Closing Down"Maybe there's no one in this lifetime. I just can't be bothered to look anymore, or to take interest in anyone. I don't look beyond the moment anymore."
"That's because he's not the right one. When the right one comes along, you will know and things will be different."
"But I won't. I've already started to shut people out. And I'm afraid that even if the right one did come along, I would not know him; and I would just shut him out like everyone else."
"No. He will find you first. And he will know who you are before you do."
"Yes. He will know before you do. Because that's how it's meant to be."
OverheardMantas spotted at Dayang!!!
What wonders a belt can do - in case the sight of dimples and pelvic bones prove too distracting. So now I can fix the dual-tone legs. Heh.
Man with no clothes standing up from beach outside SAFRA. Very naked and very skinny man. My eyes! Urrrgggh.
Pair of basset hounds. Big ones.
A number of Corgis. Fad?
Joan Chen's Saving Face at GV Grand. Sweet.
Chicken Little dancing to O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei. Delightful!
Lost and FoundScruffy Murphy's by the beach. Dinner and drinks and (other people's) dogs.
"What will it be like to go through a stranger's wallet?" The Happy Tree grinned at my (mostly rhetorical) question.
Singaporean Chinese Male. 27. Piscean. Blood group O+. Lives in the northern part of Singapore. Short-sighted but wears contact lenses. Holds a Sony Ericsson K750i (bought in July). Drives (Exxon-Mobil points). Probably frequents Sentosa too (vehicle entrance card). Likely an outdoors sort (tanned). But might not own car, or shares it with family (EZ Link card). Regular movie-goer (GV card). Probably straight (mouldy wallet). Heh. But still single (passport-sized photos of self only).
I returned the Braun Buffel, which I had picked up at the end of Fort Road, to my backpack. I would drop it off at my neighbourhood police centre later - the one at East Coast was out of the way.
Well, I hope Mr Y C Ho gets back his wallet soon. (If only he had left his number in it.)
How much would a stranger be able to tell from the contents of your wallet?
Something about how Rhyme looked rather retro-chic in her copper curls and Garnier being less drying than other brands of hair dyes.
Something about that intriguing smell on The Quant, that got me sniffing his sleeve - in lieu of giving in to my urge to lean over and bury my face in his shirt for the rest of the evening. (Because I do not think his wife would approve. And I sure hope his wife is not reading this blog. Else I am one dead duck.) "No, it's not the detergent." Maybe it was the aftershave, he offered, though he did not know what it was since toiletries just 'magically' appear in his home. Nevermind - I ain't going anywhere near that face. Cough.
Something about confusing the serving staff when we asked for second servings of the Spicy Wings and Portobellos, and the waitress asking too many questions.
Something about a typical online exchange among Quants and Traders. Hihi. TVM. NVM. LOL. WTF. ("What the FUCK!" I offered excitedly. "You're not supposed to say that out LOUD!" He gasped.) Bibibi. (Bi??? Doh!!!)
Something about The Quant getting bored with his job and The Suit
Something about Rhyme and The Quant having to return to their families, leaving The Suit and I to
Something about the place closing, and so The Suit and I wandered down the street looking for a Lychee Margarita, but settled for a Mango Daiquiri instead at Wala Wala, and chose to people-watch by the streets downstairs. " Grown-ups sit downstairs." She said wryly, when I mentioned that some of the bloggers hung out upstairs where the band was.
Something about how I did not feel like being obliged to an opinion that - I was afraid - might differ and thus displease; wondering whether I was just a functional haversack or a fancy clutch (nobody likes to feel like a ... space-filler); and not needing to bear one more person's burden (I have enough of my own).
And then The Suit continued the night at New Asia Bar, while I went home to rest my eyes and strained back. YAWN.
(The morning after: The Suit ended up having supper with someone who shares the same birth day and month, and Chinese Zodiac as me. How ... quaint. Heh. Who's the cradle-snatcher now?)
MOTDIt seems that Enetation's spam prevention script may be targetting certain IPs only - I have no problems commenting from the work computer. Let me know, yes?
In the meantime, I am testing out Haloscan.
Do you wind DOWN or UP for the weekend?
Funny. By the time Friday arrives, I am usually all wound UP and ready to go - before I go mad.
Blading Saturday AND Sunday. hOp!hOp!hOp!hOp!
Sigh. It has been a strange week. But I suppose it takes my mind off my troubles.
MOTDOkayyy, the Enetation wizards all seem to have gone away to die on some faraway mountain top in Butan or something. No one has been replying to calls for help on the forum.
For now, comments (and not just about what I wear underneath my clothes) go here.
And then I espied a lonely figure from afar, walking by himself (not surprisingly), in our direction. He moved as if he carried his own little pocket of air with him everywhere he went; walking just a little slower than the other white coats; moving just a little differently from the rest of the world - discordant - almost as if each leg and foot had to be consciously remembered (oh, there you are), then lifted and placed in front of the other; a human simulator.
How strange. But then, he is Doctor Strange, yes?
Nor is verbal - emotional - abuse.
I think whether we tolerate certain behaviours in our own relationships also comes from watching our parents. There was a lot of verbal abuse (mostly of the Teochew and Cantonese varieties - and mum gave as good as she got) when the children were young, but dad never hit mum. "He daaare?! I will kick him out of the house!!!" When probed further, mum said - with an indulgent smile, almost as if she was recalling fond memories - that there were only a few occasions in the early days when they would smack each other 'playfully' and 'very lightly' on the arm. But that was it.
I guess I did not have to ask mum anyway. The three of us KNEW from watching our parents that dad would never - nor DARE - hit mum. (And I suspect dad KNEW the three of us would have 'taupoked' him into a bloody pulp if he did - that is, if mum did not do it herself first.)
