moody meanderings

"Just because you read me doesn't mean you know me."
This is the lament of many bloggers, myself included. This is a blog. This is not a life. Is that really so hard to comprehend? As another blogger put it, "I am not the sum of what I write." Don't presume to know me just because you've read fragments of my half-formed thoughts. Why invest any emotion, love or hate, on someone you'll never know from a one-way non-relationship? Life is too short to waste your energy on people who don't matter in your life. Life is too precious to be investing time on activities you loathe. Why do people continue to read articles, books, blogs that upset them? There are loads of good writing out there to nourish your spirit, your hope, your sanity. Why dwell on people, things, activities that obviously stir your ire? Why keep reading this blog if it is an abhorrence to you? Take control of your life. Save your sanity. Salvation is in the cross. That little cross on the top right corner of your screen.

The lure of SATC was too great. I picked up some take-out fried rice and ate it while surfing online and then ran out of things to do as no one seemed to be online on a Friday night. I meant to just watch tele for a little while but there was nothing interesting on. I didn't think one episode could hurt but it turned out to be five. In the last episode of season two, while discussing being friends with the ex, the girls were having what looked like the most decadent ice-cream. It called to me. When the show ended, I stepped out to get myself a Haagen Dazs. On the way back, I ran into a salsa chap and his friend. So I stopped for a chat and a beer. At least I can now say I wasn't holed up at home on a Friday night. I also learned conversion from metric to pounds to stone. Stone? Why would anyone measure their weight in stone? How many stones do you weigh? I dunno. Depends on the size of the stone, I suppose. Well, I learned tonight, that I weigh about 7.8 stones. Small stones.

Last night, Hong Kong kicked off its HK Winter Fest by lighting the mother of all Christmas trees decked out to the last twig in Statue Square. So it is official, we are in winter festivities mode and the cheerful Christmas decorations in and on key commercial buildings attest to that. And if you're still in doubt whether winter has arrived, you only have to look as far as the leather jackets, fleece coats, knee-high boots, head-warmers and lambswool scarves adorning trendy HKers to dispel all doubt. Never mind that it is twenty-two degrees Celsius outside, warmer than it is in most Hong Kong offices.

It's Friday again and I've been looking forward to this day all week but now that it's here, I have no idea what to do with it. Tara is travelling again so I'm stuck with just me. Again. I'm fighting off the temptation to go home for another SATC-marathon, especially as I've managed to stay off SATC for a good part of the week. Besides, spending a Friday night at home when the city is lit up with pretty fairy lights seems such a sin. Of course, there's always Salsa...

Yes, I stopped by the blogger party on my way home from dance rehearsal last night. No, I didn't manage to pass off as a partycrasher. Not completely, at least.Phil and Andrew made the introductions when I showed up so I had to resort to bad etiquette, refusing to reveal my url. I removed myself to a corner. It was rather daunting appearing at the end of the party, trying to remain anonymous while wishing I could know some of the other bloggers better. To feed off their thoughts and opinions but having nothing to share in return. My attempts at anonymity failed. Damn! Andrew posted my pic on a photolog he just set up with some silly caption about a "mystery blogger". Someone else referenced it and one of my anti-fans jumped at the opportunity to slag me off. Suddenly this "tart extraordinaire" is thrown under the spotlight momentarily. What I can't fathom is why anyone who hates me and abhors everything I write about and represent can't seem to stop himself/herself from reading my obviously inane blog. Is it another form of masochism? I wonder...

Tonight, our dance group got together for a little dinner party of our own to celebrate a year since the inception of the group. We were at Wildfire in Soho. One of the service staff recognised me as a Trattoria diner at the Landmark where he used to work. He remarked that we must be celebrating a birthday and I said yes, all of ours. He either didn't hear me or chose to hear me wrong. He brought out a small beautiful cake with a lit candle and congratulated no one in particular, on the occasion of her birthday. Everyone just gaped stupidly at each other, wondering whose birthday they'd missed. I started a birthday song and he placed the cake in front of me. Everyone sang for me. It was funny. They all congratulated me. I laughed and said it wasn't my birthday. The flame continued to flicker as the candle melted. Eventually, I got the two girls whose birthdays were closest to today to blow it out. We had a good laugh and a good many more desserts followed. There was a warm camaradarie amongst this very diverse group of women which made me glad I ever joined the group. Here's to another good year with a fabulous new routine!

