Thursday, July 28, 2005


What's your greatest nightmare?

Last night Dan and I sat down and watched the season finale of CSI (the original one, none of that New York, Miami rubbish) with grave (pun intended) reservations. One of the CSI gets buried alive and you see him struggle.

Dan said that it was his greatest nightmare, to be trapped like that. And so watching it was remarkably stressful. For me too, since I have in recent years discovered this fear I have of being in tight enclosed places. I didn't realise it until while playing around, Dan tossed our comforter over me and cocooned me in it and when I couldn't find my way out, I threw a major wig out, of Giant Spider proportions.

But that isn't my greatest nightmare, to be trapped, although I'm sure it would rank quite high. I used to have recurring nightmares when I was young. One did involve a Giant Black Spider that would hijack me along this flight of steps down to the ground level of my house. But the one I remember most fervently and the most panic causing was one where I would be wrestling my brother (I used to get teased mercilessly by them and I think all that trying to plot some sort of get back at them resulted in my conscience kicking in while sleeping). Anyway, a wrestle,fight, scratch, kick later, I would realise that I had gouged out his eyeball by accident. Yes, plenty gory, considering I was about 5 or 6 when I had these dreams. Great panic would ensue in the dream, followed by me running to get my colour pencils.

Yes, my solution to having ferociously gouged out my brother's eyeball was to rush for my box of colour pencils, select the black pencil, climb onto this bicycle we had and colour the black into his eye so that he could see again and so that I wouldn't get into trouble. It was a nightmare with great macabre and till this day, I remember it vividly.

See, I started young. Those bizarre dreams that I have had were already gaining much dream time even at that point.

So what nightmares do you remember?

Ondine tossed this thought in at 11:01

5 thoughts...

Tuesday, July 26, 2005


The kids in school have been revisiting globalization and using it synonymously with modernization, westernization, democratization and capitalization (capitalism, actually, but then they're kids and Tym's point about them thinking or rather not, is not just isolated to her school). One symbol of globalisation they all know is McDonald's. Sometime back, I taught them the idea of McWorld. But how if you looked beneath the veneer of the yellow plastic seats, you would find differences, that it wasn't a blanket experience to be at McD's.

And today, I found living proof of it. My friend K has been back from Hanoi for a week trying to organise her wedding in September. She said that for the entire week that she's been back, breakfast every morning's been at McD's.

My natural reaction was "Why in the name of all things good and holy???"

Apparently, there is no McD's in Hanoi. She tried convincing her mother to Fedex her a hamburger once. Her mother refused. So, coming back to Singapore for her means eating as much McD's as possible to tide her over till her next home leave.

Her fiance, on the other hand is American- the land of McD's. And yet, every morning, he hankers for the Big Breakfast. He is thrilled that the auntie at the counter remembers him, says good morning to him and knows automatically that his order will be a Big Breakfast, all in the short span of a week. He also loves the National Day song Reach out for the Skies that Dan dissed last week.

So, why does a guy whose lived almost his entire life in the land of McDonald's love the McD's in Singapore so much? Turns out, where he lived, you NEVER sit at a McD's unless you're a hobo, a druggie or insert favourite American minority group. And you don't buy take away. You drive through. With your car, in your car. No two ways. So he's never had the chance to have a lazy breakfast on the plastic yellow seats, where the auntie will bring up to you your hash brown that wasn't ready when you ordered your food, where it's clean and bright and cheery with kids running around. Where there's free wireless!

So, it really is true. It does symbolise different things to different people. To me, it's a place where I can get my near daily fix of iced lemon tea. To K, her going to McD's is like a chipmunk storing accorns for the winter and to L, her fiance, it's just way cool. Plus he thought iReach For the Skies was McD's way of celebrating Singapore's 40th birthday.

I guess, at least someone does. Both like McD's and that awful song.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 15:38

5 thoughts...

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Where are my Jimmy Choos?

