outdoor portion at another pub 9 floors down, but they were marred by shaking (though well-intentioned) hands! Harrumph.

my best shot.

Well, at least I'm quite happy with this one. You can't tell from the picture, but we were wearing matching shoes. And why am I telling you this? I dunno!

On our last night in Bangkok, we went to the famous Cabbages and Condoms, a restaurant with food as yummy as its humanitarian cause was noble.

Instead of giving us mints after the meal, we opened up the bill book to find some dozen condoms gushing out, obviously an overzealous attempt to teach us safe sex.

Oh man, I loved Bangkok. Can't wait to go back.

My Inner Blonde

"Darling," I whined. "My scalp is itchy..."

"How come? I thought you changed your shampoo already?" The Boyfriend inquired.

"Yah, but I switched back 'cause the other one isn't colour safe," said I.

Audible sigh from the other side of the line.

"What is more important leh? Your scalp or your hair colour?"

Sheepish pause.



"Scalp lah..." said I, ashamedly.



Anyways, on an unrelated note, here's a shot of The Boyfriend enjoying himself amidst all the little children on his birthday.

Everyone turned out in their old school uniforms to mark this nostalgic guy turning a quarter of a century old.

Eugene had specially dug out his sec school uniform for Chye to put on. We were all amazed at how slim he is. Or, put another way, how much Eugene had gained.

Sheesh!

I'd always wanted to try my hand at smoking sheesha, so on Friday night Barry took me to this nice little restaurant tucked away in Arab Street. It had a nice chill-out vibe to it.

Listening to the band play (they used an interesting mesh of western and classical muscial instruments) while sipping on my hot glass of mint leaves, I felt like I'd been transported half a world away.

There was even eye-candy. He's quite blurry in the picture above, 'cause he was so engrossed enjoying himself in the dance. The whole restaurant had a relaxed, familial air about it, as if we were guests at someone's abode. As the night went on, more and more people showed up - not as customers, but performers - and the band just made space for them on the stage or on the dancefloor by passing them another instrument or involving them in one of the dances.

Ah, yes. The sheesha I went for. I had an inkling that it contained tobacco, but I'd long wanted to know what it was like to smoke, even if I only did it once. I ordered an apple-flavoured one, but I suspect that the waiter just brought me something generic - the smoke was sweet and was not choking at all, as I'd feared it would. And although onlookers wouldn't have any difficulty seeing that we were novices, it was Barry who smoked more like a girl - you know, the way they suck in the smoke, hold it in their mouth for all of 0.25 seconds, and then spits it out with badly-veiled distaste. Meehee.