P flew in for a business trip last night. He stopped by The Fong after the party. I hadn't realised how far and different our lives had become until I caught him watching me as if watching a stranger. It's hard to imagine I spent nine years in love with this guy, believing he was the one despite his obvious unavailability. How did we become so different? The truth is, he hasn't changed. I did all the changing for the both of us. Although "change" isn't really quite how I would describe it. I just give a lot more expression now to parts of me that was once suppressed out of social obligation. He just wants his "sweet little princess" back.

And finally, if you hate what I write, the power is in your hands to close this window and never return. Trust me on it.

There's a HK bloggers party going on at The Fong tonight. A part of me wants to go because some of the bloggers who will be at the party are rather prolific writers. Some even enjoy celebrity status from a recent SCMP article on bloggers. At the risk of sounding like a groupie, I'd really like to meet some of these celebrity bloggers. See what they're like in real life. Maybe some of their intellect would rub off on me and hopefully stick. But can I go to a bloggers party without sharing my own blog? Would that be bad blogetiquette? I don't particularly want to be identified as one of those "neurotic female angst" bloggers which category I most certainly belong, amongst people whose opinions extend beyond broken hearts, sexual inadequacies and hong kong's service quality. Would it be better to be identified as a partycrasher? Hmmm...there's a thought. Could I get away with it? I guess we'll find out....


Last night, in the middle of flirting and teasing with an old friend, I was confronted with a question which completely blew my mind: Are you really excited or is that heavy breathing just part of a repertoire?

Is it me or does every woman at some point in her sexual interaction get asked to analyse and validate the authenticity of her physiological responses? I'm not pretending that I don't have a "sexual repertoire". Who doesn't? But what idiot pops the question while making out? What idiot asks the fucking question at all?? It's bad sextiquette!!! What's next? "Are you really cumming or is that screaming and wild thrashing all part of your repertoire?" By the way, it's my sinuses kicking in, you moron!

My brother is visiting with me this weekend. While describing my brother to a friend I was inviting to our hike and dinner party, I realised that I had to watch my language while my brother was visiting. I was brought up in a family environment where the word "s**t" was considered a swear word deserving of a cross look. I've graduated to far worse language since. My brother would be horrified to listen to me among my friends and co-workers! The fact is, I've always worked in companies where I'm one of very few women amongst many men. Desperate for my male co-workers not to look at me like the fairer sex in need of charity and pity, I strove to make them regard me as "one of the guys". My looks didn't help, of course. Men always described me as "demure", "shy", "sweet" and other mary-poppin adjectives which I hated. The first time I used the "f" word, people fell of their chairs. Most refused to believe I used the word. Eventually, the guys became more comfortable having me around because they didn't have to mind their language on account of a lady present. It was a great feeling. Today, I'm the only woman in the Hong Kong office. My language has reached its all-time low. So I asked this friend to help me mind my language by minding his own. I hope for one weekend, I won't slip up.

I realised I had a problem when I declared to the co-worker who loaned me the DVDs, "It's better than sex!" *gasp*
It's a great alternative when sex is clearly nowhere on the horizon but better than sex?? No, I still have a vague enough recollection of that distant memory and it definitely beats a night of twelve episodes of SATC straight up. And even if I did pick SATC over bongo man, I prefer to believe my choice was driven by principals. But tonight....I can't explain tonight. I left a couple of guys at C-bar so I could pick up some takeout dinner for a date with another six episodes of SATC. Ok, so I have a problem. Didn't I say that from the start?

I got back to SATC this evening and in the middle of season two, got hungry. I was in no mood to cook because it meant I would have to deal with the dirty dishes from yesterday so I headed down to Lan Kwai Fong. The street carnival was still on and it was nearly as crowded as it was last night with just a little more breathing space.

I checked out Scott with his big, juicy weiners outside Shnaubartt's and decided I needed something more. Don't get me wrong. Scott is pretty damn hot. The problem is, he's just a little too hot for me. Yeah, put me in front of a guy I think is like god's gift to women and I start to blabber or choke on my saliva. I know it's pretty hard to believe but I'm painfully shy when it comes to good-looking men. So I moved on and away from hot Scott looking for a decadent portion of hamburger and fries.

