Apparently, it seems I am the woman every man likes to report 'strength' to.
For example...
Barely a minute after I have logged in, my bro pings me (and he never does), only to tell me:
[23:24:24] Ed says: oi
[23:24:31] Ed says: talk to you later
[23:24:34] Ed says: i go pangsai first
???
Or maybe, just like Aphrodite, I arouse desire... of an entirely different kind.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
18:38
Me: Popped? Send me picture, son and daughter together.
Gor: Popped liao. Will send pic later. Daughter so beautiful!
Heart melts. Eyes well.
Sniffles.
And there you go. The second October baby in the family. And juuust in time too.
She is going to grow up gorgeous, charming and smart like her Gugu.
I really can't wait to get back.
Gor: Popped liao. Will send pic later. Daughter so beautiful!
Heart melts. Eyes well.
Sniffles.
And there you go. The second October baby in the family. And juuust in time too.
She is going to grow up gorgeous, charming and smart like her Gugu.
I really can't wait to get back.
"The One Where Tony Showed The World His Balls"
"Nooo... No, man. You don't watch that kind of shows with your brother, man."
Well, we laughed it off. And we did.
Thanks, bro.
Some call it a soft porn flick. Others disagree and say it's actually a cleverly disguised hardcore X-rated film to soothe Tony's career-long itch.
I think it's a rather beautiful yet painful love story. One where great love-making discerns itself from merely great sex. She wouldn't have protected him if she had just been having great sex. Would she?
Very spookily, it touched me in a very real way too.
Something I can only feel, but can never explain.
The one other thing that the movie portrayed to my heart's content, something which I have always believed in, is that pai kias, no matter how pai, also know how to fall in love truly, madly, deeply.
Maybe it's the boys-next-door instead, like the stoney (and actually rather ugly) Lee-Hom dude, who don't actually know.
Way to go, Tony.
I am loving you more and more now. You've got some good old balls there.
Well, we laughed it off. And we did.
Thanks, bro.
Some call it a soft porn flick. Others disagree and say it's actually a cleverly disguised hardcore X-rated film to soothe Tony's career-long itch.
I think it's a rather beautiful yet painful love story. One where great love-making discerns itself from merely great sex. She wouldn't have protected him if she had just been having great sex. Would she?
Very spookily, it touched me in a very real way too.
Something I can only feel, but can never explain.
The one other thing that the movie portrayed to my heart's content, something which I have always believed in, is that pai kias, no matter how pai, also know how to fall in love truly, madly, deeply.
Maybe it's the boys-next-door instead, like the stoney (and actually rather ugly) Lee-Hom dude, who don't actually know.
Way to go, Tony.
I am loving you more and more now. You've got some good old balls there.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Indescribable
You know you're fucked for the rest of the day when...
1. You have a 7.45 am meeting with the boss, and you jump out of bed just five minutes before.
2. You know you have been diligently counting your days for the last thirty days, and you know you are going to remember to dump the reserves in your bag before you leave for work the next morning, but you actually forget because you have to jump into the shower, get dressed and then get out of the fuckin' house in fifteen minutes.
3. It actually does, for once, come on time, and you run down to Watson's to grab a box of 32 o.b.'s with only a fifty-dollar note in your hands, only to find out that, hey, it's fuckin' "No Plastic Bag Day".
They say good things come in three's.
I fuckin' hope the bad things do too.
1. You have a 7.45 am meeting with the boss, and you jump out of bed just five minutes before.
2. You know you have been diligently counting your days for the last thirty days, and you know you are going to remember to dump the reserves in your bag before you leave for work the next morning, but you actually forget because you have to jump into the shower, get dressed and then get out of the fuckin' house in fifteen minutes.
3. It actually does, for once, come on time, and you run down to Watson's to grab a box of 32 o.b.'s with only a fifty-dollar note in your hands, only to find out that, hey, it's fuckin' "No Plastic Bag Day".
They say good things come in three's.
I fuckin' hope the bad things do too.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Kiam Cai
So it is, and so it shall be. This is going to be jiak kiam cai month for me.
So it’s gonna be: No soy lattes in the mornings. No unnecessary jumping into cabs. No fancy lunches… no, make that, no multi-lunches. No good-food indulgences. No unnecessary trips to the supermarket(s). No Godivas. No sushis… okay, not every other day at least. No “happening-to-walk-past” Muji. No drinks out on weekdays. No lymphatic drainage treatments (Bobo says I have “not much toxins left” in my body anyway, but still I wonder…).
I will hole myself in every night. I could watch a couple of movies. I could read a book. I could go for a run in the gym. I could try to do some work at home. I could study my recipes. I could search for more on the internet. I could stalk people on Facebook. Or, I could just iron and iron and iron. I probably have to refrain from fancy dishes, but I could still cook my instant noodles with eggs. I didn’t say “no drinks”, only “no drinks out”, so I could surely stone at home.
Heck. I could actually just go to bed early.
But thank goodness for all those unnecessary trips I did make to the supermarket over the past week. ‘Cos now my pantry and refridgerator are looking pretty well stocked for kiam cai days like these.
You. Yes, you with the gorgeous face sitting in the window. The one who caught my good eye yesterday.
Too bad, you might have to wait a little longer than I hoped.
But I will get you out of there one day.
So it’s gonna be: No soy lattes in the mornings. No unnecessary jumping into cabs. No fancy lunches… no, make that, no multi-lunches. No good-food indulgences. No unnecessary trips to the supermarket(s). No Godivas. No sushis… okay, not every other day at least. No “happening-to-walk-past” Muji. No drinks out on weekdays. No lymphatic drainage treatments (Bobo says I have “not much toxins left” in my body anyway, but still I wonder…).
I will hole myself in every night. I could watch a couple of movies. I could read a book. I could go for a run in the gym. I could try to do some work at home. I could study my recipes. I could search for more on the internet. I could stalk people on Facebook. Or, I could just iron and iron and iron. I probably have to refrain from fancy dishes, but I could still cook my instant noodles with eggs. I didn’t say “no drinks”, only “no drinks out”, so I could surely stone at home.
Heck. I could actually just go to bed early.
But thank goodness for all those unnecessary trips I did make to the supermarket over the past week. ‘Cos now my pantry and refridgerator are looking pretty well stocked for kiam cai days like these.
You. Yes, you with the gorgeous face sitting in the window. The one who caught my good eye yesterday.
Too bad, you might have to wait a little longer than I hoped.
But I will get you out of there one day.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Two-Course
Because it's my first, and probably only, meal of the day, and because I played so much, so hard at basketball today (my team did well, we thrashed two teams in a row and then another three, so I must've played for an hour straight at least), I decide I deserve a two-course dinner tonight. Even though my body was begging for a rest on the couch.
With whatever I still have left in the refridgerator, I whip up an appetizer of fresh greens and mushrooms, stir-fried Momma's way.
I start on the appetizer as it is served, so, like a true chef, I can start cooking my main course and then eat it fresh and hot.
It is indeed a simple dish. Olive oil, garlic, assorted mushrooms, a little bit of the water in which the shitakes were soaked, a dash of salt and hua tiao wine, basil and freshly ground black pepper.
And I am in heaven.
I am not a great cook. You just can never go wrong with pasta done the aglio olio way.
I am done cleaning up the pseudo-kitchenette. And also done cleaning myself up. Like I said to Pi, "I just came back from bball also... so chao chao and oily oily."
I am sitting on the couch, powerbook on my lap, feet propped up on the coffee table, being very careful not to kick my glass of Rioja.
My Devils have just beaten the crap out of the Mee Rebus. My mind's partially wandering off, thinking if I can find squid ink in City Super.
I should just chill at home, but the boys are beckoning from somewhere noisy out there.
I love cooking. But I hate the permanent smell of garlic that seems to have been infused into my fingers ever since. And I am keeping count of the number of fresh cuts on my disfiguring hands.
Life. It's never fair, is it?
With whatever I still have left in the refridgerator, I whip up an appetizer of fresh greens and mushrooms, stir-fried Momma's way.
I start on the appetizer as it is served, so, like a true chef, I can start cooking my main course and then eat it fresh and hot.
It is indeed a simple dish. Olive oil, garlic, assorted mushrooms, a little bit of the water in which the shitakes were soaked, a dash of salt and hua tiao wine, basil and freshly ground black pepper.
And I am in heaven.
I am not a great cook. You just can never go wrong with pasta done the aglio olio way.
I am done cleaning up the pseudo-kitchenette. And also done cleaning myself up. Like I said to Pi, "I just came back from bball also... so chao chao and oily oily."
I am sitting on the couch, powerbook on my lap, feet propped up on the coffee table, being very careful not to kick my glass of Rioja.
My Devils have just beaten the crap out of the Mee Rebus. My mind's partially wandering off, thinking if I can find squid ink in City Super.
I should just chill at home, but the boys are beckoning from somewhere noisy out there.
I love cooking. But I hate the permanent smell of garlic that seems to have been infused into my fingers ever since. And I am keeping count of the number of fresh cuts on my disfiguring hands.
Life. It's never fair, is it?
Friday, October 26, 2007
珊瑚海
世界上面积最大、水体最深的海
Even when I have not in the least bit found him yet, I am kinda missing that one who will sing about the coral sea with me.
