Mr Dimples To Read Mr Darcy

If you say that it'll be worth my time, I'll read it.

He said he wanted to brush up on his classics, having been bereft of a reading habit before. And so I loaned him Oliver Twist, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice etc. Take your time, I said. You won't have to return me within the year. Take it easy and don't kill whatever burgeoning interest by overcompensating a cannot-be-helped lack.

*

Tonight, I had a great time. Like seriously. He's wonderful company, and there are so many things to talk about. Explored the jetty, strolled along Changi beach and disturbed a few couples too. Went to Changi hotel as well to show him the lovely swimming pool on the 8th floor (and to use the toilets). Well, that's pretty much what we (can) do in Changi Village. Chat and chill.

Mr Dimples is always smiley, and therefore, very charming as he flashes irresistably deep dimples at me all the time (no QC at all!). I was quite taken, and it so helps that we had brilliant conversations on everything and anything. He's focused and a clear thinker - those are pretty pluses - so, *eeps* totally endearing.

We drove back about 11pm + (started at 6.30pm) and I guess we enjoyed each other's company well enough to stay in the car for another half an hour or so just to talk as we parked by my block once again. Quite amazing. I can't write it down in its entirety (and I refuse to), but let it be on record that yes, it was enjoyable to be with my friend.

Unfortunately, it's struck midnight and Cinderella needs to go home.

But both protagonists agreed they had a great time, so let's hope this is something they can do on a regular basis.

*

It feels like it has been a long time. I'm really happy to be going out again with an attractive and charming person without worrying about the things that usually come along with going out with an attractive and charming person.

Moving On

We have been through this before, all messed up. Someday, I'll come here by myself, or with another, and it will be clear, what I want, and not.

did I say that I loathe you?
did I say that I want to leave it all behind?
i can't take my mind off you
can't take my mind off you
'til I find somebody new

and so it is
just like you said it would be
life goes easy on me
most of the time
and so it is
the shorter story
no love no glory

Eat under an Angsana

Sunset Grill & Pub 140B Piccadilly, Seletar Airbase (from Piccadilly, turn into Lambeth Walk, Hampstead Gardens, Western Avenue, into East Camp, all the way to Singapore Flying Club)

Tel: 6482-0244 Opens: 4 to 10pm; closed on Tuesdays

This place is so remote that some sections of the road are not paved. Other parts have no street lamps so at night, you have to turn on your car's high beams.

If you're taken here on a first date, you might even be suspicious enough to jump out of the car mid-way should your date reveal himself to be a serial killer.

But once you get to the restaurant, it is really quite a treat.

You sit on a wooden deck under a huge Angsana tree and tuck into steak and pasta with 1980s music playing on Gold 90.5FM.

The affable husband-and-wife owners are likely to say hi and chit-chat. And as the restaurant sits at one end of Seletar Airbase, you might even catch the odd plane taking off.

American Jerry Griffis, 71, set up shop here in March, after selling off his previous outlet, Buckaroos Grill, in Andrews Avenue in Sembawang, two years ago.

His choice of locales is offbeat because 'I like greenery and there's not much of it left in Singapore', he says.

The food, while hearty and amply portioned, is not cheap. A two-course meal for two can come to more than $80, without wine.

We loved the buffalo wings, which come in three levels of spiciness (from $14.50 for six wings), Caesar salad ($10.50) and lamb chops ($22.50).

It's My Life (Happy, It's So Nice To Be Happy, Everybody Should Be Happy)

It's been a really happening extended weekend for me and I'm very pleased to have my raison d'etre at the moment, well, till I lose it for the next.

*

So Thursday night saw two schoolgirls on the loose, masquerading as career women out on a frentic quest to buy something truly designer, and therefore madly expensive, to justify work ethics and determine meaning. The spree yielded nothing, most unfortunately. We had both mood and moolah, but the accursed shops just didn't carry goods that could capture the constantly roving eye and heart.