I didn't find what I was looking for but I ran into a guy I met a couple of times at Salsa and other parties. He's the bongo player who was checking me out at Nu. Of course, he totally didn't recognise me because I had my "Clark Kent" glasses on. No one who knows me without my glasses ever recognises me with, and vice versa. Anyway, after the initial awkwardness of non-recognition and repeated introductions, we decided to check out the stalls together. I was looking for take-home dinner and so was he. I said I didn't see anything that grabbed me. He grabbed me. It was a "Samantha" moment. I said I just lived up from Lan Kwai Fong and he suggested we got something to eat at my place. I hesitated briefly and then thought, heck, I'm horny as hell, I haven't been with a man for longer than I care to remember and salsa god wasn't taking my calls. I threw caution to the wind and invited him for a dine-over and SATC.

That was the closest I got to getting laid! I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to seduce the guy. He was too short and probably has a girlfriend whom he doesn't acknowledge as his girlfriend. I couldn't believe myself. There I was in the middle of a dry spell and I was being picky and principled? Or maybe I just lost faith in myself. I mean what if my seduction didn't work on the guy just like it didn't work on salsa god? No, I was not ready for rejection, especially by a short Aussie. And as for salsa god....well, if he can't handle a beautiful, sexy woman deluding herself into thinking he's the sexiest thing on the dance floor, then tough. He's fucking sexy on the dance floor and that thought is staying with me.

Pardon the language of a spurned, frustrated horny bitch.

After spending a night living out my sexual adventures vicariously through my new-found friends, Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte, I realised that I had reached a sexual low. It was two in the morning and only after nine episodes of "Sex and the City" when I finally and reluctantly, took heed of my leaden lids and turned off the tele for bed. The next afternoon, I was at it again. This is so sad.

Last night, as I prepared to go to a piano recital with a colleague, he called to inform me that the ticket was in actual fact for Friday and not Saturday night. I'd somehow booked a Friday show with a firm belieft that it was a Saturday show. Since we were already dressed to go out (or in my case, almost dressed), we decided to have a couple of beers in Lan Kwai Fong.

The streets were lined in carnival festivities with Caribbean dancers and congo drummers. There were food stalls run by the bars, as well as beers, spirits and trinkets. RTHK aired their broadcast from one corner of the festivities. It was quite cheerful. Perhaps it was the festivities, perhaps it was my drug weary body, or perhaps the beer really was more potent than usual. Whatever it was, the half pint I drank felt like three whole pints after. Two hours after the half pint of beer, I was at Regal for Salsa.

I was dizzy, borderline intoxicated and it was dark. The combination of dim lights, alcohol, light-headedness and fifteen episodes of "SATC" made the tall, black long-sleeved salsa god appear even taller, more handsome and oozing with sexuality. He wore a broad smile and something in his movements seemed to suggest that he was very very happy. The man was positively glowing, making it impossible for me to tear my eyes from him. There was a lightness to his steps as he practically pranced over to invite me for a dance. My head was still swimming from the last dance but I was powerless to resist him. I was barely able to keep up and all that spinning was unsettling my stomach. Still I held on with every last ounce of strength I could summon as he flirted and teased me on the dance floor. It was all I could do not to grab him by the back of his neck and taking a kiss from his smiling lips. But that would probably have put an end to his merry mood. So, I just breathed in his intoxicating scent and allowed myself the thrill of feeling his body pressed against mine. How very sad.

Time for another dose of SATC.

My sister-in-law (bless her!) wrote me in response to my last two ranting posts to drop me a few lines of encouragement. That bit of encouragement got me thinking some more about what was really going on. I was desperately trying to share my life with my mother to win her admiration and love. I took her unresponsiveness to mean she really didn't care for me. That she only wanted me to believe she cared, hence the near hysterical voice message and calls to my siblings to tell them she was worried for me after two vain attempts to reach me. It was excessive, over-reactive and totally unnecessary. This train of thought was breaking my heart, bringing me close to tears. And then my phone rang. It was an undisclosed number, suggesting an overseas call. I reluctantly picked it up, fearing it was a family member calling to chastise me for being such an ingrate. It was J. A very brief call but my heart was lifted immediately.

I know in my head that my mother loves me because all mothers love their children. Just because I can't feel it the way I want to doesn't mean she doesn't. This is the hardest truth for me.

