Arbor Vitae

I’m off to Sydney folks - yay! Hopefully I won’t be too worn out by the WFOT conference and will have time to catch up with friends and chow down on some yummy food

Take care and stay well!

Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Why do I insist on doing this to myself?

Why do I never learn?

Why do I insist on self-sabotage?

Why would I leaf through page after page of lusciously-photographed, drool-worthy food porn (Nigella Lawson’s How To Eat) during the wee hours of dawn, when I know full well there is nothing to eat in the house?

Or, for that matter, in Brisbane *rolls eyes*

And I can hear you choking back a fit of laughter even though you’re down south, ZX aka The Food Critic :p

I can just picture the scene: Heads clustered together in intimate little tete-de-tetes, eyes peeping over the rim of glasses, dancing with secrets and suppressed laughter.

Everyone’s there. Everyone’s there and they’ve all brought their freshly-polished, brightly-gleaming happiness with them.

As wisps of steam curl off the surface of freshly brewed teh tarik, I long to be there too.

To be warmed by the conspiratorial spilling of secrets and quick flashes of knowing, one-sided grins. To tease and be teased. To cup my hands around the teh tarik glass and let the seeping warmth drive away the chill, just as camaraderie chases out solitude.

I miss you all. Nothing is complete here. Not my life, not my heart.

I know I’m supposed to know what I know:

It’s not what you see, but what you don’t

It’s not what you’ve lost, but what you hold

I am trying to live in the moment

I avert my eyes from the largesse of others

I curb my impatience with a sternly-held bit

Would that I could walk on by oblivious

But nothing can stem this riptide of covetousness

Accursed yearning

Warning: Hokkien obscenities ahead. Read on at own risk :p

Scenario: Wayne Rooney has just aimed his ill-tempered, ill-timed, misjudged donkey kick right into the nether regions of Portugese player Carvalho.

Soccer Fan: Did you see that?? Did you see that??????? Bloody hell!!! Rooney just kicked him in the balls!!!!!! C’mon, red card Rooney!!!! Bloody red-card him!!!!!!!!!

Malaysian Soccer Fan: WAH!!!! He step on his lan jiao you know!!!! Fuiyoh!!!! His LAN JIAO AH!!!!!!!!!!!! Gerenti cannot have kids after this loh, that guy!!!!! His LAN JIAO kena kick by Rooney some more!!!

Yeah.

I have nothing else to add to that erudite yet succint analysis of the situation. But they keep their eyes on the ball, Malaysians, they definitely keep their eyes on the ball.

Picture of dress in print ad: 9/10

Oh pretty, pretty dress. Crisp and fresh, winsome yet tailored. I wanted you from the moment I first saw you on the ad.

Dress as seen on mannequin: 6/ 10

The cleanly elegant lines - adulterated by the mannequin’s proportions. The colour glowers drably, barely a shadow of the clear strong blue the dress is supposed to be.

Oh Photoshop, your trickery is too cruel, too cruel.

Dress as seen on me: -1/ 10

*Hurls*

Now this is insult upon injury. Not only have I made myself look like a perfect fright, the minute I tried it on, the dress took on the appearance of a bedraggled pasar malam reject.

Sigh.

Oh mirror, your unvarnished reflection, your honesty, is too cruel.

ps: I’m in a bit of bind because I HAVE to buy some presentable clothes for my trip to Sydney. I can’t very well turn up to the conference in my birthday suit now, can I?

Although that would be easy on the pocket, I’m not so sure if it’s going to be easy on the eyes Plus, I don’t really want to frighten all them nice Southerners from NSW OR the hundreds of OT delegates from overseas.

Blah. Bleargh. Bleugh.

The search continues.

ps: The search is over. I’ve found The One. You’re mine, all mine!!! *bursts into maniacal laughter* Finally. A piece of apparel that does not make me look like I’ve sourced my wardrobe from a dumpster

Rubber bands are not edible.

Rubbery, multi-tentacled, limp-necked sea creatures were never meant to be consumed.

Especially if they’ve attained that I’ll-cheerfully-bounce-if-I-hit-the-floor state of rubberiness through being overcooked. In a claypot. In my claypot.

*Curses* *Swears* *Shakes fist in the air*

Baby octopuses. Seven, to be exact. All bobbing about rather forlornly in what the restaurant had hopefully described as sake broth. *Snort* More like sacre bleu methinks.

They were chewy. They were lukewarm. They looked like they could quite possibly claim kinship ties with that killer octopus in 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. You know, that octopus?

As in the vicious, overgrown, multi-tentacled monster who had a tendency to embrace Captain Nero’s submarine over-lovingly, rather like a drunk and possessive prom date, thus resulting in the Nautilus being unable to surface?