We ended up in a very clean and wholesome KTV joint and I reached home at 4am.

*

I went out with Minchao on Friday, which wasn't too bad. Well, you know how I dread it when people spring their boyfriends' presence on me when I am not forewarned and thus, totally unprepared to deal with it. Taking that into consideration, I reckon I reacted pretty well when I met him. Of course, it helps a great deal that (1) he joined us only 4 hours later and (2) I had a gallant companion all ready to whisk me off and save me for the night.

So all in all, I was in a rather good mood. Especially when we drove to 木船 and were there all the way till it closed. Great live Chinese music. Pretty cool repartee. And get this, my companion actually knows the key/lead singer. Apparently both hail from rival companies and often pitch for the same design projects. But he never knew that he (the singer) was a singer and the latter has been at singing/playing at 木船 for the past 11 years. *Cue: Be inspired by the dedication to one's craft and passion*

So it was a very healthy 2 hours plus, delightfully spent drinking bubble tea and cackling biscuits and singing along to familiar hits, soaking in the whole wonderful Chineseness of it. But the place closed at 11pm. Given my companion's penchant for darker, edgier places and returning home at no earlier than 3am lately, we hopped to another pub in Purvis Street, one that actually serves alcohol this time. And of course, I still don't quite drink. I had one-third of what was served.

By the time I reached home it was close to 3am. I'm developing a nightlife! How cool is that. For two consecutive nights I have found it impossible to reach home any earlier.

*

Saturday afternoon was spent lovingly with Best Friend Ruth in search of the cool pair of glasses that could adorn our faces without screaming "Nerd Alert!". Mission was an utter failure but we manage to buy some pretty stuff (me a sun dress and her a skirt at my favourite shop) to salvage the day.

After that, I happily abandoned her to meet Shimin to watch the Royston Tan's screening at Alliance Francaise (a dedicated post to come). And it was pig out time at Newton when the showcase ended. Came home a bit earlier at midnight. But enough is enough. I need to
修身养性 - I have had more than my fair share of flirtations and flings with people and things, and next weekend shall be meant for more serious stuff.

*

And later tonight, dinner with Eric at my fav dim sum place. How better can life get?

Mentioning of dim sum, Minxiu - this is for you - complete with MTV. We watched Closer a couple of weekends back (entry got swallowed up) and were just blew away by the song. Why the connection between dim sum and Minxiu - well we happened to go for dim sum at the same place after Closer. Closing thoughts on Closer: Clive Own is soooooooo damn hot. The scary thing is, I can imagine myself liking someone like the character he is playing. Baaaaad news. *shrugs*

Pretty well-spent days. Feelin good.

Revisiting Some Issues: Unwelcomed Thoughts

In 2003, in a quiet corner of Shenton Way, on the particular night that I was particularly miserable ~

He: Everyone has coloured, rebonded hair, is perfectly made-up and attired in standard office wear. You, on the other hand, go for the natural look. Unfortunately, natural is no longer the natural look. Artifice is natural. Everyone (who's female) is manufactured. Hence, you naturally, being in your nature to be natural, stand out in the midst of such elaboration. Simplicity just ain't fashionable anymore.

Me: I know. But I really don't want to do anything massive to myself either. I am vain and I like dressing up and pretty things, but not in the manner that the masses exemplify. I bawled at obvious make-up and I feel repressed and depressed in office wear. It could be laziness. I prefer to see it as making a statement. But I do feel miserable and lonely and very on the fringe at times. It doesn't help that I am freckled and have wavy hair and thus, naturally different from those blessed with what's fashionable.just.now. Just attempting to manage a natural state is already tough, you know. I do conform the most comfortable way I can, but draw the line at some changes, like my hair.

He: Angeline (uttered in the familiar way I so adore), you are obviously ignoring my point. Simplicity ie naturalness - just isn't fashionable anymore because everyone wants to look unnatural. To blend in, you are technically supposed to look a particular way.

