Is that a noty grin or what?

The Husband is away this weekend. *heh heh heh*

The FIL is away this weekend. *heh heh heh*

The MIL is also away this weekend *heh heh heh*

I haven't been home alone like this in a long, long time *heh heh heh*.

Can you imagine what's on my mind now? *heh heh heh*

Little Miss Masseuse

I got home this evening and slumped on the daybed. I heard the pink fairy running out of the kitchen. So I pretended to sleep.

Makan time, she hissed into my ear.

But I was too tired to care. So I laid there. Very still. Bad mistake! She put her *eeeuuoowww* sticky hand on my forehead and whispered "Where pain?"

Suspecting that she had a bun or sweet corn in her hand, I groaned and said "Don't disturb me. I'm tired" and rolled over to sleep on my stomach.

"I give you shech, k?" said the little voice.

me: -----------

Then, I felt two small feet stepping clumsily on my back.

oh.. massage.. *laughs*

Treading through the paradox of choice.

Too many things have been happening over the past one week. And it couldn't have come at a worst time. *sigh*

Workwise, some major boo-boo is making me so sleep-deprived. This has led my soon-to-be-ex employer to make a counter-offer: Would I like to take a sabbatical instead of resigning?

Then, there is the Godfadar -- my sifu from Christmasses past. The man who spotted my potential and gave me my first break when I was that wet-behind-the-ear greenhorn.

News of my resignation has reached his ears. He has made me an irresistible offer.

My FIL is watching me. He is trying hard not to show that he's anxious. But I could sense that he is preparing himself for disappointment. *sighs*

If left to my head, I know which way the dice will lie.

The problem is my heart.

Damn! damn! damn!

I'm starting to feel so sick in the stomach.

Whose? What? Which?

I have been having trouble sleeping of late. There are so many things that swirl and twirl in my restless mind. For someone who is always so cock-sure of herself, I am starting to question if I have been too hasty in making the decision to leave a lucrative career to join the family biz.

After skyping my Dad for over an hour -- with me rambling on and on in circles for most time, I decided to iron some shirts.

Somehow, I find ironing therapeutic. Perhaps it's the repetitive rhythm of the iron gliding on cotton. Or is it the sharp freshness of sunshine as the steam hits the folds of the shirt. Alas! the laundry basket was empty. Thanks to super-efficient Rita, there was not even a stray t-shirt to iron. *sigh*

So I decided to bake bread. Kneading dough and then letting it rise, before punching it down and kneading it again, makes me strangely happy -- as though my worries are being folded and kneaded and punched away in that huge lump of heavy dough.

Halfway through punching down -- oops! alittle too hard -- and humming an endless loop of a tune, I realised that Dadsy, my father-in-law, was standing by the doorway, watching me.

"Not sleeping?" he asked. Concerned.

I laughed nervously. Like some schoolgirl caught with a condom in her schoolbag *smirks*

I was half-expecting a lecture or an interrogation. Whatever. Thankfully, he went to the fridge, stooped to the lowest compartment and brought out a small container.

"Hah! yet another container of contraband food", I chuckled, remembering the previous incident of braised pig ears.

"Here, try this. It's chicken" he said, lifting a piece of deep-fried chicken into my mouth.

Once past the crunchy deep-fried skin, my teeth sank into the juicest and most tender piece of chicken I'd ever tasted. Yums!

And so it was..

Him sitting opposite me as I rolled the dough. Feeding both of us with these small crunchy pieces of deep-fried chicken fillet. One for him, one for me.. until we reached the last piece which he insisted on tearing into half and sharing.

"That was delicious", said I with a very appreciative glee.

"Glad you like it. Not many people can appreciate Bishop's Nose", he said.

*eeeoooouuuuuwwww*

I know I am not that important but...

The Big Big Boss is in town.

Thanks to a certain stunt I pulled two days back. Tired of rationalizing with me and short of taking the begging route, he has resorted to play the guilt card.

I know emotional blackmail when I see one.

From Mother's "Never mind if you are too busy to play Scrabbles with me, dear. I am but an old lady with too much time on her hands. You go your merry ways". Big sigh. Repeat.

to

The pink fairy's "No one sayang me. No one friend me. No one love me". Pout. Repeat.

to

The Husband's "I understand if you can't make it. Your work is more important than mine." Disappointed look. Repeat.

I am such a sucker for these kind of emo self-flagellation that it gives me multiple orgasms just thinking about it.

So bring it on, babe ..... oooooooOOOOOOhhhhhhhhHHH!!!

