In three weeks' time, will be away just about every other week - holiday, work, holiday. Not sure if the mad rush to clear work before and in between the trips, will alternate well with the holiday mode. Never done it like this before. Feeling... stressed. I think the next six weeks will be... interesting. Note to self: Must get enough sleep.

What am I?

You are what you eat.

Mostly potato chips; sometimes cheese curls. Aggressive go-getter? Where got? Lower eyes demurely.


Someone's aunt wondered why there are so many single women, and if there are so few single AND desirable men, after her 30-year-old colleague related the dismal choices at SDU - the women ended up organising outings among themselves instead. Ah well, at least they found some companionship :-)

With education and new opportunities, the modern woman now finds herself less willing to settle for just any companion. And, it's also probably because the single AND desirable men have decided to pair up with each other. As CirCe puts it: "Every pair means two less hetero couples." Heh.

Little Stars of CapitaLand, Junction 8.

Someone explain to me why emcees think they have to shout at children's shows? And, what makes them ask an 8-year-old contestant, dressed up as Snow White with apple in hand: "What's that you're holding? Is that a DURIAN?" Eh, nooo. The colour and texture are like, way off? And the kid probably would have dropped the durian on your foot by now if she had tried holding one in her bare hands. Blink.


After resetting the counter for my comments, I found a number of unread ones from various people. Guess I just found something interesting to do.

G-Max Bungy, Clark Quay

I don't know if anyone has ever described bungy and reverse bungy as an orgasmic experience, but on Friday night, in between the adrenaline junkies and horror flick screamers, one woman's screams and moans caused a lot of knowing looks and snickers among the onlookers. Heh. Heh. Heh.

As we watched others get onto the G-Max, my friend was trying to avoid the persistent eyeballing and wide grins of an older and balding Billy Bob Thornton lookalike in the queue, and literally leaning into me. (Erm... that's a bit too close. People might get the wrong idea!) At one point, he crooked his finger at her to go over to him. Unfortunately, he forgot to check whether that was the hand with the wedding band. Roll eyes.

When we walked away later, another two followed. (Something about deliberate footsteps and the feeling of eyes on my back.) We had noticed them among the onlookers before, but couldn't decide about the cute one with his 'soft' expression and fitted shirt - until his definitely gay-looking companion came along. Ah.

Down one of the streets, Mr Gay by Association came up past my right and turned to ask: "What's that you're reading?"

We continued walking as I raised my book: "Neil Gaiman." And a quick smile with the lips. Hmmm.

He peers, shrugs, smiles and walks off.

Okayyy. Three things:
[1] You don't know WHO Neil Gaiman is???
[2] Gay? Or plays on both teams? (See, I told you not to lean so close to me. Maybe they were looking for another team to make a foursome for the night!)

The Impartial Observer.

Over drinks, the conversation moved from sensing vibes and whether I could tell if someone had lied, to her revelation that she had managed to keep something from me for the last few months. But she said it wasn't so much a lie as an omission. As she cowered in mock fear (bleah), I looked out the window by our table and realised why we had stayed at the ground floor restaurant at Far East Square instead of moving to the New Asia Bar.

Life Lesson [1]:
Confessions should be made at The Right Time - after your friend's reflexes have been suitably dulled from a few drinks; and The Right Place - somewhere at ground level.

Anyway, the revelation was inconsequential since I had gotten over the event months ago. Talking about which, it wasn't just a few months. It has almost been a year. But, who's counting? (Let's see now, if we take a month to represent a floor, my bedroom window should make a good tossing point, no?)

Mind your language

"Women doctors to outstrip men by 2012."



In ancient Greece (469 - 399 BC), Socrates was widely lauded for his wisdom.

One day the great philosopher came upon an acquaintance who ran up to him excitedly and said: "Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates replied. "Before you tell me I'd like you to pass a little test. It's called the Triple-Filter Test."


"That's right," Socrates continued. "Before you talk to me about my student let's take a moment to filter what you're going to say. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

"No," the man said. "Actually I just heard about it."

"All right," said Socrates. "So you don't really know if it's true or not. Now let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my student something good?"

"No, on the contrary..."

"So," Socrates continued. "You want to tell me something bad about him, even though you're not certain it's true?"

The man shrugged, a little embarrassed.

Socrates continued: "You may still pass the test though, because there is a third filter - the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really ..."