Since Tym tagged me with a shoe meme, I am now obligated to open the my shoe cupboard which is actually our bomb shelter/store room.

Total number of shoes I own:

40 pairs that can be broken down into 6 pairs of boots, 3 of which are winter knee high boots, 2 that I wear to school when I'm in pants and need something comfortable to clomp around in and 1 BCBG pair that I should throw out because they're stretchy pull up ones that haven't survived well in our hot, humid weather. There is also a pair of 4 inch Nine West shoes which I think I wore all of once and then decided the man that designed it must really hate women. The rest are an assortment of running shoes (2), work shoes (many), weekend slippers (4) and in between shoes (both weekend and weekday, also can wear type), bedroom slippers from the Ritz Carlton and Watsons' (3)

Bonus details

Number of empty shoe boxes you found while counting up the tally:3, strangely enough, all Nine West boxes.

Most expensive pair of shoes: S$370 pair of silver diamante shoes from Paradox- They're my wedding shoes.

Cheapest pair of shoes: Extremely comfortable slippers from Target .

Brands of shoes represented in your collection:
Local brands (Including cheap Malaysian brands) --- X:odus, Substance, URS, Charles and Keith, Everbest (!), Vincci, Nose, Marie Claire.

American/ European brands --- Salvatore Ferragamo (I inherited these), Nine West, Kenneth Cole (Once again, inherited), Nike, Timberland, Max and Co. Paradox and oh! Mango- how could I forget Mango!

Other brands --- Some water proof, totally snow proof Thinsulate boots I bought in Calgary the day before we headed out to Banff. Some shoe I bought from Far East with Tym on one of our shoe adventures.

Most uncomfortable shoes- These Substance shoes that look like they were made out of baskets. Pretty and flat but down right painful.

Students' favourite shoes- A toss up between the cat ones (see below) and these polka dotted ones that broke sometime back (note to self: Collect polka dotted ones from cobbler soon!)

Average height of heel on shoes: 3 inches. (Lisa Montgomery asked me how my foot was just now and I told him it was ok and I was in heels 2 days after I fell, primarily because I felt it quite unglam to wear slippers to work. He pointed out that there were many different types of shoes between slippers and my typical 3 inch heels. I gave him a blank look. After which, he just gave up and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "women!" under his breath)

The last shoe you bought:

A pair of shoes from Substance that is bright purple and has cats on it. A different cat on each side. My kids have asked if they could name them.

How many shoes you have under your work desk:

A pair of Birkenstock type slippers that looked like a Gateway cow shed its coat for it. It's white with black spots. Very comfy and when I'm in my three quarter length denim skirt, I look like I could round me up some cattle.

5 people I'm passing this baton to:

- Threez-her shoe cupboard that is store room is larger than mine.
- Dan - because when I was looking in the shoe cupboard that is the storeroom, a lot of his shoes were crushing my very delicate ones
- Char- because I want to know what else 18 year olds wear apart from sneakers.
- Plentyfish-because fishermen wear shoes too
- Di Da- because it's been too long and it's time to get reacquainted so let's start with your shoes. :)

Ondine tossed this thought in at 21:02

4 thoughts...

Friday, July 22, 2005

Signing Off

I was faced with 2 sets of 20 results slips that I had to sign and distribute to the students. And I realised, I have lost all ability to sign my name. I have known for a while that my signature hasn't looked the same in a long while. My charge card slips are testament of the scrawl that has taken the place of the signature. But I always thought that was just me being lazy. Only once earlier this year, when I was in Canada was I asked to re sign the charge slip because my signature on the card bore little resemblance to the scrawl on the slip. And I thought they were just being picky. I mean, I am Asian and Asians are computer nerds and computer nerds know how to hack into systems and steal people's credit card information. As you can tell, I am once again reading too many sub standard essays for my own good.

But apparently, it's not just about me being lazy. I had time just now and I really tried to get my full signature out, but it just wouldn't budge. The learned wrist action would stop short of the last syllable of my name and emit a long line instead of legible letters as it is supposed to. 40 signatures later, I admitted defeat. My signature has a life and will of its own.

