c*devotchka

having my Cake, eating it – and not counting every last calorie

hell is other people May 29, 2007

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i am exhausted.

not because i’ve spent hours ironing the mile high laundry collecting on my Fatboys since January, not because i’ve been scrubbing the stove after overzealous tofu frying, not because i’ve been scraping the carbonised cheese bits at the bottom of the oven, not because i’ve been secretly and rigorously following a Bellydance Your Flab Away!!! (superfluous exclamation marks included) video at home while Ravi’s at work, no, no, no.

because, because, our neighbours were having pre-dawn sex again.

we do not know this because stray used condoms magically fly into our window from above or thankfully, also not because we can hear their 115dB over-dramatised groans that would be better reserved for porn movies.

we know this because, very unfortunately, we can hear the legs of their bed dragging with every thrust.

every thrust.

they are our new neighbours. the Missus of the House must also be genetically cursed with heavy arms because she just looooves dragging chairs, bears and dead bodies across their living room in the day and at 0300am.

some weeks ago, she was also knocking a lot. for a long, long, long period of time. then she stopped. just as i was about to drop to my knees to give thanks, she started hammering away again.

the only logical explanation for this is she must have been working on a marble statue, hammering away to perfect that muscular contour on the gluteus maximus (Eds thinks my noisy neighbouress was sculpting David, but going by the amount of amorous pre-dawn love-making, i’m ready to bet it’s a sculpture of her husband instead).

then, she keeps dragging the sculpture around the house because all the corners she’d put Him in did unspeakable injustice to the greatness! the magnificence! the sheer grandeur! of what embodied love is to her.

i just want to sleep.

without chairs dragging across the floor above me. Ravi sleeps like a bear in hibernation. i sleep like a paranoid undercover agent on the run.

i’ve contemplated delivering cupcakes spiked with happy pills to our neighbour above, so that she’d spend a good part of the day giggling and drooling on her sofa. if it goes really well, i’d even take a bite out of the happy cupcake and gleefully drool on her sofa with her.

cos you don’t want the neighbour above you to be pissed at you.

but i’ll just put up with it, because we only have a few weeks more on this apartment.

 

into the furnace May 25, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — c*devotchka @ 5:57 pm
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you don’t need Gummi Berry Juice to bounce off the walls, no, no, no, all you need is 2 weeks at home with little more than an embroidery book (without needle and thread), a slow broadband connection and Martha Stewart.

o cystitis, how i despise thee.

i am just glad that’s now over and i can leave the house! paint the town red! horrify nice ladies at the cafés with fake cleavage! get fleeced at Deira Old Souq! anything! everything! yahoooo!

it isn’t as hot as it was last year, noooo, it’s only about 43°C, only yay lower *gestures hand* than last year’s blistering 48°C.

every ° makes a difference.

i am this close to carrying a box of dry ice connected to a rubber hose which will run into my skirt, so i can skip around town. but this, i suspect, would be worse than staying at home, watching Martha savour a grilled cheese with pulled beef short ribs sandwich and pickled red onions put together by the sinewy, olive arms of Govind Armstrong, when there’s nothing but whipped cream and butter in the fridge, and Ravi still at work so i have nobody to molest.

with my newly acquired freedom from the chains of cystitis, the possibilities seem endless! a stroll on Umm Suqeim beach, a walk around Deira to buy useless trinkets, a karaoke session, take in the wonderful world of organised food products at the supermarket, a session of people watching at a bar, or, or, or!

a large slice of stinkless mutton lasagna might help narrow the possibilities.

mutton lasagna

 

antennae of happiness May 21, 2007

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as we laid motionless in bed, inhaling our dragonbreath fumes and gazed adoringly at each other’s eye crusties, i asked, “wouldn’t it be nice if we had tails to wag right now?”

a tingle of immeasurable delight used to tickle me when i saw my cats on their sides, immobile, save for a tail that swatted the air. i understand that joy. of nothingness.

vanilla cupcakes a la martha

if you like the font, go here.

i looked at the 4 remaining vanilla pods in the pantry and thought to myself that i oughta bake something worthy of my $20 other than chucking one pod into a pot of green bean sago when i realised the pandan leaves i’d purchased from the Thai supermarket had all but lost their pandanus glory. i almost put my head into the pot of boiling green beans when i chucked the pod in. Madagascar Vanilla and bubur kacang hijau just isn’t right.