"Well," concluded Socrates. "If what you want to tell me is neither True nor Good nor even Useful, why tell it to me at all?"

The man was defeated and ashamed.

This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem.

It also explains why he never found out that Plato was shagging his wife.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Would you rather know, or not?

Doggy tales.

Elmo came to me a few mornings ago, not with his usual persistent (and often violent) nudges to play, but quietly laid on my lap as I put my hand on his body to still his initial restlessness - as if he knew I needed the quiet. His restful heaviness against me was comforting. Perhaps I'm not used to him being like this. Perhaps he was just sleepy. It's rare, especially in the mornings when he would be his usual hyperactive self. While it's easy to hold Xena - much smaller and restful - and she is always looking for a lap to snuggle up to anyway, it just feels different. She comes to me for her own comfort. Not mine.

Or maybe skin and bones just aren't made for comforting. Heh.


Do we ever lose the ability to be happy, with time or age? Can personal trials cause us to lose that ability, irrevocably, to reach for happiness? How do we find what we have lost?

Et cetera.

"The antispam and mailfiltering system does not reject emails from yahoo.com. However, it could have contained a subject or message body that matches a common known spam email phrase."

Yahhh. Which would have meant just about every other word. Roll eyes.

And, it's time to go on a sunlight deprivation regime when people only see contrasting colours when you stand beside your very fair-skinned colleague. Arrrggghhh!!!


"Rising from a depth of more than 600 meters from the bottom of the Celebes Sea, just a few miles from the coast of Sabah (45 minutes by speedboat in calm seas), Pulau Sipadan is just a small island, the top of a long-lost lava chimney from a prehistoric volcano: its topside covered by a lush and thick tropical forest and ringed by a sandy beach, its shallow surrounding coral reefs suddenly giving way to precipitous vertical drop-offs, falling down to the abyss below. Where else in the world can one get dizzy kneeling in the sand and looking straight down for 600 meters? Where else in the world can one see, in the course of the average dive, at least a dozen turtles of two different species, a twirling tornado of thousands of chevron barracudas, a glinting and shimmering rolling ball of hundreds of jacks, a herd of massive giant bumphead parrotfish grazing on the reef top, while all the time being buzzed by scores of white tip reef sharks? Then, of course, there's always the lucky day: when you might meet a pack of patrolling grey reef sharks down there at Barracuda Point, and immense whale shark gliding by in the current off South Point, or maybe bump into a couple of mantas playing in front of the Drop-off, or even check a living wall of hundreds of hammerheads rising like ghosts from the deep, glowing in the open blue water at Hanging Gardens."


Now, here's one Happy Dough Boy.


"I sometimes read, with sadness and a great deal of envy, some of your entries and observations because you seem to have it. Just a sheer honesty about your lives with that added dash of humour. It's a trait I've noticed that all bloggers seem to share - that superordinate ability to see your lives outside of yourselves as some kind of comedy, or sometimes satire. The ability to make light of yourselves, yet imbue it with a moodiness that makes one stop, and sometimes wish that they were there, or that they were you.
~ Brainjuice

Because what else is there, if we do not live life with open eyes and mind - to look forward to each day, encounter or experience, and wonder what it brings for us. Or rather, what we can MAKE of it - to engage our senses and mind, and make it real and meaningful for ourselves.

National Servitude.

The Crabby Hermit of Punggol just prophesied that I would have no problems sleeping the next two weeks because he has been summoned to serve and protect the country. Okayyy. Not that I can see how playing war simulation computer games and morphing into multilingual enthusiasts in the art of describing the exotic origins of another's ancestry are supposed to put fear in any advancing enemy. (Unless crossing swords and trading insults with corny pirates in Monkey Island.) Give me my own iron cast saucepan anytime. Yeah, think I'll go to bed with one by my pillow for the next two weeks. Heh.

Fluid dynamics.

My dive buddy is Wolverina in the making - yellow and black striped flippers, and yellow weight belt. Her latest acquisition is a wet suit with yellow sleeves. Definitely no problems picking her out from the others, even in low visibility. Hahahaha. But maybe I shouldn't look out for her, lest laughter underwater - usually accompanied by involuntary spitting out of regulator and gulping of water - proves to be my undoing.