Well, I hate it when I attend a function and everyone has perfectly straight and perfectly coloured hair and is perfectly made-up. Like today. I feel messy when I know I am not. It's just that other people are so ridiculously in place. When has being natural started making one so insecure? And I thought I've accepted myself. Obviously not. There are days like today.

Dwelling on that brings to mind that just on Monday, I visited The Mango Tree at East Coast. Indian restaurant. And with that, another snippet of he-me conversation floats out from nowhere.

Me: We keep going to Indian restaurants. You know what they say about people who enjoys Indian cuisine together?

He: Pray, tell.

Me: Apparently, they are only related in the most mediocre and mundane way ie only like hi-bye friends, according to this article, anyway.

He: *chuckles most disbelievingly* That.is.obviously.so.not.the.case

Well, that is obviously rather true, with the wisdom of hindsight, you know.

On stranger days, I remember, and I miss walking that stretch of Race Course Road, having the most surreal of conversations.

But I no longer need my psychoanalyst. These days, my thoughts are lighter(but no longer as nimble), cursed with a flightiness that threatens to ruin all capacity for intelligent discourse. There's no material he can work on. I'm no longer The Mystery, the complicated being to unravel. I'm unraveling, just being myself, by myself (now if that's not sad, I don't know what is). In another story, I'm run-of-the-mill very tired persona, whose sole outstanding ability is her unrelenting desire to be natural. And even that is faltering. Where will I be then? What will I be?

Selection For 18th Singapore International Film Festival

Please remember to pick up your 18th SIFF booklet at all SISTIC outlets.

I think ticket prices have increased.

Nevertheless, I have narrowed down the films I would like very much to watch:

1) *Hole in my Heart
2) *One Sings, The Other Doesn't (the obligatory French film)
3) Samaritan Girl
4) This Charming Girl
5) Post Revolutionary Era
6) *Tokyo Noir (my die die also must savour decadent Japanese flick of lostness and looseness)
7) *Peep "TV" Show
8) When Beckham met Owen
9) Crack
* means I do really, really, will like to watch.

Hou Hsiao Hsien series (of Chineseness)
10) *Daughter of The Nile
11) *Flowers of Shanghai
12) *Millenium Mambo
13) Cafe Lumiere
14) Dust in the Wind (? meaning not sure but can consider)
15) A Time To Live, A Time To Die (?)
16) City of Sadness (?)
Yes, basically, I am very tempted to check out the entire series. And also to attend the lecture by him and 2-day conference on him.

Let's hope there's a happy coincedence between our preferences and we can go together.

Youth

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion but an escape from emotion. Poetry is not an expression of personality but an escape from personality. But only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things - T.S. Eliot

On a more cheerful note, I finished J. M. Coetzee's Youth. It's very easy to project onto that and be as horrified by the discovery, because one does, does so, realise how absolutely indulgent the narrative is. Axioms (or truisms, if you preferred) believed by artists (including yours truly) become laughable (instantly and insanely so) when they pour softly and earnestly from the book.

For he will be an artist, that has long been settled. If the time being he must be obscure and ridiculous, that is because it is the lot of the artist to suffer obscurity and ridicule until the day he is revealed in his true powers and the scoffers and mockers fall silent.

Happy people are not interesting. Better to accept the burden of unhappiness and try to turn into something worthwhile, poetry or music or painting: that is what he believes.

And of course - The Plan, before baptism, manifested in only one of its variants:

While perfecting his poetric skills abroad he will earn a living doing something obscure and respectable. Since great artists are fated to go unrecognised for a while, he imagines he will serve out his probationary years as a clerk humbly adding up columns of figures in a back room.

