creme de la fish

A new beginning

2008-08-22T01:23:00.000-07:00

I've moved! http://cremedelafish.wordpress.com/

While the boys are away the girls go to play

2008-08-12T01:47:00.001-07:00

Seven minutes after I posted up these pictures, and way before Facebook posted an update on the album, I had over 20 comments. It fazes me how new media makes communication so much faster and easier.

On another note, cam-whoring is a social disease. Luckily it’s not venereal.

First Art

2008-08-09T02:40:00.000-07:00

As a wedding gift, Patrick organized a personal tour with Sugita, who brought us around the island's cultural sites including Ubud which is Bali's art centre. And since we skipped the monkey tour because I hate feline, non-feline and actually animals of all kinds... he brought us to Semar Kuning instead.

Semar is an artist's co-op where any budding artist can crash at for years or even a week to learn and work with other residing artists. They would also have a chance to display and sell their works. I went there, thinking that I'm just gonna grab some postcards or a small painting but when I saw Suharta's piece - of birds perching on branches in gray and black monotones and pinches of colour - I liked it immediately.

I stood by there, was later joined my Ery and then, he just stood next to me. We liked it, and it's hard to find moments like these, when we both feel the same way, strongly and passionately, towards something.

Came back to Singapore as proud owners of an original art piece!

Ery inspecting as they took the painting off the wall.

Dismantling from the frame. We were told that it's painter was a 50-year man, still active in the literary scene. He was also a Barong dancer in his youth.

The co-op was peaceful, and full of verandahs where artists would draw and paint.

Finally hammered it onto our wall.

Our first art from Ubud!

Herbed bread

2008-08-08T06:05:00.001-07:00

I bought some foul beans from Mustaffa the other day, and went on a mission to create my own version of Kacang Pool.

I made some herbed bread with delifrance back-gu-eh-tease (i can't find nicer french loaves in Singapore).

Take some butter and mix it with some dried mixed herbs. Spread it on bread cut into pieces, stuff it in the oven for a few minutes and ta-da. Ready to be served with some kacang pool, diced onions and green chillies with a side of roasted potatoes.

I also made this raita, a bit of a cooling dip since it's been so damn hot these days. Just dice some onions, cucumber and coriander and add 4-5 tablespoons of yoghurt. Iced honey lemon tea to quench the thirst.

Editor's pick

2008-08-06T10:02:00.000-07:00

It's become my job to look at pictures all day long, pictures from the creme all around the world at that. But when it came to my deciding on a favourite one from my thousands of wedding photos... it became rather difficult.

I liked everything! I sifted through everything applying all the rules of what makes a good picture - composition, expression, value, mood, quality and other rules. They were all my favourites!

And then I realised that every picture seemed "perfect" to me, and somewhat had this invaluable i-don't-want-to-stash-you-away vibe because they simply had meaning. to me. I was looking into instead of just looking at the wedding pictures.

I decided to post this one up because of the unbelievable backdrop. It was first act, scene one in marriageville for us. Cotton candy-like clouds as we were seated on the pelamin, chiffoned beneath an illumination that gently lifted up everytime the breeze whistled through.

It felt like God was smiling down at us.

A thousand lamp posts

2008-07-24T06:17:00.001-07:00

I used to ask myself why I was still single. I was vacillating between realms where all my friends talked (still are) about their love-making in hotels, pelamin colours and their can’t eat-can’t sleep diseases while I trawled clubs (still am) and stalked potential lovers on Friendster. Often when asked about my status, I gave people the lame excuse of being commitment-phobic which till today, I believe, played a part in my perspectives and approach on relationships. Hell, I came from a family where all my aunts are either divorced, widowed or man-less for some reason.

It was always a case of wrong man, wrong time, and I ain’t gonna be stupid enough to jump onto the wrong ship.

So, I’m glad I said “yes” when he asked. We are now a month-old as a married couple and it just feels right to talk about how it all started off.

There were no lavish surroundings or big diamonds. On that night about two years ago, there was a night bazaar near his place and he decided to surprise me with a much craved burger ramly (he knew I was feeling sick and hungry and he would score major points with a gesture like that).

A thousand lamp posts he travelled to reach the eastern coast, to be greeted with a grinning girlfriend of one month. We decided to chill at the park and talked about our dreams, hopes and future as he fended off the constant mozzies sucking on me like a lolly.

I can’t remember how the convo eventually led to the idea of marriage but it did and he casually popped the question. I didn’t cry, yelp or react with multiple aw-my-gawds and just said yes. A resolute yes. I knew he was the one I wanted to eat burgers with the rest of my life and I knew he was the just the man I was waiting for. Nothing else really mattered. I remembered him saying, “People traditionally propose with a ring but look at me, you just said yes to man who brought you a burger.”

I guess this time, it was a case of right man, right time and I ain’t no blind woman not recognizing love when it’s staring in my face.

The burger was damn good too.

No German in the House

2008-07-23T02:40:00.000-07:00

I see a pattern - an urge to go tapping the keyboards right after we have sex, and while he is sound asleep or playing his bass on the couch. Maybe it’s because after every orgasm, my mind is so fucking clear, rid of evils and what nots, that I finally know where to start writing.

So here I am.

Sir Patrick, our tenant, is gone. He left us for Germany last Sunday and it feels different to have the house to ourselves. Four months have passed like the wind at the 12 Apostles (damn man they had winds that blew my sister off) but he’s been an awesome friend and a great friend to all our great friends.

More than anything else, he was an omnipresence welcomed – bearing witness to the momentous “cat fight” (the one where we really fought about cats) , my accidental tit flash one sleepy morning, our dinner parties, drinking nights out, our hens and bachelor night and days and nights we can never forget enroute to the knot-tying ceremony. Even our family and relatives kinda miss him because he was such a kindred spirit, always open to learn and understand about our culture and traditions.

I don’t know why everything has been past tensed, haha, and it feels like I’m an aspiring b-grade obit writer.

Pat, you are missed!

We threw him a farewell dinner at Samy's on Dempsey. For pictures click here and here!

The gang on Dempsey road, about to hop onto Jepp's van to Home club.

Waiting for fish head curry!

Always have time for the passe toilet shots.

The German we grew fond of! Hail fuhrer!

A Stunning Confection

2008-07-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

I've always had a sweet tooth and so I knew that the dessert buffet had to impress me and the guests! An afternoon flow of mini fruit tarts, chocolate eclairs, cream puffs with custard, oreo and mint and chocolate cheesecakes and mango and strawberry pudding in shot glasses was the perfect answer whilst sugar-high guests grinning away made the big day an even more unforgettable occasion.

I would show you pictures but the caterer's photographer (who was there just to take pictures of the products of her "sweat and blood") still hasn't given me the pictures. But I guess you'd have to settle with THE cake - a revised replica of a cake first crafted by renowned baker Ron Ben-Israel.

A three-tiered vanilla cake with blueberries, decorated with dainty lilies of the valley and fluttering butterflies made of sugar and piped royal icing.

It looked so pretty, and certainly in my eyes, better than the original. A great knock-off! So many people even thought it looked too unreal to be real and edible that they had gone knocking against just it to check if it was hollow. Silly poohs!

It was a real and judging from the crumbs strewn all over the lawn afters, it was a real treat for everyone!

Oh, and I am now happily married!

Lead up

2008-06-21T09:39:00.000-07:00

Mum trying out her outfit at the boutique, she fell in love with a long kebaya that fitted her perfectly. She glowed in the pale lavender. We just knew it was the outfit.

Siblings waiting for mum as she tried out different kebayas.

Me getting hair extensions - real hair hopefully not from a dead person.

Hair trial at Lulu's.

Make-up trial where I quinced every now and then.

Our first wedding present!

Bridesmaids' Preview

2008-06-16T09:39:00.001-07:00

A Vera Wang replica

Lulu, my mak andam, scanning for imperfections

There is no excuse for ugly bridesmaid dresses these days unless it's a sabotage by the bride herself so that she will be a guaranteed stand out. Come on, it's hard for your beloved girls to smile if they're garbed in garish bright apricots with sashes so big you can tie around coffins. Life, like mine, is easier when you have happy maids with dresses that don't remind them of their mothers' prom nights.

Some of the dresses were exact replicas of Vera Wangs, like in the first picture, complete with classy matching purple buttons that line the spine. And an absolute Grecian look with a low neckline for the other bridesmaid. Thanks to Lulu's skills and input!

I'm not supposed tho give these previews but the dresses are so gorgeous!

Bad disc

2008-06-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

Today, we bought stuff for the guestbook, and then had dinner at McDonalds. He ordered the Feast of Fury meal, and I had the McChicken meal. I made sure we had the essential condiments though there were no more sweet chilli available so he wanted mayonnaise. And, as if we were eating at a 5-star restaurant, he actually wanted to approach one of the service staff, to ask for a packet of mayo. But before that we squeezed in some time to buy some beachwear from cotton on, spent 64 bucks and then, took the LRT in which we missed the stop we were supposed to disembark at.

We walked home, holding hands, dreaming of homes we might never afford. Holidays we might afford, and all the silly things that happened all afternoon. I'm calling one incident The Bad Disc Incident. He was going to show me Inhalium the Valium, self-made music video of his band at the jam studio but it wouldn't play on our cheapskate Mustaffa Centre DVD player. It claimed that it was a "bad disc" but when we took it out, and there was no disc in it but it still flashed, "bad disc" once again. How can there be a bad disc when there's no disc?! Thus borne a personal joke, that everything bad, a person, the yucky spicy nugget, every negative thing is proclaimed a "bad disc".

I just have to remember this joke.

It's funny why I just have to remember this joke. It's like every single damn detail has to be put in words. Like the yellow shirt he's wearing, the lunch I whipped up or the way he stood outside the door waiting for me as I strapped on my sandals. How we laughed, laughed and then get stressed out about the money and laughed and laughed and laughed at our random "bad disc" jokes.

My blog is soo I did this at here I ate that at there kinda entry, it's kinda like a "bad disc" on its own.

I'm a bad disc!

Nights before the big W

2008-06-14T00:31:00.000-07:00

Two mad, super mad parties before we bid adieu to our single gallivanting lifes! As the saying goes, one last chance before the groom loses his Bachelors degree and the bride earns her Masters!