Even when I have not in the least bit found him yet, I am kinda missing that one who will sing about the coral sea with me.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Fall
I can actually feel the turn in weather over the past two weeks. Which should really be a blessing, because I no longer have to go to work with sweaty armpits.
Walking anywhere is such a literal breeze. The sun is masqueraded by the gloom of the haze most days, so going to work at seven in the morning has turned out to be one of my favorite times of the day.
Then again, the sun sets at six these days too, and it depresses me if I was still writing an email at six-thirty. The chilly wind starts its work by around six too, and I shiver every Saturday evening all the way home from the court, especially on the train ride. Wait, make that… I crawl and shiver. I feel embarrassingly chilled sometimes, walking home in the nights but I try to walk slower, to savor these cool nights before it gets too cold in a matter of weeks.
And oh yes, it will get colder this winter. Or at least, that’s what every other person is saying. The weather didn’t turn till November last year, they say.
We’ll see.
In the meantime, I am in a furious bid to wear all my tank tops and shorts and flip-flops whenever I can, and while I still can.
I miss the beach tons, though. I have all my beach gear, from the bikini to the mat, with me from Day One since I came.
But I think I’ll never get to lie on the beach anytime before Christmas.
Walking anywhere is such a literal breeze. The sun is masqueraded by the gloom of the haze most days, so going to work at seven in the morning has turned out to be one of my favorite times of the day.
Then again, the sun sets at six these days too, and it depresses me if I was still writing an email at six-thirty. The chilly wind starts its work by around six too, and I shiver every Saturday evening all the way home from the court, especially on the train ride. Wait, make that… I crawl and shiver. I feel embarrassingly chilled sometimes, walking home in the nights but I try to walk slower, to savor these cool nights before it gets too cold in a matter of weeks.
And oh yes, it will get colder this winter. Or at least, that’s what every other person is saying. The weather didn’t turn till November last year, they say.
We’ll see.
In the meantime, I am in a furious bid to wear all my tank tops and shorts and flip-flops whenever I can, and while I still can.
I miss the beach tons, though. I have all my beach gear, from the bikini to the mat, with me from Day One since I came.
But I think I’ll never get to lie on the beach anytime before Christmas.
The Original Madmama
hweechie: moral of the story, it's tough being a working mom.
hweechie: so another moral, i wanna be housewife... boo hoo hoo!!!!
lohweilyn: Hahahaha....I am like that too but I can do without the cleaning.
lohweilyn: I will like the cooking and buying grocery.
hweechie: you ah
hweechie: i like cleaning up actually... haha!
lohweilyn: YIKES! You are MAD!
hweechie: so another moral, i wanna be housewife... boo hoo hoo!!!!
lohweilyn: Hahahaha....I am like that too but I can do without the cleaning.
lohweilyn: I will like the cooking and buying grocery.
hweechie: you ah
hweechie: i like cleaning up actually... haha!
lohweilyn: YIKES! You are MAD!
Mama's Cooking
From this...
... to this...
... and finally, this.
"Tell Mom... Mom will be very pleased with me."
I wrote to my Kor within the hour.
I might have done a lot of legwork tonight, running from supermarket to Muji to another supermarket. I might have gotten home only at nine.
But the garoupa was already waiting for me in the fridge, all softly thawed. So were the dong gus, all soft and raring to go in the bowl of water I left out in the open.
There was no way I could... there was no way I was going to back out of the pact.
My apartment smells nice too.
I have found the ways to get around it. : )
I miss Mom. But in a very happy way now.
P.S.: I am actually practising for the sake of my brother. Sigh. All for that family-style dinner I promised my new "best friend".
... to this...
... and finally, this.
"Tell Mom... Mom will be very pleased with me."
I wrote to my Kor within the hour.
I might have done a lot of legwork tonight, running from supermarket to Muji to another supermarket. I might have gotten home only at nine.
But the garoupa was already waiting for me in the fridge, all softly thawed. So were the dong gus, all soft and raring to go in the bowl of water I left out in the open.
There was no way I could... there was no way I was going to back out of the pact.
My apartment smells nice too.
I have found the ways to get around it. : )
I miss Mom. But in a very happy way now.
P.S.: I am actually practising for the sake of my brother. Sigh. All for that family-style dinner I promised my new "best friend".
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Monday Night
I finally made the call today. I signed up for my first real Pilates class. A three-session beginner's course, one-on-one instruction. Not some cheesy class at the gym, not a "side dish" offering at some yoga center. But an authentic Pilates-only center, complete with the reformer machines and all.
Somewhat impulsive, but not quite, since I had already been doodling on this for months. I need those long, lean muscles desperately.
And I actually got a booking for the same evening. Sweet. Everything's falling into the plan. I would rush home and then to the Pilates class. Get some ingredients on the way home (which explains the mushrooms). Cook myself dinner, and save some for lunch tomorrow. Wash the bedsheets. Iron some clothes. Watch a couple of dvds. Then write.
For once, I was being so decisive, and for a Monday night too. What a way to kick off the week.
I am not so much enjoying the first lesson. I actually got started on the reformer, not the mat. But my muscles are so screwed up, I felt more pain than relief. By the end of the sixty minutes, I was walking on wobbly sticks. Okay, not quite sticks, more like stubs.
But you know me, if you know me. There must be more to come for me. One fine day, I will raise my legs with my knees straightened, up to a forty-five degree, with my abs holding my head and neck up - and not shake one bit.
Till then, I still want to go for more lessons because my instructor Jerry is rather yummy-looking. And he keeps saying I'm doing well, he's going to increase the intensity for me the next time (ooOOooh, I like the sound of that already). And he plays basketball too.
I never knew you could sweat so much in a Pilates class.
But so much for a well-planned Monday night. The rest of it never quite got executed because my brother rung me up for dinner. And I never say 'no' to my brother.
I forgot about my disgust at my own abs just about an hour ago, and instead quickly filled it up rather well with a bowl of beef soup and some Vietnamese chicken salad.
Three gin-and-tonics later, I set myself up for another class this week. A Bollywood-dance class, though.
And because it comes for free, I need to learn the moves by myself beforehand. With nothing but the help of a dvd.
"Devis: REMIX". I can't wait to pop it into the player tomorrow night.
Somewhat impulsive, but not quite, since I had already been doodling on this for months. I need those long, lean muscles desperately.
And I actually got a booking for the same evening. Sweet. Everything's falling into the plan. I would rush home and then to the Pilates class. Get some ingredients on the way home (which explains the mushrooms). Cook myself dinner, and save some for lunch tomorrow. Wash the bedsheets. Iron some clothes. Watch a couple of dvds. Then write.
For once, I was being so decisive, and for a Monday night too. What a way to kick off the week.
I am not so much enjoying the first lesson. I actually got started on the reformer, not the mat. But my muscles are so screwed up, I felt more pain than relief. By the end of the sixty minutes, I was walking on wobbly sticks. Okay, not quite sticks, more like stubs.
But you know me, if you know me. There must be more to come for me. One fine day, I will raise my legs with my knees straightened, up to a forty-five degree, with my abs holding my head and neck up - and not shake one bit.
Till then, I still want to go for more lessons because my instructor Jerry is rather yummy-looking. And he keeps saying I'm doing well, he's going to increase the intensity for me the next time (ooOOooh, I like the sound of that already). And he plays basketball too.
I never knew you could sweat so much in a Pilates class.
But so much for a well-planned Monday night. The rest of it never quite got executed because my brother rung me up for dinner. And I never say 'no' to my brother.
I forgot about my disgust at my own abs just about an hour ago, and instead quickly filled it up rather well with a bowl of beef soup and some Vietnamese chicken salad.
Three gin-and-tonics later, I set myself up for another class this week. A Bollywood-dance class, though.
And because it comes for free, I need to learn the moves by myself beforehand. With nothing but the help of a dvd.
"Devis: REMIX". I can't wait to pop it into the player tomorrow night.
Shopping
So this evening, on my way home, I decided I should be more of a 'neighbor' around here. Do something to feel like I'm more belonging to this quirky neighborhood than not. Like I should contribute some back.
Like a clueless pro, I popped into one dried goods store... after another... and then another. Man, they are endless on this street, my street.
Finally, I settled on one where the goods I was eyeing looked more decent. And the shopkeeper more decent too. (Alright, alright. That was the last one standing along the street, and I thought it would be very paiseh to turn back and walk into the ones I "pooh-pooh'd" already.)
Auntie: Leng lui! Oi meh ah?
Me: Dong gu dim mai ah? Ngor yew dai lup ge.
Auntie: Yi di lor. Yi di hai yat bun ge. Ho ho ge. Ho gor dai loh ge.
Me: O-K la. Dim mai ah?
Auntie: Yat kan, yat bat yi sup baat.
Me: Er... O-K la. Bei ngor yat kan.
Auntie: Wa, leng lui ho lek wor. Hiu mai dong gu ju...
For the uninitiated, the conversation translates roughly into this:
Auntie: Pretty Girl/Jude Babe/Miss. What do you want?
Me: How much are your mushrooms? I want the big ones.