But The Plan, upon implementation, doesn't quite work out as expected. Protagonist has a programming job at IBM, decent, mind you, but he is exhausted all the time. His dedication to his craft is still admirably there but art is abandoning him:

He no longer seems to have it in him to produce poetry of the kind he wrote at the age of seventeen or eighteen, pieces sometimes pages long, rambling, clumsy in parts, but daring nevertheless, full of novelties. Those poems, or most of them, came out of a state of anguished being-in-love, as well as out of the torrents he was reading. Now four years later, he is still anguished, but his anguish has become habitual, even chronic, like a headache that will not go aways. Whatever their nominal subject, it is he himself - trapped, lonely, miserable - who is at their centre; yet - he cannot fail to see it - these new poems lack the energy or even the desire to explore his impasse of spirit.

And viola, deja vu:

He has lists of words and phrases he has stored up, mundane or recondite, waiting to find homes for them. Perfervid, for instance: one day he will lodge perfervid in an epigram whose occult history will be that it will have been created as a setting for a single word, as a brooch can be a setting for a single jewel. The poem will seem to be about love or despair, yet it will all have blossomed out of one lovely-sounding word of whose meaning he is as yet not entirely sure.

Not a very elegant ending, and a most dissatisfactory one. But it will do for now, for me. Familiar story but we all have different endings, is that not so.

Material Girl

Amazingly enough, I ended up having a fantastic weekend.

Met Minxiu for a quickie late night session on Friday. Happily, he was, indeed, vain enough to strut around in his new not-as-fitted-as-I-like-it-to-be sleeveless faded red Bods top and carefully tousled ash-y hair to amuse me. I trust he had fun at the Expo, smoking away and pretending to be a pai kia, at a most wholesome Disney venue. I forgot to take down the Disney pass hanging prominently around my neck, so. So we were strolling around, in the area with lots of children and parents who just came out of the show, with him puffing, and me, there. Oh well. Welcome to the real world.

Saturday was good ‘coz I got plenty of things done and nice things happened to me. Visited Shimin at the Australian education fair where she’s helping out and met her friend. At the one booth, I stopped, I was assumed to be 18+ of age, freshly out of college. *This, of course, cheers me up immensely. And the pleasure (and pride) was immediately intensified when my companion appeared slightly surprised at my reaction, since I can pass off for a teenager still, according to him. Given that my companion is 18 years old himself, this is rather flattering. Maybe I am lagging behind, where years are concerned, by my own internal standards, in terms of achievement and accomplishments. But the very least, I look youthful enough to gain quite a few extra years psychologically. (*Plus: Shimin said I look very nice)

Then we headed straight to the food exhibition. Tried out the soya bean ice-cream (too sweet) and shared some red bean milk ice snow flakes thingy that I’ve always seen but never eaten.

And then, I spotted a designer sale one level down. My god, so cheap!! Regretfully, I broke my rule of never shopping with a guy in tow (unless they are really into it. Because, any otherwise, they just get into your way and be a burden to you) when we stepped in out of curiosity. Since there were no fitting rooms and no bloody mirrors, I had to try on the spot and ask for opinions if I looked spiffy and sharp, for I can’t get any look at myself at all. So, fully aware of the cliché, I uttered with mild horror whether I was looking good in whatever I was wearing. Very gamely too, my companion okay-ed everything.

Ended up with a Tommy Hilfiger dark denim jacket and a light brown corduroy Gap jacket (Minxiu: I suspect this is the female version of the darker one that you own. How much did you pay for it?). The latter was $34.90 and the former $29. I thought they were excellent buys.

Esplanade hosted us next. Spent a bit of time soaking in the night air and music (Mosaic festival). Stopped at Via Mar for light snacks as we have already eaten quite a fair bit earlier on. In addition to sampling at the food fair, we had hopped two Japanese restaurants at lunch time.

Lovely Saturday. I just love it when I get to spend some cash. When my liquid assets translate to tangible material possessions, it contributes to my overall sense of well-being.