Though there were no scantily clad men in gold thongs popping out of a cake Vegas style as I had fantasized many nights before, I really had a good time! No better way to celebrate than to satisfy our hunger for drinks and show off unlimited dancemoves from the grinding to breakdancing. The groom is an 80s kid with some Wacko Jacko moves, and the bride can't deny now she's got some rnb blood going on! :)

But I must say, it was the company that really mattered (and not the super nice malibu pineapple and signature suite with two balconies facing the city skyline and men getting jiggly with their thangs on stage). These are friends who have helped us through the bittersweets, workmates who cover my backs amidst ugly corporate bullshit and of course the wedding delegates - they are the real trophies we want to parade with on the aisle.

God, I can't wait. It's less than a week away and we'll be husband and wife. I just cannot imagine the first time, with trumpets playing, I say with pride, that he is my husband. It's like too adult... I still feel like the pny-tailed girl playing with barbies under the table as her aunts yak about bedroom activities she can never visualise.

I'm ready, prepared mentally and enjoying th wholesome feeling. Next Saturday guys!

Pictures of the co-ed party at Fairmont hotel and hen's night at Gotham penthouse!

First day of marital leave

2008-06-05T17:54:00.000-07:00

It started off with an Ed bang! I was not feeling up for it, but after weeks of no clubbing, and Patrick reminding us that we had promised to take him to Zouk, we dolled up and scooted off. To Zion we went and it was all worth it! Especially after an afternoon and many nights of stamping envelopes, writing names and ironing out the guestlist – the thump thumps of the 7 Frenchies was the perfect reward. It's a lore now that no big acts visit our shores!

Anyway, I’ve been on marital leave since last week and will be till July but have so much things to do, with not even enough time to think about my pre and post-wedding wardrobe! And the co-ed hens/bachelor party is tomorrow! More pictures here.

2008-05-19T19:53:00.000-07:00

As some of you may already have surmised, my life is circled around only the wedding these days. I can't help it though, it's like every spare minute of my life has to be filled up with things that I need to do for the big day and hell, I need a vaca when it all ends! Something like sipping rambutan juice (though we do this in bed) while suntanning on the beach (but our room does get warm by may's hot rays) would do me good.

I threw a party of a different kind last weekend where alcohol and loud blaring music were replaced by tantric holy verses, never before seen mackciks pakciks and tons of fat-lined food (nasi minyak, dalcha, ayam masak merah, sambal udang, pachri, cream puffs, brownies, rendang which we catered from PU3) enough to make you OD on the richess of it all. I felt like an overstuffed Turkey being baked for a Christmas celebration, that I puked after he drove everyone back home.

Anyways, we had the religious celebration to "bless" the invites before we send them out to guests to ensure a good turnout. Apparently, we didn't have to wait till the planets were auspiciously aligned (I did check that Venus was 32 degs northwest of Mars which might be favourable but I dunno shite and I am bullshitting here guys).

It was also some sorta housewarming cause we got gifts and ang paus too. More pictures here.

Meanwhile I've found a very good excuse to shop after checking out Eva Longoria Parker's slideshow which detailed out her outfits of her week-long celebration from pre-wedding to bridal shower outfits, to get-off the plane get-up. And she looked fab! More shopping!

2008-05-18T18:23:00.000-07:00

I've always laughed whenever I remembered this saying - that it doesn't matter if the groom runs away because you can just pick anyone in a tux and he's good enough to marry you.

I guess what it's mocking at is grooms' fashion in general, that it seems to be too constricted to classics suits that every man looks the same, anyone of them can become the groom.

There's not much to experiment with suits - with many opting for the safe and classic black suit and unlike brides-to-be, men do not have marathon discussions just to decide whether the bust line is just at the right position (not too nun-high or slutty low). This is a good thing. For Ery, I guess he always knew what it wanted, something unprototyped, a design that would reflect his personal style and yet comfortable enough for a warm garden wedding.

His second fitting went great, I managed to grab a few pictures this time. His suit fitted him well enough to make Tom Ford grin approvingly, and the skinny metallic/leatherish tie plus belt matched but hey the perfect accessory would be me, no...a skinny me on his arm!

A few tips for fittings:

Bring your stuff - shoes, shirt, corset bra so that the tailor can alter a dress/suit accordingly.
Take photos so that you can really see how you look in an outfit without the pressures from you tailor.
Be vocal - let them know what you like to be fixed/don't like/feel funny in.
Bring a friend or a parent whose fashion sense you can trust. They're your most reliable mirrors.

I should post pictures of my fittings soon!

It's some kinda lomo love

2008-05-04T22:25:00.000-07:00

Nothing beats the poetic lomo and 35 mm film. If all goes well, I'll be organising trigger-happy afternoons with lomo enthusiasts soon!

How very dumb and noisy

2008-05-04T04:24:00.000-07:00

Ery is probably persistently amazed at how careless and dumb I can be – leaving without my wallet, atm, ezlink card and the windows ajar when I’m out of the house like all the time. Just this morning, I slept on the wrong side of the bed and dumped everything on his side into my bag hurriedly thinking that I've my arse covered.

Later that morning, I went Where is that sound coming from? Is it from TV desk? only to realize that it was the alarm from his phone, nicely planted in between my meds and lippy.

When it beaconed on me that I was bordering towards bimboism, I frantically clicked on NY times, BBC and CNN and other intellect-driven sites to bring my IQ level back to room temperature. I even read the business section.

I hope it works, I do feel like one plus one does not add up to two. Wait, it does. Does it?

Let’s see. It’s been a good past few days, except for the gastric. A dinner party on May Day saw us leisurely shopping at rail mall to prepare a dinner for six.

Whipped up mashed potato topped with sautéed Portobellos and asparagus as an appetizer followed by mussel and prawn fettucine with a creamy lemon and saffron sauce. He helped me peel the prawns, with love he said, and that simple kitchen activity made me lust for him even more (also largely because I hate peeling prawns).

Disappointingly, the meal preparation passed without hanky pankying despite the optimal quickie conditions.

Listen to that. The noise outside. I guess if you were here with me, you’d also remark about my void deck - rife with sounds of kids kicking balls and playing catch. I wished I was Beatrix Kiddo with my yellow suit and perfect blonde crop, slicing off their ankles in style.

But then again disabled kids playing catch would be a pathetic sight and with the essential limbs at least they’d be able to fend off the resident wanking ahpeks.

They shall be spared then!

iwannagohome

2008-04-28T06:18:00.000-07:00

In true fashionisspinach style, I'm holding back the Great Apartment Reveal (because it's not so great now) though a housewarming (tho it gets kinda hot even with the fans at full blast) party was due months back.

We are still furnishing the interiors but coupled with the wedding, anything re. to the house has been halted momentarily.

But I had to share this for those in the midst of decorating their homes. A fun shop which we discovered recently, one that will inspire and compel you to be bolder beyond the high glossy look every damn renovation co. is pro for, is iwannagohome. It's at its Great World branch where I fell in love with their serviettes. Such pretty ones you've ever seen, your heart tears each time you wipe your mouth with it and many times have I disurged myself from smacking guests' hands when they use one without appreciating the artwork.

I will unhesitantly grab their latest designs but ery will always have his eye on something else. I guess since we first moved in, we have been constantly merging our styles - I'm into vintage whilst he veers towards modern lines - and working towards eclecticism.

This takes time, scouting for pieces to fill up a spot or add va-voom to a room/space. It's good though that we always say what we like or fancy and am never apologetic about the things we prefer. Even to the extend of providing plus and neg points to simple things like a doormat!

The soon defunct Mr E and Miss A

2008-04-25T09:55:00.000-07:00

Look at that! Our own monogram for our favours.

We didn't want the run of the mill initials so we (actually I, hee) decided that we should have a Mr and Mrs but I loved the extra details that "bespoked" (UK bridal mags use this term to describe personalisation) the design.

The duck stands for DJ indieduck, the name he goes by when he's spinning on the decks. Though it was initially inspired by a former hairstyle - his crown waxed up in resemblance to a duck's tail, and indie for his love of the genre.

The fish has been my nickname, derived from an ol' crush. It just stuck on me through all these years somehow.

I think once I've placed a countdown timer to the big day, I'll officially be accepted into the Manic School of Bridezillas.

It's sinking in

2008-04-25T03:00:00.000-07:00

I am not excited yet and this is why.

I had my first fitting for my solemization kebaya and I hated how I looked like, what’s worse, is that I went there alone so there was no-one to make me feel better with unlimited gushes of Oh what a lovely bride.

My two worries – I would not feel good about my body on the big day and that I would forever be ingrained in people’s memories as the fat bride.

Paranoia? I wish you could see me stark naked after I’ve dunked in some blubber-soaked dum briyani with a few chocolate laced donuts as desserts.

Is there anything more soul-destroying than the idea of being fat on your wedding day?

Of love and linens

2008-04-20T12:05:00.000-07:00

It’s late at night now, sitting at the dining room table with ery as he downloads songs with the sounds of a silent bukit panjang outside. Pat's asleep. I love nights like this where we get to do our own things and yet be able to do it together. It seems a romanticized idea but there’s something about the simultaneous activity of him churning out beats and lyrics and me banging my way on the keyboard weaving stories that’s rather amazing. Feels close, the release of creative minds, almost better than anything ben and jerry can ever come up with.

I went to the doctors just now and was quite surprised that he was rather adamant not to prescribe me sleeping pills. I just want to sleep well, I promise not to pound them and never wake up, I felt like cooing. Only in severe conditions, he said. Like yada whatever. I have great difficulty sleeping these days and suffer during my morning shifts – which is sucky because I need to be mentally alert all the time in case a president dies or more chickens are culled – so I see no wrong with getting all pill-ed up in the name of productivity.

I pretty much stayed at home and chatted with various mates but what took me by surprise was a revelation - a seemingly peaches and cream relationship had ended because his love for her has faded. A term that should have been reserved for overly washed linens bound for the chute has found its equal in one man’s love for a woman he had once loved.

When you think about it, no matter how high the thread count or vibrant the colours are, its physical quality will eventually fade like external beauty. Do you throw it out or keep on using it till you’ve time to grab a new one? What do you with the old which kept you warm through all those nights? Evanesced love – where does it all go to?

Randomitivity

2008-04-20T01:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes having nothing to do on a Sunday can be bad but having something to do on Sunday but not be able to do it because you’re so damn tired and sick, is worst.