Auntie: This kind lor. These are Japanese mushrooms, better than the Chinese ones.
Me: Ok lah. How much?
Auntie: One kati, one hundred twenty eight.
Me: Er... Ok lah. Give me one kati.
Auntie: Wah, Pretty Girl/Jude Babe/Miss very clever wor. Know how to buy and cook mushrooms...
I think my face must've been beaming brighter than the bright yellow plastic bag I was swinging in my hand on the rest of the journey home.
Like a clueless pro, I popped into one dried goods store... after another... and then another. Man, they are endless on this street, my street.
Finally, I settled on one where the goods I was eyeing looked more decent. And the shopkeeper more decent too. (Alright, alright. That was the last one standing along the street, and I thought it would be very paiseh to turn back and walk into the ones I "pooh-pooh'd" already.)
Auntie: Leng lui! Oi meh ah?
Me: Dong gu dim mai ah? Ngor yew dai lup ge.
Auntie: Yi di lor. Yi di hai yat bun ge. Ho ho ge. Ho gor dai loh ge.
Me: O-K la. Dim mai ah?
Auntie: Yat kan, yat bat yi sup baat.
Me: Er... O-K la. Bei ngor yat kan.
Auntie: Wa, leng lui ho lek wor. Hiu mai dong gu ju...
For the uninitiated, the conversation translates roughly into this:
Auntie: Pretty Girl/Jude Babe/Miss. What do you want?
Me: How much are your mushrooms? I want the big ones.
Auntie: This kind lor. These are Japanese mushrooms, better than the Chinese ones.
Me: Ok lah. How much?
Auntie: One kati, one hundred twenty eight.
Me: Er... Ok lah. Give me one kati.
Auntie: Wah, Pretty Girl/Jude Babe/Miss very clever wor. Know how to buy and cook mushrooms...
I think my face must've been beaming brighter than the bright yellow plastic bag I was swinging in my hand on the rest of the journey home.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Befitting
This has baffled me for years, but I think I will never figure out why I can, in all of ten short minutes, stride into a shop, pick out a basketball shoe, ask very decisively for my size, try it on but not look into the mirror, take out my wallet, and pay freakin 800 bucks for it.
Yet I can never bear to part with anything less for a dress or a jacket that I try over and over again, scrutinize and admire and scrutinize again to death in the dressing room mirror for maybe, say, twenty minutes. If there's no long queue outside.
It kills me. Shopping does.
So I'd rather not.
But I suppose what matters is not the price that happiness comes with, that I have to pay.
It's what fits.
And you'd never know what fits, till you try it.
Yet I can never bear to part with anything less for a dress or a jacket that I try over and over again, scrutinize and admire and scrutinize again to death in the dressing room mirror for maybe, say, twenty minutes. If there's no long queue outside.
It kills me. Shopping does.
So I'd rather not.
But I suppose what matters is not the price that happiness comes with, that I have to pay.
It's what fits.
And you'd never know what fits, till you try it.
Reds
For someone who really loves her wine, I really suck at the cork.
(I am really good with my words, ain't I?)
After all this while of sticking to fail-proof reds from Marlborough, I finally discovered Spanish Rioja tonight.
The Spaniard I met in Boston was perhaps right after all. They do make some heaven in the vineyards up north.
(I am really good with my words, ain't I?)
After all this while of sticking to fail-proof reds from Marlborough, I finally discovered Spanish Rioja tonight.
The Spaniard I met in Boston was perhaps right after all. They do make some heaven in the vineyards up north.
Tong Choy
No particular reason for this post, except that it's another one of those I-miss-home kinda thingy.
And it should have been stir-fried with belachan lah.
And it should have been stir-fried with belachan lah.
"Almost Orgasmic"
It all started with an innocent question.
Me: So tell me, during those few days you were back home, what did you have for your meals?
Madboy: OH... You don't wanna know.
Me: Say lah.
Madboy: Lontong for breakfast. Nasi padang, mee siam, fried chicken, nasi goreng, sambal sotong...
I went deaf, and into a subconscious frenzy from there.
The next day, I received a dinner invitation for Saturday night.
A sweet young couple from Singers as well, whom I got to know through Madboy, asked if I would like to have dinner at their place. And I never ever turn down a house dinner invitation. Because I know I would be so crushed if I were the host and someone said, "No, I don't want to come to your place for dinner."
I was an awful guest, though. Dinner was half-past-seven. But by the time I crawled home from the courts, picked up a bottle of wine on the way, rested my aching legs, took a shower, dried my hair and finally found the energy to climb onto a cab, it was already ten when I rang the doorbell.
It was a small party. The hosting couple, another Singaporean-Swiss couple and then Madboy. I was pleasantly surprised to find a very DINK-ily yet cosily designed apartment, though perched just one level above the roaring traffic along Caine Road. I was even more surprised to find out the couple had actually bought the apartment. The kitchen was built outside at the balcony - a very thoughtful design for a small apartment. And the balcony was also where we sat around a huge dining table, enjoying the reds and homemade mohitos and fags, the cool night breeze and the revving engines of the buses below us.
The iPod provided the in-house trance for the night. Madboy and gang provided the intellectual company for the night - mostly about ghosts and movies.
But it was the food.
The home-cooked food that remained in my mind after I left the apartment, and even while I was watching the rugby game in a boisterous pub.
Curry chicken. Beef rendang. Sambal goreng (with tempeh, sweet potatoes and okra!). Dhal.
Being the last guest to arrive, I'd like to think I did the couple a favor by finishing up most of the food, and sparing them from any leftovers.
So I woke up today with only one die-die-must-do mission in mind.
The target? That Malaysian eatery, just five minutes away, someone told me was rather authentic and actually pretty good.
Well, that someone sure wasn't lying.
Me: So tell me, during those few days you were back home, what did you have for your meals?
Madboy: OH... You don't wanna know.
Me: Say lah.
Madboy: Lontong for breakfast. Nasi padang, mee siam, fried chicken, nasi goreng, sambal sotong...
I went deaf, and into a subconscious frenzy from there.
The next day, I received a dinner invitation for Saturday night.
A sweet young couple from Singers as well, whom I got to know through Madboy, asked if I would like to have dinner at their place. And I never ever turn down a house dinner invitation. Because I know I would be so crushed if I were the host and someone said, "No, I don't want to come to your place for dinner."
I was an awful guest, though. Dinner was half-past-seven. But by the time I crawled home from the courts, picked up a bottle of wine on the way, rested my aching legs, took a shower, dried my hair and finally found the energy to climb onto a cab, it was already ten when I rang the doorbell.
It was a small party. The hosting couple, another Singaporean-Swiss couple and then Madboy. I was pleasantly surprised to find a very DINK-ily yet cosily designed apartment, though perched just one level above the roaring traffic along Caine Road. I was even more surprised to find out the couple had actually bought the apartment. The kitchen was built outside at the balcony - a very thoughtful design for a small apartment. And the balcony was also where we sat around a huge dining table, enjoying the reds and homemade mohitos and fags, the cool night breeze and the revving engines of the buses below us.
The iPod provided the in-house trance for the night. Madboy and gang provided the intellectual company for the night - mostly about ghosts and movies.
But it was the food.
The home-cooked food that remained in my mind after I left the apartment, and even while I was watching the rugby game in a boisterous pub.
Curry chicken. Beef rendang. Sambal goreng (with tempeh, sweet potatoes and okra!). Dhal.
Being the last guest to arrive, I'd like to think I did the couple a favor by finishing up most of the food, and sparing them from any leftovers.
So I woke up today with only one die-die-must-do mission in mind.
The target? That Malaysian eatery, just five minutes away, someone told me was rather authentic and actually pretty good.
Well, that someone sure wasn't lying.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Blisters
To whoever out there even mildly interested in the progress of my basketball career, I'd like to send out a little reassurance. That Fat-Ol'-Mama is still treating it a real serious affair, never once failing a single session every Saturday afternoon. And that I am doing well in it and, if you may allow a little further elaboration that you might deem however as bragging, in fact getting better every week.
Let me just put it this way. No one would let me shoot now.
"Good, we got the shooter in the team."
"Pass the ball to her!"
"Don't let her... tiu!"
In fact, in just two months, I've worn out my shoes. And I figured I should pat myself on the back, reward myself, and perhaps invest in some new kicks.
LeBrons, but of course.
And yes, in case you were wondering also, I am still crawling home every Saturday evening.
Let me just put it this way. No one would let me shoot now.
"Good, we got the shooter in the team."
"Pass the ball to her!"
"Don't let her... tiu!"
In fact, in just two months, I've worn out my shoes. And I figured I should pat myself on the back, reward myself, and perhaps invest in some new kicks.
LeBrons, but of course.
And yes, in case you were wondering also, I am still crawling home every Saturday evening.
Friday, October 19, 2007
New Skool
"Mr Mike!!! I actually miss your fartleks, you know."
Finding, and adding, a bunch of your school teachers on Facebook is amusing enough (bearing in mind the era I came from).
But getting poked by them??
Absolutely ticklish!!
Finding, and adding, a bunch of your school teachers on Facebook is amusing enough (bearing in mind the era I came from).
But getting poked by them??
