moody meanderings

more of HK service...
A phone conversation with Dell technical support:

me: Hi, the insulation from my power adaptor has come completely apart and now there are sparks flying the AC adaptor is plugged in.
Can I have your service tag number?
I give her the number.
she: Oh, your parts warranty expired on August 1 this year. You'll have to purchase the parts now.
me: Oh no! But it's just less than a month and this problem occured even before August 1!
she: I'm sorry. If it is one week maybe I can help you. But now is nearly one month. Let me give you the number to call and the part number.
me: Ok, thank you. [hang up]

Then I realise that I have another identical laptop that might still be covered under the parts warranty period. So I call again and provide all the details and indeed, the warranty is still valid.

she: Is it the AC adaptor?
me: Yes. (how did she know that? Ahhh...must have logged the call under the company name)
she: sorry, the warranty does not cover wear-and-tear.
me: But I was told earlier that this would be covered by the warranty.
she: I spoke to you earlier. Wear and tear is not covered by the parts warranty. This is wear and tear problem.

Why didn't she say so in the first place???? Argh!! I just felt my life shorten again!

net flirt

I'm having one of those days of just doing doing doing and it is boring but it is good to feel quite focused on the mundane. Not thinking of that particular individual and secretly hoping he's not having too wonderful a vacation (wicked!). Okay okay, so those thoughts still came but only in between sweating over mounds of papers and email and contracts and...mostly during toilet break. So nearing the end of the normal work day (meaning about 5.30pm), someone going by the handle of "monsieurkat" chats me up looking for some flirting action. Not feeling particularly inspired and since I was just looking to breakaway, I decide to respond a bit cheekily.

mr.kat: Hi, wanna flirt for a change?
me: who says that would be a change?
mr.kat: The Sunday Times said that Singapore girls are conservative. Your profile says you're from Singapore. Why aren't you conservative?
me: well, what did they say about Singapore girls in Hong Kong?
mr.kat: they didn't say anything about that or about hong kong girls in singapore. so where and which are you?

That's the first hint that mr.kat is also mr.none-too-bright. In the meantime, I check out mr.kat's profile and see that his real name is Sunil who is some diskdrive engineer living in Ang Mo Kio. His conversation turns to talk of strap-on dildos and women duos. I make it clear I'm not interested.

mr.kat: so I guess you're one of those girls who are stimulated by intelligent conversations.
me: i'm no dumb blond if that's what you mean
mr.kat: well, you're a dumb blond if you can't guess my race


Duh! What Singaporean can't tell that "Sunil" is an Indian name! But he thought I figured him out through his IM style, as if the characteristic rolled up speech pattern of Indians shows up in type! That was enough out-of-character diversion for me by then.

So here I am at the end of my day (8pm). Tired. Still uninspired. Still wishing that someone Down Under isn't having a blast without me. Wicked? Good.

My life span will be shortened by a week for each month that I stay in Hong Kong I'm sure. The level of customer service here can try even the most angelic nerves. And mine are far from celestial, hence I find myself in a rage to the point of tears whenever something goes wrong.

Over a week ago, I called IKEA to inform them that the instruction they'd given me on the mattress size to fit the bed I got from them was wrong. And the result of the erroneous advice was my having to pay a premium for customising the mattress and then having them take it back and sending me a standard sized one, which fitted perfectly, contrary to the IKEA retail service officer's assertion that it would not fit. I demand that they at least make up for the double delivery charge I've had to incur but the customer service rep on the line states that the disparity in mattress and bedframe size is acceptable and therefore, not their responsibility. Obviously I get very upset at his audacity to tell me, a customer, what is acceptable to me! I ask for his manager and he offers to have her call me back. Minutes later, I receive a call but not from the Customer Service Manager. Instead, it is a buddy of the first guy whom I'd spoken to earlier. I tell him that I do not wish to speak to him if he had nothing new to say to me that his buddy hadn't said already. I wanted to speak to his manager. Heedless of my warning, he proceeds to repeat everything his colleague had said to me. I should accept the size disparity as being within the acceptable limits and that his manager would tell me the same. I'm enraged by this and not wanting to waste any more time, I hang up. And I never get that call from their manager.