Still, their fights were never short of drama. Mum, in between loud sobbing, some hysterics and threats to leave, would often head for the bedroom, clamber onto the bed, reach for the top of the wardrobe, drag down her travelling suitcase, and start packing her clothes while still sobbing loudly.
Dad would go in after her, looking really worried, and alternate between carrying on the argument in hushed tones and persuading her to unpack.
Mum would sometimes make it out of the bedroom with her packed suitcase, with dad tugging on her arm and pleading with her not to leave.
Somehow, mum never made it out of the house all those times.
And dad NEVER hit her all those times.
And that is why, for all the vices and disgusting habits that dad has adopted over the years, I still maintain a little respect for him. Because he never hit mum (even if it could have been more out of fear for his life). And a very long time ago, he did provide very well for the family (and his mother and younger siblings) before he lost his job in the 1980s - as did many other people - and things were never quite the same after that.
"Aiyoh ... so troublesome to email! Auntie ... your rabid fans have all become spamsiums. *mutter* Anyway, the red lacy one. Definitely. :P"
Wahliao!!! You call me AUNTIE!!! *mutter*
"As for comments about the pics you posted (I assume it's from Victoria's Secrets), looks good! ;)"
See. Very easy to please most men. Anything with lace can already. By the way, I really like his work-in-progress.
"So what characteristics beyond 'two arms, two legs and a heartbeat' would a man need to get, not only, on your date-night, but also to see your VS?"
. . . (??) . . . (heh) . . . (heh) Someone who can make me smile - in spite of myself. (Or tastes of Varlhona chocolate.)
MOTDThe comments are working now.
PS: Eh. NOT. Ok, it seems that I am the only one who can post comments. Ah well, your thoughts are still welcome. (And let me know if you don't mind having them reproduced here.)
MOTDComments are currently not working. (Something about the spam prevention script.)
And I'm giving her 'a new home'.
So she can move on next to landing a new man ;-D
How strange - that I don't even know my rock bands and most certainly not the ones in Singapore, and yet I had first written thus:
" . . . and he was smiling; and he was feeling good about himself; and he was looking just like a rock star."
And unlike the fair-skinned folk of his ilk, he was not afraid to be seen.
My all-time favourite comment, especially when people start being friendly. (I just lurrrve screwing with their minds like that.) And since my heart was not really in the many years of accumulated wisdom and experience that the trainer had to impart, I distracted myself by observing how the same kind of faces/clothes/people gravitated towards each other at the four tables. (And I saw that I would not have fitted anywhere.)
It is a good book nonetheless. Thank you :-) Now, what can I offer in return? Victoria's Secret catalogue? Heh.
And I remembered how it used to be with a very old friend: how I would 'brown' him over ICQ and dinner - not that I ever had any 'intentions'. I suppose a few people bring this out in me, and seeing as to how he could keep up in any case, I happily went 'all over the place'. Sometimes, things would get a little heady (especially when we were carrying on a few topics almost simultaneously), our heads bursting with so many things to say.
I miss those days. But they are not mine to have anymore. I suppose you could say he lost his head along the way.
Anyway, I'm finally off Roaccutane after seven months. Yay.
CirCeWhat did I do today?
Alone AgainI have not been to the beach alone for a long time; not since Rainy returned from Berlin.
It was a little tedious at first, not having anyone to pace me or take my mind off my tired legs and tight shins. But after half an hour of warm-up, I was comfortably on my own. And I suppose I was better off on my own today - keeping my thoughts to myself, and not letting anyone intrude on them (or letting anyone else's thoughts intrude on mine).
It was a pleasant change from the late mornings. I did not have to fight the blistering heat and there were so many more people around; so many more people to weave in and out of (heh); so many more people to check out (heh heh).
It was nice to see a familiar face: an ex-colleague (Skipper), even though we rarely talked before.
It was also nice to see another familiar face though it took a second look to recognise those eyes, and that same carefully gelled hair, and - PHWOAR - even nicer pecs on that incredibly long upper body (though it could really do with more flesh and bulk).
It was amusing to watch a fuzzy round ball of some kind of shih-tzu trotting behind its jogging master, and finally flopping onto the ground, even as its oblivious master continued his slow jog and dragged the fuzzy ball of dogginess along. Laugh.
It was a lovely sight blading towards the orange glow of the setting skies against the backdrop of a mellow blue sea and stretches of green; watching the day changing into night.
And it was satisfying that I could not feel my feet when I finally stopped (and wondered why I was falling all over the lockers).
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Jiao na ge purple de!"
"Tsk! She me purple de!"
Yah, it's not purple ok. It's lavender.
Met The Goddess at Borders after yoga class.
Picked up two interesting books: William Hazlitt (The Pleasure of Hating: "Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust. Hatred alone is immortal.") and Voltaire (Miracles and Idolatry: "We can only guffaw at all the humbug we are told about martyrs.") Pratchett pickings were pathetic. (Sigh!) Hung around Dragonlance - for sentimental reasons. Deliberated about Tom Holt but decided he could wait.
Got a call from one of my Masters. "Are you out? You sound like you are in a supermarket. ...... Oh, sorry! ...... Borders? My god. I'm going to be there in an hour too." (My god. I am so going to be out of Borders within the hour.)
Tried to get dinner at the Sun with Moon Japanese Dining at Wheelock Place but the Sweet Young Thing (SYT) at the front desk smiled and said no table was available and the wait would be about thirty minutes. The Goddess pointed to an empty table - just to exasperate the SYT, I am sure - and the SYT made a 'I-am-so-cute-I-can-get-away-with-anything' face of mild exasperation, raised her waiting list, jabbed a finger at the names, smiled sweetly and declared in a 'I-am-so-cute-I-can-get-away-with-anything' Sailormoon voice, "There are other people in front of you." Our eyes widened simultaneously and we walked off. Instead, we shared an expensive dinner at Borders Cafe - $19 for a drumstick on mashed potatoes and vegetables. (Excuse me, did the kitchen forget the rest of the chicken???)