Absolutely ticklish!!
Dinner at Brunch
Yes, it's a lazy Friday.
I've had a rather satisfying twelve-hour sleep. There's no work to think of (actually, there is but I do realize I have a choice). There's no urgent errand to run. There's some laundry waiting but it still can wait. There's not much food left in the fridge, except for some yogurt, some soya milk but tons of beer and soda water. And red wine and sake.
And most of my folks are out of town. So is there any better day to sit out alone at my favorite cafe that I've been neglecting of late?
But in all honesty, this is somewhat a guilt trip. After I had made Brunchgirl reinstate the Grilled Tuna Salad (not that I liked it so much, but I was just being a bitch because they took it off the board before I could ever try it!) on the Chef's Special menu blackboard, since weeks ago, I figure I'd better turn up and actually eat it.
It was okay, not mindblowingly awesome, but it's hard to find seared semi-raw tuna most anywhere. I didn't like it though, that there was just a tad too much black pepper.
But that almost-perfectly poached egg that I added as an extra topping. Mmm mmm mmm.
It was the poached egg that saved the day.
And NO.
I am not hum ji ok.
I will still eat salmon salmon more salmon.
I've had a rather satisfying twelve-hour sleep. There's no work to think of (actually, there is but I do realize I have a choice). There's no urgent errand to run. There's some laundry waiting but it still can wait. There's not much food left in the fridge, except for some yogurt, some soya milk but tons of beer and soda water. And red wine and sake.
And most of my folks are out of town. So is there any better day to sit out alone at my favorite cafe that I've been neglecting of late?
But in all honesty, this is somewhat a guilt trip. After I had made Brunchgirl reinstate the Grilled Tuna Salad (not that I liked it so much, but I was just being a bitch because they took it off the board before I could ever try it!) on the Chef's Special menu blackboard, since weeks ago, I figure I'd better turn up and actually eat it.
It was okay, not mindblowingly awesome, but it's hard to find seared semi-raw tuna most anywhere. I didn't like it though, that there was just a tad too much black pepper.
But that almost-perfectly poached egg that I added as an extra topping. Mmm mmm mmm.
It was the poached egg that saved the day.
And NO.
I am not hum ji ok.
I will still eat salmon salmon more salmon.
One True Love
So, they are trying to tell me, salmon is good and all but too much of it is not good because of potential mercury-poisoning?
How can too much of anything good be no good?
Who the fuck are they anyway??
Yummmsss...
How can too much of anything good be no good?
Who the fuck are they anyway??
Yummmsss...
Soup (preferably, black chicken please...)
Some things in life, you always take for granted. But then you feel the cruellest of heartaches from too-intense pining when you're devastatingly deprived of them.
Like, take Mom's soups for instance.
For all of my thirty years of existence, Mom's painstakingly-boiled soups have always been "just another dish on the dinner table". (Actually, Mom's so immune to cooking soup everyday, I don't think it's any longer a painstaking process.) I mean, I love the soups, anyday. But yeah, it's there everyday and I take it for granted. Like on days when Mom serves only boring egg soup (you practically crack a couple of eggs into boiling water and add some salt for taste, and maybe some minced chicken), I frown at her and wonder why she was so lazy that day. When I find out from friends that soups are a rare delicacy on their own dinner tables, I exclaim, "WHAT?! No soup?!"
My most despicable, unfilial act came to a head when I began eschewing Mom's soups - in favor of my other beverage of preference, like, of course, alcoholic ones. I almost stopped going home for dinners every night, preferring instead to hang out at the villa with the chicks. Mom was kind, very kind enough to never quite nag at me for not eating home at nights. Too kind in fact, when she started telling me, "Mei ah, you everyday eat outside, not good. (Mom is so kind, she never talks about my drinking, though she knows because she still has a good nose) I am going to cook this (very nutritious) soup for you tonight, when you come home (and she knows I will come home very late), you remember to heat it up and drink ah."
At the other end of the phone call, I would be scrunching up my face, "O-K." To me, heating up and drinking soup after a night of drinks was a very troublesome process, I just wanted to flop onto bed and sleep. Of course, I usually forgot about the soups, especially on nights when I just flopped on the sofa and slept.
Mom would call me the next day while I was already out, "Mei! Last night never drink soup ah? Tonight, must remember ah." And then, sometime around eight in the evening, the phone would ring again, "Mei ah, tonight come back, remember ah."
Then, I would forget again.
It even came to a point when Mom would wake up from her sleep the minute I stepped into the house at midnight (that's an understatement), and then get up and heat the soup for me. Some nights, I would feel really bad. Others, I would feel like I was being forced soup down my throat.
But I was not all that bad, ok. Eventually, I did try to remember to heat-the-soup-and-drink. Then I changed tactics: I started insisting that Mom stopped cooking soups for me if I wasn't home for dinner. But then, I would see the heartbreak in her eyes.
Another change of tactic: I started requesting Mom to cook certain soups. And I promised to drink them at nights, whether I was home for dinner or not.
There are not many other ways to make my Mom light up, but requesting for her soups is surely one.
I have been pining for Mom's soups for the longest time since I left her.
And it hasn't helped that I have also been sickly for the longest time since I came here. And I have never been this sickly all my life.
I have been looking up recipes on boiled soups, the traditional Cantonese way, the way Mom cooks her soups. But they don't seem to look as good as Mom's soups taste.
I have also been eyeing one of those vacuum thermal pots at the departmental stores. It all looks rather obviously easy. I could just pop in all the ingredients into the thermal pot and let them cook for the ten hours while I would be at work. I live right on the street where all the Chinese medicinal halls and dried-goods stores line up in rows. My good friend at work even bought me an English-Chinese soup recipe book for my birthday! What's there to say 'no' to?
I don't know. Maybe it's fear.
What if my soups don't taste like Mom's? I know I would be really, really disappointed.
The next time I go home, I am going home to drink soup everyday. Heck, make that breakfast and dinner.
And then, I am going to steal some recipes from Mom.
Perhaps, I am not that deprived of late. I thank my stars for blessing me with true good friends along my journey of life, no matter where I may be.
And I just know it. I know I am being loved when someone buys me good ol' soup, especially when they know of my secret yearning. Even if it comes in a takeaway cupboard cup.
Like I always think, love touches not only your heart, but your stomach too.
Like, take Mom's soups for instance.
For all of my thirty years of existence, Mom's painstakingly-boiled soups have always been "just another dish on the dinner table". (Actually, Mom's so immune to cooking soup everyday, I don't think it's any longer a painstaking process.) I mean, I love the soups, anyday. But yeah, it's there everyday and I take it for granted. Like on days when Mom serves only boring egg soup (you practically crack a couple of eggs into boiling water and add some salt for taste, and maybe some minced chicken), I frown at her and wonder why she was so lazy that day. When I find out from friends that soups are a rare delicacy on their own dinner tables, I exclaim, "WHAT?! No soup?!"
My most despicable, unfilial act came to a head when I began eschewing Mom's soups - in favor of my other beverage of preference, like, of course, alcoholic ones. I almost stopped going home for dinners every night, preferring instead to hang out at the villa with the chicks. Mom was kind, very kind enough to never quite nag at me for not eating home at nights. Too kind in fact, when she started telling me, "Mei ah, you everyday eat outside, not good. (Mom is so kind, she never talks about my drinking, though she knows because she still has a good nose) I am going to cook this (very nutritious) soup for you tonight, when you come home (and she knows I will come home very late), you remember to heat it up and drink ah."
At the other end of the phone call, I would be scrunching up my face, "O-K." To me, heating up and drinking soup after a night of drinks was a very troublesome process, I just wanted to flop onto bed and sleep. Of course, I usually forgot about the soups, especially on nights when I just flopped on the sofa and slept.
Mom would call me the next day while I was already out, "Mei! Last night never drink soup ah? Tonight, must remember ah." And then, sometime around eight in the evening, the phone would ring again, "Mei ah, tonight come back, remember ah."
Then, I would forget again.
It even came to a point when Mom would wake up from her sleep the minute I stepped into the house at midnight (that's an understatement), and then get up and heat the soup for me. Some nights, I would feel really bad. Others, I would feel like I was being forced soup down my throat.
But I was not all that bad, ok. Eventually, I did try to remember to heat-the-soup-and-drink. Then I changed tactics: I started insisting that Mom stopped cooking soups for me if I wasn't home for dinner. But then, I would see the heartbreak in her eyes.
Another change of tactic: I started requesting Mom to cook certain soups. And I promised to drink them at nights, whether I was home for dinner or not.
There are not many other ways to make my Mom light up, but requesting for her soups is surely one.
I have been pining for Mom's soups for the longest time since I left her.
And it hasn't helped that I have also been sickly for the longest time since I came here. And I have never been this sickly all my life.
I have been looking up recipes on boiled soups, the traditional Cantonese way, the way Mom cooks her soups. But they don't seem to look as good as Mom's soups taste.
I have also been eyeing one of those vacuum thermal pots at the departmental stores. It all looks rather obviously easy. I could just pop in all the ingredients into the thermal pot and let them cook for the ten hours while I would be at work. I live right on the street where all the Chinese medicinal halls and dried-goods stores line up in rows. My good friend at work even bought me an English-Chinese soup recipe book for my birthday! What's there to say 'no' to?
