Body Talk"Our meal was a great disappointment but we had to suppress giggles when my friend noticed the waitress's name badge - Organ."
~ Mango Sauce
Oh. Hallo! Organ, meet Sperm. Snicker.
Sore LoserIt's that long-awaited time of the week again.
The skies are blue; the sun is bright; no alarm clocks shrilling through the neighbourhood; no impatient horning and screeches on the road; I don't have to wake up early . . .
But I do anyway because I need to see the doctor for a flu and cough and very sore throat *croak* AND then I have to go work in the afternoon at a seminar we have organised.
Though I am not speaking at the seminar, I have the perfect excuse to growl at everyone. And that is making me feel just a little better.
Daily EsCentialsI have been very, very naughty.
"On a steep slope and encircled by stones, stands a solitary cluster of grey lavender, emerging from the arid terrain, emanating a delicate smoky amber fragrance, reminiscent of a blue now extinguished by an azurite dust."
Presenting (nooo, I was not that naughty):
I suppose with a subject like that, you cannot go wrong if you simply stick to the facts and call a spade a spade, instead of trying to be witty and naming your newsletter along the lines of Spitting Image or Mouth-to-Mouth or Droolworthy or To Spit or Not to Spit or Harrrrkkk! (Ptooooi!!!). Personally, I like the sound of S.P.I.T.
Anyway, given the amazing progression of medical technology in screening diseases and other myriad possibilities, who knows when we will start seeing Urine Health News or Sperm Health News or even Snot Health News?
I simply cannot wait to become part of the exchange network for bodily fluids.
Gone with the WeekendAfter the buzz of activities and people during the work-week, I look forward to the weekends so I can stop working and having to think about work.
I look forward to spending time with myself and not having to worry about other people, especially since
I already spend a lot of time -- and increasingly so -- at work worrying not just about
I look forward to meeting up with friendly faces (who I can trust), sharing some easy laughs, and just having the freedom to be me. I miss looking into another person's eyes and not having to read their thoughts (and vice versa) -- and wondering/worrying what they want from me.
And so, this weekend past, I was looking forward to the Asia Dive Expo (ADEX) and blading on Saturday afternoon, and a picnic breakfast on Sunday, as well as some personal time in between. Much as I like having friends to hang out with and nice/fun things to do, I find myself having to spend an increasingly longer time to recharge myself.
En route out of town, just as we passed Millenia Walk, I mentioned to S that überburger, which we had talked about checking out (I am a sucker for anything with the word 'gourmet' affixed to it), was just there. "Okay, let's go now!" (Eh. Okayyy.) And so, instead of burning off our fats at the beach, we stuffed our faces with fatty Wagyu beef and foie gras (which we shared, by the way, because I did not think I could finish one on my own), onion rings, Milo-shake and coffee. Laugh.
As for the $101 question: was the burger worth it?
Well, I did enjoy my burger; the beef patty was juicy and tasty. But I prefer my foie gras seared. The service also left much to be desired -- especially since überburger sells itself as "Singapore's first gourmet burger restaurant", from the people behind Corduroy & Finch who declare that "to eat is a necessity, but to eat intelligently is an art". Naturally, I expected that the service staff would be intelligent enough to realise that they are not working in a regular burger joint; the teaspoon should not be served right into my hand -- nevermind that the waiter was smiling when he did it; and the bill ought not to be handed to me in a clumsy manner (training! training! training!) and then accompanied by a look of irritation when I looked askance at the awkward presentation (attention to details, people). SIGH.
For these two reasons:  the burger was not as sublime as I had expected it to be, which would have made up for  service that was really unacceptable for an self-professed atas establishment, I think the $101 price tag was really more a marketing gimmick for, yes you can say it again, SUCKERS like me, than a tantalising promise of pleasures and appetites waiting to be savoured and sated.
But if you just want a iced drink, I would highly recommend the to-die-for Milo-shake. (At least they got something right.)
I bumped into an ex-colleague in the washroom; and at Toys 'R' Us, it was M and her Romanian, who was his usual dry-occasionally-stirred-but-not-shaken, yah-very-funny-ha-ha self. I was looking for the nifty magnetic drawing board that one of my Mako instructors had used as a dive slate -- underwater. The Romanian was convinced that we either had our facts wrong or were pulling his leg (he is usually the one doing the pulling), even after M told him that she had also seen it being used. I added that an underwater casing was of course necessary before you could bring it underwater -- my straight face quickly breaking into a triumphant smirk as he was speechless for a while and then grinded his teeth ineffectually. I think that 'shook' him up pretty well. Laugh.