I proceeded to do what I last did when I was 12, pull out a blank piece of paper and repeatedly practice the signature. On occasion, it neared its original form, but none as neat and clean. Perhaps it is a sign of growing up, that your signature becomes an illegible scrawl. I mean when have we been able to decipher what our parents pass off as their signatures at the bottom of our report books and excuse letters.

But I liked my signature. It was the one I invented at 12 and stayed with me throughout. It's the same one on our marriage certificate. And now it's different. Now it's gone! The semblance of it remains, possibly because the first letter of my name creates the shape of the signature. But everything else just doesn't look the same.

I don't like this new signature. I will once again pull out a piece of paper and go away and practice signing my name, the old way, the way I like it. I don't wanna grow up. I don't want my signature to change.

I will now live in fear that the cheques I send out every month will bounce because my signature is doing its own Darwinian thing.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 10:47

2 thoughts...

Monday, July 18, 2005

Bordering on Bureaucracy

Saturday was Harry Potter Day and since we waited outside Target to get the last one, we decided we'd do it again. I mean, it was a day where you saw people sitting anywhere and everywhere reading the book and there were festivities and street parades. I think if I dug deep enough, I'd find a photo of myself beside the replica of the Flying Ford Anglia that appeared in the Chamber of Secrets.

So, we woke up early Saturday morning, as if it were any other school day and got to Borders just as they were tearing open the boxes. As Dan has already talked about the actual experience involving long queues and sleep deprived, hyperactive, buzzing on chocolate or something else kids, I won't repeat the story.

What really pissed me off though was Borders itself. Growl.

Most of the Harry Potter books were packed in innocuous brown boxes. Not very exciting. But there were some that came in more interesting boxes with the title of the book emblazoned all over.

In Melbourne, we had asked the Target staff if we could take a box and they did, with a smile and a quip about how people would think we bought an entire box full of the book. That was nice. We shipped the box back and now, it contains Dan's old comics. I thought another box would be way cool, to remember the experience and to keep the previous box company. Plus Dan sure has a whole lot of comics.

When we first asked the Borders staff, they said they couldn't give it to us. Anyway, the box was yet to be unpacked so we thought perhaps that was why. Then I found someone who was flattening all the boxes and asked her if we could have the printed ones. She was glad to give it to us seeing that it would mean 2 less boxes to flatten and fold. She also assured us they were clean and we should just go ahead.

So Yay! But. We should have made an immediate exit after that because when spotted by Borders staff, they told us we COULDN'T take the boxes out, even though other people had.

Staff: You can't have those boxes
Us: But the aunty gave it to us.
Staff: Well, you can't.
Us: But other people have walked off with them and they're just boxes.
Staff: Give it back.
Us: why?
Staff: It's under contract.
Us: What contract? Bloomsbury is environmentally conscious enough to want the boxes recylced?
Staff: Just give it back to us.
Us: But you still have SO many other boxes.
Staff: It's in the rules, you have to give it to us. (with the silent "Or else, we'll call security" threat)
Us: Why don't you close your eyes and we'll put it under on Invisible cloak and disapparate?
Staff (Evil Stare): No.
Us: Fine. Next time we're going to Kinokuniya.

So, apparently, the big American book store in Singapore has stayed in Singapore for far too long, being infected by our very anal by the book cannot give you logical explanation but expect you to follow don't ask questions bureaucracy. And they're doing a very good job too, assimilating into local bureaucratic culture.

I should have guessed this actually. I wanted to redeem some credit card points to get Borders vouchers so that I could buy the book without actually paying 40 bucks for it. But I was told that the book would be considered a discounted item and you couldn't use the vouchers on items that are discounted. Even if you offered to pay full price for it, they will not allow you to use the vouchers. Even if it means they get to make 20% (or however much the discount is) more off you. Can you say stick up their ass?