I don't know. Maybe it's fear.
What if my soups don't taste like Mom's? I know I would be really, really disappointed.
The next time I go home, I am going home to drink soup everyday. Heck, make that breakfast and dinner.
And then, I am going to steal some recipes from Mom.
Perhaps, I am not that deprived of late. I thank my stars for blessing me with true good friends along my journey of life, no matter where I may be.
And I just know it. I know I am being loved when someone buys me good ol' soup, especially when they know of my secret yearning. Even if it comes in a takeaway cupboard cup.
Like I always think, love touches not only your heart, but your stomach too.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
*Sniffles*
I should stop using my work email address for personal stuff.
It's a long walk to the bathroom.
"... Ciaran miss u too. He always mention bout u. That day we bring him to Hong Kong Street buy some chinese herbs for my confinement, he's so happy to go find 'GuGu'. We didn't mention u at all but he kept assuming we r going to find u. How we know??? Cos when we reach there, he was disappointed, he dun believe he's in HK street as y didnt board aeroplane huh? So he kept askingg 'Where's this place?' Then when we gonna leave, he ask where's GUGU?..."
I think I'm going home two weeks later.
*Paws crossed*
"... See? Ur room got so many pictures of u now. So Ciaran can see gugu often ya! ..."
It's a long walk to the bathroom.
"... Ciaran miss u too. He always mention bout u. That day we bring him to Hong Kong Street buy some chinese herbs for my confinement, he's so happy to go find 'GuGu'. We didn't mention u at all but he kept assuming we r going to find u. How we know??? Cos when we reach there, he was disappointed, he dun believe he's in HK street as y didnt board aeroplane huh? So he kept askingg 'Where's this place?' Then when we gonna leave, he ask where's GUGU?..."
I think I'm going home two weeks later.
*Paws crossed*
"... See? Ur room got so many pictures of u now. So Ciaran can see gugu often ya! ..."
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Junkyard
I know I am becoming more and more like someone called 'Mom' when I start keeping used food cartons for no apparent nor immediate reason.
Just because.
Just because.
Analogy
No, it's definitely not like wall-banging.
It's more like a massage session.
"Sometimes it feels really relaxing, sometimes fucking painful. But at the end of it all, you feel damn good about it."
It's more like a massage session.
"Sometimes it feels really relaxing, sometimes fucking painful. But at the end of it all, you feel damn good about it."
Drugged
So after the madness, came the sickness. And the sleeplessness.
I thought it was supposed to get better once I got over here.
I thought it was supposed to get better once I got over here.
Madness
It was a madcap weekend.
And I thought after crashing into bed immediately the minute I got home from the drunken golf game, my Friday night would have diminished into a quiet low. For once.
But nooo. Little did I know, it had barely just begun.
The message came right about one in the morning when I was already out on the way to a late and groggy dinner.
Fatmama: Where are you?
Gorgeous: Fong. Hey, I wanna go Macau. Wanna join?
Fatmama: Sure, of course.
Five seconds later...
Fatmama: Er... you mean like now?
Gorgeous: Yah now.
Fatmama: You mean like you could go now if you wanted to?
Gorgeous: Of course I can.
Fatmama: Oh I didn't know that.
Gorgeous: You really up for it?
Fatmama: To Macau? Yeah.
Gorgeous: You can go over?
Fatmama: Why Macau?
Gorgeous: Poker. Maybe Blackjack too.
Fatmama: Ok. Let's elope.
Gorgeous: You have passport on you?
Fatmama: (almost spitting out her yu dan because this sounded like real non-drunken business now) No. Gotta go back home.
Gorgeous: With passport is enough right?
Fatmama: Yes. You have it? So what's our plan?
Gorgeous: I don't need. But you do. So we pick you up.
In less than five minutes, Gorgeous and Hilarious turned up right before my eyes even before I could finish up the last yu dans, whisked me away in a cab, dropped me home, then escorted me to the runaway ferry - but not before I grabbed three cans of Heinekens and stuffed it into my bag. We'd make that a runaway love boat.
So by three in the morning, the runaway love boat sailed away from the harbor. We drank the Heines out of the barf bags. Hilarious gave us an awesome rendition of 'Purple Rain'. We ate hotdogs and crappy tuna sandwiches which Hilarious squashed into samosa-like... stuff.
By four-thirty, we were strolling into glitzy Galaxy Hotel, and waltzing into the Star World Casino. And that was when I confessed to Gorgeous.
"This is my virgin trip to a casino." Which almost shocked the eyeballs out of his big gorgeous brown eyes.
By five-thirty, I reckoned I had figured out the game of poker, sitting next to Gorgeous even though I was supposed to be Mrs Hilarious. I got my own five hundred dollars worth of credit.
And it lasted me all the way till nine in the morning.
By the time we left at nine-thirty, the morning crowd had invaded the Baccarat tables.
Gorgeous crashed all the way from the cab ride through the ferry ride, while Mr and Mrs Hilarious just laughed all the way home about how... well, hilarious the whole affair had been.
Hilarious. It was absolutely hilarious.
That was all I could say the entire night. And that was all I could describe about my unlikely virgin casino trip to the other folks.
And I thought after crashing into bed immediately the minute I got home from the drunken golf game, my Friday night would have diminished into a quiet low. For once.
But nooo. Little did I know, it had barely just begun.
The message came right about one in the morning when I was already out on the way to a late and groggy dinner.
Fatmama: Where are you?
Gorgeous: Fong. Hey, I wanna go Macau. Wanna join?
Fatmama: Sure, of course.
Five seconds later...
Fatmama: Er... you mean like now?
Gorgeous: Yah now.
Fatmama: You mean like you could go now if you wanted to?
Gorgeous: Of course I can.
Fatmama: Oh I didn't know that.
Gorgeous: You really up for it?
Fatmama: To Macau? Yeah.
Gorgeous: You can go over?
Fatmama: Why Macau?
Gorgeous: Poker. Maybe Blackjack too.
Fatmama: Ok. Let's elope.
Gorgeous: You have passport on you?
Fatmama: (almost spitting out her yu dan because this sounded like real non-drunken business now) No. Gotta go back home.
Gorgeous: With passport is enough right?
Fatmama: Yes. You have it? So what's our plan?
Gorgeous: I don't need. But you do. So we pick you up.
In less than five minutes, Gorgeous and Hilarious turned up right before my eyes even before I could finish up the last yu dans, whisked me away in a cab, dropped me home, then escorted me to the runaway ferry - but not before I grabbed three cans of Heinekens and stuffed it into my bag. We'd make that a runaway love boat.
So by three in the morning, the runaway love boat sailed away from the harbor. We drank the Heines out of the barf bags. Hilarious gave us an awesome rendition of 'Purple Rain'. We ate hotdogs and crappy tuna sandwiches which Hilarious squashed into samosa-like... stuff.
By four-thirty, we were strolling into glitzy Galaxy Hotel, and waltzing into the Star World Casino. And that was when I confessed to Gorgeous.
"This is my virgin trip to a casino." Which almost shocked the eyeballs out of his big gorgeous brown eyes.
By five-thirty, I reckoned I had figured out the game of poker, sitting next to Gorgeous even though I was supposed to be Mrs Hilarious. I got my own five hundred dollars worth of credit.
And it lasted me all the way till nine in the morning.
By the time we left at nine-thirty, the morning crowd had invaded the Baccarat tables.
Gorgeous crashed all the way from the cab ride through the ferry ride, while Mr and Mrs Hilarious just laughed all the way home about how... well, hilarious the whole affair had been.
Hilarious. It was absolutely hilarious.
That was all I could say the entire night. And that was all I could describe about my unlikely virgin casino trip to the other folks.
Drunken Golfer
So last Friday, Boss decided to call it a day off work.
But I was pissed.
Not that I am a workaholic, though I appear to tend toward that phenomenon. But the boys organized a stupid game of golf and labelled it "Team Building Day".
WTF? Now we're like those bastards who golf during work hours? So I stopped after the first nine holes, and stuck to the bottles of whites for the rest of the afternoon. Yes, I was a lesser bastard who drank during work hours.
The only pride of the day? I scored a 64 on my first ever go at the holes. I took a staggering 200 pictures in all. And yes, I also staggered home at half-past-six in the evening.
Okay, maybe the last one's not that much of a pride.
It's awesome to have actually fun people (who, for instance, would act silly in front of the camera as per your skilled direction) as co-workers.
But it's heavenly to have a cute Jap dood as a co-worker.
But I was pissed.
Not that I am a workaholic, though I appear to tend toward that phenomenon. But the boys organized a stupid game of golf and labelled it "Team Building Day".
WTF? Now we're like those bastards who golf during work hours? So I stopped after the first nine holes, and stuck to the bottles of whites for the rest of the afternoon. Yes, I was a lesser bastard who drank during work hours.
The only pride of the day? I scored a 64 on my first ever go at the holes. I took a staggering 200 pictures in all. And yes, I also staggered home at half-past-six in the evening.
Okay, maybe the last one's not that much of a pride.