I have not eaten, have not said hi to my roomie, didn’t go to work and there is a bag of prawnies still stuffed in my freezer – probably happy they aren’t chilling with fellow mangoes and asparagus in a salad meant for some picnickers today.

I should get offline, get out or fold my himalayan stack of laundry.

Lamentations seem to be all that I’m good at voicing out these days, and now with my new lappy toppy, gear up for online rants, like this one, more often than desired.

My first fitting is in two days time and I still have a Jack Black tummy.

The Pulitzer that started it all

2008-04-13T07:33:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d be one of those who’d jump onto the bandwagon of swarmers asking so how does it feel to win a Pulitzer, what was your reaction when you knew that the guy who was shot was Kenji Nagai but I was really shagged from the shift earlier and laid low.

I think its criminal to talk about work at parties!

After a while, the bootlicking and grapevine conversations got to my nerves so I snuck out to rekindle my love affair with tequila at the open bar. I drank a lot that night, including this sweet cocktail drink served in a tiffin container, House’s signature. More drinks at Zouk – whisky and Heineken – it all felt like revenge drinking.

Two days later, I am still very alcoholised.

The Pontianak Hunt

2008-04-07T23:56:00.000-07:00

To be left alone. It could be the start of a new addiction. Already I've updated my facebook status, and now I feel like blogging about the omelette and sauteed spinach and tomatoes I made for his breakfast. I feel like participating in a forum addressing the best ways to mop laminated flooring. This could be start of a new life.

Was browsing through some old CDs and found some photos, as again, should have been uploaded a long time ago! It was a Friday night, we were bored and decided to cruise down the solitary streets of punggol - hoping to find the mythical pontianak.

Instead of hunting for her, we ended up taking more pictures and caused a ruckus when in the midst of it all, a black dog came out of nowhere. Four of the smartest decided to squeeze in the front seat, with zahdan shrikekeing away when he couldn't shut the door. I didn't know which part of "my heel is stuck" that he didn't understood.

I don't know the name of the stretch of road, but it looked lonely and calm on that foggy night. No cars, nothing but orange lights lining the stretch like cats' eyes. We talked, we chatted, laughed and caught up. Then 4 am came with the call of hotcakes and lattes, with mini trains zooming past us, waiting to be filled with early wakers. I miss those nights.

No pontianaks were found.

I think we scared her off. More pictures here.

My sweet tooth

2008-04-06T05:45:00.000-07:00

Eeeek, isn't that the most lovely cake anyone has ever seen?

Guys, come June, you will never ever need to put up with all these gushing from me. It's a once-in-a-lifetime affair!

I just need to:

1. Find a baker
2. I'm in love with lychee martini cakes but can the liquer be substituted with sugar syrup instead? Can this be arranged?
3. Match the colour to my wedding theme.
4. And have a funkier cake topper.

Meantime, another idea just popped up. Cause we have two very nice and clean toilets onsite ... perhaps it'd be kinda cute to add some fresh flowers and a personalised toiletries basket. How about bars of soap stamped with our monogram?

I should stop all my silly ideas!

We were in the papers!

2008-04-05T04:28:00.000-07:00

I am now still contemplating if I should laminate it, or does it deserve an Ikea frame?

Anyways, I became a victim of censorship when our vetted couple profile was unknowingly edited by the campaign peeps.

Everyone knows media censorship in our country is a repression frequently justified to protect national security and public morals. My predicament, as always, is that morality is relative and made more complicated as it is often defined by religion.

Honestly, will it create frenzy, riots with burning effigies or a nationwide coup if people knew he gave me foot massages and that we were first introduced in the midst of the thumping sounds of James LaVelle? Do the media have to be polite and respectful to ALL of society in order to maintain peace, and in that bid conveniently amend and omit the truth?

Do you know that some magazines at HMV - Arena - have stickers which say “Pages have been removed”? Can the sight of bare tits or dicks affect the fabric of society? Hey I’m not completely against censorship, and I am anti-objectification of humans, but too much red tape is ridiculous. I refuse to debate about this with myself on a Saturday night.

Status: Not married (yet)

2008-03-26T15:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I want to write about the wedding, I worry that I might sound like a broken record – echoing gripes and joys of what every damn bride goes through. Sometimes I want to go up to strangers on the street with my prinout of the prettiest cake I’ve ever seen, or the dress by Amanda Wakely that’ll make boys go ga-ga. At other times, I wanna tape my gab so that it’ll be a complete surprise for the attendees. As you might guess, i’s reeeeli hard to not tell.

So, it’s funny that eventhough I have not verbally made it public especially to my schoolmates, I find no qualms when a friend of mine asked if I would participate in a pro-marriage campaign. We had AN experience! A bridal company sponsored our make-up and outfits, and I made sure she poked many ornaments into my head so that I’d get the whole trad malay do, whilst Ery had to wear an outfit Hang Tuah would be proud to be caught in. Though the keris bit was met with a loud NO! from him, I was surprised that he was a sport and stood by me as we waved to CBDians on a hippo bus.

We came to a standstill right opp UOB plaza, where the press was waiting for us – making us pose and wave. I tried my best to look married, and happily in love – afterall we were encouraging people to tie knots.We then made our way to the “blue room” near Big Bird, waiting for the renewal of vows ceremony. We were the only couple - the other couples included Ang Peng Siong (swimmer), Kunalan (olympian) – who weren’t married, but had to do the aisle-walk etc as the compere talked about how we first met.

After the vows were renewed, I was told that Berita Harian wanted to interview us! I don’t know if they actually did an article, though Yani said a snip of my face was in Lianhe Ziabao.What did I get out of this experience other than free movie tickets and spa vouchers?

Stories of love – the Kunalans were married for 42 years! – that made me realise that marriage is a long journey, with its uppy and downy bits. They were definitely funny people, and perhaps humour is their secret for longevity. I should make it a point to make a good joke every now and then, and maybe, 42 years later… I will still look at Ery fondly, laughing holding hands like the Kunalans did.

Sappy mode aside, I can confidently say, this experience would top the charts for the most kental thing I’ve ever done but a very inspiring one. And though we Muslims do not practice the renewal of vows ritual, we should find ways to celebrate our union…everyday!

Belated Malaccan pix

2008-02-29T01:01:00.001-08:00

Back during an orientation, I found myself lost in a dorm and bumped into a couple of newbie girls. They had this friend, a bloke with dirty blonde threads and a tad too much illegal substance in him that rendered him unsuitable for the theo tute he was heading to.

Rambling, he said as I remembered distinctively as virgin to the dirty world of dorm parties, that an invite to party requires one to bring beer and a bird(s). It's a social atmosphere with music, food and at least three poeple of at least two sexes. Equation's nearly right. Just add friends who are up for fun and dancing at all times - my friends! My bad! Should have uploaded these happy snaps a looooong time ago but I love the pictures!

Always "ready" for the camera.

Ready to check out the grounds after a rainy morning. Will it be wet and muddy?

A bit of girl brawl.

Thigh action.

The lovely dancefloor. You haven't seen the mobile wee wee areas.

My favourite Thai singer. I wished I was gay or bi then.

Fast food against the sunset.

Malaysian aliens with Singaporean humans (questionable for far right human about to mutate)

Friday's errands

2008-02-27T21:42:00.000-08:00

My pillow nearly snatched me back last friday but we had plans - we had plans I tell you! so I awoke and followed the trail of nescafe - sure sign that he's ready to set off.

First up was Poppy Flora's girly showroom. We're having a garden wedding, so naturally fans gained the most votes against its contenders - jars of vanilla-infused sugar, paper lanterns and seedlings.

They had the prettiest mini fans ever, of pink the pink of shells - and you could even have them stamped with your monogram. But at 4 bucks each (4/6 times of what people usually fork out), we had to look for alternative suppliers. Sara, the creative director, was very friendly but her ideas and materialising the ones that we did have came at too costly a price.

A few caterers sandwiched in between and then we trudged to Yeo GM for paper lanterns. Since the solemnization is smack in the midst of Orchid Gardens, we wanted to tone down the flora with paper lanterns (maybe parasols), as part of the decor. Somewhat like a chic paper wedding. Found that ahpek place at Rochor that sold lanterns and bought some for ourselves. Don't they look flabbergastingly gorgeous in the right setting?

Bridesmaids meeting Chapter II at Breko's later with consensual nods with colours, designs of dresses, make-up, fittings and rehearsals. Phew, things are shaping up, people can let me breath and not give me THAT look when they find out the wedding's in June (apparently they are fanatic brides that book stuff three years in advance).

And finally, we have a caterer! Food preview to get those buds going!

2008-02-21T06:12:00.001-08:00

I really am sick of the wedding stuff. Of caterers, food tastings, chiffon gowns, favours, flowers, timelines, deadlines and everything damn bloody thing you can think of enroute to the perfect wedding.

Forget pre-wedding jitters.

Soon to be weddeds should be warned about those hyperventilations you get just trying to figure out where to start. And ho ho. Wait till you get to the flowers bit - hydrangeas or lilies or how about a bowl with fishes as centrepieces? Do you prefer garlic butter rice and almond pilaf? Hair up or in a bun? Champagne white or off white? ... ... ...

Thank god I've booked the venue months ahead. I somehow knew I had to have a garden celebration - whimsical with sunburst vibes, elegant but playful - and naturally, especially with Ery's nod of approval when we had the first viewing, we chose Burkill Hall.

This is uncharacteristic of me but here's an advanced thanks to those already involved.

Ery - my hands-on groom
All the seven bridesmaids! Nini - for that excel spreadsheet you did for us. Ezan - for making us wait for hours as you search for your toga gown.
My mummy - for the liberties you give me. the non-judgemental take you have on life. for letting me go.
My sister - for borrowing Martha Stewarts' wedding DVD thrice.
Shiks - for the lovely invites.
To mama - for buying us all those household goods.
Lulu - for designing my gowns and outfits. I want Aidan's lashes and thanks for explaining to me what ampoule is.

And lastly, Hakim my boncit bro - for washing my dishes and making my bed (it helps.)

Migrating to the North-West

2008-02-15T00:38:00.000-08:00

Linda came by our place yonks ago for a photo shoot, where I reluctantly co-modeled. That's us against our i-can-buy-a-frigging-vaio wallpaper that has transformed our bland executive into a studio esp with all that amps and guitars strewn around and a 'rawkstar' who wakes me up in the arvos in his checkered boxers and bass strung across singing Interpol's How are things on the west coast?.