Pimp my workout

I am getting sick of the workout music on my iPod. I need a change. Just to give you a glimpse of what I currently work out to, here are some of the songs in it - very BFM-ish *winks* :

+++
Warm-Up:
Boys of Summer - Don Henley
Baker's Street - Gerry Rafferty
Friday, I'm in Love - The Cure

Work-Out:
Imitation of LIfe - R.E.M
Man on the Moon - R.E.M
You're Unbelieveable - EMF
Sultan of Swing - Dire Straits
Under Pressure - Queen feat. David Bowie
Pinch Me - Barenaked Ladies
I'm still standing - Elton John
Tainted Love - Marilyn Manson
Little Red Corvette - Prince
We didn't start the Fire - Billy Joel
Two out of three ain't bad - Meat Loaf
With or Without You - U2
Runaway Train - Soul Asylum
Living on a Prayer - Bon Jovi
The Weather with you - Crowded House
Better in time - Leona Lewis

Cooling down:
If I were a boy - Beyonce
I don't wanna miss a thing - Aerosmith
In the Air tonight - Phil Collins

+++

I would love to hear what you work out to.

My little boy

I had a dream last night.

It was my little boy, chasing after a runaway balloon across the field. And me, running and shouting after him to stop. The louder I shouted, the faster he ran. Just as he was within my reach, he disappeared.

I woke up, shaken.

As I sat in bed, hugging my knees, I tried very hard to remember the face of my child. But I couldn't. His face was distorted by images of beautiful, smiling, guggling babies. Is this what it means when someone says: Time heals? That it erases the bad memories and replaces it with something good. Something beautiful. Something that is so far removed from reality that it is wrong?

Then, I called my ex-husband.

It must have been late evening in London.

I needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand. Someone who had felt the deep sharp cut in his heart, too. Someone whose world collapsed -- just like mine -- that fateful day.

"I dreamt of our child", I said.

Silence.

"Are you there?" I asked.

"Yes" he said, quietly.

"He was running after a balloon", I said, sobbing. "And before I could grab hold of him, he disappeared."

"It's alright" he said calmly.

"No, it's not alright, Lee. I can't even remember his face anymore". I was screaming down the phone. Hysterical. Panic rising... much like that day, 10 years ago, when my gynae looked at us and calmly told us that our baby, our firstborn, was stillborn.

How to be annoying - 101

Mid-morning, The Husband called:

"Did my father call you?" he wanted to know

"No. Why?" Me, curious

"Why what?"

"Why is he calling me?" Me, irritated.

"Dunno. Just asking"

"But didn't you just say that he was going to call me?"

"Nope. I just asked if my father called you"

"Ok. Fine. I'll call him then"

"No, don't call"

"Why?"

"Then, he'll know that you and I have been talking about him"

*Can someone please shoot me? Now!*

----

An hour later, The Husband called again.

"Did you speak to my father?" Peter asked

"Yup" *smirks*

"And?"

"And what?" *giggles*

"What was it about?"

"Nothing" *grins*

"Can't be nothing" *annoyed grunt*

"If I tell you that he'll know that you and I have been talking about him" *evil smile*

*Oh dear! I think I am so not going to get any sex this weekend*

Me, Henry. You, Tarzan?

Working in the HK office is distracting.

There's this.. this.. neanderthal .. who sits opposite me.. with his heart-stopping Aussie looks, rippling biceps, that heavily accented drawl, the perfect white teeth, those bushy blonde eyebrows... Oh gawd! Bite me. *growl*

Then, there's the colleagues. Tough women who work hard, live fast, party hard.

Last night, I agreed to join them for a girls' night-out at Lan Kwai Fong. Only to find out later, that we were going in drags. Yup! we were going to dress up as men and check out this new gay bar... all. in. the. name. of. research, ok...in aid of a friend's sister's friend who is researching for her short-story. *grins*

To wit, I wore this tight tube top under a t-shirt to hide my breasts (not a difficult task), a loose flannel shirt over the t-shirt, baggy jeans and a cowboy hat. I must say, I kinda look like a pretty boy. More like a butch, my friends teased. *laughs*

But the attention to detail which my colleagues displayed -- from the meticulously glued facial hair, to the swagger, and the scratching-the-balls routine -- somehow gave me that feeling that they have done this before. *wide-eyed*

So off we went; with me getting worried by the minute -- what if someone tries to chat me up? what if they find out? what if....? what if...?

And I kept repeating the name I am to go by -- HENRY -- just in case, someone asked.