It's awesome to have actually fun people (who, for instance, would act silly in front of the camera as per your skilled direction) as co-workers.
But it's heavenly to have a cute Jap dood as a co-worker.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Too Cute
Guess which dood gets the spot on my desktop now? =)
Poor Pipes and Gracie get relegated to 'screensaver' status for the time being.
*Heartbeat stops*
Poor Pipes and Gracie get relegated to 'screensaver' status for the time being.
*Heartbeat stops*
Separation Anxiety
hweechie: been thinking of sneaking a trip back home
hweechie: and i keep imagining how pipes would react
hweechie: they shouldn't forget, would they?
lohweilyn: No way. Dogs never forget their owners.
*Paws crossed*
hweechie: and i keep imagining how pipes would react
hweechie: they shouldn't forget, would they?
lohweilyn: No way. Dogs never forget their owners.
*Paws crossed*
Best Wishes
Grandma says to little Donald, "It's Percy Gu Gu's birthday today."
And little Donald lights up and sings, "I want to go to Hong Kong today to see Percy Gu Gu!"
*Heart melts*
And little Donald lights up and sings, "I want to go to Hong Kong today to see Percy Gu Gu!"
*Heart melts*
Next Weeeekend
"You mean I actually get to live a public holiday here next week?"
I don't really care what the Chung Yeung Festival is (though I think it's something rather similar to the Qing Ming Festival), but the little red flag and the little red words on my desk calendar caught my eyes today, and that's all I care about: an extra day to sleep in.
I wish I could sneak home for a haircut. But I shouldn't.
I don't really care what the Chung Yeung Festival is (though I think it's something rather similar to the Qing Ming Festival), but the little red flag and the little red words on my desk calendar caught my eyes today, and that's all I care about: an extra day to sleep in.
I wish I could sneak home for a haircut. But I shouldn't.
Don't Wear Bra Lah
Do you wear bra for the whole day and even at home? I think we should go bra-free after reading this article. It's a message for your health. Please pass this to all female friends you know. I think it's important to be aware of the following facts...
For years, a lot of articles with regards to the causes of breast cancer point to an unhealthy diet and lack of exercise as the major links to this disease which happens to be the biggest killer among women during these last two decades.
These studies would have been most credible if it were not for the fact that several women including Linda McCartney who have been religious vegetarians and exercise- freaks have also been unfortunate in suffering breast cancer.
Perhaps the most convincing article I have ever read with regards to this matter is one which links breast cancer to the wearing of bras. In the "Bra and Breast Cancer Study" in the United States , It was discovered that women with breast cancer had a history of sporting tighter and longer bra-wearing than did the women who had not (yet) developed the disease.
In fact, virtually the entire cancer group wore bras over 12 hours. When a woman wears a tight bra, she subjects her breasts to pressure, closing off the lymphatic pathway from the breast to the nodes. This causes fluid built-up swelling, tenderness and cyst formation. Toxins must be flushed out via the lymphatic. However, a bra-constricted breast cannot adequately perform this cleansing process, resulting in toxin accumulation in the breast.
Truthfully, bras are creating droopy, weak breasts....the breast relies on the bras for artificial support; the body loses its ability to support the breast by itself. This is why many women feel uncomfortable without the bra. What is the solution to breast cancer then? DON'T WEAR A TIGHT BRA! And maybe sleep without them.
There is a remarkable success rate for recovery from fibrocystic breast disease within 10 days to two weeks of going bra-free. Many women have tried going bra-less and recorded a miraculous improvement in their health! Bra burning is no longer a feminist issue....It is now a battle between life and death. We should make others more aware of the hazards of wearing them......
To create awareness Malaysian Women welfare organi zation declare as Sundays as Bra free day at Malaysia .
*****
Of course I didn't write this article.
My Engrish is better. Though I would have loved to write about this, but for other reasons.
For years, a lot of articles with regards to the causes of breast cancer point to an unhealthy diet and lack of exercise as the major links to this disease which happens to be the biggest killer among women during these last two decades.
These studies would have been most credible if it were not for the fact that several women including Linda McCartney who have been religious vegetarians and exercise- freaks have also been unfortunate in suffering breast cancer.
Perhaps the most convincing article I have ever read with regards to this matter is one which links breast cancer to the wearing of bras. In the "Bra and Breast Cancer Study" in the United States , It was discovered that women with breast cancer had a history of sporting tighter and longer bra-wearing than did the women who had not (yet) developed the disease.
In fact, virtually the entire cancer group wore bras over 12 hours. When a woman wears a tight bra, she subjects her breasts to pressure, closing off the lymphatic pathway from the breast to the nodes. This causes fluid built-up swelling, tenderness and cyst formation. Toxins must be flushed out via the lymphatic. However, a bra-constricted breast cannot adequately perform this cleansing process, resulting in toxin accumulation in the breast.
Truthfully, bras are creating droopy, weak breasts....the breast relies on the bras for artificial support; the body loses its ability to support the breast by itself. This is why many women feel uncomfortable without the bra. What is the solution to breast cancer then? DON'T WEAR A TIGHT BRA! And maybe sleep without them.
There is a remarkable success rate for recovery from fibrocystic breast disease within 10 days to two weeks of going bra-free. Many women have tried going bra-less and recorded a miraculous improvement in their health! Bra burning is no longer a feminist issue....It is now a battle between life and death. We should make others more aware of the hazards of wearing them......
To create awareness Malaysian Women welfare organi zation declare as Sundays as Bra free day at Malaysia .
*****
Of course I didn't write this article.
My Engrish is better. Though I would have loved to write about this, but for other reasons.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Lost Without Focus
Truth be told?
I really, really fuckin' hate taking the trains.
And I realy, really, really miss my Ford baby.
I really, really fuckin' hate taking the trains.
And I realy, really, really miss my Ford baby.
Gorgeous October Babies
There's something more (gorgeous) about this picture that keeps making me smile even more. : )
Madness
There's just something about this picture that keeps making me smile. : )
It's all about capturing the moment.
Ok ok. Good subjects make good pictures.
It's all about capturing the moment.
Ok ok. Good subjects make good pictures.
Oops!
I did it again!
I stole a cute miniature Heinz ketchup bottle from the hotel restaurant again!
Oh, the omelette. Yeah, it's much better this time around. With tuna flakes too.
But I've gotta stop it. The Phatpad's beginning to smell like an omelette.
I stole a cute miniature Heinz ketchup bottle from the hotel restaurant again!
Oh, the omelette. Yeah, it's much better this time around. With tuna flakes too.
But I've gotta stop it. The Phatpad's beginning to smell like an omelette.
Deterioration
I am getting rather worried.
In the past three days since, I have been noticeably very forgetful, often forgetting what I'd wanted to ask someone just minutes ago or forgetting what I'd already told that someone just minutes ago.
But worse of all, I have become ve-e-e-e-ry slow. Not in my actions, I still can strip that ball away. But it's my processing chip that's malfunctioning. I cannot catch jokes. I cannot understand people. I cannot block all the sarcasm. What's the meaning of a comeback?
Is this the start of the demise? Is this how it really is?
I am thinking of that picture of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. But no...
In the past three days since, I have been noticeably very forgetful, often forgetting what I'd wanted to ask someone just minutes ago or forgetting what I'd already told that someone just minutes ago.
But worse of all, I have become ve-e-e-e-ry slow. Not in my actions, I still can strip that ball away. But it's my processing chip that's malfunctioning. I cannot catch jokes. I cannot understand people. I cannot block all the sarcasm. What's the meaning of a comeback?
Is this the start of the demise? Is this how it really is?
I am thinking of that picture of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. But no...
Monday, October 08, 2007
That Little Corner Shop
It's not fantastic, but I can't find it any more wholesome than this for sixty-five bucks so far.
I don't know how, but it's making me realize suddenly that I am missing Mom's food - tons.
I don't know how, but it's making me realize suddenly that I am missing Mom's food - tons.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Friday, October 05, 2007
Letter
Dear ME,
I just thought I should write you a letter today. Because I thought you'd like to know how proud I am of you. And because you need to know how much I love you.
I look at you in the mirror every morning. And I wish I could kiss those pretty eyelashes you have. The little blackheads you stare at and grumble about everyday - screw them. 'Cos you have eyes that sparkle, and hunny, that's all other people see. Yes, screw those eyebags too.
Those smiling eyes. That healthy flush on your cheeks. Love and keep them. 'Cos far as I remember, they hadn't always been there.
Oh yes, of course, I do remember those darkest moments. And they manifested in your sunken cheeks, your lifeless eyes. Your skinny ass and even scrawnier twig-like arms. I remember all your friends making remarks about them, but all you said was, "No lah. I'm not skinny. I am ok."
I know you are still dying to squeeze into your size 0 jeans. But hunny, forget about them. They come at a huge price. 'Small' is not the key; 'tight' is. Keep on running, keep on with the balling. You can't do without the ball, you know that.
Right, back to those darkest moments. Yes, hunny, we've gotta talk about them.
I know you've been sllently fearing this day. The day that officially marks your entrance into the next phase of your life. People always say, "Turning thirty is no big deal." But you and I, we know that it is. At least to you. Because this is the milestone that marks your evaluation of your expectations, your redefinition of who you really are.