Our last stop for the night was Carrefour to pick up ham and cheese for the picnic on Sunday. Then S gave me, my groceries and rollerblades a lift home. THANK YOU S!!!
Soggy ground notwithstanding, we spread our mats, planted ourselves along the breakwater, and humans and dog tucked into fried hor fun, bacon, honeyed and cheese-melted toast, ham and egg sandwiches, and coffee. In between trying to convince ourselves that the hard and irregular ground was good for our backs, and ignoring the ants that seemed to be EVERYWHERE, we managed to do some reading and doze to the sounds of the lapping sea and overhead planes.
A message arrived for me in the midst of a pleasant shut-eye. The Guild Pet had just landed in the morning and was looking for companionship to ADEX with "the girls". We arranged to meet up for dinner instead.
Less than two hours later, we threw in the towel and trash, and moved to the cafe outside the PA East Coast Sea Sports Club for beer and coolers, and to watch the amazing windsurfers running with the wind. I am still amazed that, while relating how a work acquaintance died within three months of discovering he had a brain tumour (the late CEO of KPMG, Eugene O'Kelly, died on 10 September 2005, three months after being diagnosed with a brain tumour), another acquaintance from the same group appeared (he was taking windsurfing classes).
We packed up for good around 2 pm, and Little Miss Drinkandmanyotherthingsalot gave all of us a lift home. THANK YOU LMD!!!
I only realised back home that I was burnt, and so was Xena the Dog, whose left eye and muzzle looked raw. Awwww. Sayang.
We returned the favour by buying him a double scoop ("Please ask for a double scoop too so we girls don't look like pigs with our doubles!") of chocolate ice-cream from Awlfully Chocolate (a really awlful choice of name, but hey, the ice-cream was good) at Katong Mall, another of his recommendations.
We found an excuse to dump The Pet (he had a 10 pm guild raid to rush back home for anyway), and took a pleasant ride on Bus 16 to town for coffee and girl gossip. Heh.
While I would not say it was not a good weekend -- and it was a nice weekend by usual standards -- and there were many friendly faces and easy laughter, somewhere, sometime, I started to feel somewhat . . . how shall I put it . . . uncomfortable???
"I noticed the lightness in her eyes, an observation I was not able to ascertain previously in the dimness of the cafe. A lightness not just of color, but of being as well, made apparent as the loose strands of our conversations began to weave into a twine of closure as the hours went by. ... The gaze was upon me once again. Except the lightness was gone, and I understood the irony for the first time; that the lightness of her eyes surfaced only when the gaze was at its most furtive. For it was only when she looked away did the amber of the lamp beside our table reflect off the glassy facade of her eyes and light the gaze incandescent."
What was I afraid that you would see in my eyes?
What was I so afraid to see in your eyes?
Ask no questions, and receive no vague answers.
Now then, how did your weekend go?
Inside My HeadCulled from The King of Fairies.
You have a dreamy mind, full of fancy and fantasy. You have the ability to stay forever entertained with your thoughts. People may say you're hard to read, but that's because you're so internally focused. But when you do share what you're thinking, people are impressed with your imagination.
Your Personality is Artisan (SP)
You are both grounded and flexible. You adapt well to new situations. You are playful and free spirited - but you are also dependable and never flaky. You don't do well in conservative, stuffy situations. It's probably very hard for you to keep a normal job or stay in school. You are always up for fun and adventure. Most people are too boring for you. You take risks and bend the rules. And if things don't work out, you chock it up to life experience. In love, you tend to take things quickly - but you have a huge problem with commitment. At work, you need to make your own rules. You're best suited to be an entrepreneur. With others, you are animated and physical. You prefer doing something with friends to just hanging out. As far as your looks go, you tend to be buff and in good shape. Your spend more time on your body than your clothes. On weekends, you need to keep active. From cooking up a storm to running a 5K, you wear yourself out.
You craft words well, in creative and unexpected ways. And you have a great talent for evoking beautiful imagery... Or describing the most intense heartbreak ever. You're already naturally a poet, even if you've never written a poem.
"Dont Waste My Time!!!"Culled from The Stapler Maniac. (Text in italics my own.)
People will forget what you said.
People will forget what you did.
But people will never forget how you made them feel.
Especially after you shouted at them and the whole office heard.
Ladies of LeisureI had taken the Monday off, so I could savour a little more of the long Easter weekend post-dive.