Why and how so? I suspect as I gradually get older, I get increasingly dissatisfied with the amount of analysis and speculation that goes into a vague future in something, with someone etc. I’ve been contemplating about some issues and some people for years and they simply flummox me more. I have not much to show for all these years. Shopping for things and buying them – the very least, they tell me that yeah, babe, you have been moving, and you haven’t stopped since.

On Sunday, I made some further conquests at the Adidas sale that augmented happiness. Two very comfortable bandeau (sport) bras – one in a light shade of velvety baby pink and the other is a more glam-med dark blue. I wasn’t allowed to try so I took a gamble (since they were so cheap) and they actually look really, really nice (and fitted well but that’s secondary, isn’t it) when I had them on. And two pairs of shoes – One cool-looking black with very light mint green (for looking cool) and one of attention-seeking unique design (for hiking with someone). My Nike running shoes, bought in early January, have not been forgotten and I still hope to wear them, like very soon, again.

Whoring oneself to materialism is so comforting.

Shimin was suggesting that every month, we set aside some money to buy a piece of designer wear. I think that’s an excellent idea and should be implemented asap, as monthly evidence of what we are slogging for.

Aside from the usual shoes, clothes, bags and accessories, here’s a list of stuff I hope to buy and will allow myself to own once I get the time to bag them down. I don’t have time at all to check things out and compare prices!:

1) Stylish phone
2) Digital cam
3) ipod
4) A pink baby G
5) Classy bracelet watch

Fantastic Weekend. Great Buys. More to come.

Only Restless And Lonely

Yesterday was a yucky day. But I can sleep it away, and I have.

Plus, I feel good today. Managed to catch up a bit with various friends and it’s like being all frivolous, fanciful and footloose once more. You know, being carefree and careless over again, like we will conquer the world; we are the champions. Talking like there is really equality and that hard work and talent do pay off when taken in tandem. How you believe when you were still an undergraduate, and along the way, life let you down somewhat, in unspeakable ways. Still, we will bounce back because we have one another and it helps, even if help was most unwittingly given in the smallest of ways.

Met Minchao for an impromptu session when it so happened we were both working at Expo today. She’s a financial advisor and apparently all her income is based on commission. No basic at all, which is like ?! When she revealed it was coming to her first month at her job, yet already she is earning very well (more than a teacher), it was all I could do to restrain myself from strangling someone once dear.

I love hearing work stories and making comparisons. Especially when it makes me indignant, and all set to work harder (not necessarily in work as in work per se but also work harder to free myself from current unbecoming circumstances, whatever they might be) . I am easily motivated because being competitive is in my blood. Seeing how she’s also a fitness trainer (!?) at Planet Fitness just makes me go, see, see babe *talking to myself* there’s time for anything, you just have to be hungry enough. Contentment and complacency are the evil good when one is young,

*

He’s been working on weekends, even Sundays, ever since he started at AGC. And I thought the hours were long enough previously at Shook Lin & Bok. Do DPPs (short for deputy public prosecutors – what an awfully grand sounding title. Eeps) have to, like this forever? Anyway, I wasn’t even thinking of doing anything spiffy and special together. Just a simple meal will do. But I didn’t say aloud. Well. We both want to make something out of ourselves. So I won’t pretend I can’t understand.

*

It’s always a pleasure to receive Minxiu’s call (it has nothing to do with your voice, even if you may beg to differ). Tonight was particularly fun and frivolous. He was shopping for clothes at bodynits as he called and was egged by yours truly to buy something snugly fitting and sleeveless to boot. Which he eventually did and in a colour less a shade that of bright red, I think. So, innocent and light and easy stuff like that, which I have missed greatly since starting life as a working professional. I will miss you when you leave Singapore.

*

Saw Sherry and her sister at the show and boy, were we glad to meet! Our friendship goes back 13 years man!