I remember when you were younger, maybe still in your early twenties, you had grand plans for yourself and you saw in your dreams a very different you the day you would turn thirty. You are none of that right now.
All you had wanted then was to get married to the man you loved, have dogs and kids, be a work-at-home mom by the time you're thirty. You are none of that right now. And I wanna tell you, it's ok.
Because then, despite your grand plans, you didn't really love you. You only loved others.
You only knew how to care for others around you, but you forgot about the most important person: that is you.
I look at you over again, and I still think your best asset is your ability to love. You know how to love, and I am proud of that. Just remember to use it on yourself always. Because hunny, there is going to be no one else in the world who would know and love you as much as you do. Except me, of course.
When you were failed by the most important persons next to you, you failed yourself. I was half worried to death because I thought I might lose you to death itself. When you decided to throw yourself into the throes of depresssion, to fling yourself into the deepest of pits, I remember I had the longest argument with you. But I saw your pain, and I knew then there was nothing else I could do but stick it through with you. I watched you crawl and slip, and crawl and slip, and crawl and slip. And I cried for you, because I thought it was going to be neverending.
I remember the day when you made the decision to throw the towel in. I remember the discussion we had. You told me you had to be the one to make a change to your life because no one else would. You said you had only one more year before you turned thirty, and you had to do it now. No one else really understood, but I did. I gave you my blessings, even if no one else did.
I have to say now, that the ten months you took away from the corporate shithole is probably one of the best decisions you've ever made - for yourself. Because in those ten months, you finally learned to love yourself. You finally created a vacuum where you would listen to no one but yourself. But of course, in that vacuum, you weren't really alone. You still had me but most of all, you learned to appreciate the true friends you would let into that vaccum of yours.
You used to fear the unknown. The daredevil in you would plunge into the unknown, but you lived in fear at the same time. You feared and you worried, and you would start talking to me. These days, you're cool. You no longer fear the unknown. In fact, you're loving the unknown.
These days, you don't really talk shit to me anymore. We just chill out and laugh at the silly things that happen in the day. You tell me, you just want to be happy now. Today. Because happiness begets only happiness. If you're happy today, you're gonna be happy tomorrow. And whatever unknown might happen in the future, it doesn't matter because you'll still be happy then. I give you a toast of my gin-and-tonic and agree wholeheartedly.
You used to beat yourself up really bad, and I am the one who would feel the pain. Nowadays, you take life easy, laughing along the way, and I am the one feeling all the love. You take the pain inflicted upon you by others and you flip it over inside out and toss it out of the window with a kong-fu kick. And everytime you do that, I just feel that rush of power overwhelming me.
You might have taken two years to get to where you are right now. But what is two years in your whole lifetime? Those darkest moments in those years - I hope they remain the darkest.
You're going to meet plenty more folks in your life. Some will stay, some will go. And I think you've already grasped that. Just be sure of who you're going to keep in your heart. Because while you think you have a big heart, it is only that big as your fist.
But you know hunny. You know the ones who deserve that precious spot in your hearts will be the ones who can touch your heart. As much as they bring you all the joy, they will also be capable of bringing you hurt. But that's ok. 'Cos they are inside your heart. If they don't hurt, they don't really matter.
Hurt is ok. Pain is ok. Without pain, you'd never really appreciate joy. Like you always say, without the pits, you'd never really appreciate the sunlight outside of it.
So I am telling you now, you're good to go on your journey of life.
Never fear again, because you know you have me here. Life in the Honks is doing you good. But it doesn't matter where you really are. It matters only whether you have you wherver you may be.
Be good. Go dance more. I know you're dying to shake that tushie. And I mean, outside of your apartment. Which I adore, by the way. The apartment, I mean. Ok, I love your tushie too.
Spend more time by yourself. I love it everytime you decide to stay in and have a sake with me.
Don't forget to keep on dreaming. I love those crazy ideas you always brew in your head. I love those bags you made in your head, I snuck a peek at them the other day.
Go out and see the world. I would love you to bits if you would bring me to Rome. Or, let's just do Japan again!
Eat more. Drink more. I will take good care of you. And no, you're not an alcoholic, contrary to popular beliefs.
Open your eyes. There is everything for you to see and learn. People for you to read and enjoy. Just like books.
Love. Don't stop loving. Love deep, love hard. Write emails. Tell the people you love you love them. You know that's the source of life for you.
Be yourself. Sleep when you want. Eat when you want. Laugh when you want. Cry when you want. Act silly when you want. Don't let anyone stop you.
I have always been your best friend, and I will always be. You are never going to be alone, even though you are alone.
I love you. Have a smashing thirtieth birthday. Get smashed. Get stoned. Just remember to wake up for your basketball tomorrow. And remember to mop your floor, do your laundry and get that damned ironing going.
Luff,
ME
I just thought I should write you a letter today. Because I thought you'd like to know how proud I am of you. And because you need to know how much I love you.
I look at you in the mirror every morning. And I wish I could kiss those pretty eyelashes you have. The little blackheads you stare at and grumble about everyday - screw them. 'Cos you have eyes that sparkle, and hunny, that's all other people see. Yes, screw those eyebags too.
Those smiling eyes. That healthy flush on your cheeks. Love and keep them. 'Cos far as I remember, they hadn't always been there.
Oh yes, of course, I do remember those darkest moments. And they manifested in your sunken cheeks, your lifeless eyes. Your skinny ass and even scrawnier twig-like arms. I remember all your friends making remarks about them, but all you said was, "No lah. I'm not skinny. I am ok."
I know you are still dying to squeeze into your size 0 jeans. But hunny, forget about them. They come at a huge price. 'Small' is not the key; 'tight' is. Keep on running, keep on with the balling. You can't do without the ball, you know that.
Right, back to those darkest moments. Yes, hunny, we've gotta talk about them.
I know you've been sllently fearing this day. The day that officially marks your entrance into the next phase of your life. People always say, "Turning thirty is no big deal." But you and I, we know that it is. At least to you. Because this is the milestone that marks your evaluation of your expectations, your redefinition of who you really are.
I remember when you were younger, maybe still in your early twenties, you had grand plans for yourself and you saw in your dreams a very different you the day you would turn thirty. You are none of that right now.
All you had wanted then was to get married to the man you loved, have dogs and kids, be a work-at-home mom by the time you're thirty. You are none of that right now. And I wanna tell you, it's ok.
Because then, despite your grand plans, you didn't really love you. You only loved others.
You only knew how to care for others around you, but you forgot about the most important person: that is you.
I look at you over again, and I still think your best asset is your ability to love. You know how to love, and I am proud of that. Just remember to use it on yourself always. Because hunny, there is going to be no one else in the world who would know and love you as much as you do. Except me, of course.
When you were failed by the most important persons next to you, you failed yourself. I was half worried to death because I thought I might lose you to death itself. When you decided to throw yourself into the throes of depresssion, to fling yourself into the deepest of pits, I remember I had the longest argument with you. But I saw your pain, and I knew then there was nothing else I could do but stick it through with you. I watched you crawl and slip, and crawl and slip, and crawl and slip. And I cried for you, because I thought it was going to be neverending.
I remember the day when you made the decision to throw the towel in. I remember the discussion we had. You told me you had to be the one to make a change to your life because no one else would. You said you had only one more year before you turned thirty, and you had to do it now. No one else really understood, but I did. I gave you my blessings, even if no one else did.
I have to say now, that the ten months you took away from the corporate shithole is probably one of the best decisions you've ever made - for yourself. Because in those ten months, you finally learned to love yourself. You finally created a vacuum where you would listen to no one but yourself. But of course, in that vacuum, you weren't really alone. You still had me but most of all, you learned to appreciate the true friends you would let into that vaccum of yours.
You used to fear the unknown. The daredevil in you would plunge into the unknown, but you lived in fear at the same time. You feared and you worried, and you would start talking to me. These days, you're cool. You no longer fear the unknown. In fact, you're loving the unknown.
These days, you don't really talk shit to me anymore. We just chill out and laugh at the silly things that happen in the day. You tell me, you just want to be happy now. Today. Because happiness begets only happiness. If you're happy today, you're gonna be happy tomorrow. And whatever unknown might happen in the future, it doesn't matter because you'll still be happy then. I give you a toast of my gin-and-tonic and agree wholeheartedly.
You used to beat yourself up really bad, and I am the one who would feel the pain. Nowadays, you take life easy, laughing along the way, and I am the one feeling all the love. You take the pain inflicted upon you by others and you flip it over inside out and toss it out of the window with a kong-fu kick. And everytime you do that, I just feel that rush of power overwhelming me.
You might have taken two years to get to where you are right now. But what is two years in your whole lifetime? Those darkest moments in those years - I hope they remain the darkest.
You're going to meet plenty more folks in your life. Some will stay, some will go. And I think you've already grasped that. Just be sure of who you're going to keep in your heart. Because while you think you have a big heart, it is only that big as your fist.
But you know hunny. You know the ones who deserve that precious spot in your hearts will be the ones who can touch your heart. As much as they bring you all the joy, they will also be capable of bringing you hurt. But that's ok. 'Cos they are inside your heart. If they don't hurt, they don't really matter.
