Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Like a fly buzzing around in my brain

Now I know why the Numa Numa song is so familiar in the Chicken Little running man trailer. It's because I saw this funny video months and months ago!


Thursday, November 24, 2005

Tee off!

The Threadless sale got to me, and I bought one tee (design above) in coral colour. Not exactly my favourite design (I like these ones), but the fat guy brought a smile to my face. It reminds me of the time a rather luscious schoolmate tripped and fell on me while I was sitting on the floor. Owie.

In other news, I'm scouting out wedding cakes. No no, not for myself, but for a good friend whose wedding is in Feb. She wants none of this fruit cake business, and is instead going for a yummy chocolate cake. So far, I've checked out Awfully Chocolate, Pine Garden and Hot Fuchsia. Awfully Chocolate has a divine chocolate rum cherry, and Hot Fuchsia's wedding cake designs are stunning, but both are a little too above her budget. Any other recommendations?

Monday, November 21, 2005


I'm such an idiot when it comes to dating. I don't know the right thing to say, don't know when to flirt, heart plunges down to my stomach, and my hands start shaking. Eee.

And this is just in the sms-ing. Pathetic!

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Fashion isn't just fluff, y'all

“I’ve become impatient when people claim they don’t care about clothes. They still dress every morning, and if they are going to reject fashion, they still need clothes to show it. Style rebellion is still a form of self-expression.”
-- Miuccia Prada

"I talk about Hillary Clinton's hair and the way people interpreted it, and the jokes she's made about it. She's quoted as saying, "The most important thing I've learnt is to pay attention to your hair because everyone else will." Here was a woman who hadn't paid attention to her hair and how people might interpret it, and suddenly there she was in the public eye. She didn't have her own personal style. Whether people liked her or disliked her, they read into her changing hair styles meanings that might have been or there might not have been there. Because she hadn't defined her own aesthetic, she wasn't controlling the discussion."
-- Virginia Postrel, in The Substance of Style

Thursday, November 10, 2005

ShooStories: Royal flush


The Shoo: Her Madgesty (the new Madonna single 'Hung Up' is really catchy!)
Circa: Sometime 1996
Where: Little shop in Lucky Plaza

The Story: Since the colour purple and velvet are very much the 'in' things right now, I thought I would feature a pair that combines both. I can't even recall how I came to be wandering around Lucky Plaza, but perhaps that day, my mother decided to do something different and explore the shops in there. We came across a little shop that had rather exotic Asian wares - handwoven bags, unusual batik prints and lots of these Aladdin-type shoos. I was attracted to this pair because of the rich colour and the beading. And at that time, the design of these shoos looked quite special and unusual. Of course now, they really aren't all that special anymore, since the gypsy and boho looks having been making their rounds of the fashion circuit.

Seeing as I don't own a lot of purple, I don't really wear these shoos a lot. In fact, I think I've only worn them a grand total of two times; these shoos are pretty hard to match! But they sure are nice to the touch. Soft and furry, purrr.

-- View the full ShooStories photoset on Flickr.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Childhood food memories

I only just realised Deetourguide has tagged me to do a childhood food memories meme, so here I am fulfilling it, a tad late. The task it to recall five childhood food memories I miss/not miss.

1. Lunch at home
My grandaunt, who came to live with us when I was born and stayed with us until the day she died, was always in charge of mealtimes, since my mother was (and still is) a hopeless cook. What I remember most for lunch are her chicken macaroni and chicken bee tai mak (or if you're Malaysian, loh shee fun), a simple but tasty broth of shredded chicken and lots and lots of spring onion. That was the first thing I would do after coming home from morning school, having a large portion with my special red scalloped placemat, still in my uniform. Mmm...

Being Cantonese, she made lots of qing dishes and soups. What I remember most are the steamed pomfret with tofu on the side, the variety of yummy herbal soups she would concoct and her sweet and sour pork. She seemed to be able to make it crispy on the outside and soft and tender on the inside.

2. Hot milk
As a child, and even now, I've never liked the taste of milk. The smell alone is enough to put me off, and the creamy taste somehow makes me cringe. But being a child, having milk every night was a must, with my mother constantly giving me lectures on the importance of drinking milk to build strong bones, while I would make faces and attempt to weasel out of drinking my mug of hot milk. Every night, my grandaunt would heat up the milk for me, but I would always put it off, waiting until the very last minute, until he milk had curdled, and then I would pretend that it would be completely undrinkable because of the skin on top. But of course, both my mother and grandaunt would not be fooled, and would simply whisk off the offending skin and I would be sternly admonished to drink. Man, that's something I don't miss at all.

3. Fine dining
I'm lucky that my father is a huge foodie and for special occasions, he would always take the family out for a nice, posh dinner. Everytime there was a birthday to celebrate, we'd try various chi-chi places in town. We went to lots of nice restaurants in hotels, but the two places I remember the most distinctly are the the French restaurant at the now-gone Marco Polo Hotel, and Harbour Grill at the Hilton Hotel. Embarrassingly, what I remember most about Harbour Grill is the butter, which could be found in the middle of the table. I am a huge butter fiend, and I liked having a variety of butter to choose from to go with my bread, and Harbour Grill always had three different types to choose from - the usual salted kind, a super yummy garlic butter and the last, I can't remember. Of course the steaks there were yummy as well, but what really sticks were the cute little butter bowls. As for the French restaurant, the duck l'orange was just heavenly and I would be utterly boring and always insist on the duck everytime we ate there, despite my parents repeated attempts to get me to try something else. Oh yes, I've just remembered the bakery at the Marco Polo hotel, they always had the tastiest scones, filled with juicy and plump raisins, and lightly dusted with icing sugar. We used to buy half a dozen and bring them home for tea time.