This befuddles me. And when I tell my brother about all this, he sends me this biblical verse in response. "Have nothing to do with stupid, senseless controversies; you know that they breed quarrels" 2 Timothy 2:23

Point taken. Next time, I go to Kino.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 08:25

4 thoughts...

Friday, July 15, 2005

Teach: Do Something Worthwhile With Your Life

-Caution: Angry rant ahead-

I've always had the sneaking feeling that many out there do not regard the teaching profession as a real job. And the only reason for that is that we don't work regular office hours.

And it pisses me off.

Just because my day ends officially before the sun goes down, it doesn't mean that I stop working. And any hapless fool who says that to my face will wish he could disappear into the ground before my look of sheer pissed-off-ness reduces him into a state of nothing.

It is implied we don't work hard because we have school holidays.

It is implied that our jobs are not real because we aren't at our desks in school till 9 at night (although I do know teachers who do that).

It is implied that we are very free because our hours sometimes allow for more flexibility.

So, it is implied that people should feel free to encroach on anytime after 12 because school's done and teachers get to go home and do nothing.

Think again.

I hate it when I'm the one asked to do something or be somewhere because everyone else is at work. EXCUSE ME? And I'm not?

It really gets to me. In one breath, I can be told that my job is very senang* and at the same time so siong.** Seriously, all these people out there, really ought to wake up a bit and get real.

I DO NOT have a half day job. I DO NOT get afternoons off. When I do give myself the afternoon off, that means I have to make up for it some other time. When people leave work at work, I bring work home. Just because I don't go in on weekends, does not mean, I don't work on weekends. Work follows me everywhere- just look into my bag and you'll know that. I do not have the luxury of leaving everything in school and closing my mind to it.

Ever so often, I get an SMS that pisses me off this much because it assumes that I have time. It expounds to me sacrifice and drags in previous examples of me being able to do lunch. Screw it. Maybe I should just make myself only ever available on Sundays. Perhaps that will train people to realise that teaching is not a job to be fooled around with. And by extension, teachers are not people you push around just because they seem to have time.

-Many great apologies to those who weren't too interested in reading angst. Not trying to martyr myself here. Have just had enough of all these passive aggressive insinuations-

*senang- easy going
**siong- demanding

Ondine tossed this thought in at 13:16

7 thoughts...

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Of pumps and tin cups

The most surreal sight I've witnessed in school in a long time. 2 teachers. Both mothers. Standing outside the toilet chatting. Carrying identical blue bags. And I have come to learn that these blue bags contain necessary apparatus to express milk. Both chat for a bit, both graciously allow one another to use the single cubicle, more privacy, both decline, one "reluctantly" accepts, the other goes to the other toilet, both to express.

Extremely bizarre.

As if it wasn't puzzling enough when once, I was in the staff toilet and I heard strange pumping sounds from the next cubicle. I looked down into the bowl, expecting something to come out of that (I have seen enough scary, alien movies to expect anything). When I found nothing, I bolted out of the cubicle with the strange pumping sound still going on, washed my hands and streaked out of the bathroom as if there were bats after me. A while later, I realised it was one of the teachers expressing milk.

That was a while back. I haven't noticed anything for a while. I thought, perhaps they've stopped nursing seeing that one of them, her daughter's had her one year old party and the other one, her son is a good 10 months old now or something like that.

Then, I see the two of them in deep commiseration today outside the toilet.

I go back in to tell KW how bizarre a scene it was and she reveals to me that the blue bags are an improvement. She had one day seen the one with the ten month old rushing to the toilet holding a huge tin cup with a cover (she explains it as the type you use when you go to food centre to get beancurd dessert or fish ball soup packed into- the more environmentally friendly way of buying food). She too was puzzled but didn't think much about it until she was in the ladies one day and swore that someone was milking a cow next door with a metal bucket. And out came the mother with her tin cup regaling to KW how great a relief it was to get it all out- that promptly weirded KW out and she shoved it into the recesses of her mind until I brought it up this morning. And apparently, said mother has stopped with the tin cup and has moved on to the little blue bag.

