Feck

The husband's ex (whom I shall refer to as The Mad Bitch, no, The Crazy Stripper, no, Person Most Likely to Go To Hell, dammit I can't think of any worse names to use) has found his blog. And keeps writing all manner of rambly crap to him, along the lines of "Ooooh, I am a mad bitch but I still love you!" and "I always wanted to be a writer but no one will print the crap I produce so I have to make do with stripping!"

To put it mildly, I was enraged when he told me about it, but ever since we put in some "calming" feng shui influences into the house, I couldn't really get into a screaming fit like I would normally have. Very odd. But I am definitely thinking of ways to deal with MB.

To whom I would like to say "Hey Lao Chee Bye (she has been stripping for many years now), you had him first, you screwed it up, I don't care whether you need to put a kitchen knife into your eye to get him out of your mind but perhaps you should give some thought to moving on. You are not getting any younger, and if you would like to have children with whose father(s) you have more than a passing acquaintance, then you should also give some thought to changing your occupation. And because I bear no animosity towards you (because of the feng shui influence, not because you don't fully deserve it) here's a hint - don't become a writer. BECAUSE YOU SUCK!!!!"

Gawd damn! How does one deal with a mad bitch like this? [Suggestions are welcome. Suggestions which I implement successfully will be richly rewarded, provided you also help me move the body.]

Listening to Joni Mitchell songs

Standing in a crowded elevator this morning with the iPod in my pocket, I was listening to a Joni Mitchell song for the nth time and her lyrics still make me feel ... human. Sad and happy at the same time. It's almost impossible to explain, especially for the stodgy science student that I am, still waiting for my artistic gene to kick in.

"I feel your legs under the table
Leaning into mine
I feel renewed
I feel disabled
By these bonfires in my spine ....

I fear the sentence of this solitude
200 years on hold
Oh and all we ever wanted
Was just to come in from the cold"

I was introduced to Joni Mitchell's Night Ride Home album by an ex-boyfriend who had the advantage (and all the benefits) of 7 years over me. It's amazing how I managed to attribute the sensitivity, soulfulness and lyricism of the entire album to his personality but that's what wimmen do when they're 21 and dumb, I guess. Looking back, I think he could have been as sensitive and soulful as I thought but he was certainly very good at concealing it. "Sensitive-Lite", as the husband would say.

There really should be a Registry of Ex-Boyfriends, where men who wish to date will have to register with their CVs and references from ex-girlfriends/ ex-boyfriends. For this guy, I would have said "Has an exaggerated view of own soulfulness. Does not admit to extruding nostril hair. I have 6 of his CDs and I'm not giving them back."

Amazement of the Day

I thought I should mention this in case anyone reading this has had a similar experience.

So I tell my mother, like the filial daughter I like to think I am, that I've just gotten a raise. How much, says my mother, subtle as a sledgehammer. So I tell her. And I believe she was probably happy for about 1.5 seconds and then the whole dynamic of our conversation changes.

"How come so much?"

"WHAT? What do you mean? Not very much what. I think [ classmate ] is earning more."

"Yah, but it's still more than what I was getting when I was your age".

I wanted to say, when you were my age, we were still in the '70s. Not to be overly nostalgic or anything, but you could get a cinema ticket for S$2.50 in the '70s. And on top of that, they didn't stop you at the door to check if you were bringing in "outside food". Plus if you looked around in the 1970s, everything would be sepia coloured. BECAUSE IT'S THE '70s.

Why is this woman competing with me? She's my MOTHER for goodness sake. Did God say to Jesus Christ, Hey Pal, more people invoke your name in vain than they invoke mine. Stop that.

Errrgghh...

Two and a half hours later, I emerge from the conference room. That's how long the personal evaluation took. I am amazed that my boss could do this with everyone else in the office and not look completely wiped out. It was absolutely draining. These are like, one on one evaluations that are taking hours each.

But I got my raise and all is well with the world today.

On a more bitter note, I have had my 8th taste of bittergourd and I'm actually starting to like the stuff. But then again, if everything else is tasteless (yong tau foo with mostly tau foo and clear soup), the bittergourd is like a little resuscitator for my taste buds, just to prove they're not numb. So we'll see. Still 3 more times to go before I'm supposed to like it.

We had the little IJ reunion at my house yesterday - very little - just Stace, Lynda and I, spouses and children. Made beef spaghetti stragonoff, Stace brought Lychee Martini ice cream from The Daily Scoop and Lynda brought Royce chocolate. The best thing about being the host is you get to keep all the leftover food and dessert :)

In all, it was a nice weekend but now my back aches from carrying The Son everywhere.