The day began with breakfast at Newton Circus with
Tetanus and The Parcel
While the paid employee went back to work, it was off to an 11 am screening of the Disney production Eight Below. The waterworks were going for almost half of the movie, which had my companion wondering whether I was okay or only capable of emotions when four-legged creatures were involved. (But!but!but! You should have seen how the poor fluffy huskies had to fend for themselves after being abandoned!!! Sniffles.)
After the movie, looking for a nice spot outdoors to enjoy the sunny day, I lugged along The Parcel to check out the atas-looking Giraffe at the Istana Park, lured by the lovely glass facade and garden balconies. The menu looked reasonable (that is, lunch would not end with me having to wash my own and other diners' dishes for the next few days) and we settled ourselves in the outdoor dining area on the second level, just as a few Ladies of Leisure were leaving.
I had a Mojito (a cloudy concoction that was more lime juice than the signature minty drink) and The Parcel ordered a Hoegaarden (let's just say you can't go wrong with bottled drinks). As we waited for our lunch orders to be served, we leaned back to appreciate the surrounding greenery, the lovely interior and colours, the personal touch of the service staff which was everywhere (including the fingerprints on the cutlery), the scuffed table edges and the Carlsberg coaster under one of the table legs. After lunch, we decided to get coffee, but the waiters were either too busy making sure that the vines were properly entwined around the balcony railings, or did not look our way -- though we were the ONLY customers throughout the rest of the afternoon. We also realised why the restaurant was called Giraffe -- after several yoga-worthy neck stretches and spine twists, we finally got a waiter to notice us and take our orders for coffee.
I don't think we left a tip for lunch.
Fortunately, my afternoon appointment at the pedicurist went much better. And I was pleasantly surprised that my feet did not feel the urge to kick the pedicurist in her face. I figured it was because she was wearing gloves. Oh yes, gloves are definitely a good thing to have. No skin-touch-skin please, or there will be a lot of foot-touch-face.
Two hours and 11 pretty purple toenails later, I tottered down to yoga class for more neck stretches and spine twists (I'm masochistic), and to try out the new Hot Flow sequence. It was hot alright, and I found myself on my back most of the time - which is not the best position to balance on one leg while attempting to pull the other foot up and above your head.
After yoga, it was back home for dinner, some ass-kicking on WOW, and then bed.
Not too bad a way to spend a leisurely Monday :-)
"Let's Go Diving!!!"After a couple of false starts involving various parts of my body taking turns to break down (a brain tumour would really complete my health report card -- oh wait, I think that already happened years ago), I finally went back into The Blue after almost a year's break, over the long Easter weekend at Perhentian, with Scubapro Girl AKA SPG -- not the saronged variety) and two of her colleagues, Small Man Who Carried a Big Dive Torch (snicker) and Nu Qiang Ren Who Squealed at the Mosquito Drowining in her Honeyed Toast.
It was not the most pleasant start to a holiday, what with trying to sleep -- sitting up -- through the 12-hour road journey at night. But it was made bearable with a comfortable tour coach for our group of almost 40 divers (including six Dive Masters), a corny driver and rest stops along the way. I had also brought along a travel pillow that kept my head from rolling to either side -- thus was the dribble of dream-drool safely confined to my chin; I did not think SPG would have appreciated being woken by a 'wet dream'. Heh. Heh.
Twelve hours, two very sore eyes and one sorer backside later, we alighted at Kuala Besut Harbour in northern Terengganu. Another 30 minutes on a bumpy backside-pain-until-iCannotgetup (TM) speedboat ride, we arrived at the Flora Bay dive resort on Pulau Perhentian Besar. It was an idyllic stretch with inviting hammocks that looked out to pretty swathes of emerald and sapphire waters.
We had a quick breakfast in the resort's open-air restaurant, ordering from an impressive -- compared to other resorts -- menu that was spread over several pages, but which was really just 101 ways of cooking the same few items.
After depositing our bags in our respective huts and regrouping on the beach for a briefing, we geared up with tanks and tortoised (Oog! I had almost forgotten how heavy the tanks are!) our way to the speedboats. For good luck, just before each boat powered away, the DMs would also get their groups to shout "Let's go diving!!!".
Because it was a small speedboat, all our entries were back-rolls (rather than the legs-first 'giant step'). It was not the most reassuring way to make contact with the water after being away for 11 months, I thought, as I lifted myself off the seat and onto the side of the boat very, very slowly, so I would not end up doing a premature back-tumble with flaying arms and legs, while waiting for my turn.