I've truly fallen in love with the man and the house - our own expanse of java teak flooring with an unobstructed dusk till dawn view of LRTs. Anyone can fall in love with our house, or rather our home, it's cosy, only a stones throw to a British fish & chips store and flower nuseries to lose yourself in and a bus away from the Salvation Army for weekend scavenges.

So much flora around, befitting for an island's known to the world for its greens. My mama shop too sells perfect karipaps. And that, accesibilty to one's frequent cravings - to all homeseekers - is an important requisite of a good house. :)

I love this picture and if there's one thing that'd yank my chains it's a guy who's into his literature (and looking good while at it).

Things my momma shoulda taught me

2008-01-18T02:11:00.000-08:00

I’m intolerant when it comes to bad table manners. I believe it is as important as the swift distribution of that bag of five peanuts on a flight, or plastering on extra 2-inches of make-up during a night out with boys. You should know this by now right?

http://www.khansama.net/etiquetts.asp adds to my list of table manners!

When a bug appears: If a bug or anything of that sort appears in your salad etc. quietly send it back but do not point it out because it might ruin the entire dinner for the rest of the people.

If some beverage or food is spilled on some guest while eating: The best way is to handle the situation with a calm and quiet frame of mind. Apologise first and then using the cloth napkin and water wipe it gently or else gently guide the guest to the wash room.

Top, middle or bottom?

2008-01-16T04:18:00.000-08:00

We thought we were smart alecks by opting for Apkim’s one-day marriage prep course, just so we’d have time for bloc party that never came. But not only did we forked out more money to have it conducted in English, the class was so dauntingly personalised that it was just us and the uztazs – isolated in a room from 9-6 before we’d be licensed to wed.

I find that. People generally see such courses as a piece of paper that’ll legitimise holy matrimony – a let’s get it done and over with.

Apkim’s approach altered my perception of such courses, and marriage.

They reminded me there’s more than one window to peer into – a marriage involves the union of families rather than two people in love. We learnt more about ourselves, the personalities manifested when we’re with the significant and why there exists differences between the two.

The case studies, which came from the man who heads the Syariah’s mediation dept, were quite striking. One of which:

The Towel and Toothpaste case
A woman asked for a divorce because the husband 1. Repeatedly placed wet towels on the bed and 2. Repeatedly squeezed the toothpaste from the bottom instead of her preferred middle.

What the?! The point is the husband never listens. If one can’t listen to the smaller things, it’s safe to doubt whether he’ll listen to the bigger things.

I guess saying I do goes beyond wearing the coveted Vera Wang gown or having a man bend down with a 6-digit rock. You’re not only saying yes to love, you’re also saying yes to a lot of things you don’t really know you’re saying yes to.

I’ll find out soon.

Belated year end review

2008-01-07T05:29:00.000-08:00

I’d like to think that I’m never the kind of girl who stays at home on New Year eves, but I think I am. My New Year eves have always been forgettable.

Big things though happened in the past year, also filled with loads of fucked up stuff. Actually I don’t really want to list it out but Spize is taking too damn long to deliver my kebab, I feel too kebabed out just waiting for it that I might as well blog about the past year like everyone else, or post a picture of that suspicious strand of hair, parken near my mouse, that looks like someone’s long pubes. The joys of hot desking.

Happy things
Buying a house
Buying pretty things for the house
Engagement
Learning that the boyfriend could potentially be obsessive compulsive in re to domestic duties. A blessing for any girl!
Losing my virginity to Zouk Out, Recharge Revelation and Good Vibrations.
More trips outta Singapore

Shitty stuff
My mean average of shoe consumption went down significantly, as I find myself trudging to work in my trekky daks and selipahs as the rather unglam pictures editor.
Weight gain
Crappy financial and family crap

Some things I hope to achieve:
To master the ability to call him using the f-word (f.i.a.n.c.e) instead of relying on closely synonymic terms like boyfriend, co-home owner, friend and kawan.
Lose the 12 kilos I’ve put on in the past two years.
Throw dinner parties of my own!

But really, right now, I just wanna go home, read more erotic lit and shed in bed like everyone else.

Uniquely Singapore

2007-11-15T01:00:00.000-08:00

If you bump into me in the next few hours, the blush is not of orgasmic residue, just courtesy of MAC.

I've been reading a bit of erotic literature these days, and like I've always thought - stories are always better narrated in books than in films. And even without the visual and audio stimuli, these books make up with their sensible narrative structures and detailed descriptions of feelings, emotions and colour.

How come, I wonder, people don't really talk about sex openly? Not publicly, I don't think we need to air our bedroom aerobics on a blog. I just feel people should be less ashamed of talking about sex? Is this a problem in our society, a uniquely Singapore issue that we have to deal with or start a nationwide campaign, no. I'll email you a few titles if you're keen to read some of the stuff I'm reading.

Wrong rough ideas

2007-10-31T01:34:00.000-07:00

A while back, these drawings were emailed to us.

Main bedroom, with a walk-in wardrobe that can probably fit all of Imelda Marco's collections.

Spatial-wise, this is how our actual living room looks like. The 360 deg swivel TV, can, swivel in a way that we can watch Heroes (yes, I'm probably the only one who hasn't seen it) from different points of the house.

.... two months later, our house is nothing like the drawings!

Why I need to have a pair of Wellies

2007-10-28T00:35:00.000-07:00

Why do you need a pair of Wellies?
Because a muddy rave party demands one.

You must be kidding. A rave in Singapore?
Neh. It was in Malacca.

Why there?
Organizers wanted to revamp their image as a state without nyonyas, babas and a crummy red dutch building. Their (unsuccessful) rebranding strategy included luring the new gen with strobe lights, glow sticks and everything neon.

Caught any other Singaporeans there?
Yeah. But I'm not in the habit of dropping names like kutus (not mine) so yeah. A couple of familiar faces here and there.

I still think Malacca's a weird place to have a rave.
Uhuh. The raya decor was still up, there were giant ketupats strung across its entrance and that made me think how ironically fucked it'd be if a guy with booze wished another guy with booze a Happy Eid. Really fucked.

Which acts were great?
I loved Simian Mobile Disco but Futon... the vocalist is just so alluring. And he wore the neon pink earring I nearly bought from Dorothy Perkins.

Did anything stupid?
Nah. Linda went on the buggy with the Blackstrobes guy cause we figured he might get us some free booze. But he didn't. Linda got a free unwanted kiss though. Gross.

Tough luck.
Yeah, oh. Stupidity in question - I bought this halter for the event but forgot to bring tetek tape. And since the top can only be pulled off bra-less... I went about the malls of Malacca looking for tetek tape. Here's how it went.

Fish's Tetek Tape Adventure

Me: Hello. Do you sell nipple tape?
Female Malay sales assistant: Ape? (Cramped eyebrows)
Me: Oh. Ade jual plaster,untuk nak (circles left nipple) plaster ni. (continues circling action)
She: Ah? Oh, yang nak besarkan ye?
Me: Eh, kenape awak bodoh! Ini tak cukup besar ke (Punches her right and left tit. They deflate. Punches again. They explode leaving me in a bloody state with an evil laughter amplifying the gore) Haha. I wished.
Me: Plaster. Ade plaster?
She: Tingkat dua.

That's so whacked gurl!
Yeah, she pointed me to the staionary section. Rather ingenious really, I ended up improvising masking tape. It's cheaper but go slow when taking it off unless you have tetek hair.

Did any other sightseeing?
Neh. Took off on a bus to KL. Am in KL now.

Damn. Why are you not doing any tourist-like stuff then?
Because I hate shopping. (Read: I don't have cash to shop.) And it takes a lot of stamina to shop with Ery. I'd wait for hours as he tries on 10 shirts and then buys all 10 (Read: I don't have cash to shop on my own.) (Re-read: I am a stupid woman for not shamelessly asking him to finance my sprees and I need 10 heels more than he needs 10 shirts anyway.)

Cheap bitch!

Friends – Friday nights messiahs

2007-10-09T20:47:00.001-07:00

SINGAPORE – Interpol is now investigating an alleged mutant sighting on the shores of Fullerton at approximately 2030 hours a few days ago. A few emo kids, defined by their rather emotional demeanour and black eyeliners, and other voyeurs were visually threatened but not injured by the mutant. Three girls – Nini, Ezan and Fish - are believed to be responsible for the inevitable evolution of the mutant, who is believed to be a skinny 33-year old man by birth.

Jepp, whose eyes are blinded by improvised tetek tape, is assisted by Fish with his fairy wings.

Jepp, with a tiara, wings and wand, poses as he waits for his cake and presents (tetek biscuits and topshop size 12 gold undies).

Nini cigs away by the esplanades’ shores.

The gang poses for a picture as the breeze lulls the night away. Ah, friends. What’d you do without them?

My four-day weekend plans!

2007-10-03T14:39:00.000-07:00

Buy 1. TV console 2. LCD TV and entertainment system
Look for baju kurung (the only reason I'm buying one this year is because I've expanded horizontally, which I just realized correlates to horizontal hanky-panky as well)
Garage sales
Iftar gathering + Jepp'* birthday at Esplanade
Iftar with family
You Say Party! We Say Rave! with Clash the Disko Kids
Beat! Birthday Party
Meet with designer to choose kitchen tiles and cabinets

In order to expedite Jepp's lifelong dream of becoming Singapore' Pimp of the Year, we intend to groom him into a proper one.. No shedding of tears here because this guy truly deserves to be one. He hasn' really found his territory yet since coveted areas such as Geylang and Desker are out, so for now - s a pimp in his own right (and bedroom)! Where do you reckon we can find a leopard-print g-string, fake rolex and long fingernail? Mustaffa Centre? Oh yeah.

Tune in

2007-10-01T15:25:00.000-07:00

While we were basking under the redang sun we received a few missed anonymous calls. Those calls turned out to be from a Warna FM deejay who wanted to ‘interview’ us, as winners of Chew’s renovation package.

We even had to do the entire drill of grin as you hold a blown-up cheque poses – prints are posted in their showroom.

So if you hear something like, “Ya, nama saya Ery, pemenang bertuah Chew Interiors. Designya bermutu dan harganya berpatutan” you’d know that’s him.

My boyfriend, the new Chew ambassador.