Crossed the road for burbur pulut hitam and mango at International Building. Got a live commentary from The Goddess about the interesting couple sitting behind me: how the guy was looking at the girl and the dynamics. She thought they would be very happy together. (Yeah, I would like - no, I NEED - to be with someone who will never stop looking at me like that too.) Decided to leave when a long queue started to form.
Hung around the fashion houses' window displays and tried to figure out the perfect arch for 3-inch heels (something about when the downslope starts and an almost imperceptible bump, which distribute the weight evenly across the foot) after The Goddess survived an exquisite lesson in pain in those lovely $25 'cheap-and-goddamn-freaking-painful' Marie Claires, and went on to attain shoe nirvana in Kenneth Coles a few days later. Conclusion: "Quality is the way to go, man."
Found DFS still open and made our rounds until it closed. Shuddered as I walked past the line of perfumes inspired (if you do not expire from them first) by the Singapore Orchid. Took the overhead bridge to Far East Plaza and were intrigued by the outdoors 7-Eleven with its waterfall feature. Passed that orange monstrosity of a sports car outside Hyatt again. ("Fucking ugly.")
Picked up a Double Chocolate Chip from Hšagen-Dazs. Glanced around the packed cafe and realised it was half past ten. The streets outside were still teeming, and we passed several shoppers who had made purchases, but the shopping centres were already closed.
Wandered down Orchard Road, watching people. Rolled our eyes at the umpteenth nice outfit ruined by that ubiquitous slouch-and-shuffle-walk. (Why do these women even bother dressing up?) Spotted a fascinating Albino with huge brown shades and golden-blonde locks brushing a longish face that almost glowed in the night; and he was smiling; and he was feeling good about himself; and he was definitely looking really good. And like one of those magical creatures who only comes out in the protective guise of night, he passed among us as a Midsummer Night's Dream. (The Goddess wondered if he only came out at night.)
Tried to pick up some chips at the 7-Eleven at Orchard Building but the queue was too long. Decided I could do without and headed into the Somerset MRT Station for home.
Stepped into the house before midnight and decided to write about Saturday.
From Earl Lu @ 80: Beyond the Golden Mean by Michelle Chin.
- Lee, S K. "Hipsters not hip on some." The Straits Times. 16 October 2005:45.
What a whole load of bullshit just to say that women who are not slim have no right to wear nice clothes and to want to look attractive (nevermind that they might have forgotten to do a mirror-check before stepping out of the house). Should they wear only tents then, asked The Goddess.
Though I will concede that some women could look better if they wore clothes that complimented their body shape, it is still their personal choice and freedom - even if it is to look 'bad'. And though I can understand why people 'blessed' with good figures and looks certainly seem to have an easier time and might get away with a lot more in life, I find it hard to respect someone who thinks that therefore they are more deserving of the pleasures and joys of living, and more worthy of happiness and love.
No matter how lovely that outfit is (and how eye-catching and nose-bleeding your cleavage is), you are not doing yourself justice with those slippers - albeit very pretty, but still slippers - or that slouch-and-shuffle walk. Cringe. And even if you cannot afford to get enough shoes to match all your clothes, you can at least stand and walk without slouching at the waist, yes? Unlike your lovely dress which looks like it must have cost quite a bit, it really costs you nothing just to stand a little straighter and lift your heels a little higher. And you will be surprised by the effect that something as simple as bearing can make.
A woman 'blessed with a good figure' but who slouch-walks has as much 'rights' to hipsters as another woman with 'spare tyres' but who carries herself with grace and confidence. And I bet the latter will look much better anyway.
I remembered two women launching into an animated discussion about the recent spate of natural disasters, the end of the world and The Rapture.
I remembered wondering if they realised that the third was not a Christian and all that morbid talk was probably going to give her a nightmare when all she wanted was to get home and crash into a dreamless sleep before the next day's grind.
I remembered two women having a minor disagreement about how the Anti-Christ would appear to everyone at once.
I remembered commenting that it was probably a matter of interpretation since there was more than one recording, and the younger woman's exasperated "Of course not. There is only ONE Bible."
I remembered asking the older woman later about the recordings, which according to her, were written over a few thousand years and a compilation of 'revelations' from various people under 'the influence' (like The Belgariad, I thought to myself quietly). These were then reviewed by various church officials for authenticity. (There is only ONE Bible - and therefore, ONE interpretation. Riiight.)
Strange that there is nothing in the Buddhist scriptures or Quran (correct me if I am wrong) about the end of the world. In any case, the Buddhists believe in the afterlife and that existence is an endless cycle of rebirths that only ends upon attainment of Nirvana.
Been there. Done that.
And she was tired of availing herself and having to fend off lemons - and ending up more frustrated and disillusioned than before. She concluded there was simply no one out there - not in the general population - for her. 'Anywhere and everywhere' might do for the heartlander woman who has simple needs. But she was not a heartlander, and she was not a simple woman with simple needs. It was pointless dating for the sake of dating. She has bigger fish to catch.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Do you know that the earth's surface is 70% water?
While SMS has facilitated several first connections and initial stages of many relationships, it is beginning to feel like a cop-out in place of a real relationship, and putting in effort to start and maintain one.
Worse, the facelessness of technology now provides an avenue for 'harmless no-obligations' flirting - or so we would like to believe. And while technology brings people closer, it can, in some instances, keep them even further apart.
I have a Secret
Mistress of PainIt is done. 56 pages. And now I just want to take a day off to rest my tired eyes and stiff neck. (And forget about the road rage and fallopian tubes.)
Pain. How apt.
That quick flash of displeasure as the face darkened and the words retreated in resentment.
I have seen it so many, many times, that I do not even have to look you right in the face anymore to see and recognise it.