Today, I attempted to reach their senior management but to no avail. I left messages for the Managing Director and Duty Manager to return my call but neither do. The Customer Service rep on the line pleads with me to speak with his manager who is frantic to attend to me. I finally give in, having failed to reach the IKEA PTB. By then, she's aware that I've been trying to get to her managers and she's profusely apologetic for not returning my call as her staff had not passed on the message to call me last week. The short of it is, she acceded to my suggestions, without much pressure on my part because it was clear that I had reached the end of my tethers. This is one trial of my nerves.

A second today was with the bank. The fact is, I have to be absolutely livid and vocal with the customer service staff before they even consider finding a solution for a problem. Even though the problem is clearly a result of their inefficiency or neglect. Infuriating! Times like these, I just want to scream I HATE HONG KONG!!!!

I've had many awful dreams and among the ones I hate the most is the one where all my teeth have come lose and one by one, they've fallen and my mouth is full of loose teeth and I dare not swallow or move my tongue because I'm afraid it will dislodge more teeth. Eventually, all my teeth fall out and I have to spit them out. On Thursday night, I woke up in the middle of the night with my mouth wide open. I was too afraid to close my mouth. I had just woken up from a dream where I was spitting a mouthful of pins. Afraid that I'd be pricked by the pins, I kept my mouth partially opened at all times resulting in a very parched mouth. I was gripped with an overwhelming urge to half swallow at the back of my mouth but I was in danger of swallowing some pins that had made their way to the back. So I continued to gingerly girate my tongue to encourage the pins that were now plastered to my parched tongue, to fall out. Why I didn't just use my hands I can't explain. But I woke up with a start and actually found myself not daring to shut my gaping mouth in terror of the pins.

I guess the dream was just a subconscious manifestation of the dehydration my body was experiencing from the night's margarita. I don't take to alcohol very well and some drinks just dehydrate my system faster and more so than others. On Thursday, I met J over dinner. He had just met a co-worker for a quick dinner but joined me for a plate of nachos and cactus(!) salad anyway. The conversation was awkward with him asking me the usual what I'd been doing the past few days, last weekend, etc. And me giving him the same answers I'd already given him whenever we would speak on the phone. I, in turn, asked him about his upcoming vacation but avoided asking questions that could set him off for being too personal or nosey. The polite conversation went on for a bit longer before he asked, "So why do you think we keep fighting on the phone?". The few sips of margarita loosed my tongue a bit and I almost ventured to say, "I don't know. Maybe because you're a stupid French bastard" but sobriety wasn't far and I stopped short with "I don't know. Who are you anyway?" So our conversation turned to split personalities, the recent episode of Ally McBeal that explored this theme and J's two personas. He almost seemed sad and apologetic but I remained cautious and distant. His whole manner softened and the eyes that regarded me were tender and adoring again. I looked away trying to gather my thoughts, picked up my glass and toasted politeness and civility. He was mildly amused and brushed his face against my jaw. I felt a stab in my belly. Desire awakening. My back muscles stiffened defensively and I stared at him with what I thought was an intimidating look but I'm sure he knew for fear in my eyes. He planted a feathery kiss on my bare shoulder and my insides turned to liquid. And before I could recover my senses, his breath against my ear and neck rendered me nearly helpless. But I managed to pull away, swooning. We stopped and regarded each other for a little longer. His eyes tender, mine uncertain. "You don't like me do you?" I asked. "Why do you say that?" I was silent. He quietly asked if he could have a hug and my aching heart reached out to his. I closed my eyes and let his embrace console my loneliness and mine his. For those few comforting moments, I felt like I belonged. We left the restaurant in silence. Thoughtful. Did I want to go home with him? Yes, I did. But I couldn't bring myself to say so. We stopped to kiss while he waited for my answer which never came. Instead, I repeated my question but this time stating it as a fact, "You don't really like me." "Maybe that's how you feel but it doesn't make it true" he philosophised. "But my experience is my only reality" I persisted. He looked at me even sadder than before, "I don't want you to think that all I want is to sleep with you". "But you do" I taunted, aware of how much I wanted to believe him. We continued walking towards the taxi line. Then he opened the door to one and beckoned for me to get in. I hesitated a moment, then stepped into the taxi, making room for him. He looked in and handed me my laptop case, suggesting that I should just head on home. Suddenly, a familiar voice shouted, "Bye Karen" and it took me a few seconds to realise Bob, my boss, had just raced over with his hugely heavy laptop bag to let me know he'd seen us. J was startled and jumped into the taxi after me. I was giggling and he was murmuring "you've been found out". I think he was saying that more to himself probably replaying a "what if" scenario of his friends finding him out. Just as the taxi was pulling out of the driveway, clueless where he should take us, J opened the door remembering that he was going to let me go home on my own, and stepped out. I wished him a happy vacation and there ended our last evening before his weeklong vacation Down Under with his girlfriend.