I sleep with my mobile next to me now and answer every phone call. Sometimes I think it’s one of the designers calling us but it’s only the alarm. That’s cruel but I still live in hope, always praying that they’d deem us as having personalities as superficial as Pamela’s titties that they’d cast us in a TV ad for them. And only for them, I’ve cleaned my whites for the Counterfeit Smile – inspired by Vaana White. It's being perfected now.

Long Hill, here I come!

2007-09-30T13:19:00.000-07:00

Long Hill is just a frail terminology aimed at upping the classiness of my new pad in Bukit Panjang. Yes, we have the keys! But not matching key pouches yet. After a couple of weeks of psychological warfare with jackass agents, whacked-up sellers, unexplained sightings of gaudy flooring and claustrophobic spaces we finally settled on this humble five-room utopia.

I hope to move in with my man by year’s end. Wheeeee!

But really, this whole house thing is a lifestyle change – but welcomed because when you’re 24, it’s about time you stop sponging off your pa and mas. Talk about changes. Before – Saturday night boogeying After – Saturday mornings recceing Geylang for the perfect faux fur rug. Before – I wanna buy that dress After – I wanna buy that lamp. Before – Let’s have sex After – Let’s have sex.

Some things don’t change. And better not.

Things we’ve bought:
Loadsa Lights
Living room sofa – polished leather, semi-circular with jumpable cushions.
Coffee table – white with silver legs.
Dining set - second hand, currently being revamped at the workshop.
White furry rug

Things we learnt:
It is not easy to be frugal yet not sacrifice on style. E.g. The Foreman grill has to go, making way for a pirated Foreman grill
First home owners are like a Kenyan cow’s breasts – we will be milked by contractors till we sag and die.
Goodrich wallpapers are everywhere.

To my dear friend Clare Oliver

2007-09-26T10:59:00.000-07:00

I remember you - all those wacky stuff we used to do, lunching on the lawn, always the first pair in the free cotton candy line, checking out the dudes at union bar, how we promised we'd take helicopter lessons after seeing how hot one would look flying one. How you cried when you found out camping out actually meant sleeping in a tent, and pleaded with us to rent a caravan. How we wanted to climb Ayers Rock, and ended up on the 'chicken rocks'. The lattes, the conversations, the smiles and hugs, the "do we have to go to tutes?" look, the everything we had together.

I wished I had known about your battle earlier.

But I'm glad you won.

Read her story here.

Soon, please?

2007-08-31T02:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Mighty Beings, I need to lose weight for the white dress. If you are all powerful, please bring back drum 'n' bass.

PS: I am in the picture. Amuse yourself in the time God has graciously granted us with a Where's Fish? game. More pictures HERE!

Living's good

2007-08-23T20:47:00.000-07:00

It wouldn't be unusual at all for someone, a friend or manic stalker (haha) to be calling me at ungodly hours of the night.

And that's exactly what I was thinking when I texted her back, thinking that she's probably got a free invite or a teh session at simpang. It wouldn't be at all unusual.

I wasn't prepared for what came next, "His baby, his baby just died." But who is truly prepared for death, who can say that hey I wake up everyday ready to accept the departures of loved ones, all revved up to shed tears and mourn? No unfucked person can ever be geared up in that way.

I imagined the baby wrapped up in our traditional kain batik, as his father carries it in his arms out of the kapan. He'll visit him in the years to come, change the white cloth wrapped above his angel, clear the leaves and trace the carvings of his small wooden tomb. He'd, like me, would want to rewind life, or at least the capacity to shout it aloud - Wind it! Wind it!

And then I started to feel something. And finally it comes. It was both intensily familiar and shockingly strange. It takes me a while before I recognized what it is. I want to live.

It's all about the clothes

2007-08-16T21:30:00.000-07:00

I love Coppola and as part of the Fashion is Spinach Film Series, they're having a special screening: Marie Antoinette with some real nice candied period stuff.

When: Tuesday, August 28 at 8pm Where: Pitchblack (a cine-cafe on Haji Lane)

Also, Kaki Lima is closing down on September 1st... so I'm thinking of having one last Tai-tee session with a Hot Honey Moment and Roti Boyan Phase II! Must make good use of my 13-day leave!

Fash-bash is also here this weekend! Loadsa cheap bargains. Anyone up for it?

Try this

2007-08-02T01:09:00.000-07:00

Naturally, and with much excuse, the stacks of barokes at 7-11 sparked my love affair with red wine.

In fact I should post up pictures of us picnicking at the botans just yesterday, before we rushed off for The Cure. All you need really is to lug out some glasses, a trusty tikar, a 2005 red and MOS burgers and plomp your arses opposite Swan Lake for some great Kodak moments away from the great sale just blinks away. The verdantness, crispy grass, Japanese tourists antics, frisbees and space made for golekking made it so much easier to just zen out.

Anyway, red wine - as I recently discovered - is no longer isolated for internal consumption. For a dicounted price, you can grab off a red wine masque at Watson's. Faced with no overwhelming objections, I bought one but as I stood in front of my mirror trying to decipher whether the instructions are in Korean or Japanese, it didn't feel like that fantastic an idea anymore. What if?

1. What if the masque has the ability to empower women to mistakenly mount, perhaps for several times in a night, an ugly, fat or acne-ridden mate? And then wake up in dumpshite of a place?

2. What if the masque makes you call all your merciless exes and say, "You had a dick the size of a pea anyway!"

3. What if it has the ability to make people climb podiums, dance till the pits all sweat and then rip his own pants as he hops off? (Nah, only Ery is, am still capable of such stunts)

4. What if excessive usage turns me into an addict?

(Fish: Hi everyone, my name is Fish. And I'm an alcoholic. Anonymous: Hi Fish. That's awful. Well, at least you have really good skin.)

But life is about not giving a fuck about the what ifs and you just gotta take a bit of risk the same way I cross streets when it's blinking "3", how I still consume Maggi noodles in unhealthy doses despite knowing how it prematurely balds people or how I'd go out with just one bar of batt on my mobile. Oooh... I'm definitely what people would term as living on the ledge.

Well, I've jumped and am still waiting to turn into a vision of stupendous beauty.

It should be anytime now.

Wall therapy

2007-07-11T02:36:00.000-07:00

If I had walls like these, I'd put aside all my work, religious, political, social and marital responsibilities to make love to them all fucken night and day.

Clicking camera on speed

2007-07-02T23:30:00.000-07:00

I found myself bowing down at its decks – the altar of choice, a church offering musical guidance to an increasing flock of Indie’s most faithful, and me - the genre's latest recruit. We went there every weekend, and to say that we partied a little is like saying that Kate Moss snorted a little. I miss that place sometimes. That's where I met him.

I might need to go traditional in a couple of weeks and I can't fit into my current kurungs because they're passe. And many friends have concurred that the bursting-from-the-seams look isn't actually me.

I hate buying kurungs. For reasons like (1) I really don't fancy the hassle of looking for The One at any of those annoyingly hot Geylang Complexes, (2) I know I can’t afford The One even if I do find it and (3) I’m too vain to not settle for The One and buy a cookie cutter.

In a span of 22 days, we sat on a plush sofa, the one nearest to the exit. I chose to sit there because of the emergence of my stye – yes, the stye on my left eye had ballooned to watermelonic proportions but I still came down for the anniversary party.

I hate sequins. And I hate wearing a ring.

I said yes as it just felt right. Why not right? From the exterior, he looks cute with limbs and lickable ears and other necessary physical appendages. I found him funny and after those dawn to dusk dates, urgent leaves and the fibs my doc solemnly grinned into medical certs, why not I ask myself?

But it feels great to acquire a man of my own.

Like me on a trigger high - I don't need to think. Just shoot and let live.

I heart HDBs!

2007-06-27T01:30:00.000-07:00

In the world of delusion and bottomless pockets, the search for an ideal home would be easy peasy. Like boiling pasta. But when you have to tick off 3 mains, the search is suicide-inducing. It's always the case of viewing crappy flats in happening neigbourhoods or happening flats in crappy neigbourhoods.

Checklist
Price – Resale? Direct? Will we rake in profits if we sell?
Location – Is it near our workplaces and transport lines?
Renovation costs – How much will it cost to hack those cornices?

I say we say sayonara to the stupid checklist!

Fish’s Revised Checklist
Enticing amenities – A bathtub with a built-in MP3
A kitchen island made for fucking
Self-mopping floors at the touch of a button
A semi-circular balcony with a splishy splashes view
A walk away from a cigarette vending machine (for him)
A walk-in shoe wardrobe
A bashed-up couch conducive for make-out arvos
A backyard with grass and a white wooden swing, where we can spend our nights writing novels and strumming songs like true bred trippin’ hippies

I’d hate it if I had to deal with objections from him that might turn me on.

Massively missing

2007-06-16T03:38:00.000-07:00

Resuming regularity. I'm scouting for the perfect house which can be quite a bitch, and one thing's for sure, I need to keep abreast of property trends from now on. Several districts have caught my eye, in particular Holland for its iconic windmill, 24-hour Cold Storage and the complete coolness of having Wala Wala as a variant Kedai Kopi.

Two months into the new job. I suddenly feel I'm cooped up in a local vacuum after meeting the new hirees - a Brit boy who grew up with Razorlight and, an Iraqi who, just last Monday, satisfied her 23-year old craving for a McDonald's Happy Meal, amongst several others.

I need to recalibrate into a global citizen. Not flats, but buildings. Not can, but sure thing. He's a man, not a bloke or a mat. Work's demanding now that I'm active on the desk where even the most minute of errors might tarnish our integrity. Homonyms are evil.

Hakim has just left for San Fran and L.A. I can't tell you how much I'm so proud of him, especially in those mere snapshots clicking like epitomes of growing up - the way he chose his disposable underwear, the way he stuck the numbers to dial on the refrigerator's door, or the way he stood under the electronic board with eyes roaming for his departure gate number. I can only fervently hope the mammal that's residing is his nose better come out soon so that he'll stop picking on it.

With all the life swirling around me, I badly need a bath date with trashy erotic lit. Or a good dance session - robotic moves included.

Friends Against Sober Birthdays

2007-05-17T02:40:00.000-07:00

I am a member of Friends Against Sober Birthdays (FASB): an association whose members will endeavour and do everything within financial reach to ensure that the birthdee will get, simply put, fucken drunk.