The bar was full of gorgeous men when we got there. I thought I'd died and gone to GQ Heaven. The best way to avoid attention (and hence, the need to make conversation, I was told) was to hit the dance floor. So we danced. Me, trying very hard not to make any eye-contact or stare at all the "beefsteaks" around me.. old habits die hard. *smirks*

Just then, the music slowed from Akon to James Taylor -- arrgghh! And I felt someone brushed my shoulder and was asked, in that very familiar heavy accented Aussie drawl, if he can have the pleasure of the next dance............ *gulps*

This ain't rock n' roll

I am gently rocking on a roll. Literally.

Last night, Peter and I were playing let's- see- who- can- fart- the- loudest over the phone. As I was about to let a big one ripped, I realised that it may come with a little "present" attached. *eeeeuuuoooowww*

Was tottering gingerly to the toilet when a call came through with The Big Boss on the line, so I kinda nudge the desire to crap with my "down there" muscles -- a move which I instantly regretted 'coz I felt a sharp pain.

Haemorrhoids, my personal doctor (a.k.a Lee my ex-husband) said, when I described the discomfort later.

It'll go away in a day or two, he continued, as he got me to check for the tell-tale signs -- you. really. do. not. want. me. to. go. to. the. details. here, trust me! *smirks*

So for the whole of last night, I had this feeling as tho' there was something stuck up my arse. And when it continued this morn, I called my ex-husband again and asked him what I should do. Sit on something like a tyre, he suggested.

The pharmacy near the hotel didn't have one of those tyres, but the very nice girl there suggested that perhaps a travel neck roll -- the one that travellers used to put around their necks so that they can sleep in their seats -- would do the trick.

Yeah! great idea..

..which kinda explains why I am rocking on a roll at this moment. *chuckles*

Everytime we say goodbye...

Life used to be so simple.

I used to be able to fly off on biz trips without any qualms, even if it was a last minute thing. 'Coz I always have an overnight bag pre-packed in my office.

Not anymore.

Last evening as I was packing for my biz trip, the pink fairy gave me her saddest, I-hope-this-makes-you-feel- guilty look.

I bit my lip and tried my best to ignore her.

Then, she snuggled up to me, gave me a peek on the cheek and asked softly "Aunty Mommy, why you go?"

Perhaps it is this tremendous pressure that I've been under. Or the exhaustion of constant travelling. Or perhaps, it was the helplessness -- the feeling of being at a loss for words to explain to this little girl why I needed to go... yet again.

I started crying. And she started wailing.

And that was precisely what Peter found when he rushed into the room: Two persons hugging each other tightly and sobbing uncontrollably...

*sigh*

Me on me: On being a middle child

I am a middle child. The third in a family of four, with two elder brothers and a younger sister.

The good thing about being a middle child -- which some of you can attest -- is that you are always flying below the radar of your parents. That you have less restrictions imposed on you, less expectations to oblige, less need to assume the moral high ground in anything. In fact, you will learn very quickly how alittle emotional blackmail, inflicted sparingly, to either side of the age spectrum can let you have things done your way *ahem*

On the flip-side, it is like being neither here nor there. Like a spectator looking inside life. You are neither the star player like your eldest brother who is eternally plied with utmost attention, nor are you the upcoming young star -- the baby of the team -- who is perpetually pampered and indulged.

These basically allows you to cruise through your childhood, relatively unscathed. Unperturbed by the need to live your parents' dreams. And it would have been perfectly alright.. except that I detested being constantly compared at school to my over-achieving brothers; and abhored the idea of hand-me-downs which sometimes made me look like the karung-guni man.

But the thing I loathed most was how Mother had looked at me -- eyes narrowing and her smile a condescending curl -- the first time my grades showed that I was better academically than my brothers. She probably didn't mean it. 'Coz years later, when I asked, she said she couldn't remember. And that if that was what she did, she was sorry and that it was probably shocked disbelief on her part.

But I never forget that look.

The look which basically said who are you to do better than your brothers? How dare you shine?

And I was cowed by it. So I retreated into my shell. Back below the radar. I lost interest in my studies. My work became sloppy. My grades slumped. Teachers were concerned. My parents were at a loss to explain. No amount of coaxing would allow them to get into my mind. In my young mind, it was a "do and be damned, not do and be damned" kind of situation. I was (and still am) a stubborn child.

Until one day, an enlightened teacher, Mrs Abry, saw it fit to enter me for a mental arithmetic competition, which made me shone and felt good about myself once again. Such success was addictive and jump-started me into wanting more.

Every once in awhile, I still get distressed when I see that smile -- on faces of bosses, clients, colleagues -- that reminds me of my place as a "middle child", a spectator looking inside, an outsider. A smile that said who are you to do better than the rest of us? to rock the status quo? how dare you outshine the hand that feeds you?