You don't get any dumber than this
J's recent manner towards me have often bordered condescension and disdain. Still, I'm meeting with him tonight. Why? Because I'm lonely. And I'd rather ignore the long-term pain for some short-term pleasure. All this pinned on the memory of a tender, passionate, sensitive and warm man that I saw in him two months ago. Dumb

Last night at salsa, I met a photographer who wants to photograph me for free. What a compliment! *blush*
And last night was also a night of outraged modesty. I will explain. I ventured for the first time into the Advanced class where we learnt some complicated moves which included multiple double spin turns for the woman. It was all very nice and looked really pro and all (and I mean me of course since I was too dizzy to notice how the other women were doing) but for the fact that I had on a knee-length flair skirt in georgette which had a kind of wrap overlap down the front. So with every turn, my skirt flaired out like a pretty umbrella and I dare not imagine how much it revealed especially on the double left spin which would have forced the flap open! I was trying not to be too self-conscious until one of my lesson partners exclaimed appreciatively and did that thing with his eyebrows during a spin. It is not a good thing for your balance to be doing spin turns while holding the skirt down. *blush*

I woke up to some very disturbing and morbid dreams this morning. I remember being very upset at learning that my best friend's husband was having an affair. In real life, they have a wonderful marriage and have a gorgeous one year old baby. (oh my goodness! I've just realised I'd missed her baby's birthday last trip I was home!!!) Anyway, in the dream, I get a feeling that something very evil is happening because my sister who also has a greatl marriage and family is suffering the same fate. Her husband too, is proving unfaithful. To make matters worse, both husbands separately invite me to sleep with them! I don't know why I'd dream something like this since I am not in the least attracted to either of them though I had a crush on my best friend's husband when we were teenagers and before they even met! Back to the dream, my suspicion that there's evil afoot is confirmed as I find a zombie cat and later a zombie horse roaming the streets. Someone was killing the animals and resurrecting them by some macabre process and in doing, controlled their will. Amidst all that jumble of events, I meet a child whom I get a sense I know but can't seem to place, and she too has the same blank look in her eyes as the animals. I recall that the child was doing something at the time and whatever she was doing, it was rather wicked and I was horrified. And even more horrified as an unexplainable feeling sweeps over me, the slow realisation that the child was a part of me, that it was actually mine, brought to life by the same evil wind that seemed to be creating the horrors all around. I wake up about then. Icks!

elusive typhoons

Typhoon signal 1 has been issued again. That just means heavy rains throughout the day. Nothing too exciting. I guess I wouldn't mind being drenched so much (and mostly because I keep forgetting to take an umbrella with me) if it was a real typhoon. Give me signal 6 or more. Devastation to property aside, I expect the sight of flimsy umbrellas in varying colours taking off in a swirling dance with the gusty winds would be an amusing midsummer distraction. And I'm not alone in my disappointment. I was just speaking to a journalist, a fellow Singaporean recently come to Hong Kong, who also expressed dismay that the real thing appears to be eluding us this year, depriving us foreigners the simple pleasures of witnessing the destructive beauty of a tropical cyclone. And there are others, the locals mostly, who are equally dismayed at not getting their rightful day off when signal 8 or more is issued, which occurs two to three times a year lamented a secretary at the business centre our office is housed. So all we're left with is the inconvenience of having to lunch on KFC takeout because it is the nearest food outlet that can be got to without getting ourselves too uncomfortable for the effort.