and good ol’ Martha, always to the rescue. did a kitchen test on this recipe and the cupcakes turned out so beautifully, i can’t stop masturbating my mouth with bites of moist vanilla explosions. Ravi thinks it’s unbecoming of me, singing praises of my own cupcakes and groaning in delight but let me state for the record that even he, Mr I Only Eat Chocolate and Pizza, can’t stop putting his hand into the cupcake jar.

 cupcake jar

said jar of cupcakes.

the first day i got back to Dubai, i got cystitis and screamed eternal damning curses of the heat, bad, bad, bad bacteria and tight underwear. you’d think that after abandoning thongs, all your problems are solved, but it could very well be that i do have to go for that suggested surgery. cos God misplaced my urethra. but really, i don’t like anyone coming near my pepek with anything sharp and shiny. and it’s manageable. really. and i get it only when it’s hot, really. so instead of cutting up my vagina into a million different pieces, i could migrate to the North Pole, Ravi and polar bears in tow.

so, what happens when i get cystitis? when i used to work, i’d get a 5 day M.C. and sit on the throne all day with 3 1.5L bottles of water by my side. and my laptop on a chair in front of me. why bother getting off the throne when you’re gonna go back every 10 minutes? and when you’re sipping 4.5L of water, you’re gonna pee practically every minute. out, damn spot, out!

see, i’m a pro, i’ve had cystitis since i had a vagina but nobody, NOBODY told us i had a misplaced urethra although they had meddled with my labia since i was 5. until last year, i.e.

now, when i get cystitis, i don’t do much else different. i still sit on the throne with a laptop in front of me and at least 2 1.5L bottles of water by my side. except i can order Ravi around when it’s the weekend, “sayaaaaang! get me Ciprobay from the pharmacy, please. sayaaaaaang! may i have the papers? sayaaaaaang! can you get me more water? sayaaaaaang! could you switch the other loo light on for me? SAYAAAAAAANG!”

and in tribute to everything that Ravi is, the brown ball of fun that he can be and the brown ball of almost infinite patience i can only aspire to have, i decided to turn into a papparazo and invade his half naked privacy on our sofa.

ravi 1

at first he thinks it’s fun.

ravi 2

he even laughs at how ridiculous this is.

ravi 4

but after 20 zoomed in shots of his nipples, he doesn’t think it’s so fun anymore. see how he shields his overexposed nipples from my lens.

ravi 3

nooooo… please stop, sayang, pleeeeeaaaasse!”

everyone should own a camera for treasured moments like these.

i tried to look for the official scientific word to describe eye crusties. i contemplated ocular shitus or eyeballus goous, but couldn’t find anything. other than a whole loada shit about shit. who sits around writing essays on the word “shit”?

i suppose these people and i have one thing in common, we spend too much time on the Internet, digging a larger anti-social-skills hole for ourselves instead of saving the world. but when you have gems like this on youtube, can you really blame us?

 

don’t blame it on your bowl May 16, 2007

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at my 23rd long, bubbly, droning fart, i looked apologetically at Ravi and explained, “irritable bowel, sorry.”

to which he replied, “humph. don’t you blame it on your bowl.”

here are some of my favourite moments from Singapore.

singapore - boatquay silhoutte

silhouette of Boat Quay.

singapore - asian civilisations museum

at the Asian Civilisations Museum, by Boat Quay. i love it there.

singapore - esplanade

my prayers are with he who cleans each and every spike and window of the Esplanade. it doesn’t look as much as a durian as it does painful.

bunga rampai

searching for bunga rampai at Geylang. for my bro’s engagement to Nuril.

bunga rampai 2

she was a grumpy lookin’ lady, but that’s not why we didn’t order from her. check out her blingblingbuhbangles.

engagement ring

rough cut. putting together the ring at the ringmaker. because i no longer believe in commercialised jewellery shops.

engagement - cage

how the ring was presented. cage not to be taken symbolically.

blueme

he called out to me. with his blue curls and sausage lips. and i crumbled. and bought him.

kuah lemak

i love my nan’s kuah lemak. saturated fats don’t bother me.

tempura ice-cream

tempura ice-cream. not for those with sensitive teeth. or for those with sensitive teeth who don’t mind a little pain.

mom

she won’t confess i’m adopted. my momma, happy momma’s day, momma. eye lub ewe.

abang

*raaarrrr* at Carnivore, Vivo City. pigging out on Brazilian churrascaria. he has one false tooth in front. a big prize is in store for he who guesses the right tooth.