Diving itself is really quite relaxing. The actual workout comes from tugging on and off the wet suit -

[1] Carefully. A certain X-WOmen wannabe almost tugged off her bikini top. Heh. Heh. Heh.

[2] As gracefully as possible, with minimal swearing and sweating, whilst bending over to pull rubber over fat calves, thunder thighs and child-bearing hips, and making sure to remember to suck in your tummy and watch that your J-Lo aspiring ass is not sticking out at the most unglamourous angle. By the way, for the uninitiated, the, ahem, aptly named Wet Area, is an open shower area where everyone suits up.

Anyway, the fingers feel like they have just climbed a wall. Aha! Maybe I could incorporate that into my morning workouts! Heh. Else, I just need to go on a diet before the next dive.

My Legendary Girlfriend.

He loved her because of who she was -- and who he became around her.

To bring out the best in each other, and together complete the whole. Insightful - and beautifully so, in its simple truth.


I touched a flipper! Heh. Heh. Poor harried turtle. We surrounded him as he bubbled above the corals, probably resting after breakfast. He looked a little wild-eyed as he tried to swim away, in my direction, and then saw that I was not moving out of his way. Except, I did, at the last moment - he had shreds of jelly fish hanging from his mouth after all, and he was looking right at me. Gulp.


"Sneebs got back to his own world once, and it was all different. He was so miserable, he found another doorway and came straight back ...... He said it was better to belong where you don't belong than not to belong where you used to belong, remembering when you used to belong here."
~ The Wee Free Men, Terry Pratchett

When you dream too long, you forget what reality is. It's like sleeping too long, and waking up disoriented and wanting to return to sleep, to sleep off the sleepyhead.

Doggy tales.

Elmo's fat ass rammed into the standing two-foot vase and sent it crashing to the floor. Okayyy. Someone needs to go on a diet.

And, when you towel yourself dry only to be covered with white hair all over - no, I'm not THAT old... yet - you know it's time to stop letting the dogs play on your bed and run all over your stuff. Mutter.

Sunny Singapore.

Had a quick swim after a few weeks' break - just to get used to the water before the weekend dive - and I emerged from the shower perspiring more than the whole of today.

Am I hot? Oh yeah, you bet. Heh.


Do you use perfume to smell 'nice' for other people, for yourself, or both?


Curried Pumpkin Soup at Cedele tasted more like A Few Pieces of Pumpkin in Curry.

Pumpkin Soup at Whatever was much better.


We know each other, but we rarely meet in a group. Our common link is her. Mostly, we hear of each other through her. She once said we were too diverse a group to be put together in a room. Yet, we can all talk to her in our own ways. As she puts it, there is a different dress for each occasion, and so, a different friend for the different sides to her.

E believes in things which cannot be seen, or which have yet to come to pass. And so, she turns to E when she seeks hope and faith in the uncertain future.

"I know exactly how you feel." S is an emphatic human sponge who picks up moods and vibes so easily that she mirrors your emotions on her face, though she does not understand most of it, nor is able to articulate what it is that she is picking up on. Perhaps, it should be "I FEEL exactly how you feel." (I wonder if S ever has trouble differentiating between her own emotions and those that she picks up on.) Yet, S finds comfort in E's presence, when she just needs sympathy and a listening face.

When the bartop dancer in her needs a partner-in-crime, she and L get together like two laughing hyenas, pubbing and running round the island and nearby ones, looking for things to do.

And, when she needs to indulge in inane intellectual discussions, she summons her short-sighted, insensitive and humourless friend, otherwise known as ME. Sometimes, I am also called upon as a temporary stand-in for L - who has moved to the States after marriage - because I don't know how to say 'no' to the whims of the woman. Ack.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I wonder what kind of dress I would be in her wardrobe. Something with a Mandarin collar? :-)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sometime in the day, listening to someone relate that a friend really understood her needs and gave her what she wanted, and was a very good friend, I wondered at the qualifications and the meaning of friendship.


No longer just recording or ranting. But, also giving form and shape to hazy thoughts, and summoning the hidden ones. Now, seeing much more and understanding. And finally, purging - catharsis. As my writing evolved, so did I.


This is much more satisfying than fingering homicidal motorists, no?


The Beginning. Huh? Not quite what I expected.


"Ten players line up on each end of a court with a line of balls between them. The whistle is a signal to grab the balls and hurl them at each other. If you're hit, you're out; the first team without players loses.