Been feeling pretty low this past weekend. Couldn't quite seem to shake it off and was particularly piqued when someone at church impatiently said to me, "don't ask me why! Please!" when I asked, out of concern why he felt his holiday back to Seoul was bad. I stared back at him in disbelief and quickly turned away to hide my hurt and anger. I didn't speak to him after. I didn't deserve that rudeness and I was having a bad weekend myself to have to take that sort of ungrateful attitude from a guy who showed up almost every week at the choir corner but never stayed to chat with anyone after. No room left for sympathy, I'm afraid.

Then tonight, I learnt that Mary T, who's just celebrated her birthday yesterday, had met with an auto accident that same night. She's allright, apart from a sprained neck. But despite the shock and the loss of her car, she still manages to look at the lighter side of things and it makes me wonder: how can someone lead such a colourful and exciting life, have a road accident right after chatting about auto accidents and still manage to laugh about it even as she's wheeled around on her back in the hospital? While here I am, allowing my life to go stale, moping because I'm letting some French fella treat me like a standby relationship.

Sometimes, you just have to make room for others by moving some of your self out of that sympathy pit.

If you are ever insulted at a foreigner (*guai loh*, *ang moh*, *mat salleh*) for asserting that all Asian Orientals look alike, stop here and see if you can tell us apart yourself.

I should be at Salsa tonight but instead, I'm here contemplating the impermanence of everything.

On the beach last weekend, after the kids and the English father of four had completed their tunnel of waterworks and were marvelling at their work of art, one of the kids unceremoniously demolished the structure in a split second by plopping butt first right smack into the middle of what took an hour in the blistering heat to build. It reminded me of the story of the Tibetan monks that T once told me and how they would destroy their beautifully intricate mandalas made in the sand soon after they were completed to remind themselves of the transcience of all things. The lesson being not to be too attached to anything or anyone as everything and everyone will one day change or be reduced to dust.

But can we be so detached and still share deep compassion and intimacy for and with others?

Still rambling, have you ever felt lonely in a crowded room? Lonely in a relationship? Do you find yourself longing for connection? To connect with someone in a mentally, spiritually, emotionally and physically intimate way? I guess this is how I'm feeling right now. Disconnected. The last person I felt a strong, intimate connection with is now a stranger to me. I can't think of a greater loneliness than looking into the face of someone you once felt an inexplicably deep connection with and coming up empty against a tall, blank wall. Deafening silence.

I will shut up now.

rocky road

This seems to be a recurrent theme in the relationships of many of my friends. One couple has been trying for years to repair their marriage and now seem to have reached the end of that rocky road. Another has tired of his partner but can't bring himself to be the one to call it quits so the emotional abuse continue until the day perhaps when she's had enough and calls it quits herself. Another feels like a stranger to his partner and the strain and loneliness of being an outsider looking in is taking its toll. And yet another hesitating at the threshold of an incredibly passionate relationship risks losing it all by hesitating. Another can hardly have a conversation without barking a reply or hurling an insult or spitting sarcasm.

In the eyes of those of us still looking for love in all the wrong places, it all seems so unfair. Why are they given a relationship when they obviously don't care much for it? I would give anything to have someone to love, to hold, to dedicate my life to. Give it to me instead. See if I don't break my back to make it work.

In a moment of insane self-pity yesterday, I actually said to someone facing the end of the road, "I deserve a marriage more than you guys who keep mucking around with yours." A horrid thing to say, I know. But worse than that is the sad truth that given a relationship, I would fare no better but would probably muck it up even more. The fact is that people simply don't cherish what they have until it is gone. We tell ourselves we deserve more, deserve better, but we don't do anything about making it more, making it better. And then there are those of us who are so afraid we'll never be able to make a relationship work that we enter ones obviously doomed to fail or go nowhere so we can invalidate our sense of worthiness. So, where is all this leading? nowhere, really. I just hope that when the time comes, I will choose a relationship that validates my own worthiness.