Hurt is ok. Pain is ok. Without pain, you'd never really appreciate joy. Like you always say, without the pits, you'd never really appreciate the sunlight outside of it.
So I am telling you now, you're good to go on your journey of life.
Never fear again, because you know you have me here. Life in the Honks is doing you good. But it doesn't matter where you really are. It matters only whether you have you wherver you may be.
Be good. Go dance more. I know you're dying to shake that tushie. And I mean, outside of your apartment. Which I adore, by the way. The apartment, I mean. Ok, I love your tushie too.
Spend more time by yourself. I love it everytime you decide to stay in and have a sake with me.
Don't forget to keep on dreaming. I love those crazy ideas you always brew in your head. I love those bags you made in your head, I snuck a peek at them the other day.
Go out and see the world. I would love you to bits if you would bring me to Rome. Or, let's just do Japan again!
Eat more. Drink more. I will take good care of you. And no, you're not an alcoholic, contrary to popular beliefs.
Open your eyes. There is everything for you to see and learn. People for you to read and enjoy. Just like books.
Love. Don't stop loving. Love deep, love hard. Write emails. Tell the people you love you love them. You know that's the source of life for you.
Be yourself. Sleep when you want. Eat when you want. Laugh when you want. Cry when you want. Act silly when you want. Don't let anyone stop you.
I have always been your best friend, and I will always be. You are never going to be alone, even though you are alone.
I love you. Have a smashing thirtieth birthday. Get smashed. Get stoned. Just remember to wake up for your basketball tomorrow. And remember to mop your floor, do your laundry and get that damned ironing going.
Luff,
ME
Loved
I am such a big fatass lazy Fatmama.
It was such a precious day off work. An unexpected one, on my hatch-day some more. Yet all I did for the most part of it was rolling on my bed, refusing to crawl out from underneath my big warm duvet, half the time blaming the splitting headache that kinda befuddled me.
I haven't had a headache for a long while. Did I do some lousy wine or whiskey last night? No, and no. Then I remembered. The stupid absenthes.
Then I recalled also that I hadn't had food down my throat for the past thirty-six hours or so. Which is quite a feat. So I ripped my fatass off the bed, but it took me all of two hours to get out.
I had hatched some grand plans for myself the day before. Like, I would dress up pretty so I could wear my new wedgies. No caps for today, I'd just pray for good hair. I would walk in town like a tai tai, shop around, see if I could grab some impulse buy and call it a well-deserved gift for myself. I would sit in a real nice Italian restaurant and have myself some squid-ink pasta.
But nada. None of that took place. 'Cept the dress-up-pretty-with-my-new-wedgies part. I settled for good ol' pho bo instead. I am in desperate need of soup.
By the time I was done with a small errand of picking up the camera from the service center (yes, dammit!), I was exhausted. And wishing I was still in bed instead. But no. Cannot. I forced myself down to the mall, I was even too lazy to train over to TST.
I walked into my favorite store, and really hoped to pick up something on impulse. The bags were yummilicious, but perhaps not enough to make me go crazy. Thank God.
Three hours after I got out of the house, all I wanted was to sit my fatass down at my Tantra and have my gin-and-tonic.
I am so weak. I hope this is not how being thirty is really like.
But I am a happy thirty-something.
I don't need a crowd around me, but I am glad I wasn't alone - nor on a plane - when the clock struck midnight yesterday.
I woke up to messages on my cell and on facebook and over my email. People whom I never expected to gave me their hugs and kisses and all their best wishes.
The phonecall that came right on the dot, all the way from Venice. The phonecall from the 6788-cronies all the way from Singers - you cheapskates, calling me from the office line, but I still love you guys. The phonecall from Pat the man, who gave me the first sound advice of the decade: you will start to feel weak so go easy on the drinks from now.
The e-card from my chick that had pigs dancing all over for me.
The Kate.
The message from my Kor and he went: Let us wish you HAPPY BIRTHDAY in advance! (From me, Swee Fun and Ciaran, and of course mum, pa, per and gracie!)
Per and Gracie. My babies. Not only could they not send me their blessings with their wet kisses, I had not been able to spend their birthdays with them this year.
And tears came to my eyes in a jiffy.
For the first time in my life, I am not spending a birthday with my folks.
It sure does feel good to feel loved.
I luff y'all too. : )
It was such a precious day off work. An unexpected one, on my hatch-day some more. Yet all I did for the most part of it was rolling on my bed, refusing to crawl out from underneath my big warm duvet, half the time blaming the splitting headache that kinda befuddled me.
I haven't had a headache for a long while. Did I do some lousy wine or whiskey last night? No, and no. Then I remembered. The stupid absenthes.
Then I recalled also that I hadn't had food down my throat for the past thirty-six hours or so. Which is quite a feat. So I ripped my fatass off the bed, but it took me all of two hours to get out.
I had hatched some grand plans for myself the day before. Like, I would dress up pretty so I could wear my new wedgies. No caps for today, I'd just pray for good hair. I would walk in town like a tai tai, shop around, see if I could grab some impulse buy and call it a well-deserved gift for myself. I would sit in a real nice Italian restaurant and have myself some squid-ink pasta.
But nada. None of that took place. 'Cept the dress-up-pretty-with-my-new-wedgies part. I settled for good ol' pho bo instead. I am in desperate need of soup.
By the time I was done with a small errand of picking up the camera from the service center (yes, dammit!), I was exhausted. And wishing I was still in bed instead. But no. Cannot. I forced myself down to the mall, I was even too lazy to train over to TST.
I walked into my favorite store, and really hoped to pick up something on impulse. The bags were yummilicious, but perhaps not enough to make me go crazy. Thank God.
Three hours after I got out of the house, all I wanted was to sit my fatass down at my Tantra and have my gin-and-tonic.
I am so weak. I hope this is not how being thirty is really like.
But I am a happy thirty-something.
I don't need a crowd around me, but I am glad I wasn't alone - nor on a plane - when the clock struck midnight yesterday.
I woke up to messages on my cell and on facebook and over my email. People whom I never expected to gave me their hugs and kisses and all their best wishes.
The phonecall that came right on the dot, all the way from Venice. The phonecall from the 6788-cronies all the way from Singers - you cheapskates, calling me from the office line, but I still love you guys. The phonecall from Pat the man, who gave me the first sound advice of the decade: you will start to feel weak so go easy on the drinks from now.
The e-card from my chick that had pigs dancing all over for me.
The Kate.
The message from my Kor and he went: Let us wish you HAPPY BIRTHDAY in advance! (From me, Swee Fun and Ciaran, and of course mum, pa, per and gracie!)
Per and Gracie. My babies. Not only could they not send me their blessings with their wet kisses, I had not been able to spend their birthdays with them this year.
And tears came to my eyes in a jiffy.
For the first time in my life, I am not spending a birthday with my folks.
It sure does feel good to feel loved.
I luff y'all too. : )
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Surprise!
Home has never felt this sweet.
Especially after a morale-depressing long trip to a place like Boreston. And especially after you had gotten the nod from the boss to fly home a day earlier.
Even showering in your own bathroom feels so special.
A day earlier even after already spending ten days means A LOT. Especially when it means you don't have to fuckin' turn thirty on the plane.
The lady at the check-in counter thought so too.
I finally have one picture to show. Of food. Mm hmm.
Shellfish is best eaten steamed, bare naked.
Despite the grouches, I love travelling on company expenses.
Especially after a morale-depressing long trip to a place like Boreston. And especially after you had gotten the nod from the boss to fly home a day earlier.
Even showering in your own bathroom feels so special.
A day earlier even after already spending ten days means A LOT. Especially when it means you don't have to fuckin' turn thirty on the plane.
The lady at the check-in counter thought so too.
I finally have one picture to show. Of food. Mm hmm.
Shellfish is best eaten steamed, bare naked.
Despite the grouches, I love travelling on company expenses.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Really Reeeally Uggly
I did it.
Anyway, I should.
I am horrible. Six pairs of shoes in one trip. Bought, not brought.
And I just asked the neighbor for a favor to get me that forsaken pair.
I am horrible.
I need to go home soon.
Now I figure out why the ang moh char bors are all so chao lao so soon. If I was to stay here for another week, I'd turn into a prune myself too.
Speaking of going home, I mean I really am missing my home in the Honks.
But I am also needing to go back to home in the Singers soon.
I so badly need a haircut.
All I can say is... the mood's flying high in the sky!
It may be the six pairs. It may be that special pair flying in from Nihon.
It may be...
*paws crossed*
Anyway, I should.
I am horrible. Six pairs of shoes in one trip. Bought, not brought.
And I just asked the neighbor for a favor to get me that forsaken pair.
I am horrible.
I need to go home soon.
Now I figure out why the ang moh char bors are all so chao lao so soon. If I was to stay here for another week, I'd turn into a prune myself too.
Speaking of going home, I mean I really am missing my home in the Honks.
But I am also needing to go back to home in the Singers soon.
I so badly need a haircut.
All I can say is... the mood's flying high in the sky!
It may be the six pairs. It may be that special pair flying in from Nihon.
It may be...
*paws crossed*
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