Remember Poison Ball from PE lessons in primary school? Only, Dodgeball uses multiple balls. Sounds like F.U.N. Heh. Heh. Heh.


Is Starhub sending its staff out to households to reconfigure networks, or something? At 7pm? Strange - there has been no official notification. And then there was that strange phone call several weeks back, asking me what speed I was on. Excuse me, wouldn't you have that information on your database?

And some moron tried to run me down at Keong Saik, because I didn't see him coming down when I was already halfway across the side road. So, he demonstrated his incredible timing and braking skills by stopping a couple of inches from my knees, even as I had already started to lengthen my strides. And, in spite of the obvious rush he was in, he stopped a few metres away, rolled down his window, stuck his head out, glared, asked if I owned the road, glared, and then sped off. Wellll, actually, I don't. But hey, that was a nice way of showing your kid how to ask a stranger if she owned the road.

Maybe it's just the unusual heat today - everything seems almost surreal.


Have you ever found yourself catching distinctive whiffs of a friend - only, when you looked around, the person was nowhere in sight, nor was the smell coming from anyone standing nearby?


His imposing presence hovered over my tiny keyboard, committing thoughts and words onto the screen and into significance. Occasionally, the body would turn around to ask for an opinion. They ARE good words and good thoughts. They ARE powerful and forceful. And yet, it was almost painful watching him use the words, sledgehammering his way to victory, like a barbarian, his warcries resounding off every available surface. Noisy words.

Is brevity overrated, or is it just me?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, the words in my head seem to have gone into hiding.


Stupid dog woke me up with her barking this morning again. It was worse the night before - all the way from midnight; I was never quite able to fall deeply enough into oblivious sleep before her barks roused me midway. Arrrggghhh!!! That, and I have been waking up before six no matter how early or late I go to bed. Mutter. So much for rarely having problems sleeping.

Moving pictures.

This is very, very funny. Culled from The Man with The Mysterious Humour. Ah, that explains A LOT. Snicker.


Chai Latte (without sugar). Milk tea with an edge. Interesting.

The dog had a whiff and ran away. Eh? Look suspiciously at bottle. Poison? Or laxative? Heh.

Lesser of two evils.

"The girls have not been exposed to modern dance, and could not understand all of it... But I was very frightened that they were exposed to such vulgarity..."

Ah, fragile young minds. No wonder they couldn't help giggling at the sight of "translucent, butt-revealing leotards" and "each jiggling butt cheek."

What was the member of the audience thinking, waiting until the interval to stand up and "using four-letter expletives, he told them to 'stop making that noise'."

And, what was the escorting teacher thinking, exposing her girls to such wanton display of quivering flesh?


In "I Know What You're Thinking" (Straits Times Life, 8 June), the writer muses about honesty and hidden agendas, after interviewing Marc Salem, a specialist in behavioural science and body language and "thought-reader", who also gave a demonstration at the Esplanade's Flipside Festival on Saturday.

"But perhaps honesty in a not-so-utopian world is an overrated trait..."

"It's about cutting a loved one some slack. Or coming to terms with the fact that everyone, including yourself, has a selfish personal agenda, but is still capable of good..."

"The fandango of second-guessing, at the end of the day, adds to the richness of life. Some people call it flirting, others turns it into a poetry of gesture, wit and gallantry. Yet others savour non-literality for the mystery of the deliberately misunderstood, undiscovered and potentially possible..."

"Not everybody, however, has the same broadness of mind to accept such hard facts..."

"I think I want to know the truth to be told to me, willingly, by the person I'm demanding it from, and not through clandestine methods. When this may not happen, I can only rely on that underrated trait in today's post-utopian world: Trust."

That, or reading minds. Heh.


The dogs and sisters were excited after the delivery of the dog food. The dogs - for obvious reasons. The sisters - because one heard from the other that the delivery man was a very hunky specimen. Heh.


0034 hours. And I jumped out of bed umpteen more times to rewrite various other phrases and words.

Argh!!! OCD!!!

Ok, think I've tired myself out enough from all the jumping out of bed. Heh. Should have no problems sleeping now.


2346 hours. I can't believe I just crawled out of bed to rewrite "the other two who will be enjoying their complimentary late sleep-in" to "with the compliments of the other two who will be sleeping in late".