And when I do, I remember Mrs Abry and how something as nondescript as a mental arithmetic competition had been such a game-changer in my life. And it calms me down, somewhat.

The REAL horror story of Halloween

.. and as they hobbled home

to that haunted attic above the keropok lekor factory,

Their tummies churning,

colons roiling,

gas exploding..

It suddenly dawned on them...

that,

one of these blogs they shamelessly pursued..

had. spiked. their. sweets!!!!

But which one was it?

Was it...

* Richard Cranium who wanted 4-ekor numbers?

* Kak Teh who insisted that they tell her their pre-afterlife stories?

* Pat Ong who laughed hysterically at their faces?

* Uncle Lee who dipped Mommy Ghost in a scary tango?

* Cat-in-Sydney whose eloquent cats made Baby Ghost shy?

* Mat Bangkai who opened the door and hollered "What? No tea and scones?"

* Indiana Jones who tried to trick them into a jar for his next adventure?

* Doc Tranquility who was waiting with a 10cc syringe and enema?

* Tunku Halim who drove them screaming with his horror stories?

* Oldstock who refused to say if Mommy Ghost's bum "looked big in the dress"?

* Masterwordsmith who got them distracted with her Friday funnies?

* Rad who tickled and poked Daddy Ghost till he pee?

* Naz whom they had to fight with, for the yummy Crispo?

or.. or..

* Was it that cat with a strange helmet at the Whatevers?

Above's all in the name of good fun. No malice intended *grins*

Don't I sound just like your boss?

*pengsan* *pengsan*

Don't ask me why I always end up doing things last minute.

I am finally satisfied that all the "t"s have been crossed and "i"s dotted. Next, to click on "Send" to transfer the powerpoint presentation and strategy piece - with barely a minute to spare to closing time - to the team. This will give each of them the rest of the night to go through their sections, and have it ready for my sign-off tomorrow. Am sure they don't mind. After all that's what working as a team is all about **Muahahahaha! **

Right now, I am lying on my tummy on the floor, typing this. So that anyone who is looking for me from the outside will not see me at my desk and hence, would have assumed that I had gone out for a smoke. Hopefully, that would buy me some peace for the next hour or so.. to play with my pet on Pet Society. *smirks*

I guessed that's my big problem - procrastination; a.k.a clueless

OK.. perfection, I was reminded, is the other; a.k.a clueless.

Alright, alright.. paralysis by analysis is the third; a.k.a clueless

Anymore? Unrealistic over how long things take; a.k.a clueless.

What else? Want to do things differently but indecisive about it; a.k.a clueless.

Apa lagi? Easily distracted.. a.k.a blame it on that window-cleaning guy with sexy calves and rippling biceps. *swoons*

There, all my sins laid bare.

Uhmm.. don't I sound just like your boss?

Seeing beyond your smile

For the last two mornings, Peter and I have woken up to the wonderful waft of a promising breakfast. But it being 3 am, we would pull the pillows closer to our face and hugged each other back to sleep. Only to toss and turn, until we finally catapult to the yearnings of our stomach and head downstairs for an extremely early first meal.

But this morning was different.

The bubbly whirls of the washing machine and the steady hums from the clothes dryer were clearly audible at 3 am. A clear sign that the my in-laws - Momsy and Dadsy - have yet to get over their jet lag.

So I waited in the darkness, arms folded under my head, to catch the first whiff of food.

Would it be thin slices of bacon curling up on the skillet? Would it be eggs - over easy - with their yolks wobbling over the hissing fat? Would it be batter poured lovingly onto a waffle pan till its edges formed a golden crust, ready to be dunked in a generous dollop of warm maple syrup?

Nope. None. Nadda.

I listened intently. Soft giggles. Like someone tickling someone. And then, the very familiar sound of a certain kitchen chair being pushed aside. I smirked and nudged the Husband.

"Hey, I think your parents are playing nookie in the kitchen", I whispered mischievously

He grunted and buried his face in the pillow. So I did what the pink fairy would normally do when she has something urgent to say. I leaned over and prised open his eyes with my fingers and repeated my thoughts, only louder.

But he just rolled over and snored.

And as I lay there in the semi-darkness of dawn, I wondered what it is like to be very in love with the same person for more than 50 years, like Momsy and Dadsy are.

Would it be stronger than the first day we kissed? The first time we realised that we had fallen head over heels over head in love with each other?

Would the lovemaking continue to be as lustful, as satisfying, as spontaneous?

Or would the relationship return to the time and place before we became lovers -- when we are just best friends, except that now, we are also room-mates?