Time for Reflection

I have in my hot little hands a self-evaluation form which I will need to complete within the next day or so. It's an exam which I really can't see myself passing. I'd think it was a cruel joke but for the fact that my boss is completely serious about me filling this up to the best of my ability. Some particularly horrifying questions:

1. Rate yourself - do you have a good grasp of legal principles? Can you apply law effectively? Do you make a strong positive impression on clients?

My answer: I have a good grasp of my handbag in a crowded place. I can apply moisturiser effectively. I can (and will) make a strong positive impression on the eyeball of the electrical contractor who fucked up the wiring in my bedroom, if I ever find him.

Oh God. There's 14 pages of this.

There's Gold in Them-Thar Hills

My son has turned into a snotsicle. He caught a weaker version of my flu and his nose has been stuffed for almost a week now. He also snores.

The husband and I took a peek into his nostrils yesterday and were horrified to discover that they were completely plugged up. So I held his flailing little fat arms down while the husband attempted to extricate little baby boogers without success. Then it was my turn to give it a shot.

If you had told me this time last year that I would be valiantly digging someone else's nose with the enthusiasm of a little pig searching for truffles I would have run screaming. As it stands, the only person screaming yesterday was my son and at top volume. You would've thought those things were connected to his brain stem, by the way he was carrying on. And who would've thought that the person whose nose I'd be digging would be so ungrateful?

If anyone out there has a better method of snot removal, I'd certainly like to hear it. I'd use my US$25 tweezerman but given the size of the baby nostrils I'd have to use the smallest (and sharpest) so no way, too dangerous. Also, I'd probably never be able to get the stuff off my tweezers and would have to write them off which would be a CRIME.

Slide2

Slide2
Originally uploaded by Kim Jong-il - the greatest leader. Ever. .

This guy is SO BAD

CuriousGeorge

CuriousGeorge
Originally uploaded by Kim Jong-il - the greatest leader. Ever. .

Good grief.

Catching up on my South African correspondence

Just received this exciting missive in my office email.
____________________________________________
SIR,

My name is MR.JOHN OMOH a senior government Officer in the Department of Works and Housing of the Federal Government of the Republic of South Africa. I got your company information from commercial department of your Country's Embassy here in Pretoria South Africa. Based on the information regarding the reputation of yourcompany, I have the same view of mutual understanding and trust in you pending when I receive your response in this subject matter.I and two other senior Government officials from the department of Finance and Reserve Bank of South Africa has a total of USD$30, 500,000.00 (thirty million five hundred thousand united states dollars only) to transfer into a foreign Company/individual Bank account safely pending our arrival for disbursement and investment of our share in your Company.All we need is a foreign partner who will provide us with a reliable foreign Bank account with other necessary information that will facilitate the easy transfer of the money. We have unanimously agreed to give to you 25% of the entire amount after the transfer, while 75% will be for us which will be deposited into our own individual account that you will help us open in your country on our arrival for disbursement.For further instruction and details, please contact me immediately on the above e-mail and also provide me with your own fax and telephone numbers for easy communication.I wait urgently for your response,Thanks for your anticipated co-operation,Best regards,MR. JOHN OMOH
____________________________________________
Dear John Omoh Fuckhead, Please consider a more judicious use of Upper Case in Your Sentences and also please get a new keyboard with a working space bar as you know there are supposed to be 2 space bars after every fullstop and just scanning your stupid email gave me a twitch why do you type like you have the hands of a gorilla you moron.

Also I am not a man Miss Omoh, and a child could come up with a better cover story than yours.

Freedom In My Head

I watched "Sleepless in Seattle" for the umpteenth time over last weekend and still managed to get all teary when I heard Tom Hanks describe his dead wife on the telephone with the radio station. Husband on the other hand snorted "Chick Flick" or something to that effect and wandered off to do Something More Manly whilst I asked myself yet again why men would prefer to watch war movies or samurai movies when they could just sit back and watch something so much less contentious and stressful.

Speaking of stressful. I promptly got all stressed out during the scene when Tom Hanks and his son take a boat out to something random beach, proceed to park the boat just anywhere and start playing with a Frisbee. I mean, aren't there regulations about where people can park their boat? You mean you suka suka can just park your boat anywhere? Isn't there a designated Private Boat Parking Lot? And where's his Boat Licence Plate? No need?

Also, the fact that they live in a house over the sea just kills me. Isn't he a single parent? How can he afford to live in a property like that? You mean property in Seattle so cheap meh?

Plus, in the beginning of the show, it's New Year and he's watching some people set off fireworks over the water. Isn't that illegal? Won't it start fires or hurt people? I noticed his house which had a lot of wood in it. Not scared burn down ah? Also, what if they had misaimed and the fireworks had gone into his house and hurt his son? Aren't there strict regulations about the release of fireworks in a public place? Instead of just standing there watching the fireworks with a beer, he should be strenously typing out a complaint letter.

Gawd. Who needs an external source of stress when I have myself?