In another rant about my uninteresting life, I'm guessing that some of you have not heard about the Clueless Parents who left their Innocent Children with the Evil Grandmother who lived in the House of Bean Sprouts, Booby-trapped Perfume Bottles, and the Uncle who swung from a different tree than his three older and (happily - optional) married brothers. The Traumatised Young Minds grew up into Socially Dysfunctional Adults with a penchant for body modification and ice-cubes.

And, excuse me, it's bu4 (yao4 dou4 ya2) for emphasis. Not wussy bu2.

And, another thing, fibre and vitamins can be gotten from aesthetically more pleasing vegetables (like kai lan and chye sim) and popping pills (see, I've got orange, brown, green and ochre in my pillbox). Snort!

And, one last thing, you people should stop commenting in my blog late at night. How am I ever going to get to sleep if you keep me awake replying to your comments?


"I kn y (the email) bounce. Ur file got virus! Dirty girl. Heh."

Did I just send that message? Laugh.

In other reports of my boring life, the accommodation at Oakwood City Residence for the Bangkok trip comes with ONE complimentary breakfast every morning. The THREE of us will be taking turns over the three mornings to go down for breakfast, with the compliments of the other two who will be sleeping in late.

Alphabet Soup.

"The allure of the American-born Chinese man."

Robin Leong
What's with the shaved head? Hmmm, come to think of it, he never did seem to have much hair. Ah, must be balding, and decided to just do away with everything before anyone noticed.

Garrett Hoo
FWAH! Nice cleavage. WHOA NELLY!!! An uncovered nipple!!! Choi! Tonight sure cannot strike 4D! Alamak, my $2 just went down the longkang already! Quick, complain to MITA! What is this! Children read the Straits Times too! Sack the ST journalist! Sack the ST Life Editor! Sack the ST Editor too!

Mark Zee
"Women here are more demure as compared to American women. In the US, gender lines are so blurred, it's nice to meet girls who are feminine." Nice social commentary there. Or, did you just get your ass whipped by one too many big American Xena lookalikes for your wussy ways, and have now come running to our little sunny refuge for some tender, loving coddling, eh? Admit it, you are gay. You are in Singapore because you heard about the thriving gay culture here, right? Oh yeah, our men are feminine alright. You'll fit right in. Snicker.

Jackson Peh
"Marry a local man. We may be fun to go out with, but you may have some nasty surprises down the road. We're very non-committal. It's an American thing." Yah, right. Thanks for the warning, Mr Wham Bam Thank You Mam. It's probably just YOU. (And for some reason, he reminds me of a certain Libran. Figures about the non-committal vibes.)

Holman Chin
This guy actually seems like a really nice person. And he's 1.84m. Nice :-)

Are Singaporean men that bland (and short)? Eh, actually a lot (not all) of them are. Heh. Or, is the grass always greener on the other side? Really? I don't have a colour preference, but I do prefer men to NOT look green, unless it's a bad reaction from my cooking - fortunately, I don't cook, and for a very good reason. Heh.

I never cared much for white men. (Look, smartass, Orlando Bloom - only when he has the blond locks, Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt don't count, ok?) And ABCs, and BBCs, and whatever else. And, the accented locals who return with their foreign degrees. The way I see it, if I'm going to be spending more time trying to understand his accent and identifying with his worldly outlook from living overseas (What was that? I was supposed to be impressed and go "waaahhh"??? Say so earlier lah!!!), I and my ADD might not last beyond the first date. And, yes, yes, of course he might also find my plebeian ways and Singlish a turn-off. How could I be thinking only about myself? (Of course, I can. This is my blog. And if you dare say anything about it, I'll kick your ass. Heh.)

Doggy Tales.

Up to his neck. ROFL!!! This is soooo funny!!!


Why do these alien words appeal to me? Perhaps, it's the way she writes her thoughts. Maybe, it's just the way that words and sentences are structured differently in Mandarin. Or, is it how the sound of each character resounds in my head as I slowly decipher the lines and curves of each character in this visual feast? It's amazing to me how the different combinations can create such different sounds, tonal differences, and above all, meanings. No big, multi-syllabic tongue-twisting words. Simplicity. It's quite beautiful, really.

Or maybe, too used to the English language, anything in Mandarin will be exotic to me? Heh.