Yeah. That kinda octopus.

But if I’d paid for it and I was bloody well going to eat it.

So I did. Or tried to, at least.

I popped one in my mouth and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Pensively. Musingly. Rather like a ruminating cow. But the critter was still in one piece even after the best masticating efforts on my behalf.

Worse, the rest of the baby octopuses were still bobbing about in the claypot, only the tops of their heads surfacing occasionally, looking like so many bald little alien men.

That is if bald little alien men could fixate upon you accusingly with their many pairs of eyes, while piteously moaning: Murderrrrrrrr…Murdeerrrrrrrrr…..You bloody murderer……We could have grown to be as big as the Grandaddy of All Giant Octopi if only you’d left us alone…….

Speaking of aliens, those little monsters did bear an eerie resemblance to the two lime-green, continually drooling aliens Kang and Kodos in The Simpsons.    

*Gasp* See? These darn buggers are connected, I tell you, connected.

After I’d finally managed to pulverise Baby Octopus #1, with the help of a knife, a fork and mucho teeth grinding action, I thought I’d better, you know, get on with it and be brave,

So I popped Baby Octopus #2 in my mouth and the goddamn bugger squeaked. SQUEAKED, I tell you.

To me it sounded like a mewling kitten protesting its drowning in the village pond. Or the piteous moos of a baby calf being led to slaughter, before being turned into so many shrink-wrapped, refrigerated veal cutlets. Or the squeals of a mouse with its tail caught in a trap.

That was the last straw.

No more baby octopuses. I’d sooner eat rubber bands first.

Seven things you plan to do before you die:
1. Get a real job
2. Earn some real money
3. Get a real life
4. Buy a real house (white picket fence optional) and settle down (geographically - emotionally, meh, who knows?)
5. Travel, for real (All my friends who are scattered around

Oz

,

US

,

UK

and

Europe

, hang ooooonnn, I’m coming, I promise! So keep that spare mattress handy :p)
6. Really, truly, fully eat my way through the degustation menu at the French Laundry (I’ll probably have to pawn my first-born to do this. Or, if I’m childless, my kidneys, I hear healthy kidneys are much in demand these day
7. Take real good care of my family

Seven things I could do:
1. Get a pair of *funky new prescription glasses (*funky = anything that looks better than the beaten-up mess of wire + lenses currently perched on my flat and misshapen nose)
2. Apply for a credit card (Yes folks, I AM growing up, finally!)
3. Buy some presentable clothes for the conference in

Sydney

(Wouldn’t want those nice people to think I’d just wandered in from a homeless shelter now, would we?
4. Lose some weight (For health reasons and not just aesthetic ones, although the latter could only be a plus, right? *sigh*)
5. Start studying for my deferred exams (Deferred agony and prolonged torture, oh joy!)
6. Pray that the stress from studying for the exams won’t turn me into a jaundiced, rotund old hag (Mystified? Refer to my post on Gilbert’s Disease and soaring cholesterol levels)
7. Be tucked into bed nice and early reasonably early every night

Seven Celebrity crushes (Translation: People I admire, and not necessarily restricted to those of the opposite gender, so don’t get the wrong idea OK?)
1. Nicole Kidman
2. Wong Kar-Wai
3. FireAngel
4. Kenny Sia
5. Agatha Christie (Yeah, I know she’s six feet under, but the meme didn’t specify that the celebrity had to be living, did it?
6. J D Robb/ Nora Roberts (How she manages to write for two utterly distinct genres without developing multiple personality disorder I don’t know)
7. Laurell K. Hamilton (This writer has one freaky imagination, so I don’t know how I’d handle meeting her in person)

Seven often repeated words (during MSN Messenger conversations):
1. er
2. loh - Manglish (Malaysian/ Mangled English)
3. hor - Manglish
4. nabeh - Manglish
5. okies
6. womannnn (Only used when I’m chatting to *ahem* a certain woman? :p)
7. ahahahahah (I have a lame cyber-laugh, so sue me)

*Yeah, I’m a bloody Ah Lian when I’m talking to my friends, right CK? *

Seven physical traits I look for in the opposite sex:
1.Screw physical traits, if I could X-ray him and determine the existence of a fully functional brain (and by extrapolation, a functional and hopefully personable personality, I’m happy :p)
2 - 7. Meh.

O Land of Bangers and Mash, Purveyors of The Spotted Dick, couldst thou not prevail against the Realm of Bacalau and Caramelised Egg Tarts?

But fear not, thou can always comfort thyself with some Toad-in-the-Hole and a lordly Pint at The Elephant and The Wheelbarrow.