When my shoulders finally hit the water (sans flaying arms and legs), and its welcoming warmth enveloped my head and then the rest of my tucked body, it felt like I had not been away for that long after all. I suppose you never completely forget how to do something, and your subconscious kicks in with remembered responses when presented with familiar stimuli.
My descents were effortless -- they usually are -- probably also because I was a little over-weighted at 2.7 kg (the weights came in heavier 3-pound pieces). I was also spared the waves of panic that tend to hit me during the first few dives on each trip; I especially hate the shock of cold water that comes with the first dive in the early morning. Fortunately, the Perhentian waters were warm throughout our trip, except for the rare thermocline. I had also spent a lot of time preparing myself mentally for my 'return', as well as SPG AKA Very Stressed Dive Buddy against potential panic attacks.
Except for the few, but common, minor incidents underwater: my regulator slipped out of my aching jaws, and someone almost dislodged my mask when he/she came from behind for a sighting, the check-out dive and remaining ones went smoothly. At least, for me. One of the divers (she had not dived for two years) swam into me from below, and her head and hoses were momentarily entangled in my long fins. But she continued to push forward -- instead of descending or just stopping for a moment to THINK -- and alternated between a dog-paddle and frog-kick. The same girl also bumped into SPG a few times. Once, after yet another bumping incident, I watched as SPG, in SLO-MO (remember that all this was happening underwater, at depth) . . . stopped . . . raised a hand after the girl . . . and then set both hands on her hips. I thought I almost heard her huff underwater. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Almost all our dives were about 45 minutes (including the 3-minute safety stop), except for one particular one where we had to swim against current, and the DM signalled for a safety stop after only 35 minutes because a few people were low on air. The average depth was 10 to 15 metres, and 22 metres at the deepest. My air consumption was decent, and I usually surfaced with 110 to 130 bars (starting with 210 bars).
The dives went well for me -- that is, I did not die -- but I wished they had been more happening. Certainly, I had high expectations of Perhentian after hearing about M's Sugar Wreck dive (and a 'secret' site that takes an hour to reach) and sightings of bamboo sharks and the humongous star pufferfish. However, wreck dives were not on the itinerary, which I only realised after checking with the DM on the first day. In fact, he did not even know about the wrecks.
I did see a Jenkin's Whipray, a school of barracuda swimming overhead, shrimp-like razorfish, a Hawksbill Turtle, a few big bumphead parrotfish, nudibranches, a batfish, a big triggerfish, several clownfish and colourful clams -- but really, most of the dives were spent just finning around. I learnt later that I/our group had missed a stack of eight or nine nurse sharks, lionfish, moray eels, sea snake and a 'disfigured' pufferfish.
While underwater sightings depend a lot on luck and visibility, and visibility was bad -- about 5 m on half the dives -- I think it also made a difference that our DM was fairly new; so were most, if not all the part-time PADI-trained DMs working on this trip. It was not much of a guided tour, that is, sighting creatures -- though it seemed to me that our DM spent a lot of time looking out for the notoriously territorial triggerfish, and avoiding it like the plague. He was also a little too fast especially with the bad visibility and photographers in the group. Five of us (including the two photographers) got separated from the rest for a few minutes. But SPG AKA DM-in-the-Making demonstrated her sense of bearing and got us headed in the right direction to regroup with the rest -- even as the DM was alerted to his missing charges and started to bang his tank underwater.
I felt all these more acutely probably because
I also wish we could have spent more time idling in-between our leisure (am I missing something here?) dives, and did not have to constantly rush, with just enough time to de-gear, wash up, eat, rest briefly, and start gearing up all over again. I hate rushing when I am on holiday. I already spend enough of my life rushing to work every morning, rushing to meet my deadlines, rushing for yoga after work, rushing home to WOW (heh heh), ... well, you get the idea.
And because we started late on the first day, the surface interval times were even shorter. When we heard that the third and last dive (the night dive was optional and chargeable at $30, and apparently not worth freezing off our already traumatised tushies) was just an hour later, three of us -- SPG, Nu Qiang Ren and I -- decided to skip it. We were tired after the long bus-ride, the diving had not been particularly memorable, and SPG and I were uncomfortable about the short interval. Though the DM assured that an hour was not too short since our earlier dives had been relatively shallow, I had even more reason than the other two to stick to my conservative diving plan.