I can understand spoken Mandarin. I can speak enough for practical purposes - the most important and oft used phrase being "bu4 yao4 dou4 ya2" or "don't want bean sprouts". Excuse me, it's very important to ME, ok? Hmmmpppfff. I can read a little, and slowly. But I can only remember how to write my own Chinese name. Blush.


I was surprised that someone from the distant past knew of my blog and that I'm the writer. It turned out that he was just surfing around and chanced upon the group photo that was put up over a weekend in May. I can only marvel at which of the following search engine referrers came from The Great Slimer - "innocent girls"? "girl tattooed pierced"? Or "part-time hotel banquet waiter"? Are the waters getting a little too red for you, my lawyer friend?

And the guy happens to be living only five minutes away from my block. Wah, I never knew that. Heh.

Anyway, don't you think Hammie looks so cute sandwiched between the happy couple? Awww...

Friendster tales.

The latest lists as his interests - "outdoors, water sports, travel, jazz, live music, chili crab, animal lover, civil society" AND "fondling plants". Somehow, I don't think the latter was a typo. There is a photo of him humping, eh, hugging, a coconut tree. Heh. Heh. Heh.


She asked if I believed in true love, in spite of the broken marriages and relationships that seem to be happening with alarming frequency in recent years. If true love exists, why do relationships fall apart? If true love exists, why is it so hard to find? Maybe true love does not exist. Then, why do people get married? To live unhappily ever after?

What am I?

Culled from Vaya.

"You're Sudan! Every time you get a headache, you reach for some aspirin, only to realize that someone destroyed it. That's just how things are going for you right now... it's hard to eat, hard to sleep, hard to not have a headache. You try to relax, but people always jump on you about something that doesn't make sense. If you were a goat, you'd be a Nubian."
~ Country Quiz from Blue Pyramid.

What hogwash. ROFL!


"Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care"
~ Macbeth. Macbeth. II.iii.36.

Earache again - symptom of sleep debt. (And people talking behind my back.) Was digging through old dog photos past midnight, trying to write, and trying even harder not to fall asleep on Mr Sleepless in Punggol. Heh.

I once fell asleep on my friend while she was whining about something. After several unreturned "hellos", she called up a mutual friend and promptly burst into tears, and barely coherent sobs of "she fell asleep on me!!!"

There was also A, who I used to doze off on quite regularly. In between his drones, intermittent breaks of silence, and the occasional poetry reading - totally wasted on this sleepy sod - I stole catnaps, and often found myself jerking awake in the middle of yet another drone. What?! Are we not done yet?! What's that bloody long thing you're reading from? Homer's Iliad??? Arrrggghhh!!!

Random thoughts.

[1] Pinnochio on Ice. So, do we get to watch Pinocchio slip and break his nose on the ice? Heh. Heh. Heh.

[2] I just realised that the embroidered print on my OP skirt has my year of birth. Heh.

[3] I need to go to the beach. Really. Need. To.

[4] Booked for Pulau Aur on 19 and 20 June. Finally. Better fix that earache in the meantime.

[5] It appears that I'm going to be burnt at the stake again. Twice in a day. Really should go buy 4D. After that, I'll see if the media agency for KFC would use me in one of their ad campaigns, seeing as to how I'll be one crispy chick at the end of all this.

Doggy tales.

Danny the Mutt (heh) and Daphne the Daushund - our first dog.

Daphne was given to us because her first owner had to travel with the job, or something. She stayed with us for about a year or so. Then, my dad's friend took Daphne back, because his wife missed the dog - and insisted that it was never an adoption, but a temporary "arrangement". I remember my mum telling us that Daphne's "mummy" had gone back on her word, but we should let her have Daphne because she had the dog longer and missed her badly. (What about us?) And, nobody wanted to sour the human relationship.

A while later, we were told that Daphne had died in quarantine / transit in Brunei. Her "mummy" was upset and wished she had never tried to take the dog away. (So did we.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elmo looks a lot like Daphne, doesn't he? Except I don't think his first owner is coming back for him. Good riddance. Heh.

Dust to dust.

Searching for old photos of my dogs, I found an album of the younger (and very thin) bear and his army buddies on some ferry. Didn't know that got left behind. Ah well, can't be bothered to ask if he wants it back. Heh.


Ah well. I will miss the food misadventures and funny observations.

Celebrity Deathmatch.