Elvis lives.

Last Saturday in Singapore, a friend and I went to a concert at Fort Canning Park, a nice historic spot in the city, where a colleague was one among six finalists of the Gold 90FM Elvis lives contest.
There were throngs of people and hardly any unoccupied patch of grass. There was this one particular woman in her late 50s amongst the audience who was obviously there by herself. She had on a cropped fuschia top which came up just below her bra-less boobies and a pair of runners tights that squeezed her bulges upwards and down. Halfway through the show, no longer able to restrain her urge to dance, she jumped up and started to girate and jiggle suggestively, turning to face the audience to her right, left and behind and flashing a gaping grin as she did so. It was rather exhibitionistic with her top threatening to reveal more than anyone cared to see. The guy who was singing at the time (not one of the contestants) jumped off the stage and started to girate his hips closer to hers with his nose nearly in her neckline. She revelled in the appreciative attention. Later, she was rewarded with a token, a t-shirt from the radio station and some veiled insults which were completely lost on her but not on the guffawing audience. Cheeky remarks like "Do you want X...S or XXX...S?" and "be careful with the frooze-pop" (frooze pop being a lolly that was being promoted at the show). I guess what's important is that she enjoyed herself despite.

Last evening, as I sat with my family in the Living room watching the second half of the National Day parade on television, I was struck with the quality of the entire show. Gone are the days of boring march-passes in the sweltering heat and humidity. I still remember the days when it was not uncommon to witness participants from the various non-uniformed (and even the uniformed) contingent dropping like flies, succumbing to heat stroke. None of that this time as much of the performance rather than requiring the participants to stand erect like un-breathing terracotta warriors now pranced and galloped in scintillating costumes across the stadium field amidst colourful pyrotechnic displays and balloons. Quite spectacular. My only complaints were the terribly lame television commentaries -- would you believe lines like "a rare moment for the crowd to come so close to the president and almost touch him" as if he were some god or elusive sprite. Wanna get up close with the president, just take a morning walk along east coast parkway about 7-ish! -- and the lip-syncing Dick Lee complete with dummy headsets floating on a hot air balloon missing a couple of mimed lines. pfffff...

And still in the spirit of this national event, I took The Straits Times' How Singaporean are you? online quiz and scored a miserable 11 out of 20, barely qualifying as an "OK can lah" Singaporean! And some of my answers were lucky guesses at that!

So, how Singaporean are you?

Majulah Singapura. Happy birthday Singapore!

Tiring day at the beach. Actually, was a really lazy day. I rather enjoyed that. Met some folks on the beach relaxing with their kids. As I watched the kids from three families who didn't know each other from adam playing un-self-consciously with each other, I couldn't help wondering out loud how different the world would be if grown-ups could play together this way. How much more peace there would be in this world. A father of four concurred.

Was up late (or early) talking with T. Challenging conversations as always. Me trying to provoke and challenge him through bleary weary eyes while he was dozing off in mid discussion. Finally dropped off to sleep for an hour or two before I was awakened and then round two of the discussion followed for another hour or so. I think I unceremoniously shuffled him out the door. Not usually how I show someone out but I was much too exhausted for courtesy.

One thought that came out of our conversations which persisted into this evening is how we often compromise ourselves into a non-commital relationship because sub-consciously, we don't believe we're enough. So whether we're the non-commital partner or the one who is drawn towards a non-commital man/woman, we enter into a relationship prepared to find or face a third party to fill in the gaps that we or our partners cannot fill.

I'm rambling. I should go to bed now.

Seen on an MTR ad poster :

"If diamond is your best friend, we'll do the best care for you"

Huh?