ina

pink is the new blue.

ina at asian civilisations museum

walking through civilisations.

sheela

if Sheela isn’t pretty, i don’t know who is.

sheela priya scribbling in book

Sheela and Priya scribbling in my redbook as we wait for my new biometric passport. we also made friends with a 10 year old kid called Alvis. his dad loves Elvis. but Alvis doesn’t care much for Elvis.

priya

Priya and the soffiato to die for.

sum

Sum, wondering where Alyx is. because she’s always, always late.

alyx shera

meet Alyx, the Serial Latecomer. me, looking positively like a char siew pau. and Shera in navy.

hans and jay

Hans and Jay, stark sober on watered down drinks.

joy

movin’ it at Movida, St James. Joy and i, all shiny and tingly with perspiration.

shana

Shana groovin’ it on. he has a very, very, very good ass.

alley with charlie

Shana’s Alley with my Charlie.

 

10 reasons we have 24 cats May 14, 2007

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now that i’ve exposed the fact that my family has 24 cats, i can no longer sit back and pretend that 50% of the reasons i am a semi lunatic today has nothing to do with my parents.

let’s run through various reasons why we have 24 cats (RIP Teddy, Tigrrr, Chiqo *sob*):

1. we are genetically predisposed to a mental disease one might know as the Teddy Martyr Complex. we cannot help but rescue teddy-like creatures which are sick, dying, orphaned or all of the above. we’d take in stray mutts if they didn’t grow so big. if we had a palatial home with acres of land, we might even rescue the occasional elephant. seriously. we’re big on animal love.

2. people who were interested in adopting some of the rescued cats weren’t sincere. really. no, really. you know this when they ask “if anything goes wrong, can we give it back to you?” does God have a return policy on children? you pigs.

3. we cannot say “no”. people can say whatever they want about my father whose initials are not unlike those of Adolf Hitler, but deep inside, he’s a mush of gooey marshmallow. and my mom, she’s too nice. except when she employs the Disabling Method of Choice i.e. emotional blackmail. my brother is mostly indifferent after the initial “oh my god, he’s so cute!”. and i too, am a mush of gooey peanut butter jelly.

4. we like waking up to fish breath and caked fish drool on our cheeks.

5. we need to support 3M’s Lint Roller factory line.

6. secretly, we’d like to be cats. not just any cat. we’d like to be OUR cats. they get to eat gourmet canned food 2x a day on top of a ready supply of cat biscuits throughout the day. we understand that everyone likes a biscuit with tea once in a while. except when you’re a cat, you’d prefer Iams with toilet water. they also get to mainline catnip once a week. mass rolling on floor of the feline kind is, i’d imagine, one of the trippiest, out-of-this-world things a cat may experience. if they weren’t all sterilised, they might also practise free love and we’d be over-run by furballs.

7. we are sadists. we love the weekly bathing of the cats. from the click-clack of the bucket filled with 24 towels which sends all 24 cats running for cover to dragging protesting kuching bushuk (smelly cats) from hiding places you never knew existed.

8. they understand you. i know some of you don’t believe me, but you can go wank yerself, buster. try coming home upset and crying buckets on the edge of the bed. mischievous cats wouldn’t act up and just curl up on your lap till you’re ready to stop crying. and they remember you. if you don’t think so, go for a second round, buster. i haven’t been back for 10 months and they asked me to do things like play catch. this is special because nobody else in the house plays catch with them but me. and no, they do not come to you only when they are hungry. they are little people in luscious fur coats with an exotic accent.

9. you need to work it. if you piss a cat off, you need to coax her into your arms like an angry lover. if a cat is shy, you need to win her trust. and they aren’t very clingy. they seem to understand that balance is important. except when it comes to eating.

10. we prefer animals to human beings.

it used to be that the last thing i heard at night and the first thing i heard the next morning was a meow. or two. or 10. you’d forgive me if i’d occasionally believe i’m a cat.

dino acting cute

sometimes Dino thinks he’s a dog. he likes to be walked around the garden.

dodi at the door

Dodi never forgets to put on kohl every morning.

he aspires to be our guard dog but scampers like a pussy when the doorbell rings.

lucky asleep standing

Lucky’s determined to prove to the other cats that you can sleep standing up.

niki on cupboard

i’m lying if i say i don’t have favourites. Niki’s my heart (eat that, Ravi!).

my first cat.

phoebe in a ball

Phoebe on afternoon nap.

i love marble cake cats.

rudy on chair

Rudy just being crude. we should buy him underpants.

tito on the phone

Tito contemplating on life.

casper pepper neckin

some serious neckin’ goin’ on here between Casper and Pepper.

check out the squint of delight on Casper.

and the horny tucked back ears on both of ’em.

they’re siblings.

cats are survivors, incest or not.

oh what i’d do so Ravi would allow me to keep two cats.