风 停了又吹 我忽然想起谁
天 亮了又黑 我过了好几岁
心 暖了又灰 世界 有时候
孤单的很需要另一个同类

爱 收了又给 我们都不太完美
梦 作了又碎 我们有几次机会去追
不晓得为甚么爱 又稀少又昂贵

Life Sucks Like A Fucking Whore

Life sucks - like a fucking whore. And I take it like a straight man who loves to be sucked and fucked.

I've been all but told, in stark and no uncertain terms, that it is next to impossible for the door to be opened. The voice quality, they glossed and I did not press further. I accept with dignity.

It's painful when I have always prided on having a distinctive and perky voice and the ability to yak on anything and make whatever material interesting and fresh. Unfortunately, the former has failed to distinguish itself in the ears of Those Who Matter and with that, some of my dreams are crushed and nobody, saved my readers and friends, will ever know how provocatively fun and funny things can be.

Like seriously, if xxx can be a TV host and xxx can cut an album and they don't even look and sound particularly exciting to boot, I don't see how exacting and meticulous industry standards are.

And I was cool about it. Until just now, an acquaintance announced he has just been recruited as a producer/presenter when we bumped into each other - I became sick thinking just how cruel life is to me. Do I have to know, now, at this time?

*wades deep in self-pity*

Like, fuck. Do you have to rub it in?

A man would apparently visit seedy karaoke joints and sing/drink with pretty Mainland girls on his lap when things don't go well and there are no alternative company.

Me, I still gotta work out a PR plan for tomorrow morn. But what can I do to mitigate trauma and loneliness after that?

In any case, I won't mind purely singing, as singing, cos I still love the sound of my voice. Consumerism works, always, as do materialism. Blog out to blot and block despair. Cut my hair, even. Go out on a simple date with nice food and good company thrown in. Nothing too complicated and complex to bog me. Watch movies. Narrow down selections for SIFF.

Was so pathetic today. Resorted to buying a Disney On Ice $12 cotton candy pack as a perk-me-up.

I will like to see him, but I don't want him to see me like this.

*

I know you are damn sick, but can I give you my wish list from America? It might make me happy, but not irritatingly happy. Please see if you could embark on a quest for the following:

(1) I want Kreme Doughnuts.
(2) I want Daria merchandise - badges and key chains and tank tops will be great. Anything else is a welcomed bonus. I hope you can find! MTV has stopped this cartoon for the longest time.

(3) Please also buy back a pair of earrings (dangly ones. Studs not accepted) and a shoulder or/and sling bag - this is a longstanding tradition when initiated by yours truly. It is an indication of friends' taste and for me to collect stuff from around the world while staying put in Singapore.

Can? Shop on my behalf lah. Anything you think I will like or looks pretty and screams "me, me" (ie perfect for ME), just grab. Will have reimbursement. Just hope you have space and time for shopping frills.

(4) Meanwhile if America got copies of Fat Girl (French) and Deep Throat, you can either buy and lend me or I buy and lend you.

Lousy, Loser Days

Do not ask me to count my blessings. The last time I check, they were far and few.

I often ask myself what I am doing these days that contribute to what I hope to do eventually.

And just what the fuck do I intend to do now that I admit (Oh I do, I do) to a general embittered procrastination that screams quietly 'when I'm less tired, dear, we'll think and talk more.'

When I remember, when work fails to distract and distance me, when peripherals take over their rightful place, when I know I'm on my good way to letting myself down.

I really don’t think it’s a great thing that I’m too bogged to think carefully and plan actively and start executing madly so. I’m belaboured by work and the tree is not dripping fruits. Because I’m busy enough not to have planted the seed.

Work keeps me grounded in many ways. I’m often fatigued at the end of it (and there’s usually no end which means I’m tired all the time).

Which means I can’t fly.

Dreams become flatter.

The reality check breeds suspicion which feeds off the flatness to become this bloated, ugly monster of unconscionable self-doubt. After all, it can only mean bad, bad news that I’m growing increasingly skeptical even of what have been perceived and acknowledged to be my strengths all these years.