And so, as the lusty shouts of "Let's go diving!!!" and motorised activity faded into the lazy late afternoon, and the island retreated again into its idyllic slumber, the three of us sauntered to the dining area for drinks.
Like most of the dive resorts I had stayed at, the food was typically insipid, and the burnt coffee was predictably forgettable. But at least, it attempted to be coffee and not just coffee-flavoured hot water. It always seemed to me such a blasphemy that anyone could serve coffee (or tea) so badly. I mean, how difficult can it be? Anyway, thank goodness for good old Coke, 100-Plus and teh halia (served with REAL tea, generous helpings of ginger slices, and no milk). The latter was a wonderfully pleasant hot drink in-between dives.
The rest of the afternoon was spent reading and then dozing in the big hammock on the beach -- the three of us -- lulled by the sounds of the sea :-) And it was LOVELY. Just LOVELY.
So, that night, after dinner and some pleasant company and conversation, SPG and I grabbed our sleeping bags, cocooned up and went to sleep in the hammock, under the full moon and starry night skies :-) And it was LOVELY. Just LOVELY.
Until we woke up the next morning with stiff backs -- NOT so lovely.
We did three more dives on the second day. One of them was a nitrox dive (richer oxygen mix so you can stay underwater longer) -- at an average depth of only 10 m for slightly more than half an hour ... well, enough said. I did not feel any different, though I thought my air consumption was a little lower.
That night, after dinner and more pleasant company and conversation, we returned to our rooms to sleep on proper beds. Heh.
The next morning, we set out for the mainland and another 12-hour bus-ride. There were the usual pirated (read: fuzzy) movies on board, intermittent dozing and rest stops. The final leg through the Causeway was smooth and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself back at home just before 10 pm :-)
So I guess it was not too bad a holiday. While I wish the diving was more exciting, I did get to dive which is good enough for now :-)
Xena and the Seven MemesCourtesy of Little Miss Itchy Fingers. (Now I have to hunt for seven other victims.)
Seven dreams before death:
Seven things I can’t do in this lifetime:
Seven things that attract me:
Seven things I say:
Seven books that I love:
Seven movies that I’ve loved:
Intimidating StrangerSo SF asked M if she knew whether Uncle was ever interested in me, and M thought so -- until she met Aunty, and realised it would not have worked out anyway. Because she and I were really different. You see, Uncle had once told M that he found M (speaking of which, I am pretty sure that he used to be interested in her too) and me "intimidating", and something to the effect that we knew what we wanted and were not afraid to speak our minds.
Rrrrright. As opposed to women who do not know what they want or like, and are often described as "really quiet"??? (Nevermind that I actually do not know what I want -- except when I am indulging in retail therapy -- and I am often described as "really quiet". But I would agree that M can come across as "intimidating".) I suppose a lot of us are still getting used to changing gender roles and identities in the new world order.
But it did make me wonder about the few males who tried to "show me around". Sometimes it worked (because I had not been "around"); sometimes it did not work (because I had already been "around" or eventually got "around" thanks to them). Mostly, I just got tired of them trying to "show me around", and their need to prove themselves and get/convince me to like/want what they like/want, rather than just loosening up and having the confidence to be themselves, and being interested in who I am and what I am made of.
Yahhhhh. I guess that makes me intimidating afterall.
Can Look But Cannot TouchI was not a very happy woman on Saturday night.
I found myself seated next to my sister, at a table with a third woman and 13 other men (a few who I had met on previous occasions), in advance celebration of J's very happy (upcoming) birthday.
It wasn't so much that most of the men were already happily attached -- to each other; and the remaining few were more likely to be spotted at Happy than Ministry of Sound.
It wasn't so much that the conversation didn't interest me; though I'm sure we could have waxed equally lyrical on the subject of men. (Instead, we ended up waxing lyrical about Godiva, Royce, Leonidas, Prestat, and the concept shop Asylum at Ann Siang, after I caught on to the men bitching about the synthetic-tasting grape-flavoured Kit Kats at the table.)
Neither was it so much that the 186 cm specimen seated across my sister was an 8/10 looker (who I could not stop looking at; I realised later that he was actually a fairer and lankier lookalike of Scuba Pro Boy) with the most disarming +1 (=9/10) winsome smile that was brighter than the sparkly diamond bling-blings on both his ring fingers and the left ear.
But as the third female commented, all the men there had way better -- and glowing -- skin than the females. (At one point, A -- something about his face reminded me of The Fish -- asked about *my* cosmetics and recommended that I try Dermalogica because it did wonders for his boyfriend's skin.)