My flights are booked. Next stop : Singapore...again. Three days in hot and humid Singapore! I can't believe how unaccustomed I have become to the Singapore climate. Last trip, I was breathless and light headed from the thick-with-moisture air.

Came upon Marc's Hidden City, a new site I'm binging on (another "HMS" groupie) which had a link to Matt Rossi's powerful piece on Love that is a must read too. A no-holds-barred writer who pours his soul out onto the web. Not for the faint hearted as some of his writing challenges our own set ideas of what is socially acceptable and what isn't. And all this in a deeply and emotionally involving writing style that could hold you captive and keep you hooked, however uncomfortable reading him becomes.

An email I received today prompted the following musings.
Why do people hold on to a relationship long after it stops making sense? Why hang on to someone who no longer resembles the person you fell in love with? Why continue to maintain a relationship with someone who's moved on? Why do we fear "giving up"? Why do I fear giving up? There is just something I resist about the end that I can't comprehend. I have a need to have failed relationships evolve into another form like friendship. I remember in my younger days, how miserable I became when my former partner who promised to remain friends, stopped writing. I should explain the "writing" bit as most of my partners ended up geographically removed from me. The first moved to Canada to further his studies and the second lived in San Francisco. The third had to take an overseas posting due to the difficult employment climate at the time and the fourth, well, I moved away. So anyway, with three and four, our relationship has evolved into a budding friendship. It wasn't smooth-sailing getting to where we are now but I was determined that there wouldn't be a ring of finality to "goodbye". I really don't know why.

So I've been thinking of J. I feel surprisingly detached. And yet when I recall (re-read, rather) his early email, all that warm, fuzzy feeling comes back as I recall the playfulness and sensitivity that was the person I met less than two months ago. How could it be so different? Perhaps therein lies the answer to my question. It is my unwillingness to accept that I might have been so wrong about someone or worse that none of what was, was real. Just some incredible plot to lure the gullible into the net of deceit. It is the reluctance to believe that anyone would intentionally deceive that keeps me hoping, waiting for the person I met to re-emerge. Maybe.

What an adventure! Here I am back on the Airport Express heading towards the office with a briefcase full of important documents, preparing for a long long night. The international courier service delivers!

Stopped by the office this afternoon after a lunch of chicken rice (yes! roasted chicken rice!) with T. Spent the next few hours waiting for the aforementioned documents to be sent through. The short of it was that the documents weren't ready until nearly 6pm. My flight was 7pm. That was cutting it really really close. Anyway, did the telephone check-in and got them to wait for me until 20mins to departure. T rode with me to the airport. How sweet. We chatted some more while I stroked his incredibly hairy arm. Therapeautic -- for me and for him. Next best thing to owning a cat. Got to the airport with little time to spare. At least I didn't miss the flight. That would have been costly all around.

At the airport, I was amused to see a couple of ethnic Indians -- visitors from the sub-continent -- attempting to take photos of each other. The photographer was wielding his camera with the camera lens in his nose! I couldn't walk on by after I'd had my entertainment at their expense so I stopped long enough to show him the correct use of the camera. I think he was grateful, after he realised I wasn't trying to pinch his camera but I suspect he still has a bunch of nose closeups stored away, assuming he worked out how to open the window! Funny.

And in the plane, somewhere between take-off and the meal service, a Chinese chap sporting a crew haircut stood in the aisle one row behind me violently rapping the back of my seat and animatedly gesticulating and garbling in Cantonese for me to straighten my seatback. I was naturally bewildered at this strange behaviour. From what little I understood, he seemed to be telling me to right my seat so that the lady seated behind me could have her meal. what meal?? they weren't serving our cabin yet. I turned my eyes on the girl at the centre of all this attention in hope that she might explain his lunacy but was instead amused to see a study of feigned sleep amidst the commotion. I concluded that she must be mentally deficient and hence needed his close attention. I was wrong. Some thirty minutes later, when the meal was finally served, and she had had her fill of faux sleep, this girl turned out to be ever the chatterbox with her companion beside her.

It takes all sorts to turn the world.