So, I don't know which is more bizarre, the tin cup story or the fact that the two women were exchanging expressing tips and carrying identical bags.

It did add colour to a relatively dull day. I wonder if those bags come in any another colour.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 19:17

3 thoughts...

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Sleep Typing

I tried to blog last night after dinner at about 8 but I fell asleep at the computer. Not dozed off, really passed out. So I saved the draft and joined Dan outside while he watched TV. There were moments of consciousness, enough for me to know that last night's CSI New York, some chick died in her wedding dress. But not enough to actually find out how she died. So sleep started at 8 last night and I was totally unconscious till 6 this morning, where I wandered around in a daze, desperate to go back to bed, but realised I actually had to sew a button on the pants I wanted to wear today.

So here I am now, some 4 hours later, still totally out of it and desperate to fall asleep again.

But I can't. I need to be in the lecture theatre in about 5 minutes. I wonder if the kids would notice if I slurred my way through the lecture. I doubt it. At my most unconscious, I still make more sense than they do.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 08:37

2 thoughts...

Tuesday, July 12, 2005


Remember when you were a teenager and had a crush on someone older, how far did that crush go?

For me, it was a matter of just talking incessantly about how wonderful the person was and turning beetroot if the person in question looked my direction. And even at that point, I felt that I was crazy to behave that way. I mean, after all, the other person, no matter how wonderful, no matter how cute, was still just a fellow human being.

But I say all that with 20/20 hindsight.

I found out today how far crushes could extend and how delusional our young can be. Having a crush on someone older is one thing. Creating whole fantasies about the person reciprocating is another thing. It is of great concern that this person could do great harm on herself and to the people around her, including the one she claims to be deeply involved with.

The delusions come thick and fast when she claims he blows hot and cold because he is unable to face up to his feelings for her. When told that a) he is too old for her b) It is against the unwritten code in school, her reply was that perhaps he was waiting for her to leave the school and its rules.

No two ways about it. The girl is few sandwiches short of a picnic basket.

Of course, at the same time, we feel sorry for her. It sucks to have a such a big crush. But then again, she weaved all these fantasies all by herself, so what to do? The only way to burst her bubble will kill her or cause her to wreak destruction as we all know, Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned...

Dan's 2 cents' worth- Very Desperate Housewives...

Ondine tossed this thought in at 20:35

0 thoughts...

Love Actually

I was reluctant to watch Sin City on Saturday as anyone who has read Dan's account would be able to surmise. I'm a big chicken at heart. I get that from my mother and my brother's like me, although he tends to act tough a bit more than I do. I just plain shudder, whimper, hide under my sweater, cover my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears...whatever works. So, I didn't want to watch Sin City because I knew I wasn't going to enjoy the very graphic (although artistically done) violence.

But I went anyway because my brother convinced me that Dan would want me to go and Dan himself said it would be nice if I were there, even if I were to fall asleep as I have a penchant of doing, especially at late shows. Thing is, I didn't fall asleep. I was wide awake the whole time from stress.

So much of it. It wasn't jump in your face, "BOO!" scary, it was just so much of it, a visual assault if you would. So much so that I couldn't even eat the pop corn I had. As a rule, I love sweet pop corn, and I was quite happily munching away as the movie started. But once, the annoyance subsided and the movie started proper and the first person died, there was an involuntary reaction from my arm of which Dan's arm was a hapless victim of- My watch makes a deadly weapon- and the rest of the pop corn was cast aside and my appetite for it vanished. Poof!

I appreciate the artistic, graphic value the movie has. But it ends there. I did not enjoy it, I was traumatised by it to the point that I had nightmares that night and Dan was most contrite. MDA should really come up with another set of ratings, not as a means of censorship but to warn people like me- "Chickens Beware" could be an alternative rating. We're stuck with having ratings, might as well make it funny.