How do you cope when one day, you conclude irrevocably and irrefutably that you are only mediocre?

I don’t want to know, because I don’t need to, because I will never make such a conclusion.

Lousy, Loser Days will pass. And so will Today. I can sleep it away.

The Princess Diary

This is the ethereal Princess Angeline, looking a little washed out (according to ardent admirer: Princess, forgot to take the camera off night mode, so came out not as well as could've been). Her very Chinese aura of old world 不食人间烟火ness is possibly dimmed also by her hectic running around unglamourously everywhere in her very high and very black stilettos (and very new), complete with essential diamond crust. This picture shows Princess Angeline looking rather pleased and actually immensely happy, at the opening of Princess Classics, despite everything conspiratorial.

Click on the picture for the original sized version to appreciate the acessories. Earrings from Meihui and the brilliant thing hanging down from Princess Angeline's forehead is a another well-chosen gift from Shimin which adds like totally to her royal regality. The Crepe Gown is of the princess's own good and discreet taste. The picture just doesn't do justice to the flowy material, layerings and cut at all.

Oh Man! I Feel Like A Pissed Woman

Today was a fucking lame day. The in-charge has managed to screw up the interview timings despite my emails with IMPORTANCE stamped all over and a phone call lasting half an hour last night going through the PR motions together.

As a result, when my colleague went to pick the 3 interviewees, there was fucking no one. Yes, no one to fuck. So, screwed.

In the end, we had only one original interviewee when there’s supposed to be three, with the in-charge standing in.

And of course, they were late for the LIVE interviews. 30 mins.

Obviously, the stations would be damn unhappy and pissed. I would, if I were they. Here we have the hottest stations doing PR for us, and we are late, late, late. And we do not have the confirmed personalities on-air.

(Plus the in-charge has no sense of humour and the excellent bantering the programme is famous for ain’t sustainable due to his ailing chemistry with the good hosts. *faints* At least, I dare say, the hosts did a better job of plugging my show by conversing between themselves. But that’s not the main story, so moving on)

Who will they see as the inefficient party?

Me, very obviously. Even though I’m entirely blameless in this very horrid and unfortunate circumstance.

I’m damn fucked. My reputation is ruined. Just how bad – well the programme director called the studio right after we ended the interview to get the host to pass the in house studio phone to me. Oh fuck. A couple more things, he did add. And I’m like WTF.

It’s not my fault at all, all these things. But I’m who they see, and when things aren’t heading the ideal direction, I guess they hold me responsible, which is very unfair. Because I checked and confirmed all that I did was what should be.

Still, it’s obvious he’s very upset (angry) and ended with “don’t say sorry to me, I’m carrying on with my work now, please leave my office (yes, it’s always better to speak in person).” I left his room, feeling really lousy and irritated and frustrated.

What tops my list of concerns now is whether this experience would negate me if I’m really put in this unit. I won’t want any fucking shit to fucking precede me that really has fucking nothing to do with me but is just fucking me up.

To compound my woes, of all days, I forgot my mobile. And this was one day I really cannot go without it. Went home to retrieve. On my way home in a cab, I felt I would explode without talking, so told cabbie I would borrow his mobile and pay and reflected the happenings to senior. But senior couldn’t ease my worries – that I would be burdened unfavourably and unjustly – and couldn’t offer any solution.

So eventually boss (I have a perceptive boss who understands. Straightaway she went, then you how, you are supposed to be there right.) stepped in to soothe ruffled feathers. Things are supposed to be okay now, so she says.

But. Urgh. Argh. Fuck. I really quite sore over this.

In other news, boss said to type an email and signed off as PR Manager.

I need to sleep now. I have to working late and still bringing work home to do. Been passing out first, then wake up at 4plus am to write releases and event scripts.