So here I am back at the office, eyes barely open from not sleeping because I shared the bed with my sweetheart of a niece. She wouldn't have it any other way. I'm a light sleep and she's a squealing, squirming one.

I'm in Singapore. Got a call from a colleague at midnight last night when I was in la-la land (T-language for "sleep" for the uninitiated). He needed to get an urgent tender document sent from Singapore to Hong Kong by first thing Tuesday morning and no courier could guarantee meeting the required timeline so here I am, playing international courier service. And not a reluctant one at that. Had a huge welcoming family. My meet and greet party was made up of nearly twenty family and friends. All ado about nothing. I'm just here one night! Leaving tomorrow evening.

Been a strange day altogether. While booking my flight on the internet this morning, I found what appeared to be an email from me! I couldn't remember ever writing anything titled "Parallel Worlds" but assumed I must have inadvertently sent it out to a distribution group which I was part of and subsequently forgot about it and its taken this long (however long ago it was that I'd sent out the email, assuming I had sent it) to get to me. It turned out to be from someone sharing my name in Singapore. A distant relative from Penang, perhaps? Her encouraging email restores my faith in the goodness of people. I am heartened to know that a mere stranger would take the trouble to write me a long note of acnkowledgement and encouragement. I am most grateful indeed.

And the next coincidence came when I learned that the pilot captaining my flight was none other than my sister's neighbour who often attends our family bbqs. And then I run into a flight attendant who took especial care of me on one of my flights to Tokyo a couple of years ago at the airport terminal and whom I had sort of "dated" once or twice out of gratitude. I hadn't had any contact with him for over a year now so it was a pleasant surprise to run into him.

Craving for roast chicken rice, my sis and family took me to Laguna Food Centre where my brother in law had somehow managed to order roast chicken rice from a stall that served only the boiled variety. The woman grumbled as she bore her goods back to her stall. We thought that was the last of it but no, her boss comes to our table and yells at us for scolding his staff. He refused to believe that she had grumbled at us after we turned down the order and threatened to call the police. I can just imagine that....

"Hello police? I want to report a customer, he don' wan' my chicken rice but not only don't wan' my chicken rice but a'so scol' my gir'. I wan' you to come an' arrest him."

Well, there's one chicken rice stallholder who won't be getting business from a bunch of startled patrons sitting at the nearby tables. Their jaws were agape as they watched the disgruntled hawker storm back to his cleaver. As he walked past us on one of his deliveries, I couldn't help smiling and waving to him with a parting shot, "See you again.....NOT" to which Leticia and Abraham thrilled their childish giggles. Teeheehee!

Oh, and yesterday was laundry day. But I should also dub it the colour me pink day. Yes, you can guess what I did. For some reason, I just assumed all my reds were colour-fast but I'd forgotten that one of the reds was a fairly new one. So all my whites turned pink and all my pinks and purples became more vibrant (which is a good thing) but my good white and cream bras were just spotted rather than completely dyed. And my favourite green t-shirt is a murky algae green and my new ecru T from Giordano is spotted some dirty looking colour. One would think I've not done laundry in my life! *sigh*

I'm out of battery now and I should go upstairs to sleep. Leticia has been waiting for me and I'm sure she's fast asleep by now.

Mary T aka Half Mad Spinster continues to write (albiet short posts) much to the pleasure and delight of her faithful audience who continue to read and link to her blog two weeks after she announced her "semi-retirement" from blogging. Since her initial announcement, her readers continued to post comments either addressing her direclty or to fellow commentors, mostly expressing dismay at her departure from the blogging community and well wishes for her future endeavours. How extraordinary to leave such an indelible mark on strangers as far flung as the Nordics and Asia (me!). If you haven't read her yet, you just have to. She writes the most amazing real-life anecdotes with intimacy and compassion. And an absolute must-read for all single women is her Spinster Manifesto. Unfortunately, the comments link has been removed. Yes, I am a HMS groupie of sorts.

Finally got round to ordering a bed, coffee table and telephone table. Also ordered a sofa-bed last week which will arrive next week. I may have a home soon. Still no dining table though. Hopefully, I will get round to that and a mattress to go with the bed this weekend.