You could have
1. Chickens Beware- Extreme Violence ahead
2. SNAG Alert
3. Massive Amounts of Blood and Guts


So, friends have asked what in the world possessed me to actually see the movie. I say, it wasn't voluntary, it wasn't a "wifely" duty so I guess, corny as it may sound, it was Love Actually.

I get two chick flicks in exchange though I don't see how that makes up for the psychological and emotional damage done to me by the most harrowing movie I've seen in my life.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 13:46

2 thoughts...

Monday, July 11, 2005

Killing Pain

I sprained my left ankle last year during the marathon. Last night while walking Molly down the stairs, she yanked to go and I ended up missing two steps and landing with a loud "crunch" on my right foot. So, my right foot now is sprained.

And I just realised how big my college is. It takes about forever to get anywhere and climbing up and down to the fifth floor cannot be good for my foot. So, now I'm exhausted and feeling ill from all the effort.

Need to go home, but I can't.

Want to stay home tomorrow but I can't tomorrow, neither can I, Wednesday and Thursday.

The obligations of being a teacher. Far too much right now.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 13:43

2 thoughts...

Saturday, July 09, 2005


For as long as I can remember, I always wanted a sister. When I was young and my mother had to go to hospital for various reasons, I always instructed her to bring home a little sister. And each time, I'd sit and wait for her on the steps and be disappointed when she pulled up without a little sister for me.

The closest thing I got to one of those was a cousin who is about 6 months older than I am. We sort of grew up together through the holidays. They were spent with me staying over at her house for as long as my dad would let me out of his sight. It was during those holidays that I threw up after eating fried chicken too quickly, watching Cinderella at the crack of dawn because there was nothing else to do. It was also during those holidays when I realised not everyone was put to bed at 8 at night and that routine made me a total spazz at staying up when I stayed over. Also, I learnt to say "thank you for having me" long before I understood why I had to say it. But most of all, all those stayovers gradually built a kind of kinship between the two of us.

For the most time, she didn't have a sister either. That only came about when she was 12 so it really was the both of us. Her little sister became our little mascot as we became teens, we discussed the possibilty of using her to attract the guys we thought we cute, but she wasn't too cooperative that way since all she wanted to do was fling dirty diapers our way. By that time, we shared holidays together, nail polish and secrets about boys. She rang me from school when her mother had to see the principal and I rang her from school when I was in trouble with my parents.

I'd forgotten a lot of this. The last few years, we've been busy getting our lives together. Jobs, relationships, homes, marriage, that sort of thing. So, it was down to the occasional sms and the Chinese New Year gathering.

I missed this year's CNY gathering being in Calgary and all. So I haven't seen her in a good long time, but last night I had dinner with her. And I realised something. Despite not having seen one another, we picked up where we left off. And if someone else did it to me, I would have been annoyed, but when she assumed that she had told me stuff about her what had been happening in her life for the last year or so and her wedding plans, that assumption warmed me like a mulled cranberry in winter.

We spent the whole evening talking about everything to the point of excluding her hapless fiance when he came to join us for dinner. It was good. It felt like a reunion of sorts and it struck me how much the both of us had grown up but how much the both of us were the same. It struck me that she was the sister I bugged my mom to bring home from the hospital. Technically, she's not since she's older, but there have been times with her that I've had to be the older one and there have been times with me that she's had to be the older one. And that's cool.

It's different having brothers, 9 years and 4 years older. They're precious in different ways. Even having a sister-in-law that much older, still a sister but more a mentor of sorts. The cousin and I, cousins by blood, peers by age, friends by association and kindred spirits by time.

An evening can be defined as a good evening when you realise no time has been lost. Last night was one of them.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 15:26

0 thoughts...

Friday, July 08, 2005

Wasted Youth

Sometime ago, Tym blogged about the National Schools soccer finals that was the last event held at the National Stadium before it got demolished. The impact of it didn't really hit me at that time- that the National Stadium was no more.