Tomorrow – grand opening. Next week – more very hectic and important meetings with a new event – Hi-5. Have to do some research before, probably over weekend, in between the shows.

When will this ever end?

PS: oh the sheer horror of holding a PR event/conference and fearing a no show for all media! My heart! My heart! I want to be a reporter – now that I understand reporters are mobbed by people falling over themselves to be good to them. I like to believe that journalism has a heart and integrity. If it’s newsworthy, they will go to the trouble. Sweetening the deal is well, very sweet but I will be sincere about it. Fuck. I tired. Shall zzz now.

The Entry That Finally Made Its Way In

A Leftover from 2 March - the half-hearted entry:

I got a pair of paua earrings from New Zealand, from Meihui. Plus, a bag from Shanghai, presumably so, since Boss just holiday-ed there and I was presented with the gift today. But the general sense of dullness recently troubling me was unassailable (and infatiguable) - not even pretty things succeed in bribing a somewhat brighter thought out, as they usually will.

Being very, very busy, and yet very, very, very bored is an accursed state to find oneself in. Dreadful.

I have been doing some readings lately, in preparation of the test. It feels good to be a student again, a member of the intelligentsia. I fall into old habits easily and gladly. Like having pauses between reads, being generally flippant, and feeling like a sponge. And the ultimate - being happy because I forget all that I cover, seeing that as a sign things have actually percolated into the mind and memory - that was a quirk developed then.

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Fast forwarding to today. My test was yesterday. There was a moment that I just felt like throwing in the towel - do I really hanker after this enough to sit through and actually do the whole paper? But then I've many such moments in life ie exhibiting my Chineseness, exerting self-restraint and be a poster girl for good manners (It would be rude to hand in paper that's lousy by virtue of leaving blanks). For example, oh my friend just said something so screwed-up and pissed me completely. Should I walk off and not look back? Usually I simply breathe and fast forward to the good bits, like I'll reach home very soon and be done with such foolishness. So same goes for the test, I breathed and crapped. I just hope everyone was atrocious and I was only bad in comparison. I don't really want to dwell on the sad state of affairs, both current and personal. But thanks to people who have helped one way or other, specially Ruth who stayed over at my place and provided support in all senses.

The natural thing to escape these nasty circumstances is to watch a movie. The natural choice is Sideways. If you insist on a one word review, it would be tender. The movie gently nudges the despairing (and failure of a ) writer protagonist along, reminding the audience with all its little nuances, that despite the setbacks and humiliations he suffered ( His ex-wife has remarried and is expecting while he still wills himself to get over her. Meanwhile, he is seeing a shrink, imbibes medication, gets routinely drunk, is sex-deprived, has a hilarious mismatched for best friend and his only hope of being published is eventually crushed. Loser, in short. And balding to boot.), this is one gem of a guy, even if he no longer thinks so himself. There are layers and there is layering. The movie quietly roots for the guy stumbling through a road trip filled with unexpected mayhem to discover his place and lot in life and that there's still somewhere for his tired hopes to rest and rise again.

I Want To Be A Real Man

On the art of pool play:

Me: I want to be good at pool.

Meihui: Let others put into the hole lah. Do you think it's a demonstration of sexual ability?

And she remonstrated (and reminded): But you are the hole, not the stick!!! - after I said if that's the case, then I want to learn how to jerk off my balls like a real man.

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It's an interesting thought - this purported connection between sexual ability and pool playing. Like seriously, even a mind as warped as mine was blind to it till Meihui suggested. Maybe 'cos it's only my second time shooting.

Ooh. I can never see men playing pool in the same light again. I guess it is very much a turn-on visually and aurally if tall guys do it well: the furrowed, predatory look of intense concentration, the lean and arched posture, the strutting aura of confidence that they are good and the steady "thud" sounds made by the cue hitting ball and the ball dropping. Once they leave the pool table, they also seem to lose this persona, interestingly.

I want to be a real man!