J leaves for his week plus long diving vacation today. I think I'll miss him. I'm not sure. Isn't that funny? Went with him to the dive shop last night to do his last minute shopping for the rest of his equipment. In the short space of time that we were at the store trying on fins and boots and B.C.Ds, his gf called him twice from Singapore! Poor girl! Poor guy! I have no idea why he invited me to accompany him at the store. We parted company outside the store -- he got into his taxi to join a colleague for drinks, while I crossed the street to take the MTR home. Very strange.

Astonishing telephone exchanges today :

From an unknown caller...
Me : Hello?
She : M'koi, Cheung siu che (Translated : Ms Cheung please)
Me : oh yes. I am Karen
She : ok, i'll call you back because I have another call now *click*

An exerpt of a call with a wine distributor in Singapore...

Me : Hi, I'm calling from overseas and I would like to order a bottle of Dom Perignon to be delivered as a gift to someone in Singapore. Do you accept credit card payment for phone or email orders?
Sales staff : Oh, actually, for Dom Perignon, you can go to any supermarket to purchase.
Me : Oh really?
Sales staff : yah
Me : How do you propose that?
Sales staff : huh? oh, never mind. Let me check.

HAHAHAHA!!!

J is now on the plane to Singapore before getting onto another plane tomorrow to some exotic dive spot in Malaysia. Met him at noon for five minutes. He had to rush back to the office and head for the airport for a 1.30pm flight. Crazy! Very nearly missed the flight. He only arrived at the aiport terminal at 1pm, leaving just under half hour between check-in and departure. Surprisingly, they let him on the plane. I guess airport security is no longer as stringent as they were just a few months back.

I've reached #2 spot on Google for "Karen Teoh"!! Second only to my Malaysian namesake who wrote an impassioned article appealing to Malaysian pride for their legacy. Whoever you are, keep on clicking. Make me numero un! :)

Oh yes. I did get to salsa last night after a four week hiatus. Was a bit rusty but I'm glad I still got invited to dance. Even got to dance with one of the instructors -- the cute tall one who looks like a skinnier and taller version of Antonio Banderas if you stretch your imagination a bit -- who twirled and twisted me under and over the arm doing meringue and cha-cha. I think he noticed me watching him teach his advanced class while I was waiting for my turn at a partner in my improver class. I was trying to learn their steps lah!

The weirdest thing happened last night. There was a tall, flabby Chinese chap from Australia whom I met for the first time four weeks ago at the class. He gave me the impression that he regarded himself as some suave casanova or something. Well, he was trying to hit on me. Wasn't the first time he was trying. His greeting was "Hello Beautiful". I was polite at first and then tired of his silly moves on me. I guess I made it plain that I was not interested. Afterall, he did call me Carol when I had introduced myself to him for the second time. So after the class, he came up to me and asked if I would dance with his friend, another Chinese chap. This one was a local who stood in a corner swallowed by the shadows. I accepted and took to the floor with this timid man who said he was just learning. He failed to mention that it was his first lesson! So we ended up with just the basic forward and backward step and even that he couldn't keep up with. All this in the middle of a dance floor with people twirling and spinning. I tried to show him the rhythm but simply couldn't feel it at all so I invited him as diplomatically as I could, off the floor to practise the basic rhythm on his own. After that, I couldn't help wondering if the Aussie Chinese had done it on purpose to get back at me for rejecting his childish advances.

I guess I may come across mean but the fact is I didn't pay $120 to teach some chap how to dance or to just have him occupying the space in front of me and dancing to his own rhythm. Firstly, I'm not qualified to teach him. Secondly, it robbed me of a chance to dance with a better dancer and get some real practice. And when you're as basic as that guy was, and completely lack conversational skills (he said nothing beyond "I'm a beginner"), you should just find a quiet corner to practise the basic steps until you get the rhythm. And until you've learned some interactive moves, there isn't any point asking a more advanced dancer to the floor. That's just simple courtesy. Isn't it?