Today it did. Reason being I need to drive all the way to Choa Chu Kang Stadium this afternoon for the National Schools Track and Field Championships. I had known that I would have to turn up for Nationals but in my head, the Nationals would be held at the National Stadium, where it was held when I was the one running. When I realised today that it wasn't and I had to find my way into the boondocks of Singapore where chickens fly, I was sad. Of course, there was much annoyance as well, seeing that I had no idea how I was going to get to Choa Chu Kang Stadium. But more than that, I was sad.

The first time I competed at the National Stadium was when I was newly 13. And I was an injured runt having to race against Australian athletes of the same age, but definitely not the same size. I remember, standing at the start line and looking up to the stands, realising how small I was and how awesome it would be if I were to run in front of a packed stadium. That I did many times after and those were the best days of my life.

I was looking forward to walking into the stadium and inhaling the hot fumes of deep heat- a cream rub that soothed and relieved muscle tensions and psychologically, put the butterflies in the tummy at ease. Not only is it true that everyone of us has a visual memory store, we have one tied to smells- olfactory memory and without fail, the smell of deep heat brings me back to those days of racing.

I was also looking forward to walking into the stadium and having to nimbly sidestep runners in various stages of warming up dressed in what would seem ridiculously hot for our weather. Thing is I don't remember being very hot in my warm ups, possibly because nerves cause one to get cold and clammy and the warmth that comes from thet thick warm ups as well as the deep heat works great as security blankets.

So, it looks like I won't be taking a walk down memory lane. Instead I'll be driving to Choa Chu Kang Stadium, a stadium like any other neighbourhood stadium with one set of bleachers and people spilling over on the sides and athletes warming up on the road outside. It'll be like any other track meet and there's no sentimental value in that. It just wouldn't be the same.

What a waste.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 14:17

0 thoughts...

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Just one of those days

I wanted to blog about something just now. On the way home, in the car, I was crafting it in my head. Then exhaustion hit me at a traffic light and the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and with that, the seedling of a blog flew out the window.

So then, I was tired and I was blog post-less.

It isn't really because there isn't anything in my head. Although, admittedly, sometimes, there really isn't. It's been the case of too much marking for any extra brain activity. It's a survival instinct. When there's too much going on, find time to idle. So idle I do, while standing and waiting for the dog to poop. Actually, I was reading today's ST Urban supplement, but really, an entire supplement on how to dress the dog???? I'd rather go shopping with the money. And the headline?? Yuppies prefer having dogs to having kids. Oh, so much the alarm bells for the parentals who will call up panicking that we are said yuppies.

Imagined conversation.

Parentals: So, your dog. How long is it staying for?
Us: For as long as we want.
Parentals: But she will shed and leave hair and saliva all over the house.
Us: Yup, that's why we clean the house.
Parentals (not quite daring to broach the subject and a poor attempt at skirting it): But it's not really good for children. Daniel had asthma.
Us: But Daniel's ok with her and we have no children.
Parentals: But what if you do?
Us: But we don't...

And it could go on and on and on, like the Duracell bunny or is it the Ariston heater that goes on and on and on. .

Heh. It turns out the brain isn't so idle after all.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 23:02

1 thoughts...

Monday, July 04, 2005

10 Other Ways to Kill an Alien

---Do not read if you do not want to be spoilered for War of the Worlds---

Just back from watching War of the Worlds. It was not bad. Stressful and rather nightmare scenario like. As in, everytime I dream of the end of the world or some sort of apocalypse, and I think it happens often enough that I can remember how I feel in these dreams, it feels like the movie. Long sentence. I think too much iced tea through the day.

Anyway, I never read the book but according to Dan, in the book, they died because they caught a cold. Earth looked ideal from many planets and lightyears ahead but the aliens didn't factor variable factors like germs, bacteria and common snort. So, on the way back, in order to diffuse some of the built up stress in me, we played "how many other ways can we kill the alien?"