Do mothers have to panic, worry and fret about their children in order to feel relevant in their lives? I finally went to see the doctor today because (a) I have the time, (b) I have the energy, and (c) this virus or bug doesn't seem to be going anywhere in a hurry. I stepped out of the apartment without my mobile phone. I only remembered it when I was outside my flat but I figured I was only going to be gone for an hour or so and didn't need to have it on me. I was wrong. My mother rang. The first time she rang, I was in the bathroom. She thought I might still be asleep. That was ten to eleven. The next time she rang about twenty minutes later, I had already left for the doctor's. She left a half delirious message asking if I was asleep? at work? in hospital? or.......Please call her. *sigh*

I can't seem to interest her in the things that are important to me because being a hypochondriac herself, the only things she concerns herself with are health related issues. Am I taking my vitamin Cs? Am I moving my bowels regularly? Am I eating regular meals at regular times? Do I have a stuffy nose? Am I getting enough rest? Not quite the questions that could fire up an animated exchange nor inspire a heart-to-heart mother and daughter conversation, huh?

I know, I know, what else can a mother concern herself with, right? Afterall, the things that matter to me don't matter to her.

I don't know what bug this is but it's decided to make my body its permanent residence. It must be very hyperactive too because it is draining me of my energy. This morning, I woke up hopeful that I was on the road to recovery. The fact that I was able to wake up and get out of bed by nine instead of ten-thirty, like I've been doing for the past four days, had me believing the best. By noon, things started to take a turn again. The laptop that I had just been carrying without a problem only an hour before suddenly felt like a sack of lead. I was literally dragging it along the floor to the office from the Airport Express station. Around three, things started improving again. Three hours later, I was shivering and running a temperature. ARGH! I need to evict this unwanted guest!!!

Speaking of guest, my mom left today after six uneventful days. Well, not all days were uneventful but compared to previous visits, this one was really dull. She spent most of the time at home waiting for me to work up enough energy to take her anywhere. Over six days, all she got to do was go to a concert twice(!), dinner at the Peak, and shopping in Shenzhen. I would have liked it to be different but there really wasn't anything I could do about it. Anyway, I hope she enjoyed just hanging out and relaxing with me and doing stuff I do regularly.

I wanted to bring her into my life, let her experience my passions. I thought perhaps, that would help to bring us closer, give us something to talk about. She'd never seen me perform before. She was going to see me in my full genie costume in the most important performance I've done to date -- the Johnny Polanco event. I was excited. I wanted her to be proud of me. She said nothing after. In fact, I'm not even sure she watched the dance at all.

At church on Sunday, I sang a solo piece. It was a beautiful piece. I offered to sing on that day so she could experience my other passion -- singing at church. After service, a couple of people came up to me to acknowledge the experience it gave them. She said nothing.

You'd think by thirty-four, I would have no more need for mommy's approval. It goes to show that we're always our parent's kids, no matter what.

Today, I took my mom to Shenzhen. It was the only place she really wanted to go to so I dragged my aching body out of bed and made our way across the border. We shopped for hours, buying things we didn't really need only because they were cheap. We met a German visitor who confessed to have done exactly the same.

On my way home, I suddenly found myself thinking of J. There was nothing to prompt my thoughts, no familiar place, nor face, nor song. Nothing. There I was standing on the MTR platform when a sudden urge to hear his voice took me. When will it end?

This is how the young US Marine described me. It made me laugh because it is probably very accurate. A young Hong Kong girl whom he met while here got very upset with me watching us dance. She was jealous because she had decided that he was her guy having met him a day before I did. I found that very amusing. I'd forgotten the foolishness that young girls can get up to. The child of twenty-three called in sick to spend a day with the Marines!

Well, I was no less foolish. I danced with him all night and only got home after four. And then more late nights at the Johnny Polanco parties. Yesterday, the many late nights took their toll on me. I've been sick since yesterday. Spent the entire day today sleeping off a fever. Not much of a trip for my mom. I guess I'll have to make up for it in Shenzhen tomorrow.

He's back! This time even Closer. Have a listen! [Thanks again, to Hwee Ling, for the headsup.]

Johnny Polanco and his band were in Hong Kong this past weekend. It was surreal dancing to the familiar music and rhythms of one of my favourite salsa bands. Of course, I didn't realise they were one of my favourite bands until they started to play up some of my favourite tunes. Wow! And the genies were at it again. The same dance but with a lot more passion the second night of the concert. We danced like we haven't done for a while. Near perfect synchronicity. It was exhilarating!