And oh yes, the men had more bling-blings too.
And it was The Stapler Maniac who was the first to
"Look at his name tag!"
So when he came (snicker) to take The Best Friend's order, we looked.
And we (at least, I did) looked again.
Oh yeahhh, it's sperm (snicker) alright.
Nevermind what kind of cruel parents would bestow such a name on their child (and you thought my parents were cruel???). Why would a tall, well-built, not-too-bad-looking twenty-ish young man with many more reproductive (snicker) years ahead of him, who seemed to be of sound mind and was old enough to make his own decisions, continue using the name??? Or worse, maybe he named himself after the by-product of his testicles; which would explain how he ran out of genetic material -- all of it went to his looks.
The waitress, who presented us with our bill, pronounced his name (at my request, snicker) with a curl of distaste at the corner of her lips (I bet she doesn't swallow). She had not had a chance to ask him about his name because she had only been with the beachside pub for a few days.
I kid you not.
So go on, check it out at Scruffy Murphys for yourself over the weekend. If nothing else, the food's great, and you can't go wrong with an establishment with a warped sense of humour. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Sunny Side UpA picnic at East Coast Beach (near Sadako's Well)
Date: 23 April 2006, Sunday
Time: 0800 hours (0700 if I had it my way)
People: The usual suspects and a four-legged namesake
Bring: Your semi-conscious ass; breakfast and lots of strong coffee; picnic mats and hammock
I remembered dreaming that I was diving last night. And I remembered the conscious effort to switch to mouth-breathing and breathing slowly through the initial waves of panic -- "Breathe. Just breathe."
Seven more days.
Of Violets and Mole-tifsWe had a choice for our weekend get-a-life-outside-WOW movie: Inside Man, or The Producers, or Ultraviolet.
Inside Man was a sneak preview screening in less than an hour, and we did not think we could get decent seats; and I was not exactly in the mood for humour. So, I voted for Ultraviolet, because I felt like watching "a mindless movie" where I did not have to expend more of my limited and rapidly deteriorating brain cells figuring out plot intrigues or cerebral humour (better to expend them at work figuring out office intrigue or why the crazy temp keeps trying to smile at me) .
And mindless it was, from start to end. So I spent the entire 90 minutes marvelling at how taut Milla Jovovich's abs were, and staring at the small mole -- which did not look so small on the big screen and her otherwise unblemished skin -- on her left cheek.
After the movie and a coffee, I took a slow stroll back home. As usual, random thoughts kept me company; one of them: Milla's mole. I snickered at the thought of the best friend's reaction if she had seen the bigger-than-life mole. And then I realised that Bi Ling, my very first best friend in Primary Six, had a mole -- a rather big three-dimensional one, right under her nose. In Secondary School, I went through three different best friends, Yong Fang, Kai Qin and Li Feng. Though they would be remembered more for their attractiveness -- mostly with the males -- I recalled that they all had small 'beauty' moles on a cheek or along the jawline. Michelle made me her best friend in Junior College; like Bi Ling, she had a three-dimensional mole under her nose too (I vaguely recall that she had it removed a few years later). We drifted apart and I started hanging out with Lilian, who had a 'Cindy Crawford' mole by her mouth. We drifted apart too, in the final year.
The few things that almost all of them had in common were that they sought me out first; they were very well-liked in general; and they were rarely short of admirers. I guess I can add the recurring mole to the list.
Of course, that makes me wonder about the current mole-less best friend.
Now, how come YOU don't have a mole???
The deep purple bottle stood out from the clear ones, and the signature gold-coloured cap created a contrast in this instance that suggested intrigue and decadence. Indeed, Mandragore was a delightful and lively symphony of spices -- bergamot, star anis, ginger and mandrake -- that teased the senses and appetite as I tried to identify each familiar note. Absolutely yummilicious.
I requested for a sample vial for a skin test over the next few days, so I could tell whether we had 'chemistry'. Heh. I have had a couple of expensive lessons in learning that paper dippers just do NOT work, and what smells like ambrosia in a bottle may turn you into a walking disaster of rotting fruits. But generally, florals work well on me, while citruses are better off staying in their bottles. I am new to spices since they are mostly found in male fragrances, but Mandragore -- a unisex scent by the way -- is turning out quite well.
I just love falling in love with exotic scents :-)
Bad BearsAin't he cute?
"I have grown tired of all my old stories, but I never grow tired of Story."