1. Pick up someone with HIV and sink their pincers into the body. No one told the aliens that bodily fluids could be deadly. Dr Strangelove wasn't on their -to watch before invading earth- list

2. Find a glowing green body of water off Chernobyl and drink from it.

3. Step on some chicken crap as it tramples over South East Asia.

4. Accidentally land on a military installation off Singapore and get confronted by 5000 armed soldiers, police officers and one wild boar.

5. Catch SARS from a civet cat in China

6. Drink NeWater

7. Try to cross the roads (spelt rds for short) near Raffles City during the IOC bidding in Singapore.

8. Choked on George W. Bush when it tried to eat his pretzel.

9. Had a Ramly burger off the corner of Petaling Street in KL.

10. Ignore the "JOEY DOESN'T SHARE FOOD" warning and snatch Joey's meat ball sub sandwich out of his hands.

I'm sure there're more but it's late, I'm sleepy and still buzzing on iced tea so I'm getting incoherent very quickly. My grammar skills have already abandoned me.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 00:41

5 thoughts...

Saturday, July 02, 2005

Deaf Becomes Him

My dad has been hard of hearing for as long as I can remember. I remember, as a snarky teenager commenting that deafness was the first sign of insanity. I think it was the teenage angst talking but he is quite deaf and that deafness has led to much frustration on our part as well as much entertainment.

For instance, when Threez and my bro first announced they were expecting 7 years ago, the conversation went like this.

Bro: So, we don't think we should have the cats in the house anymore.
Dad: Why?
Bro: Well, I don't think it'll be good for Threez.
Dad: Why? Why are the cats not good to Threez?
Bro (becoming exasperated while I'm doubled over in laughter):...
Threez (chiming in loudly): No Dad! I'm pregnant.
Dad: What? Your cats are pregnant????
Bro, Threez and I (shouting): NO! DAD! THREEZ IS PREGNANT!

So, only then did he figure out that we hadn't lost our marbles and were actually talking sense.

Then, while I was home on holiday once, my friend calls and asks for me.

Dad(barking): She doesn't live here anymore.
K: Huh? Where is she living?
Dad: She checked into this hotel in Bendemeer Road yesterday.
K: Is she ok?
Dad (barking): Why wouldn't she be?

So, I get a call from my friend asking if I'm ok and whether I was pregnant and whether that was why I was banished from my house to a hotel along Bendemeer Road. Of course, I was totally not getting it until I realised that he was referring to a house guest of my mom's whose name sounds quite close to mine and she not I had moved into the Bendemeer Road hotel because she was bunking over in my room and I was back to claim it.

That's my Dad, who doesn't admit he's hard of hearing. Even after we bought him an extremely expensive hearing aid, he still goes around in his somewhat silent world that's occasionally punctured by loud, hard hitting, Van Damme- Segal type movies.

And during the run up to my wedding, I was most afraid that he would bargain me away for a basket of oranges and gold chocolate coins. During what was called the "negotiation of the dowry", my dad sat there and just nodded, laughing occasionally. After the session, when my brother asked what he agreed to or asked for and my dad shrugged saying that he couldn't hear a thing and the place was far too noisy. That required the already very stressed bride and groom to be to arrange yet another session, this time having wisened up, with points to be discussed typed up neatly and issued to both parties before hand.

But what takes the cake is he had cataract surgery yesterday. My mom, newly back from the North American continent, berates him for not telling her about the surgery. He claims not to have known about it. He claims, no one told him he was in for surgery. My mother thinks that he was told but didn't hear a thing and just nodded, hmmmed a little and agreed a lot. After all, they are trained medical professionals so they should know what they are doing.

So, it came not only as a surprise to us, the children, but him too, that he was down for surgery yesterday. Perhaps, he thought the form he signed was to get a blood test done and the next thing he knew, there was a laser with a red light pointing at his eyeball.

Dangerous. Some guy might sell him magic stones because he heard it as cheap abalone. Die lah.

Ondine tossed this thought in at 14:22

1 thoughts...

" Far in the stillness, a cat languishes loudly"