Salsa god showed up on the second night of the concert party. It was the more popular of the two nights so he saw very little rest in between numbers. The women kept him busy. Sadly, I couldn't muster enough courage to ask him for a dance. He looked too dashing in a black sweater and striped pants. And what feeble attempts I made to approach him were thwarted by other women snatching him up while I was still thinking about the question. *sigh*

Still, my legs feel like jello today. I was grimacing at every laboured step I took. I met the US Marine Thursday night and ended up dancing with him until four in the morning, causing him to break his curfew for the first time in his military career! He was really sweet and shy. Very refreshing. We met again on Saturday morning for breakfast, followed by dim sum lunch. He was a total sweetheart to have lunch with me and my mom. His buddy was still asleep. Another broken rule just for me. He's not allowed to be out and about without his "liberty buddy". He spent half a day without the guy! I still have what it takes to charm a young lad of twenty-three!!!

A man came up to me immediately after worship service today to tell me so. I was dumbstruck, my mind racing. He can't really mean it, I assure myself. His smile confirmed my self-assurances.

"You don't sing music. You feel it", he completed his sentence after a dramatic pause. Phew! He grinned at my relief and followed up with more positive affirmations about his experience of worship service. I was very touched by his acknowledgements as well as those of another young man. You don't realise how much you need an affirmation until it comes, do you? It is the same for everyone, I imagine. So next time you have an enjoyable experience, think about the people who made it possible and acknowledge them for it.

Now, it is time for me to acknowledge my mother over a birthday dinner at the Victoria Peak. More later about my Johnny Polanco weekend.

I'm expecting many overseas visitors this week. My mother arrives Friday. Kevin from Singapore Salsa any one of these days before Friday. And a US Marine tonight. I was supposed to meet the US Marine for dinner and drinks but after an awkward moment with him on the phone this afternoon, I was sure we wouldn't meet afterall. Besides it was looking like I was going to be stuck at work all evening.

At about eight-thirty this evening, I got a call from a number I thought I recognised as Kevin's. Only, there was no country code pre-fix which I assumed meant he was already in Hong Kong. I was wrong. It was the US Marine whom I met on IM and helped to book a hotel for. Here's how the conversation went...

USM: Hey Karen. Where are you?
Karen: Hi Kevin, I'm at the office. Are you in Hong Kong already?
USM : Yes. We're now at La Bodega. Are you going to join us?
Karen: Yeah, but it'll be late as I'm still working. Probably ten-thirty or eleven. Where are you staying?
USM: Huh? I'm staying in Lan Kwai Fong. I plan to stay here all night.
Karen: I mean, where are you living for the next few days?
USM: Huh? Errr...what do you mean? I'm staying at the hotel. [sounding very confused]
Karen: On the island or on Kowloon side?
USM: I'm at the Bishop Lei. [sounding like he thinks I'm on drugs]
Karen: Oh, you're just on Robinson Road, too. Good. I just live above Lan Kwai Fong as well. I'll meet you around eleven.
USM: Shall I call you at eleven?
Karen: Sure. And if I can get out earlier, I'll call you to find out where you are.
USM: Cool.

At about ten-thirty, I was ready to leave the office for a quick drink before resuming work at home. So, I give Kevin a call...

Karen: Hi Kevin! Where are you?
Kevin: I'm in Union Square. Who is this?
Karen: It's Karen. Where did you say you were?
Kevin: Karen....Salsa Karen? Hey, I'm at Union Square and there's a lucky draw going on now.
Karen: Union Square? In Singapore? You're not in Hong Kong?
Kevin: No, I get in tomorrow.
Karen: You didn't call me tonight?
Kevin: I sms'd you.

Slowly, very slowly, the cloud of confusion lifts and I'm left feeling totally stupid. Now, I really need that drink!

I cut off all ties when it became clear that all I was to him was an object to feed his lustful fantasies. Actually, it wasn't even that, because I can handle pure, unadulterated lust. But he made it a point to remind me that he truly cared for me. That it was more than lust even though lust often got in the way. And get in the way it did. He was completely unreliable. I could not count on him to be there when I needed someone to talk to, when I needed a hug. I could not count on him to support my passion for dancing. Heck! He never came to any of my performances despite declarations that he would love to see me dance. I could not count on him to make a commitment to sing at church despite declarations that it would be an honour for him to do so again. And it's been three months since he offered to have someone take a look at my wireless router to get it set up. But if I said something that vaguely hinted at the remotest possibility of sex, he was there in a flash, panting and stupid. I loathe him for it. For lying about his intentions. I have no regrets cutting off our friendship at a time when he needs the most support. None whatsoever.