A guy cheeses for the camera as birthdee plays with tissues she wiped her puke with. Home/BOAT QUAY

The birthdee's body must be enveloped in one's own puke (in ezan's case, mushroom-laden puke) including crevices such as nostrils and armpits. This might hinder breathing problems, snogging possibilities but certainly facilitates body odour.

One must also start singing flawlessly to The Wannadies (other songs must be approved beforehand by the committee) while pretending to swim like a super sized seal on the pavement.

A girl cheeses for the camera as birthdee expresses her gratitude for making her drunk later that night. Home's steps/BOAT QUAY

The usual suspects eating cake. Home's steps/BOAT QUAY

I miss these people, but our lives are drifting apart. We have our jobs, school, boyfriends, family and for nini - she's even been blessed with an angel.

A year ago when we first met, we had so much fun despite the crap we had endure. Often though we found ourselves drifting into personal hells, meandering towards graves we hand-shovelled ourselves.

Home club became a haven to converge and after a few hey hi-s and the bai-jagah's nod of free entry, we'd join the floor to dance, forget and sing out loud to Morrissey as amplified noises and fag-filled air choke our sanities. It was a way to take a holiday from ourselves. Now, a year on, visits to Home are infrequent. We have Baby Day Out in place of Poptart. We drink teh and talk about wedding doorgifts. Are these signs of maturity or of us having to grow up too soon too fast? Have we lost the touch to live and fuck free?

The fish's world in pictures

2007-05-15T04:07:00.000-07:00

The boyfriend eats prata and sambal, alongside his figurine date. Kedai kopi Badhushah/BUKIT BINTANG

The boyfriend trims his eyebrow after little co-ercion from the girlfriend. No screams were heard as unwanted hair were snipped off. Berjaya Times Square/IMBI

A girl in a Mango dress cooks crabs. She is one of the most skimpily-dressed crab fryers in Kuala Lumpur and some say Sentosa. Dekat satu lane belakang Parkroyal Parkroyal/BUKIT BINTANG

The same skimpily-dressed crab fryer poses with Boncit, the brother, after having the hazelnut nougat parfait and mudpie from The Coffee Connoissuer. Tepi jalan/SIGLAP

A girl feeds her shirtless boyfriend with mangosteens after an afternoon dip in the pool (which they shared with other old blubbers = retirees on vacation) Eighth floor/PARKROYAL

Amelia Shahana, the cutest baby on earth with the most aromatic armpits. Harvey Ave/SIMEI

Bugis from the 11th floor

2007-05-10T03:15:00.000-07:00

The world's appetite for pictures is insatiable, and thankfully because of this I have a job. Busy with training this week so much so that crappy pix and mispelt captions have nightmared their way to me.

Weird stuff I've learnt so far: 1. Do not send pictures with titties/arses to north US of A (even though it churns out two pornographic films every six hours) or AOL. 2. Erections above 45 degs are out. Lesser angles are controversial so rule of thumb, any erections are not to be sent out. 3. An agency that specializes in ONLY pictures of the Pope do exists. 4. It's really embarassing to send out a picture captioned with XXXX died! when he/she is not really dead. And don't even think of using "prematurely died" in your corrections.

God. I'm craving for a mars bar cheesecake. Spiderman sucks. I can't think of a nice Muslim name for Michael Jackson. There's evil and ugly pastel panties lurking beneath the Queen. Alan Johnston wherefore art thou. I want to boogie with Novelle Rouge this Saturday and wear pretty clothes. I need to 'exercise' in the bedroom.

PS: Pardon the MIA and random absolute crap for I am mentally fried. Kindly show me the way to a plush sofa where I can dramatically pengsan and stop thinking.

Fish reporting Live! from Bukit Bintang

2007-05-02T02:57:00.000-07:00

My third tai tai trip to KL. So spontan! We decided to visit the gramps in JB yesterday, then bought tickets for the Senandung Malam at KTM (guys, it's dirt cheap to get it there rather than at Tanjung Pagar). Am blogging at an Internet cafe opposite BB Plaza. A middle eastern guy is manning the joint, and we have very gelek-gelek, move your belly flap songs as post-shopping therapy. Ery suspects he'll start offering weed pipes come dusk.

So many things to buy! One thing about our trips to KL, we tend to visit the same ol' places and this time I've decided to photographically document out food consumption to see if it tallies with the waist expansion at the end of the trip. It's very scary but I'm a happy girl!

Waving burping smiling madly,

fish

Gone by next Weds

2007-04-26T20:54:00.000-07:00

I loved my job—it is two doors down from Books Actually (my absolut fav. bookshop that plays Pink Martinique), has dental insurance and a bigshot sounding title, and even my dinners are reimbursed if I work after eight. But barely two months into the job, I received a more lucrative job offer from a news agency. I had to say yes, and for a while almost reluctantly until the boss handed me two bloody boxes of ozalids to shred shortly after the tender. It doesn’t seem like such a bastardicious decision on my part anymore.

My farewell lunch was a rude awakening. Everyone rant and raved, everyone said mine’s a timely departure, and to consider myself lucky to have escaped unscathed from the boss’ wrath. Bosses, I read somewhere before, come in all shapes, sizes and mental stability and this one—after all the horror stories I heard during the lunch—fits the mould of a twig with yellow bile. The boss from hell!

I hate to clichér but I’m glad I’m moving on to the West where there’s a greener pasture, somewhat literally. Goodbye books, hello news!

Above: Of me as the one and only skimpily dressed nyonya ice cream seller in Singapore. It’s just a filler to help fund my pursuit of pleasure.

It's a yeast affair

2007-04-25T02:57:00.000-07:00

Might not be on par with the unrivalled Krispy Kremes and Dunkins of America, but my donuts taste just as good.

And I made them from ‘scratch’; meaning I rip open the pre-mix packet, shape them up into balls and fry. I swear I had this instant gratification out of coating the final balls with icing sugar.

Praise by donut connoisseurs:

“Sedap! So crispy. I take all!”
—Boncit (almost frequently known as the little brother) in what seems to be an apparent loss of grammar upon the consumption of one donut

“Why is there no hole in it?” But nice. Boncit, pass the bowl!”
—Nara, who has yet to realise the pain of shaping dough

I am involuntarily addicted to Trachisan. *coughs*

Norris Hall Massacre

2007-04-17T23:50:00.000-07:00

My deepest condolences to the families and friends of those involved in the tragic Virginia Tech University shootings.

I was appalled as I read through the updates, teared briefly as I watched those YouTube vids of the shooting posted by fellow students (but yay for citizen journalism), angry at the monstrosity and remained shocked when I learnt the reasons for the delay in identifying the shooter were because the classrooms and hallways were that bloody, and bodies were mashed up beyond recognition that investigators needed that extra time to sort through all that mess.

Do we have to wait for another Michael Moore film, something like _______ for Virginia before the lax in US gun laws is brought to light and effectively debated? 1 500 perished in the sinking of the Titanic before proper legislation on life vests were imposed. Thousands die each year due to guns—dorang tengah tunggu ape lagi? Doesn’t that stat reflect how fucked gun laws are in the US?

Am I bashing America (Ferrera as well for her predictable plots)? Yes. You are dumb enough to think that precautionary laws like the only one gun can be sold per customer per month, lack of background checks on potential firearms purchasers, and giving free admission to above 18s to quarterly gun fairs are not contributive to such acts of brutality. You cannot eradicate this problem—especially in what seems like a society that uses fire to fight fire—but make firearms less accessible and maybe you’ll hear less zipping up of body bags.

True, guns don’t kill people. People kill people. But if Cho had been armed with a penknife or a really sharp pen (the same one he uses while churning out all that macabre lit. for his writing classes), he’d think twice before going all terminator on those students. Psycho. This guy obviously needed serious help. Judging too by his suicide essay in which he detailed the moral laxity and double-dealings among the wealthier students on campus, he sure as hell has a way of venting out.

But why cause such bloodshed to make your point, or has America indoctrinated into society where violence as a key solution is a reasonable way of living?

Pay homage to the potato

2007-04-12T03:15:00.000-07:00

Previously, on the OC… hee. Previously, I blogged about my colleagues’ hatred for the ubiquitous font—Rotis. It’s funny but if you switch the ‘s’ with the ‘t’, and put the 't' before the 'i' in Rotis, it transforms into a much sought-after Swiss specialty—the Rosti, available at Marche at the mere price of empat ringgit setengah! You have to love the Rosti. Come on people of the world, let’s burst into song.

O Kentang, how I love you so
When you’re boiled and grated
And then pan-fried to perfection,
Serve it up with a dollop, a dollop, a dollop of sour cream.

O Kentang, you may possibly be
The most tortured tuber crop
We bake you, roast you, brew you
And even dress you in blobs, in blobs, in blobs of mayo.

And after wiki-ing, (I have wiki breaks in replacement of smoke breaks.) I found out that there’s such a thing as Spud Guns. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spud_guns

Apropos to the potato as a, possibly, weapon of a bit of destruction (WBD)—why didn’t the British soldiers use tapioca as artillery to defend the fort in Singapore as foreign invaders stormed in? Why didn’t the Britons drop tapioca bombs instead of atomic ones, and pioneer the term, ‘kena lenyek keledek’?

Don't ever edit a war memoir, without first eradicating salivating thoughts of the Rosti. And erm, you can stop singing.

rapture |ˈrap ch ər| |ˌrøptʃər| |ˌraptʃə|

2007-04-11T02:17:00.000-07:00

noun
1 a feeling of intense pleasure or joy: Jepp grooved to the music and shook his booty with rapture.
• (raptures) expressions of intense pleasure or enthusiasm about something : The girls—Ezan, Linda, Nini, Fish, Suzie and the other Suzy— went into raptures when The Rapture played their first song.
2 (the Rapture) the transporting of dance assassins to heaven at any Rapture gig.
verb [ trans. ] (usu. be raptured): Little did Ery know that he would be raptured by The Rapture.
transport (a believer) from the dance floor to heaven at The Rapture’s one and only gig in Asia.

A belated

2007-04-10T03:23:00.000-07:00

This week is detox week. I will abstain from movies, creamy pastas, alcohol, sex, making-outs, all-nighters, skiving, caffeine, snacks on the desktop and the all-time desiderata for girls—chocolate. I’m putting an end to comfort breakfasts (one curry puff and sardine puff drenched in sambal) and other equally sinful consumptions. I’ve even imposed a 5-day shouldn’t meet rule on Ery.