And I find myself asking again, why do people ask for an 'opinion' if they have already made up their minds and what they really, REALLY want is an endorsement?
Female Wood Green Chicken YearThe haemorrhage seems to have stopped today. Hmmm. I guess there just is not anything left after yesterday. (Or so I hope.) And I have been ravenous the whole day.
His question reminded me about something I read earlier this year. It was uncanny, and I seem to keep recalling something that specifically* said that if I fell sick on the first day of the Chinese New Year, I would be inundated with medical bills the rest of the year. And what do you know, I came down with a bad flu on the first day of the Chinese New Year and I am still paying medical bills for different parts of my body. *(I cannot find that specific reference anymore. It was probably one of the monthly readings that has since been updated.)
"Female Wood is your Parent star. This is a period for knowledge. You will spend time with your mentors or elders to
learn something from them. Your wealth might decrease because of the expense in the learning cycle. You will care more
about your health. The events in this year are related to moving, unstable, lonely, hardworking, religion, creativity,
pause, unleash, mystery and strength. Chicken is your Money star. This is a period of money. You might get unexpected
wealth and tend to spend more money in order to enjoy a more material life. The events in this year are related to
money, trade, business, contribution, social appointment, food, risky business and erotic."
"Basically, this period will repeat the same luck as the previous cycle. This is a period related to your reputation
and money. Your money luck is not good enough in this year. If you can earn money in the end of this period, your
reputation will suffer at the beginning. If you want to keep a good reputation, then you might have to spend money
to pay for your mistakes and save face. If you get sick in the beginning of this year, then money that you earn
later is for your medical bills. Your supporters might bring some ideas for you. Their opinions confuse your
decision. If you earn some money from their ideas, you need to spend money on them later."
"Basically, this period will repeat the same luck as the previous cycle. This is a period related to your reputation and money. Your money luck is not good enough in this year. If you can earn money in the end of this period, your reputation will suffer at the beginning. If you want to keep a good reputation, then you might have to spend money to pay for your mistakes and save face. If you get sick in the beginning of this year, then money that you earn later is for your medical bills. Your supporters might bring some ideas for you. Their opinions confuse your decision. If you earn some money from their ideas, you need to spend money on them later."
I NEED TO BLADE.
(I hate having all this pent-up energy.)
So, when the 21-year-old asked if I have been going for yoga lately (after I noticed her giving me the head-to-toe earlier), I said, "No. Can tell I have gained weight izit?"
"Hehehe." And then she told me exactly where the weight had put on: arms, waist, tummy and thighs. "But don't worry! You still look good!"
"Yes. I know."
Is the weight I have gained. It shows. And I know this - I still look good.
How is it conceivable that a young child with chubby cheeks - albeit "very cute" - would make a suitable cover for a lifestyle magazine that goes out to a readership with discerning tastes? What more a close-up of underdeveloped facial features - again, albeit "very cute" - which hardly says "sophisticated readers with a taste for the finer things in life"?
Unfortunately, all this was lost on deaf ears - deafened by the roars of approval from the masses. "It's a hot favourite!" Of course it is - it is CUTE! But the magazine is not about being CUTE, is it?
Monday Morons"You still keen to have your reg serviced?"
Yes. Just not by you.
You better not try to call me either.
While the very thought of servicing me might make your blood go south, I don't think you'll enjoy talking to a woman whose entire blood supply is southward bound (AGAIN).
Soul Sisters"Tell you something!"
Something about my sister running into The Bear and The Woman (who she finally met) in town. Something about how they were dressed really simply like a lot of couples do on weekends. Something about her thinking that The Bear probably saw her too but he passed her without a word. Something about The Bear looking the same as he did three years ago and how he looked "so sian" and really tired the way he used to look after coming off work. Something about how The Woman was so much shorter than The Bear. Something about telling the friend who was with her how plain The Woman was and "what's so great about her" and her big sister "was much better".
Sisters have a strange way of making your day just a little better when things have not been going too well for you lately :-)
Stupid Computer *KICK*What is cannot detect primary master??? *CURSE*
Which translates into: "That dress is too sexy."
Also commonly translated as: "She's asking for it."
Otherwise known as: "Damn. I wish *I* could look as good as she does in that dress."
And unspoken: "Her breasts are too big - like, they are bigger than MINE." (Really??? You mean you have, like, breasts too???)
So, I did a quick poll with three people about the suitability of the images as a cover for a magazine. They did not think anyone would mistake us for FHM or Maxim. (Granted, it might not have been a representative poll, since one is a man - and men never think there can be too much of a good thing; and the other two are women whose bodily dimensions are proof that God is definitely a man.)
Later, the Editor (a woman who, like me, God unfortunately forgot about) said, "They're not revealing but they're not very flattering (a little droopy). Front cover images are always scrutinised so have to be careful that it appears pleasant on all aspects. :)"
Ahhh. Finally, something sensible. But I doubt most men would have noticed the 'droopy' bits. Heh.
It was just as well that my friends were conveniently excluded (though not always of my own doing) from my, ah, more exotic pursuits. And it has saved at least one of them the (quote) embarrassment (unquote) of having to look at me differently every weekend. Heh.
And strangely, though I was there for myself as much as I was there for the few hundred strangers, they simply did not matter during those three minutes. Blink. Because those three minutes became mine to live for myself. Blink. Those three minutes became mine to find myself. Blink. And nothing else mattered. Blink.
Perhaps, I also realised that I don't need you to look at me different - much less your approval. (And some experiences simply cannot be shared.)
Perhaps, I am different.
Perhaps, I am not.
Perhaps, it is just for me to know.
Perhaps, it is not for me to show you, but for you to see it for yourself.
And perhaps, it is really up to you to want to see it.
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free,
Set me free.
SET ME FREE.
And let me breathe.