So, whose fan club do you think will out-w(r)it(e), out-play and out-lust, eh, last, the other? Will it be the faithful followers of Zoe Tay, the humble pig farmer's daughter made good, who also became the respected Ah Jie among her younger peers? Or, will it be the trendier crowd hot on the heels of Fann Wong, the haughty ice princess, whose intermittent outbreaks of the Foot-in-Mouth Disease have been known to send Zoe's fans on rampages against Fann, berating the latter for casting doubt on their faith in Ah Jie?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sometimes, I really envy the male bloggers. Fans flock to their sites like bees to honey. One may even be getting a fan site. Fwah. (Ever noticed how much easier it is for the boy bands than the chick ensembles too?)

The guys just have to write well. Unfortunately, some people just do not realise how lucky they are to have their talent recognised for what it is. How so? Well, they did not have to endure a 14-hour bus ride to Terengganu; followed by a 45-minute speedboat to Redang; trudge through beautiful white sand-FLIES (I swear the buggers have a taste for my blood); clamber over slippery barnacled rocks to reach a scenic spot; and bravely ignore bemused onlookers while my personal photographer directs me into various poses. You see the things a female blogger has to do in addition to writing? And still, after the infamous beach shot, the hordes and offerings are nowhere in sight. Not even a miserable pig's ear! Sniff.

Oh, what the hell. I should just quit writing, and pay membership fees to get into one of the guys' fan clubs.


Wah. The boss made us leave work on time because of some fumigation work - hornet nests. Got home before 1900 hours. Must buy 4D. Laugh.

Yet another note to self: Must not laugh while reading on train to work. Stupid little blue men. Mutter.

Moving pictures.

"Am I only a meaningless faceless stranger to you?"
~ Il Mare.

Two years too soon. Hmmm. And, I wonder what is the significance of the reds among the muted colours.

The Day After Tomorrow.

What was I?

There is something very seductive about depression. People gravitate towards the Happy Trees. But, it is the Weeping Willows who stir the hearts and imaginations of the worshipping masses.

"Don't trap himin your own illusions."


"Most people, when asked if their current jobs had anything to do with what they studied, would say there is little or no correlation."
~ Lucian

I don't see the point of being asked about my degree. In any case, most people just look blank or uncomfortable, which makes me wonder why they asked in the first place. Then, there are the few who attempted a quantum leap of logic: "Wah! Can you read your colleagues' minds?" (Eh, no. I think you have to take Witchcraft 101 for that.) I suppose they were expecting something more conventional and popular, like Mass Communications, or even English, something they can make more small talk about. But, the truth is, a lot of people have jobs that have little to do with their formal education, unless they are doing something skill-specific. Still, it is not uncommon to hear of programmers whose first diploma / degree was not in Computer Science.

My own formal education did little to prepare me; I learnt everything on the job. Then again, ANYONE can type reports, make coffee / tea, and answer telephone calls, eh? Though, the latter is quite a skill in itself, and may require going for Telephone Operator from Hell 201 - The power of the monosyllables 'Yes' and 'No'. There was also my IN-formal education. Sessions were mostly held in the computer labs until late at night, and even on weekends. Strangely, they ALWAYS seemed to clash with the classes for my formal education, and I would be in a dilemma about which one to attend. NOT. Heh. Unfortunately, they do not confer a degree on you for your IN-formal education - even if you picked up a little programming knowledge along the way. Shucks.

And, honestly, what kind of "relevant" job could I have landed, with Psychology and Sociology, and a minor in Philosophy? Add to that: Postgraduate Diploma in English Language. (Because I dropped out from the Masters programme.) If anyone knows, I have a ready resume raring to go. Heh.

What am I?

"WATER OF AIR. You're aloof, depressed and seasoned. You'd make a good psychologist, executioner, black widow, arsenic poisoner, heretic queen or commentator. You're too witty for your own good. Have to get up early in the morny morn to fool you, as you spot lies a mile away. And WOE TO THOSE who dare attempt such a stupid move. You're Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween, when she cuts Michael's head off. You're Anne Robinson, the host of The Weakest Link!"
~ Quiz created by Polly Snodgrass

Hey, I resent that! I do not remind me of that constipated Jamie Lee Curtis, or that English cow Anne Robinson!


The Man With The Mysterious Sense of Humour?

That's a "nice" way of putting it. Heh. Heh. Heh.