And as for pure, unadulterated lust, there's always the handyman. He has a body that should be worn bare. Hands strong enough to wield a hammer, precise enough to power drill a small hole. His intentions are clear: do what he needs to and leave. He has no need to hide behind false pretences. He is an open book. Uncomplicated. I like that.

People keep asking me about that handsome guy I was seen dancing with a couple of times a while back. Referring to J, whom they were sure was my boyfriend. *sigh*....As if I need any more reminders of him? I like working from home because I have no urge to take a tea break and therefore, am not reminded of my absent tea partner whom I miss to pieces.

The little bit of cleaning today stirred up so much dust and kick started my allergies. I've been sneezing and dribbling all day and now I'm sleepy from the exertion of sneezing. Misery. The best remedy for a sneezy situation is good ole chicken soup, right? I'm supping on some chicken stew now. Scrummy! Here's the unsolicited recipe:

2 potatoes diced
2 carrots diced
2 pcs chicken wing joints
1 large onion
1 large tomato quartered
1 cinnamon stick
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground dill
1/2 tsp ground sweet paprika

Drop everything into a large saucepan of water and bring to a boil. Then turn the heat down and let it simmer for an hour or more until the broth thickens into a rich stew. bon apetit!

Today has been designated "cleaning day". I'm embarassed to say it has been long long overdue. I've just spent all morning vacuuming and mopping my apartment. The place is still far from ready to welcome guests but it's a good start. I still have a good part of the afternoon to put away or throw out all the junk that's accumulated around the apartment since my last house guests left. Yes, it's been a long while since my humble abode has seen an attempt at cleanliness. But today, all that is going to change. Even the Hong Kong air is getting its share of cleansing. We haven't seen a downpour since J left four weeks ago. And now, it's been raining non-stop since last night. Back to domesticity now.

It's that time of the week again. We have out-of-town colleagues at the office so we're taking them out to dinner and drinks tonight. I'm glad I'm not spending another Friday night with the tele.

wrong number
What do you do when you dial a friend's mobile number and someone answers the phone speaking some foreign language you don't understand? Do you:
a) hang up without a word?
b) apologise and hang up?
c) ask for your friend anyway?
d) keep asking for your friend until the person on the other line learns to speak your language?

house guests
Between now and the end of the year, I will have seven house guests. My mother arrives next Friday for her birthday weekend and will be staying nearly a week. My twin brother arrives at the end of the month and stays two days. My sister, Angie, and family will be here to celebrate Christmas with me. Yay! I won't have to be alone for Christmas afterall! I love receiving visitors.

Last Friday night, while feeling sorry for myself, I logged onto Land's End and ordered over two hundred dollars worth of stuff. Yesterday, the shipment arrived at the office. It only took them the weekend to put the order together and ship them out. But I didn't have time to bring the goodies back. Today, I lugged the box up Lan Kwai Fong and home. Inside, was a pair of mahogany all-weather mocs, a deep salmon flannel robe, a blue hooded pullover and a black weather-proof commuter coat. I'll be keeping warm this winter.

If we have a winter this year, that is. The warm weather isn't showing signs of letting up. At nights, the temperature reaches a nice cool of twenty-three. But some days, it gets as warm as twenty-seven. Still, it is November and whatever the weather man says, all other commercial signs indicate that Fall is here and soon, Winter. So, it isn't too surprising to see fashionable Hong Kong girls strutting down Queen's Road Central in their swanky knee-high boots. It won't be long before the furs and feathers make their untimely appearance.

I finally got to yoga after promising myself yoga since Saturday. I was very very high strung by the time I got to the studio, thanks to the staff at the yoga centre.

First, I tried to book the class online but realised that only my username and password were written on my registration receipt. So I called the centre for the web url. I went to the web site and tried to find out what classes were available in the next hour but either the html link didn't work or it jumped to a blank page. So, I called the centre again and asked them to explain to me the upcoming classes available. The staff insisted the links worked and eventually, offered to email me the class description. When I got the email, the attachment was scanned really tiny and upside down which was impossible to read from IE.