The alcohol and cigars lasted longer than dinner itself (and that's including the extra wait for the forgotten chicken
mains). The three of us took turns to
Happy, Milktea? :-) (Ah yes, leave a URL too, w'ya?)
Don't look so offended. (And don't look at me like I must be crazy for not agreeing with you.)
After all, you don't really need my concurrence to validate your own belief, do you?
But of course, if you really did want my validation, just say so. (Smirk.)
"I want to jump off a cliff by the open sea." (Since the likelihood of me scoring another first by
making love to a
A moment's silence later, my long-suffering neighbour laughed. "Obviously your idea of a holiday is very different from ours!"
Another moment of awkward silence later ("there goes the crazy one in the office again"), someone suggested Scandinavia,
while The Glowing One suggested that I could try sky-diving or bungee-jumping instead. (Roll eyes. Cliff. CLIFF.
Not plane. And not rope tied to
But it would not be the same - not that I have ever done either and thus have a real basis for comparison. Jumping off a man-made construct just seems too contrived. And strange as this may sound, too orchestrated, too much planning involved, too safe. There is none of that real connection with nature, the primordial(?).
Maybe I am just more of a water person.
I'm definitely feeling a lot better and looking a lot less green after the forced rest, though I suppose I'll have to keep up the holistic healing for the whole of October. Yoga nights are also back - I need to lose the extra 5kg, which filled me out a little for the dance, but is beginning to make me look more Warrior than Princess!
In the meantime, The Goddess was engaged in some Exotic Diving at Pulau Aur over the weekend, in only her 2-sizes-too-small bikini, and barely zipped up in her Zeagle Zena - which had one of the Divemasters wondering aloud about it being difficult keeping his hands to himself. Heh.
Anyway, here's to health - mine, that is. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is going to keep me out of bed past midnight. Well. Maybe if they let me play "re" at Scrabble. Heh.
Hopefully, I'll still have friends after October is over. Laugh.
So I guess I'll start working on getting myself a proper hosting and domain registration service. I'm almost decided on a local provider Poznet.com (Typepad is kinda expensive) - but I've just been informed that my NRIC is required for registering a .sg domain. Geez. Can't help being paranoid especially after the recent Sedition Act and Teachers Against Blogging movement - not that I've ever felt inclined to share my racial sentiments online. Maybe I'll just settle on a .com domain.
I unclipped the leash and Xena the Warrior Puppy sped off, bounding across the huge field; while Elmo, who remained leashed, tried his valiant best not to flop his fat ass onto the ground again - for the umpteenth time. Though Xena stayed ahead most of the time, she would often look back to keep us in sight. There were not many dogs at that time of the evening. We passed mostly toy dogs; the goldies and spaniels were in the fenced-in dog-run.
Along the way, a couple approached with another JRT. The girl bent down and set it free.
It was like watching 2 simultaneously fired guns as the JRTs sped towards each other so fast that they overshot each other. Laugh. They played for a while, and then we went on our separate ways.
Ola the Schnauzer also wanted to play. Xena sniffed him but didn't seem too interested, and skipped out of his eager reach. She also ignored Ola's human who tried to be friendly. Then, as Ola and his human turned away and continued their run, Xena sped off after them, sometimes leading, sometimes just bounding alongside, but always keeping out of reach, and sometimes pulling back for a while only to pursue the pair again.
Such a tease she is, no? ;-)
Or maybe it's just the way he blogs; which then makes me wonder: what does someone who doesn't mince his words and
tends to use loud words and and irrelevance for comic effect look like in real life? Probably a bespectacled and
mousy little man
It was a good thing that we met earlier at 9 this morning. We caught the windsurfers riding a heaving sea of "white caps". (Man, I really, REALLY, REALLYYY want to *DO* that!) My companion also surprised me a little today. After a break of 3 to 4 weeks (she was away for work and I was busy with dance), she took to the road eagerly and I actually had difficulty keeping up with her spurt of energy for the first 20 minutes! Well done :-D On the way back, we got rained on (sand, rain, wheels, bearings, arrrgh) - but we continued since it was better than wait for the rain to stop, by which time the ground would be wetter and more damage done to our blades.
Back at the car, in our rattling blades, sand-splattered legs, wet shirts and hair, as I started to sweep water off the car to get the sand off my legs, I turned to The Fallen One: "Heyyy... would you like me to wasssh your carrr???"
I don't think she was very turned on - she looked a little terrified, actually. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Anyway, more tomorrow morning. (I, Adrenaline-Junkie.) Hope it doesn't rain tomorrow. And if Lysithea can wake up in time, maybe she can try joining me ;-)
(Random thought: It's the hair. Heh. Heh. Heh.)
The new day beyond my shrouded world seemed a little too dark and strangely muted. I sat up, drew the curtains, afraid to see after-rain mist and the damp grounds that would put an end to my plans for the weekend.
No - all is clear. Though the sun is a quaint deep red-orange that seemed out-of-place.
Like the fire that is burning me up from inside, dying to get out.
Breakfast at McDonald's beckons. Heh.
A Tiny Prick: "I wanna go blading too!"
A Tiny Prick: "Mackers. I won't be gatecrashing, will I?"
I: "Just behave around my friend. AND KEEP UP."
A Tiny Prick: "Bleah."
Saturday cannot come around soon enough. But I still have to workworkwork, drop by NUS at 3pm to sit for a placement test, and then get back to office for a 6pm meeting. Sigh. I think I shall go to bed really early tonight - just to "end" Friday sooner. Yeah. And maybe if I wake up at dawn again, which I think I did this morning because I went to bed at 11pm last night, I'll hit the beach at 7.30am for breakfast at McDonald's and then make ScubaPro Girl go blading with me at 8.30am instead of 9.30am. Heh.
I am soooo restlesssss.
Nightcrawler friends, please take note. (i.e. go find someone else to hang out with!)