 

and then there were 13 more. meowurrrrr. May 12, 2007

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baby

Baby, Cocoa’s daughter.

Cocoa and Baby used to live quite the fugee life, constantly running from cruel people. Cocoa’s front leg was broken by one of our neighbours, and she’s limped ever since. what is wrong with people?

beavis

Beavis.

he only looks like a fool, but he’s quite insidious.

very adorable, with a high-pitched meow.

can be very insistent when he wants to be.

he used to scratch me if i kicked him off the bed.

cargo

Cargo.

he used to wait for my dad to come to work everyday, and even followed my dad into his office and sat on his chair.

casper

Casper.

one of the 5 kittens in a box.

very shy. very pretty. very sweet.

cocoa

Cocoa.

she taught me about motherhood.

dino

Dino.

i don’t understand how Persian cats can end up as strays.

abandonment knows no prejudice.

he followed us home.

ginger

Ginger.

one of the 5 kittens in a box.

extremely shy, always at the backyard.

very sweet when she wants to be.

meera

Meera.

she’s the adventurer.

always running out of the house, but some of our neighbours can be very cruel to them, even if all they’re doing is running after flies.

migo

Migo.

Chiqo’s brother. Chiqo’s gone missing for half a year now 😦

Migo’s the sociopathic cat, hates everyone and every cat. he follows Tito around. sometimes i think i catch Tito sighing cos Migo won’t leave him alone.

pepper

Pepper.

also one of 5 kittens in a box. comes running when his name is called. or when any other name is called for that matter. he’s a love junkie.

tompok

Tompok.

one of the smartest, coolest cats i’ve ever known.

yogi

Yogi.

cos he’s too cool.

 

 

say hello to some of my feline obsessions May 2, 2007

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niki 1

Niki. who sometimes forgets to clean her eyes and nose.

she slept with me every night.

also understands “no”, “naughty”, “makan” (food/eat), “cicak” (lizard), “come here”, “good girl” and “sleep.

she’s as soft as mink.

 puteh 1

Puteh (poo-teh. white). we also call him The Godfather.

just look at those folded hands. deep in thought.

of his next meal.

cats who dare venture near him or annoy him will get a big, fat smack across their faces.

 charlie 1

 Charlie.

she used to be the size of my hand (most of our picked up strays were), with a giant swollen thingy on her forehead. the vet said she’d die within the first month we got her. but look at her now.

inka 1

 Inka.

don’t you just love tri-coloured tortoise-shell cats?

she thinks she’s a horse. she gallops like one when beckoned.

blaqui 1

 Blaqui.

the waiter with socks.

he never grew out of infancy, always looking to suckle on our t-shirts.

rudy 1

Rudy.

he is one of a few gangsters at home.

extremely mischievous and gets into frequent fights with other cats.

 lucky 1

Lucky.

because she was one of two kittens stuck in a huge ass canal in torrential rain. her foot was stuck in thick mud and she’d struggled in the water for more than an hour. till one of our neighbours climbed down the 6m wall of the canal and got her out. her sister’s Sheena.

phoebe 1

Phoebe.

one of 5 kittens that a kid brought to us in a box. they had been taken from their mom. wasn’t a clever thing to do, but sometimes, kids just don’t know better. we could not find their mom and took them in. i hope their mom didn’t miss them too much.

tito 1

Tito.

as in Tito Jackson.

he was a super friendly kitten who looked like another of our cats back then, Teddy, who has since passed on 😦 we thought he was Teddy and that he’d fallen off our 2nd floor balcony. we brought him up, then realised we brought home someone new. Tito’s a really sweet, cool cat.

dodi 1

Dodi.

he’s too cool for words.

very Garfield. enough said. he also likes to sleep on our telephone.

sheena 1

Sheena.

drowsing off. Lucky’s sister.

monty 1

Monty.

he’s our French cat. Mom brought him home from the French Embassy.