I suspect part of the enjoyment of these posh dinners was the fact that it allowed me to dress up in pretty party dresses. See, even as a child, I was such a vainpot.

4. Sweet treats
Before my sister was born, my parents would take me regularly to a pancake place called Better Batters at Holland Village. It used to be located at Chip Bee Garden, and I still remember the awning over the main door, the brown latticed windows, and the two round carpeted steps you had to climb to reach the upper level of the tables covered with checkered tablecloths.

It was probably my favourite place to have dessert, because I liked how the kitchen had a little slidey door from which yummy pancakes would magically appear, pushed out by unseen hands. And of course, there was the pancakes. I'm too young to remember this, but my parents tell me that the chef liked me so much (me being so cute and all, hurhur) that he would make free special little pancakes for me, cut into shapes like hearts and flowers. But I always liked their light and fluffy pancakes, no matter how they were cut, with generous portions of butter and maple syrup or honey. As I got older, I learnt to appreciate their banana pancakes, a tall stack of pancake layers with thick slices of banana and fresh cream in between, topped with a thick and rich brown sugar sauce. I got really excited when they opened another branch at the Promenade, but it didn't do too well, and closed down soon. I was really sad to see Better Batters go. You don't find pancakes like they used to make now.

5. Dinner at grandma's
It used to be a ritual every Sat night for my father to bring my sister and I to his mother's house for dinner. There, we would play with our older cousins, and get to have scrumptious and always filling dinner. Being part Perenakan, we would always have a variety of typical Nyonya dishes, like bakwang kepiting, buah keluak, kiam chye and lor bak. Then some days, if my grandmother felt like it, she would make popiah, and we would all gather round the table and make our own fat popiahs, bursting with our favourite garnishes. My method is always to load up on the sweet sauce, garlic and peanuts. Yummay.

Saturday dinner always followed a pattern: we would arrive, go to the kitchen to greet my grandmother while she bustled around the kitchen, then run to the living room to watch TV. She would eventually holler that dinner was ready, and we'd run into the kitchen to have dinner, crowded around a large round table. My grandmother never ate with us, despite our repeated attempts to get her to join us, but would eat after we'd finish. While we ate, she would hover around the table watching us eat, urgins us to "jiak, jiak!" and clucking in displeasure if there were any leftovers.After dinner, she would bring out freshly squeezed orange juice, chilled to perfection, and a plate of freshly cut fruits, invariably they'd be watermelon, rockmelon, and sometimes mango. We'd eat a little at the kitchen table, until she would shoo us away to the living room while she cleared the table. We would then take the plate of fruits with us to watch TV, or play Uno or chess.

Actually this is not quite a childhood memory, as I still get to go back and have dinner at my grandma's house on an occasional Sat and she still makes tasty dinners. But now that we've all grown up, and my cousins have their own children, somehow the feeling is all different.

And now, I tag:
Little Miss Drinkalot

Monday, November 07, 2005

Wax on, wax off

Judging by the number of comments I got in my last post, I suppose talking about that interesting experience down under merits its own post. So, to get down to details (down, hurhur).

Let me start off by saying I am a total chicken shit when it comes to pain. I teared when my ears got pierced, and I cried when I first got my eyebrows plucked. So naturally, the thought of hot wax ripping off hair from my nether regions just gave me the willies. It was with a huge sense of trepidation that I walked into Strip at Wheelock Place last Mon. And this is after giving myself half an hour of browsing through images of skinny and undoubtedly hairless models in fashion magazines at Borders for dutch courage.

I was repeatedly asked if I wanted the Brazilian (helll noooo!), and given a choice of strip wax and another kind of less painful wax. Seeing as this was my virgin experience, I immediately went with the more expensive, less painful wax. It was even a pleasant, reassuring shade of pink. Ooh pink.

I was then asked to "remove everything at the bottom" and wrap myself in a towel. When I was ready, the waxer (is that we call them??) entered and without any ceremony, promptly whisked away the towel, positioned my legs just so, and proceeded to take out some scissors and started trimming with an alarming speed and precision. While she was happily chatting away, she tried to engage me in what I suppose is easy conversation.

Now I don't know about you, but I was totally uncomfortable chatting to someone who was tending to my erm...privates, and delving into my private life. Bad enough that you can see me in my nekkid glory, and that you're sort of touching me down there, you don't need to go delving into what I do everyday and what I'm up to over the holidays. Plus, does anyone feel there's just something wrong about being completely clothed on the top but being completely bare-bottomed?
Waxer: (snip snip) So have you ever considered the Brazilian?

Me: (nervously eyeing progress) That's the one where everything comes off right?

Waxer: (snip snip) Ya...cleaner, more hygiene. You should try. It's verrry good! I always do Brazilian!

Me: Err no thanks, I think I'll just stick to the normal bikini wax. First time and all, you know.

Waxer: How about electrolysis? You want to try that? It's very good, and especially for someone like you, last longer too, no need to keep coming back.

Me: (thinking) Thank you for making me feel like the Yeti.
After the trimming was completed, she got down to the real business (pun again entirely intended). I braced myself for overwhelming pain, but I was surprised, even slightly disappointed. After all the building up of anticipation and fear, it turned out to be entirely foundless. The first rip hardly hurt. On a scale of one to ten, the pain was a 2. Hell, even getting my eyebrows plucked hurt more. The rest of the experience was very much like the first application. Relatively painless. I think it helped that she was very skilful and quick, and knew where to press the skin just so to minimise pain. Before I knew it, I was done and I was looking at a part of me I'd never seen before. And now I can see why women keep coming back to get their bikini areas waxed. It feels lighter, and err...kinda airy down there now. Also, cleaner, and more 'hygiene'.

(And now I think I shall stop, as I suspect I have sufficiently grossed out whatever male readers I have out there)