I wondered if other viewers in Singapore were having similar fits. Then it hit me. Is it the environment that we live in that is regulated, or am I just completely regulated In My Head? Does anyone else get as stressed out as I do when someone spits in public [Is this a seizable bailable offence? Am I legally obliged to effect a citizen's arrest?] or when I see people skateboarding outside an MRT station [bloody vandals should be shot].

Or when I see blogs that criticize the government, like poor brave rockson. Every time I take a peek at his blog, I expect to see that he's been shut down and that the hundreds of thousands of people who have posted negative comments on his blog about the government are being actively investigated by the CAD/ CPIB/ MOM/ IRAS. For rockson's sake, I hope that the grapefruit-sized tumour in his head that is surely blocking out whatever part of his brain controls his sense of self-preservation will soon be removed. Dude is just cruisin'.

Now he really looks like Hwang Fei Hong

For The Ra-Ra

Love this pic. Have cropped it and done some other things. Hope you like it.

For Denise

Hello 2006

I expected a mad crush on the way to work today, with everyone getting back to the office after a long Christmas break but it was remarkably quiet. And it's pretty quiet (relatively speaking) in the shopping mall downstairs too. Where are all the good people of Singapore if they're not at work, and not out shopping/ eating? What on earth else could they possibly be doing?

Discovered a new (and much faster) route to work this morning. Actually I 'discovered' it about a month ago, but was too much of a wuss to find out more. It's this anonymous bus that shows up every 10 to 15 mins at my bus stop. 3/4 of the people waiting at the bus stop will get on whilst I sit tight, staring dumbly at the bus and wondering if I'll ever have the guts to get on the bus just to ask the driver if he can take me to Suntec City. What if he says no? And then makes me walk through the bus to get out the back door? It's just like people who get into a crowded lift and lean on the "Door Open" button whilst they finish a stupid conversation on their mobile phone or, worse, ask the people already in the lift if this is the right building. It's for these special souls that I reserve my full-blooded mullet-headed axe murderer glare. Because they're being inconsiderate and wasting my time.

There's a woman I see every morning at my bus stop that does exactly this. Ignoring the very comprehensive bus directory at the back of the bus stop, she will get on every third bus, say something to the driver, walk through the bus and get off by the back door, smiling to herself. I used to think she was the bus inspector until I saw a real bus inspector at the bus stop, wearing a proper uniform and not just a tee shirt and slacks. I'd ask her why she does this, but I'm really afraid that she'll actually say "Well, I'm completely insane, I'm homeless and I offer sexual favours to the bus drivers in exchange for a free ride to nowhere."

Speaking of the homeless, they always say there are no homeless people in Singapore because our Government takes care of everyone. But the Government is not going to buy a roof over your head if you can't afford one. Where do all the homeless people go? I stepped over a homeless guy at Amoy Street 3 months in a row and then he disappeared. I'd like to think he found a new perch, some other corridor to sleep in and make smelly. My worst suspicions are that we grind up homeless people in some factory and use them for landfill. That's why we have so much reclaimed land and no homeless people. Ditto for the stray dogs, cats and pigeons. If so, I wish they would round up the guys who skateboard and roller-blade outside of the train stations. They're ruining the granite seats and finishes with their stupid stunts.

Oy. Sometimes I get so cranky and I use my blog as a wailing wall. This was never meant to be a whiny blog. Let's finish on a happy note.

Happy Thoughts On The First Working Day of 2006

1. I'm happy that the value of my first, one and only beautiful little house is still higher than the value of my first, one and only horrifying little mortgage. Now if I can only stop calling property agents pretending to be an interested buyer of my neighbours' property.

2. I'm happy that my son is healthy and has fat creases on his wrists, tummy, thighs and even on his neck (because of all the back fat).

3. I still have half of an Awfully Chocolate choc and cherry cake in the fridge, as well as 3 tubs of ice cream including Cookies and Cream which I adore (thanks, Mo!)

4. My hair looks good today as my son has stopped pulling on it to wake me up.

5. It's quiet in the office today.

6. There's apparantly a new bra available at Tangs that can solve my bra problems forever. Like, no lines, no strap alternately peeking out or falling over my shoulder, no chest constriction. Someone recommended it to me yesterday, you know who you are, and my undying gratitude is yours if this works out.

7. Last, but not least, I'm happy to be alive. I just found out a few days ago that someone I knew died in last year's tsunami. Obviously we didn't keep in touch. She got wiped out by some completely random natural disaster just because she stayed at the wrong hotel for a last minute vacation. It took almost 8 months to identify her body. 8 months alone, anonymous, in a mortuary freezer. It's enough to make me wonder what's the point of planning anything when it could all just end like *that*. I'm sorry, sad, and just horrified at the randomness of life.

Sigh. Am feeling so maudlin now. To cheer myself up, I have to think of Gordon.