In my bid to lead a healthier lifestyle (and perhaps a few steps closer to looking like Jessica Alba), my daily intake of fun will be significantly reduced. I accept my fate.

A short one before the long weekend

2007-04-05T01:18:00.000-07:00

Ery fetched and sent me back home yesterday—it was terribly gallant of him! He even crooned to some Rod Stewart song whilst in the car because he knows I love him even more when he does that kinda thing! Haha, what’s the point of having a musician boyfriend if he doesn’t perform for you, right? In return I offered him a Parisian lolly (courtesy of a workmate who just went back to the UK for a family wedding), and we talked about the long weekend.

We’ll start off with The Reaping tonight, seafood across the causeway tomorrow, The Rapture on Saturday and end it off with laundry (at least for me). I’m looking forward to everything so much so that I’m whoohoo alright yeah!–ing at every 15-minute interval. It’s been ages since I chop passport, and Saturday will see the much-awaited reunion of some whacked-up friends of mine. Oh yes, laundry’s not some kind of band or club, it’s the rather dreary job of washing clothes, separating the whites and hanging, folding. Sometimes a girl’s gotta get down and dirty—no escape from domestication!

Whoohoo alright yeah!

Pocong Sighting

2007-04-04T02:57:00.000-07:00

At 2 a.m. today, I did something completely uncharacteristic—I picked up a fight with Ery for no good reason. I had no idea then why I did it, and still don’t. Convinced that I was going to die due to a ruptured heart, and certain that my pink and purple-walled room is not my ideal suicide scene, I got out of bed and took a walk to the mailbox. This was a bad idea. You see… my area is what Malays would term as keras.

Further, a few weeks ago, a neighbour’s dad had died while he was outstationed in the Philippines. He was a middle-aged man, always with a crooked smile and a halo of cig puff. An ol’ makcik had mistakenly knocked on our door one afternoon asking my sister, “Ini rumah ___? Jenazahnye dah sampai?” and that was how we first came to know of his sudden demise.

The night of his death, coincidentally, Nara saw a pocong. Nara was in the kitchen when she noticed a silhouette by the window, and wondered why it was garbed in white from head to toe. “Maybe it’s a makcik in white tudung,” she figured until she felt it. She felt the thumps, the goosebumps, she saw the ‘makcik’ hopping down the corridor only to stop exactly at our front door. And then there was nothing. It was the dead dad enshrouded in kain kapan!! We suspect that since he died in a foreign land, and in a not so pretty fashion—a gory workplace accident—his soul is wandering aimlessly, looking for its ‘home’.

I had chucked away this disturbing sighting since then but last night while I was getting rid of all the junk mail, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something getting up from the beaten-up sofa someone had dumped at the void deck. Could it be the deceased's favourite sofa? The one he fell asleep in whilst reading the papers? Maybe I was hallucinating. I just had that feeling, that something was there and it’s attracted to my fear. And as I took the lift up and passed the corridor of the deceased, there was this empowering whiff of ciggie smell that wasn’t there minutes ago.

Resident Oglers

2007-04-03T01:04:00.000-07:00

One BIG reason why I tend to avoid going to the kedai kopi downstairs is because of the horde of dispatch riders otherwise known as the Resident Oglers (ROs). Visualise this, a roundtable of old and balding or oily-ponytailed men leering at you as you walk pass them before its leader comes up with an oh-sungguh-creative line that goes like this, “Dah makan dik?” or worse, he refers to you according to the colour of a clothing item on you, “Hey baju biru!” Me thinks excessive consumption of teh tarik and waning youth must have destroyed electrons responsible for chat-up lines in their heads.

My liberties robbed, I began to ponder about the lives of these ROs. Certainly this perverse nature is not exclusive to a specific occupation, race, age group or gender—I, myself, objectify all kinds of meat on the streets. And I ain’t got no issue with men checking out other women, even if it was my own man doing so. As long as its not excessive ogling.

It’s a natural and cherished pastime, only right if it’s done with a bit of subtlety and class. A man with an open-mouthed gawk or one that does a tasteless wolf-whistle followed by a butt grope while in the beer queue is unforgiveable. The slack-jawed ogle and quick top-bottom eye scan combi—my personal favourite—does a better job at triggering happy circuits. And who knows, it might even lead to an exchange of numbers and sex for supper. O oooh.

Shiks came up with these handy pointers during lunch.

1. Never ogle at someone when the partner is within close proximity.
2. Ogle together with your partner. It’s as entertaining as people watching.
3. Ogle at your partner—it’s a major turn-on for them.

Above: Wanted! My favourite ogler!

That aside, I just caught Because I said so. Don’t catch it unless you love being in a woman-dominated corporate comms department—non-stop chatter and unnecessary chaos. It’s like they had to meet a word vomit quota and exceeded it thanks to Diane Keaton. Freedom Writers, was much enjoyable and heartwarming but uncannily similar to Dangerous Minds. I’m suddenly very excited about SIFF!

An entry about obsession

2007-03-30T02:15:00.000-07:00

Today is the 2nd last day of the third month in the year. 23. There are 23 pins stuck on my blue partition. I left the house at 8.15 this morning. 8+15=23. I took the feeder, No. 29, 6 minutes late than usual. 29-6=23. I am 23 years old. I’ve eaten a total of 6 epok-epoks and three spring rolls this week alone, 6X3=18 add 10 cups of coffee is 23. Multiply the no. of letters in my first name and my boyfriend’s, then add the no. of the remaining alphabets left and you’ll get 23.

There are 23 unread emails in my inbox. My boyfriend’s turning 32, that’s a reverse 23. I started work one week late into the month, worked a total of 15 days. 15+7=23. I didn’t have enough change to buy 3 packets of tissue, and so the lady sold me 2. My lunch, mamak mee maggi goreng, costs 3 bucks but an extra 20cents for takeaway. $3.20. My ‘lovepad’ in KL is Room 123, three floors up and two sofas away from the recep. I’ve never tried 23, slang for marijuana. 279 people have viewed my profile. 2X7=14+9=23. My extension no. is 23. I was 13 when my father died, that was ten years ago. 10+13=23. I can do 23 sit-ups in half a minute. I just watched The Number 23 last night, A return trip from my desk to the pantry takes 23 steps. My table no. is 23.

I’m stopping at 22 coincidences that are seemingly connected to the no. 23. I just can’t think of anymore to make it 23.

Hold on. There are precisely 23 words in the previous sentence. There are 124 characters (with spaces) and 101 characters (with no spaces in the previous sentence. 124-101=23.

Holy fuck. The mind can see the truth in anything.

Last (Sat) night, 2ManyDJs saved my life

2007-03-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

Thing is, I was supposed to have caught the Dewaele brothers (part of the Soulwax ensemble) at ZoukOut 2006 but didn’t, reason being that I had barely trudged my sloshed-out self to Siloso Beach before I collapsed and ‘fell into my lover’s arms’. I wished.

I could hear the beats reverberating through the powdery sands, I could see well-oiled six packs and nice round tits in triangle bikinis and I could sense the waves of moshers as I handed my ticket over to the door bastard when… “Maam, where’s your ID maam? We can’t let you in without your ID.” No ID + me puking out vodka and possibly a third of a lung + peeved boyfriend is not good.

Alcohol, for nights out clubbing, is a necessary evil for me. It’s like an expensive Gatorade that’ll guarantee to get me powered up till 8 a.m.

This is what irks me. Why does my body need to be under the influence of alcohol before I could prance around like I just don’t care? Why can’t I be like Ezan who gets high even on Green Tea?

Ketiak spray

2007-03-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

Mustaffa Centre is not just a mall, it’s an experience. It never sleeps and it’s constantly effervescent with life, food, and shelves and shelves stacked with everything you can ever think of and need to have. I’ve bought all these stuff I couldn’t find anywhere else from parasols, pickled onions to blue hair dye and a Marc Jacob’s rip-off purse there. Very spoilt for choices.

Anyway, I accompanied Ery there last night to buy a new ketiak spray. I recommended him another brand, widely known in Ozzie for its super funky ads and its Lynx Effect: where upon application to the male’s armpit region might cause a sexy girl to lasso him back home to her lair. If I had ketiak odour or difficulty getting women for shagging purposes, this would be my brand of choice. He settled with Lynx Click, and then down we went to get his ‘other stuff’. I found myself a staircase later, slightly displaced, at the men’s underwear aisle—trying to figure out how long more I’d have to wait till he chooses his underwear (unlike other men, he’s a fussy shopper. I do the waiting most of the time.) Standing there amongst the Crocodiles and brandless white ah-pek undies, I realised that we’ve reached THAT comfort level.

THAT comfort level where we can buy ketiak spray and underwear together without batting eyelids. Ha-ha, we are barely a year old.

I do remember this first date. Enroute to the ice cream parlour, my date asked if we could stop by this shop at Parkway Parade to grab some bedak ketiak. When we reached the shop, he was on first name basis with the Kak, who efficiently dispensed the box off the counter like she’s selling Menthol Lights. I found this a turn-off. Such buys should be reserved once the relationship’s more matured? Defined?

But with Ery, I actually wanted to go and accompany him to get his ketiak spray. I wanted to be there and and make sure he makes informed decisions during such purchases. My opinions matter to him. He gives a shit about how his ketiaks smell because of me and likewise, I give a shit about how my ketiaks smell because of him. Making sure our olfactories are at peace with one another is just part of a healthy relationship.

I wonder how he’d feel if we were to go tampon shopping together. That should be the next level.

PS: The word ‘ketiak’ is mentioned eight times in this entry to create a cringe effect in readers. A more gross term that’s even more gross in Malay is ‘bulu ketiak’ which I have (unsuccessfully) refrained from including in this entry.

RE: Please marry ASAP.

2007-03-20T03:34:00.001-07:00

I went to a wedding two weekends ago. Both the bride and groom were just 24 years of age and yet they’ve managed to save enough to wed at such an age. Considering that Malay weddings can get rather costly, what jobs do these two hold? They’re not particularly high up there on the career ladder (I think) and the family doesn’t sound as if they’re filthy rich. Maybe their families are in the real estate business, or they took a loan or maybe signed up for one of those $0-installment wedding plans. Or they simply persevered to save.