I gave up trying and decided to try the earliest available class. I got there just minutes too late. Having informed me that I was too late for the seven thirty class, she turned to the person behind me, leaving me standing there, open mouthed. Two persons later, I asked if she was going to attend to me. She attended to one more person before asking me how she could help me.
"What is your next class?" I ask, a little irritated.
"Hatha yoga", was her clipped reply.
"What is that?"
"A kind of yoga" was her matter-of-fact response.

Of course it's a kind of yoga. Any idiot going into a yoga centre would have worked out that "Hatha yoga" was a kind of "yoga". What was she on?
She called out to her colleague for help. I repeated my question to him, "What is Hatha yoga?"
He turned to her and exclaimed in Cantonese, "English speaking!"And turning back to me, said, "wait" and then disappeared into the room. In the meantime, she'd gone back to serving the customers behind me. Having given up on ever getting an explanation, I decide to go for it anyway.
"Ok, sign me in for that class", I directed the comment at the first girl. She looked up momentarily then continued to service the members behind me. Someone scuttled out of the room but she didn't attend to me immediately. A few seconds later, she asked if I was the one wanting to know the class descriptions. I said yes, but now I just want to sign up for the next class.

She picked up a piece of paper and pointed to the reverse side, explaining the class description was printed there and then scuttled away. It was impossible to stay calm anymore. "Excuse me, is there someone who can speak English around here?" I hollered into the back office. The second girl came over the same time a third rushed out of the room. Ten minutes later, I was signed up for the next class, wordlessly handed a set of towels, a locker key and a card with a number printed on it.

"Can you please tell me where the class is?"
"Downstairs". The customer is supposed to understand that to mean "three floors down". Lucky for me, I had worked out that there was a studio on the seventeenth floor and figured that was where she meant.
"And the locker?"
"I already give you the key" she responded defensively.
"Yes, but where is the locker?"
"Upstairs. Your first time?"

If she'd bothered to spend more than a nano-second each time she attended to me, perhaps she would have worked out I was a new member from the start?

I can't believe I stayed up late watching "Notting Hill" on Pearl tonight. It's a crap movie to be watching alone when what you really wanted to do was have a night out with a friend. I just didn't feel like being alone tonight. I don't know why. I'll just blame it on hormones as usual.

I'm sick again. That's definitely hormones. I've been having the sniffles and today, I felt absolutely horrid with a stuffed nose and aching muscles. Good reason to feel sorry for oneself. Good excuse for skipping yoga, too. I took that nap in the afternoon and woke up even more fatigued. Woke up isn't even quite what it was. It was more a battle against unconsciousness. It was the clicking sound from my IM that finally broke the spell.

One of my neighbours has his music turned up and all I can hear is this constant pounding drum and tambourine. I wonder that his immediate neighbours haven't called in the police already. Yep, definitely hormones.

It was really good getting back to salsa last night after a break of several weeks and even longer before that. I had a pretty decent workout and felt the positive effects of it this morning. No, I didn't lose my love handles completely, nor the excess cheeks I've been carrying around my tush. But my jeans hung a bit lower and my belly appeared a bit flatter than its done for a month! That's enough of a start to motivate me to go to yoga this evening and squeeze in another salsa and yoga session before the weekend. And need I mention that the sight of salsa god on the dance floor left me lustful all night. For shame!

After church today, we gathered for the first time, a group of adults to form the Christmas concert choir. It was encouraging to see so many people volunteering for this event. We learned one of my favourite carols, "Carol of the Bells" today. Kevin had a version of this carol up on his pages last year which I rather enjoyed. This year, I can finally sing it. I have to say it is a rather ambitious song for a newly formed choir to learn in three-party harmony 6 weeks before the concert but I'm not about to be the wet blanket in this effort.

Tired now. I am going to take a nap at the risk of being trapped in a tenacious dream.

Sadly, I didn't get to anything at all yesterday. I spent the whole evening psyching myself up to the salsa party at Le Menage but when it came time to leave, my crowd anxieties got the better of me. I could hear the strains of merriment from Lan Kwai Fong taunting me. In the end, I gave up trying to leave my apartment, got out of my dress and went to bed just after two.

Did you overcome your fears this Halloween?