i’ll be visiting Singapore and K.L. in 2 weeks. in my endeavour to lose 1-2kg before i get there (so i can put on a kg or two gorging on nasi lemak, soyabean curd, mee goreng pattaya, Kuishin Bo’s sashimi buffet and my nanny’s homecooking), i’d successfully overstrained my butt and thighs and have been waddling like blue-footed boobies for 2 days. and lost all of negative 1kg. i managed to put a kg on.
over the weekend, while rolling in bed procrastinating the actual act of removing our lazy selves from bed, i suggested to Ravi that we call property agents and make them bring us to a million apartments. although we don’t need to view apartments, not for the next 3 months, at least.
“for what?” Ravi asked.
“are you crazy?”
“noooo, i just want to see houses. i love seeing houses.”
“no lah, it’s so mean.”
“no. property agents are evil.”
Ravi’s standards of “mean” cannot be trusted. he’s confused. when he sees stray cats on the streets, he shapes his right hand into a gun, thumb towards the sky, forefinger and middle finger perpendicular to thumb and aimed towards the cat, then exclaims “bang!”. i’m just happy he doesn’t then bring Air Gun up to his lips and blow the smoke out à la cowboys in dusty old towns. it would cement the fact i am married to a lunatic. like as though pretend-shooting cool cats isn’t crazy enough.
the cat usually just walks away, very unbothered.
he knows if he dares touch the cat, any cat, i’m gonna smack him as hard as he smacks the cat, and make his life at home a living hell for 7 weeks just because 7 is my favourite number (especially with the stroke across the stem, the only way the number 7 should be written. all fonts should be revamped.) and i can be very difficult if i want to be.
right? right, Eds? i can be difficult, right?
right, Joy? i am dems fierce, right?
our Threadless t-shirts have arrived and i am absolutely delighted! Ravi supports me walking into Saravana Bhavan, a vegetarian restaurant, wearing the Tasty Murder tee. but i think he’s just more interested to see if i’ll actually do it because i am a pussy who doesn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. unless they’re evil or unbelievably stupid. oh, and i also don’t want to be lynched by people who subsist on spinach, Popeye was a very, very, very strong man.
i wish i wore lipstick (am allergic to practically everything under the sun that’s used to make lipsticks), but it’ll just be a waste of money because one of my worst habits is that i lick my lips every 15 seconds. it’s as necessary as blinking every 5 seconds. i love the idea of these lipsticks by CARGO because you can plant the packaging to grow wild flowers! how wild is that? i love the idea!
they market to girly people like me. girly planeteers (i wanted to marry Captain Planet when i was a kid) like me.
marketing is evil hypnosis and entrapment. today, i noticed this on my soymilk carton.
that’s right, don’t forget to shake well! and oh! buy us again! and again! and again! and AGAIN! this brand of soymilk is delicious, by the way. though nothing beats fresh soymilk. and soyabean curd with syrup *wails*
apparently i am not alone in my love for caveman-type men who thump their chest and roar “rraaaarrrrr!” before they club a beast or a moron over the head with a saucepan of bechamel sauce or insults. the State of the British Man Survey found that Gordon Ramsay is the most admired, and Pete Doherty (and yucky David Beckham) the least admired. when i first watched Hell’s Kitchen, i found Gordon Ramsay rather unattractive, then at the end of the hour, i found him incredibly, as i’d say it, fuckable and delicious.
tough love’s the only way to go, honey.
gonna leave you now with a BBC article on China’s love for bland, rubbery penile dishes so i can complete my list of Friends to Meet and Food to Eat back in Singapore/K.L.. the article both disgusted and cracked me up – but not when they kill endangered animals who have no business being on our dinner plates.