I posed this question to one of the attendees and she said, “Oh, maybe the groom's a teacher.” To which she guffawed loudly and then, turned serious. “Yeah it happens. Many of my friends who are hitched young are coincidentally teachers.”

Another friend, a civil servant herself, told me her friend made a career switch from a graphic designer to a social studies teacher so that she can save up for her wedding. This coming from a girl who’s not even attached.

Whilst it’s factually true the civil sector offers job security and handsome bonuses - perfectly good reasons that’ll pave the way to a void deck wedding – can it be enough justification to turn into a civil servant for these very reasons?

“Haven’t you heard of SDU? Don’t you know they pair up civil servants?” said another as she chomped down her McSpicy and listed down the frequent pairings we might’ve seen: nurse-CD, TP-teacher, teacher-teacher, SAF-nurse and the list goes on. SDU apparently does this by blasting out e-newsletters and organises regular gatherings for singles to eye out a potential spouse.

Another opined coastal guard said that no matter what he does to direct such ‘annoying’ matchmaking newsletters from SDU into his junk folder, nothing seems to work. “It’s a bloody conspiracy to co-erce us civilians to tie the knot.”

To this, I question: Is the civil sector doubling up as a marriage institution?

Make the thesaurus your friend

2007-03-12T23:15:00.001-07:00

My office’s theory is that as editors or subs, you will gradually evolve into an anti-adjective. It’s beyond one’s control. Working on a luxury hotel book, I’m beginning to understand the mental torture of having to replace words used to death with fresh ones. Stunning, world-class, pure magic, spectacular and breathtaking just to name a few of the overused.

It’s my second day today actually. So far, pretty damn good. Spacious workspace with loads of cabinets to store my stash of contingency clothes. Corporate by day, rampaging girl as all dusks down – the motto goes. Light blue partitions are empty but give it a few more weeks before it’s all thumb tacked with zoCards, club flyers and pictures of the beloved.

Mates, my preferred - young and dynamic. Lunch with them at Pret-a-manger got us talking about our weekends, a coveted book that has illustrations of a certain male anatomy stretched into what doctors warn not to attempt at home and, how sick they are of Rotis – the font used on the current series they’re working on. Never have I met a bunch who hates Rotis with such venomous ferocity. Rotis is also found on road signs.

Many ol’ girlfriends around, and today’s lunch was with Dali and Linda. We figured that since we’re working within such close proximity it’ll be economical to rent a Club street apartment. Mentally calculating the costs, if we could grab 20 buds… that’ll be 100 bucks each per month. Feasible! It’ll be just like a foreign domestic worker squatter, but with media professionals hosting weekly wine and cheese parties!

In Spanish with English subtitles

2007-03-05T01:15:00.000-08:00

I've been watching a lot of movies. I say movies because its almost always blockbuster stuff the Americans are churning out or Asian horror or Hollywood remakes of Asian horror. Question: Why don't white actresses (Jennifer Connelly in Dark Waters, Naomi Watts in the Grudge) ever look scared of whatever that's spooking them?

But. Recently, I've caught a few films - stuff which are not in the nature of those cited above. Films, test your intellect and have unpredictable and unconventional narratives - and for myself, leaves a lasting impression or simply fucks your mind out (Closer did that to me). Like Babel, Perfume, Little Children, Pan's Labryinth - these are fantastic and compelling films.

With the exception of Half Nelson. I truly wanted to fall in love with him, I imagined raving about its seamless cinematography and the way it'll convey social problems and fucked human minds in the most subdued yet poignant of ways. I really saw myself doing that and perhaps its this expectation which made it into a bigger disappointment. I hated it. One of the most boring films, everything could have been condensed into a 15-minute scene and the only way it salvaged itself was how amazingly attractive (what a turn on!) Ryan Gosling looked in his schoolteacher get-up. So two points (out of a 100) for those retro shades and another one point for the way he sexily lugs around the tattered briefcase.

The Mexican Film Festival ended yesterday but I managed to catch Bedroom Fairy Tales for Crocodiles - about a man in search of his and his son's salvation from a family curse. Mixes the reform war and the Mexican Revolution alongside fantasy - I thought it was a beautiful, accomplished work that pales Half Nelson if compared.

Answer: It's just one of those things that can never work. The same way Asian fims rarely have Indian draculas or Chinese gremlins. We prefer to stick to zombies and pontianaks.

I love Hebrew fucknuts!

2007-02-22T21:53:00.000-08:00

The last time I went to a rap performance involved a white guy with a chainsaw on stage going My name is (what?). My name is (who?), making the already rowdy crowd even wilder. An giant inflatable penis surfed above the moshers, some of whom were wearing newly-purchased merch that had Britney SUCKS emblazoned on them; others had Christina SWALLOWS. That was back in 2001. I'm not exactly proud I starved for a month to purchase those tickets - rap, hip hop and r 'n' b are definitely not on my current favourite playlists.

But I believe that part of making music is being loved by an audience, especially during live performances. The Muse boys are music gods but front row conditions were like rabbits trapped in headlights, and I felt they weren't friendly towards us. No interaction whatsoever. It was like they performed simply because their plane had to stopover Singapore to refuel. Which was why eventhough I dig Time is running out more than Intergalactic (where were you nini when they played this?), it was these jewish boys that got me jumping and dancing - real pure fun.

Unpredictable stage antics, genuine interaction with fans ("We've been waiting for the longest time to play here in Singapore!" - one mc hollered out.") and come on, who wasn't fazed at how solely through the power of rap turned an avid fan into thinking he's Cicakman (Go to this blog for a picture).

So for those poor souls who either (a) couldn't get the early birds or (b) didn't know the doorbitch dispensed entry wristbands as if they were supermarket samples or (c) couldn't afford to bribe the bhangra guards by the other entrance or (d) lacked the ability to saunter through the absence of security then gosh, you plainly didn't try hard enough to get in, shame on you! G-reat major loss!

Country: Singapore Location:Loof

2007-02-16T00:56:00.000-08:00

Being in my presence on Valentines for the last 23 years is not good idea - I was always the unfortunate single and dateless. Even my support group - a tub full of 100% milk, fat, chocolate chips and cookie dough EST 1986 - didn't help much on this very day.

To give you a clearer idea of my inevitable transformation come February 14th, a friend sent me this sms despite knowing that I'm now attached:

"Dear God, please let Amirah have a wonderful Valentine night. Because she cannot cannot cannot launch herself into self destructive mode. Amin."

Yes, this year was different. I am attached and for his betterment and health, I earnestly warned him days before that I will turn into Miss Evil Kernivel should he come up with a stupid excuse for not celebrating this day of pure and innocent love (hah!) even if he cited religious beliefs and anti-commercialisation as reasons. He knew clearly that to make the slightest error would mean opening up the eighth circle of hell.

And congrats love! You nailed it. I loved my Vdae! Chocolate martinis atop Loof with you was perfect. So how about we try professing our undying love (hah!) while skydiving* next year? Wheee... ok, is that like pee in your pants?

*He has a fear of heights.

Damage assessment (a week late)

2007-01-23T18:25:00.000-08:00

I may not be able to sing along to joy division or know the difference between space rock and trash metal but I know when the music's all good and rawking! And muse was unbelievable (despite the lack of pyros).

Ticket: $85 + $2 (sistic fee) courtesy of the kind and benevolent civil-sector boyfriend who recently received an outrageous pay packet.

Shoes: $39 Topshop - last pair, one size too big.
Umbrella: $6 Giordano - Held on throughout the entire death-defying rowdy moshing.
Top: $35 Melburn
Listening to Starlight while involuntarily exchanging bodily fluids (sweat and saliva): Priceless. Well, erm, actually... it's right about $167

Top 5 trends plus 4

2007-01-14T22:50:00.000-08:00

1. More focus on the local. International goes regional goes national. 2. Outdoor music festivals. Hell yeah, Good Vibrations! And Muse!

3. Executions. Natural (e.g.: the late Steve) or politically-induced (e.g.: the late Saddam)

4. Satirical films

5. Androgenic appearances – suspenders, boy cuts, man suits. Are we what we wear?

6. Variant tourism. Asia's burgeoning into this medical hotspot where cardiac patients rest and relax under a coconut tree on Krabi instead of the hospital's suites. And now, coming to bookstores is The Visitors' Guide to Baghdads International Zone and specialised See the Real Kazakhstan! tours thanks to Borat.

7. More So you thing you can something else? spin offs of everything under the radar.

8. Unknown lovely boutiques on nooks other than Haji Lane

9. Fat. We need to lose fat. That's kind of an uneasy trend.

Let's have other people babies

2007-01-10T15:16:00.000-08:00

I love children. I just have a hard time whenever I think about bringing one into this world and this has nothing to do with the tearing of the vagina or the 9-month baggage I'd have to lug around while my husband just goes, “It's going to be ok hun.” but. There are just too many abandoned little ones already – just waiting for someone, a kindred to shower him or her with love.

And consider the state of the world – war, natural disasters named after exotic fruits, superidiots hired to run superpowers, the permanent apartheid-like circumstances in Palestine that no-one is giving a shit about – why, in the right mind would anyone want to bring in new life?

There are alternatives. Adoption. It's gained popularity in Hollywood and I applaud Jolie-Pitt’s ambition to form a family nuclei made up of kids from different parts of the world, of various religions and ethnicities.

But we don't need to go as a far to a sub-Saharan desert. Look on the shores we’re standing on now. There are babies from single mothers and dysfunctional families.

Instead of bringing new life, why cant I just give new lease to the abandoned living?

Lovers' mischief

2007-01-02T20:10:00.000-08:00

Roald Dahl once wrote that dreams were a constant inspiration to him. In fact, he made one into a reality. A big friendly giant he once dreamt about morphed into one of his bestsellers and one of my childhood favourites.  I have a romaticized idea. People in love should. Pick apples off trees by jumping on trampolines. Scratch I heart yous on every scarlet red vehicle. Firetrucks unspared. Suck lemons on the patio at midnight. Lay down on cushions next to the railway tracks. Pillowfight on a rotating belt. Pant in feathered pleasure. French kiss in a red phone booth.

Pay no heed to deranged queuers. Elope with chariots of migrating birds. Thrash newpapers stands. Grin in unison. With matching his and her braces. Tattoo the moon's sillouettes on each other’s necks. Meld rings of love onto sun kissed fingers.