 Should start working on moving the blog and archives to a proper web host.
 My one and only rabid fan :-D
Was that really me who survived the last 2 weeks?
I was also getting headaches and nausea - most probably from practising my head flicks for the dance! Having a lot of hair is great, until you have to throw all that weight 10 times every 10 minutes, AND make sure that all the hair lands on the back of your head - rather than all over your face - so that you will not look like Cousin IT's long-lost cousin! As our dance instructors would say while demonstrating how NOT to perform a move, "Not very sexy, yaaa?"
The 3 of us trained really hard in the last week, especially after being told by The Dungeon Mistress during the combined rehearsals a week before the performance, "Girls, I think your dance is okay." (Cool.) And without missing a beat, "You just have to practise 50 MORE TIMES." (Okaaayyy.)
And so, we practised 50 times - and then MANY MORE!
The Goddess (and team leader) was also exhausted from work, and the stress and mad rush to coordinate rehearsals for the group. But I think she enjoyed herself the most :-) especially when she was working on the Car Wash Girls theme.
We already had about 75% of our choreography, thanks to one of the dance instructors S (who was really quite a sight as the chain-smoking "small and cute" school girl at Sunday's party!), but the routine only really started to come together after our first intensive 4-hour rehearsal. And then we started to add sexy AND fun "story" elements to the choreography, costume and props.
The other 6 all-female groups (made of 2 to 5 dancers each) and 2 solo performers went for all-out-sexy and eroticism, which IS the point of Exotic Dancing. There was also a mixed hip-hop group. But we did our dance with a refreshing twist. I suppose you could think of it as hardcore X-rated in-your-face non-stop action, versus soft porn with a "story" and suggestive angling ;-) It was really more about sexy fun than just sex.
So, The Goddess did what she does best - without even having to try! - and went for sultry.
The other, a young woman 10 years younger than us, had no problem looking sensual, though she often broke into self-conscious school girl giggles. The Goddess thinks she definitely has the potential to bloom into the kind of womanhood that will bring men to their knees.
I was hopeless with The Look, and V had to remind me often to S.M.I.L.E., because I looked so serious. In the end, I just did what I do best: not smile. Instead, I did my best impersonation of Lucy Lawless as Xena the Warrior Princess AKA Xena the Dominatrix Princess when she was getting it on with Ares the God of War. (Okay, not very Car Wash Girl, I know. But I am Xena the Warrior Princess, yes? So don't talk back! Snarl.)
Our white round-neck T-shirts were from Giordano, stretchy-tight and thin.
Being the anal-retentive perfectionists and sticklers for details that we are, we also performed QC on each other's choice of bikini/brassiere while taking a breather during one of our rehearsals. Up went our sweat-soaked shirts, and The Goddess and I simultaneously went PHWOARRR!!! at the younger woman. Heh. Heh. Heh. Now, that is a lot of The Real Thing.
(MAXIM, you really gotta do much better than feature Photoshopped bloggers.)
My favourite red bikini top did not make the cup, I mean, cut. Instead, it was my lovely purplish-blue lace Maximiser which rose (heh) to the occasion. But I needed more padding (I had discarded the detachable ones) so that I would not look like a miserable dried-up cow beside the other 2, ahem, buxomy milk-maids. My youngest sister had also gotten rid of her detachables; but I guess she needs them even less than I do. Surprisingly, my younger sister - and the most well-endowed in the family - still kept hers and she lent me a set. This only goes to show that you can never have too much of a good thing.
We found the perfect teeny-weeny denim shorts in Liang Court, and spent some time in the little shop practising some of our moves to make sure that the shorts would move WITH us - and not OFF us!
Candies, our first choice, could not be found, so we settled on retro 3-inch wedges from Chinatown. The denim blue went with our shorts, and as a bonus, were really comfortable and stable too.
We also picked up some temporary glitter tattoos, and I made a note to bring along my L'oreal Crystal Touch glitter gel from home. For make-up, we decided on a sun-kissed look instead of vampy. It was a happy coincidence that all 3 of us were tanned, so that really complimented our outdoors-loving Car Wash Girls look.
We had only the "live" props to worry about, and it was decided we would look for suitable candidates among the audience to feel up (heh heh) on the day itself, since our male friends could not make it. (I just realised that the sentence can be read more than one way.)
The Prince of Porn was away in Phuket for lots of "sun, surf, spa and sex".
My future gay brother-in-law was understandably not too turned on by the idea of having a female run her hands down his legs. (I wonder if any of my MALE friends would like to run their hands down his legs.)
Doctor Strange was away in East Malaysia. My heart broke a little more each time I heard from him over SMS. Because it meant that he had failed - yet again! - to get himself killed by getting run over by a 18-wheeler on the North-South Highway; or stabbed multiple times by an intruder in the middle of the night; or pushed off the top of Cameron Highlands; or die from the sheer ecstasy of being in the proximity of so many blonde women. (Someone please get this one a REAL DOCTOR.)
We went ahead with our last practice on Saturday night, followed by dinner at Liang Court. The Goddess filled herself up with fruit juice, while I finished an entire pack of Kettles Salt and Vinegar Chips. YUM. We shared a cab home so we could get enough rest for the big night.
On Sunday, I woke up feeling well-rested, and realised that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to have 8 hours of sleep. I stumbled to the mirror and WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY EYES?!!! The right eye was so puffy that the eyebrow was arched in surprise like a Botox job gone wrong, and the similarly puffy left eye had a creased eye bag. Waaaaahhhhh!!! KANEENAH SALT AND VINEGAR CHIPS! Dammit!!!
I guzzled lot of water to flush my system and slapped on cucumber slices. The puffiness went down substantially after that. Phew!
By noon, I was packed and ready to meet the group for a final practice. It had begun to drizzle by the time I walked out to the main road. As I was hailing a cab which had stopped to drop off a passenger, I felt my haversack pulling away from my back. It was "unzipping itself", which it has a tendency to do when packed to the brim and I forget to pull the zips to the side, rather than the top.
Too late. Half the contents came tumbling out onto the damp ground: colourful beach towels, orange car wash cloth and black toiletries bag. As I squatted down in horror, just 10 metres away from a very crowded bus stop outside the MRT station (I, Klutz), and hurriedly packed my stuff away, I remembered to look behind, hoping I would not find a trail of OTHER THINGS, right in front of the bus-stop that I had just passed. Fortunately, I had packed the smaller items at the bottom of the haversack and they were still there. But just to be sure, I continued squatting in the rain, my back to the bus-stop, rummaging through my haversack, even as I felt the back of my jeans riding a little too low. I could just imagine The Dungeon Mistress walking past and going, "Not very sexy, yaaa?"
Satisfied that nothing had been left behind, I looked up and realised that someone else had gotten into the cab. Mutter. As I walked forward to hail another, both my heels got stuck - really stuck - in a drain cover. THIS. IS. NOT. HAPPENING. I had to step out of my heels, stand barefoot on the wet grass, bend over again, and yank out my heels. Definitely "not very sexy, yaaa". GROAN. Feeling thoroughly humiliated by then, I trotted to the proper taxi stand which was another 25 metres away, and far enough from the bus-stop and onlookers who had witnessed my very unsexy episode.
The moment I got into a cab, I called The Goddess to pour out my woes, and worried that I might just complete my humiliation by falling flat on my face during the dance. Whimper. After some sympathetic sounds and reassurances, it was her turn. She had slept only 2 hours the night before - it was a sign of a major flu and her nose was already beginning to drip. NOT. GOOD. (And, "not very sexy, yaaa?")
But I remembered that on my recent working trip to KL, when all 3 travellers fell sick, everything still worked out in the end, and rather well too. The Goddess and I comforted ourselves with that knowledge.
We had also brought along a spare T-shirt to practise our ripping act. The sight and sound of a shirt being ripped - even if only at the ribs - is way more titillating than pulling off the entire shirt and flashing lingerie. We also had to keep our shirts on for the wet T-shirt segment ;-)
It was a good thing that we rehearsed the ripping. In spite of the strategic snips, we realised that we still had to use a lot of force to rip the shirts! So we cut bigger holes and made a note to use more force. It would have been such a pity if we did not manage to execute this properly, and rather embarrassing! Imagine tugging at our shirts frantically in front of 400 people. "Not very sexy, ya?"
(Say, don't you think this will make an excellent story board for a GIORDANO advertisement about the quality of their T-shirts? Laugh.)
We arrived at Rouge just in time for the start of the full-dress rehearsal. We were the sixth group to perform, excluding 2 items by the instructors, and a few audience participation activities which spaced out the performances. Everyone was already there, including the helpers and photographers.
The Goddess spotted a 182 specimen immediately, and asked if he could be her "live" prop for the rehearsal and actual performance. He was the husband of one of the dance instructors, who seemed a really nice girl, and she did not mind loaning him out.
182's best friend was also there to help out at the event, and made a decent prop for me: we stood at eye level, with me in my 3-inch wedges; and there was enough surface area so my hands would not look like tractor scoops on him. He also had rather nice eyes, which was good because the opening for the dance required some eye contact. I walked him quickly through the 30-second opening so he would know what to do, that is, just stand there and let me run my hands all over him.
In the meantime, The Babe in Bloom said the male friend who had agreed to help would not arrive in time for the rehearsal. "We need to find you another man." I noticed a suitable candidate standing by the stage, and after making sure that the young woman found the young man acceptable, pounced on him. Though willing enough to help out just for the rehearsal, he looked a little embarrassed, and reminded me of a trapped animal.
The Babe in Bloom then walked him through the opening, which went something like, "Okay, I am going to throw this towel around your neck and pull you towards the stage ... then sorry ah, but I have to touch you ... sorry sorry ... then run my hands down your chest and up again ... go behind you ... and sorry ah, but I have to touch you again ... sorry sorry ... your leg ... sorry ah ... " (LAUGH!!!)
We realised later that the body-double was also participating in his girlfriend's solo performance, which included a lap dance. He must have thought he had just walked into a harem of very deprived and depraved women. Come to think of it, the way he looked so helpless and embarrassed while he was on the chair, with that all-the-blood-has-gone-south smile plastered on his face as his girlfriend writhed between his legs, they must have only gotten together very recently. Lucky guy, yes?
The full-dress rehearsal went well. The Dungeon Mistress seemed genuinely pleased at the progress that all the groups had made within a week.
The instructors were also pleasantly surprised (and relieved, I am sure!) with our group. From 3 very lost girls who showed up at the first practice in mid-September with no choreography, to 3 very uncoordinated girls in cargo pants and pumps at the first combined rehearsal just a week ago, we not only put up a polished performance but also had a refreshing routine that was different from the other groups. (Or so we believed, and still do!)
With another hour to go, we went backstage to practise somemore and do final touch-ups.
As I bent over so The Goddess could apply glitter gel on my lower back, I remembered thinking that the sight of her hands down my shorts must look rather kinky. Apparently, one of the photographers who spent a little too much time backstage snapping photos of our group - or rather, mostly of The Goddess (he probably has her in his private collection now, heh) - thought so too. Someone noticed that his camera was trained on us, and I bounded towards him, shrieking in horror. Or was that him shrinking in horror at the sight of a big thing with a lot of hair bearing down on him?
Bad. BAD! BAD PHOTOGRAPHER!!!
(The next person to ask me why the event was on a Sunday instead of Saturday is going to get shot, okay? Ask the organisers!)
The club was packed, and everyone was trying to get a good view of the stage. Unfortunately, because of the layout of the club and the sunken dance floor, some people could not see the performances at all, and they left the club early and sorely disappointed. There were also hiccups with reception and the long queue downstairs was not being cleared quickly enough. The Goddess managed to get her supporters in and they found themselves a nice perch by the dance floor.
Nonetheless, the opening cheerleaders act by the dance instructors started almost on time, which was good for the crowd that had already managed to get into the club. The party was in full swing and spirits were high all around.
By then, I had long forgotten about my morning shock and mid-day humiliation. And strangely, I did not feel nervous in spite of the huge crowd. The Goddess figured that we had practised so much that the routine was already fused with our muscles and reflexes. I was also too tired to care whether I would forget my steps, or lose my balance while doing a body wave, or look flabby. I guess the earlier events of the day had helped me to release a lot of tension.
And as I was telling The Goddess, when you have lived through enough angst and inferiority complex for 3 people in your teens and 20s (well, I DID!), what more is there to fear in your 30s? Nevermind that we are now also 10kg heavier, have cellulite, and can see more of ourselves hanging out from all the wrong places.
The emcee was drowned out by the cheering crowd by the time he got to "ROOOAD MONSTAAA".
And then we stepped onto the dance floor to the pounding beats of Tom Jones' Kiss.
And it was magical.
The way the music filled all our senses.
The way we seemed to have stepped out of our earthly skins and became luminous creatures of the night.
The way we locked eyes during those 30 seconds (for the second time that night); wondering about those smiling eyes as I pulled him in and let my hair down; returning the intensity of a gaze that I had not known for a really long time; dropping my eyes and turning to look at the audience as I went down; slowly sliding my hands down the front of his body and up again; turning away from the audience to look into his eyes as I walked around to the back; my hand reaching for his inner thigh; sliding down the length of his leg and up again; my hand tracing the back of his shoulders as I walked around to the front; locking eyes again and drinking in that beatific all-the-blood-has-gone-south look on his face; then pushing him back into the audience; smiling in bemusement at the slight resistance in his legs and the smile in his glowing eyes and curling lips; pushing just a little harder still as our eyes held on to each other feverishly; savouring every last heartbeat away from our awkwardness around the other off the dance floor and 400 other people who no longer exist; and then my hand slipped off his shoulder as I turned away to join the girls.
The way the music (rather than our minds) moved our bodies, and our hip rolls, body waves and head flicks came so easily.
The way stage fright never occurred to us, and the 400-strong crowd was not there to judge but to be mesmerised.
The way we could not help ourselves those little smiles as we realised that we were actually having fun!
The way we started to believe that we were really Car Wash Girls.
The way the crowd screamed as we ripped at our shirts (but kept them on).
The way the crowd cheered as we swung our orange car wash cloths overhead, the fine spray of water droplets shimmering in the lights.
The way the crowd went into convulsions as we pulled the wet cloths down our fronts.
The way the crowd also started to believe that we were really Car Wash Girls - very wet Car Wash Girls. (Laugh.)
The way we held so much in those few minutes (3 minutes and 20 seconds to be precise) and were larger than life.
The way we had a moment in time and made it ours to live, to laugh, to love, to remember.
As The Goddess observed, it was interesting how everything worked out so well in the end, albeit only at the last minute: the song, choreography, costumes and (very nice) props.
And of course, there was the team :-) which went from 5 to 3, because the other 2 girls could not make it for rehearsals. On retrospect, the drop-outs might not have been as convincing as Car Wash Girls because they are tall, slender, and fair-skinned, and not exactly, ahem, of the milk-maid stock. (Come to think of it, I am not sure how I fit into the Car Wash Girl fantasy!)
Mistakes are also more obvious in bigger groups, and it would be much harder to coordinate rehearsals and find costumes that would not only fit, but also look good, on everyone.
Our performance stood out, but not because it was technically good. In fact, our choreography was simple, and we worked on performing our moves well and in sync (well, as far as we could!).
We also chose a song that was relatively fast, compared to the slower and sexier ones like Prince's Cream, Britney Spear's I'm a Slave 4 U, and Robi Draco Rosa's Dancing in the Rain (super sexy, this song). But it was a fun song that had many accents that allowed us to work in fun elements, which really livened up our dance, and made it sexy and naughty - just like it says on the event poster!
There was also our "story" about Car Wash Girls on hot summer days with ripped shirts and orange car wash cloths (brainchild of The Goddess), brought vividly to life. The Power of Suggestion, yes?
It was also a pleasant coincidence that our group was not one of the first few to perform. Certainly, the audience was expecting erotic and all-out-sexy at the start of the night. And there was a lot of that. But as with all good things, surfeit and then some degree of indifference would begin to set in, when every other performance seems the same, and there is no more element of surprise for the audience.
So, when our performance came on, it shook things up a bit, starting with that wonderful rendition of our introduction ("ROOOAD MONSTAAA"). And then, it was "back to regular programming" - after the staff mopped the wet floor before the next group came on. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Anyway, I have a feeling that the Car Wash Girls would be making another appearance - with a different set of girls, a more polished performance, and of course, those ORANGE car wash cloths. Heh.
I also now have a slightly better sense of my body movements.
And finally, I think everyone should do this at least once in their lifetime: perform in front of 400 people!!! :-D
I just couldn't resist Elmo 8o)
"Are you here for Sensual Dancing?" Erm. Eh. Ah. Well. I muttered something and completely forgot about catching up with an old friend. Heh.
300 strangers. (Wah.) Male to female ratio 40:60. (Wah!!!) Guess that means we are going to be spoilt for choice for male props. (So I don't have to worry about molesting creatures that are a head shorter than me and half my size.) Bleah Oberon. Laugh. I just hope I don't see too many familiar faces! Gaaahhh!!!
(I can't believe I'm doing this.)