5 Stages of Something or Another

So here I am, 28 days after my last entry. What has changed you ask? The short answer? Plenty. The long answer? Well that's coming up. Now before I carry on, I think I need to make a disclaimer here and warn you that there is a high possibility that this post might end up being one of my epic rants. I will try not let my inner ranter unleash hell but it's going to be tough considering how much I want to vent, combined with the fact that I am listening to the Tron Legacy soundtrack by Daft Punk whilst I write this.

Spooner and I have officially crashed and banged into nothingness. No wait, let me say that again. He crashed and banged into nothingness. I was just a bewildered bystander at the wayside. What happened? Nothing much really. One conversation set events in motion and things fell apart. It was the 12th of December and he had come home from football and was wasting away on the sofa. Now, I had known about the Phuket trip for a month by then and he still had not breathed a word about it to me. I was a bit, no, VERY sick of biting my tongue and the white knuckles that came with feigning ignorance by that point so I decided to bite the bullet and ask the pertinent question, "What are you doing for Christmas?"

If I had to describe the next few minutes of conversation that ensued after I asked that question, I'd ask you to picture a deck of falling cards in slow motion. Against all odds, he did not lie to me. I was bracing myself for a complex series of lies. Fuck, part of me wishes he HAD lied because things would have so much simpler to deal with. But he didn't. Damn the man. Instead, the next 5 minutes of conversation or should I say, interrogation that was carried out was akin to pulling teeth. The result? I took my bags and walked out of the apartment. The clincher? He did absolutelyfuckingnothing to stop me.

The following week saw a series of emails being dished out by both parties. Welcome to the modern world of dating and relationships. We don't even bother talking in person anymore. We bloody email. Let me get to the forgone conclusion then, we split up (over email, no less!), because his royal highness said, I quote, "I'm sorry, I'm messed up about this and I don't know what to think or do...One minute I want to carry on and the next I am reluctant...The last thing I want to do is mess you around so best we call it a day..."

Well that says bloody a lot doesn't it?

Firstly, I thought I was the female in that relationship. Apparently, I got it wrong. How does one person spend 4 months going out with another person and then SUDDENLY realize that they didn't know what they wanted? Pardon me for saying this, but was it that time of the month for him where his hormones were all totally whack?

Maybe I should also add that prior to that parting statement, he had accused me (yes, accused), of being insecure, clingy and demanding for commitment. I will now swear upon every hair on my head that every accusation he made was utterly baseless and total bullshit. I countered the arguments in my usual eloquent and succinct manner only to have ALL of it ignored. The man was grappling at invisible straws. Oh yes sireee, he was.

I didn't put up a fight. I may have initially but I lost steam because the more he dragged it out, the more apparent it became that all my efforts were pointless. Here was a man who claimed that he had not met someone he liked as much as he liked me in years. And here is the same man saying he doesn't know what he wants.

Truth be told, I completely disagree with the "I don't know what I want" excuse. It's such a lousy cop out. I know what he wants. I know EXACTLY what he wants because he wrote it down, clear as day, in an email to a strange girl he was getting to know a long time ago. Oh yes, I have literal evidence. In that email, he clearly stated that he wanted to settle down and start a family and that the hard part was finding someone worth the while to do that with. He then also proceeded to say that he understood that it got harder as one got older but that he was not going to impose any deadlines on himself.

Let me just sidetrack here a little and say that this is the type of man my father would have HATED with a vengeance. The indecisive, procrastinating, floater. It's like an annoying turd that refuses to get flushed down the toilet. I suppose this also explains why my little brother has taken a particularly aggravated stance towards Spooner's behaviour and actions (or lack of). The men in my house have always been extremely well-principled and this behaviour is not just frowned upon. It's simply not allowed. Why? No matter how you argue your point, procrastinating, especially when another person's feelings are involved, is never justified. In short, my brother would gladly sock Spooner in the face about a dozen times right now and then proceed to kick the shit out of him if he could.

Whilst having the regular Tuesday beerage with my colleagues last night, one of them mentioned that statistics have shown that most break-ups occur during the year-end holiday period and that one should technically go through the 5 stages of grief as detailed by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross from her book, 'On Death and Dying'.

Here are the 5 supposed stages:

1. Denial - The "No, not me" stage.
This stage is filled with disbelief in denial. If your partner asked for a break-up you think he/she will change their mind.

2. Anger/Resentment - The "Why me" stage.
Anger at the situation, your partner and others are common. You are angry with the other person for causing the situation and for causing you pain.

3. Bargaining - The "If you do this, I'll do that" stage.
You try to negotiate to change the situation. You might approach your partner who is asking for the break-up and say "If you'll stay I'll change".

4. Depression - The "It's really happened" stage.
You realize the situation isn't going to change. The break-up happened and there is nothing to bring the other person back. Acknowledgment of the situation often brings depression. This could be a quiet, withdrawn time as you soak in the situation.

5. Acceptance - The "This is what happened" stage.
Though you haven't forgotten what happened you are able to begin to move forward.

Let me just state for the record that psychologists collectively agree that one does not have to experience all 5 stages in the set order. I suppose this makes sense considering how you are more likely to 'bargain' with the other party whilst in the midst of breaking-up. In my case, denial, depression and bargaining have all come to pass. I am hovering between anger/resentment and acceptance. I am angry because I feel like a complete idiot for trusting that goon and being totally blind-sided by well, a number of things that I think I should keep private. I am also angry because Spooner has acted like a spineless git throughout the whole thing.

Well, here's to moving on then. To better times, better people and better days ahead. And if ever dares to come back and say, "Let's try again", there's no guarantee that I won't lunge forward and slap him. And he still needs to return my stuff. Dammit. And to quote one of my favourite bands,

I'm another ex-girlfriend on your list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
No Doubt - Ex-girlfriend

The Lit Connection

This the book I am reading right now and while prepping myself for another tedious and emotionally retarded day this morning, I came across an absolute jewel of a paragraph within the book. It pretty much sums up my thoughts, sentiments and attitude towards a particular English person right now and I am stoked at the idea of it coming from another Englishman, Stephen Fry.

Fry is quoting E M Forster in order to express his thoughts on the typical middle-class Englishmen who attends public school and thereafter is unleashed into the world of adulthood to torment the 'lesser mortals'. Fry's own opinion at the very end is so fucking perfect that I could weep with joy.

Excerpt:

This is how Forster finishes.

... the English character is incomplete in a way that is particularly annoying to the foreign observer. It has a bad surface - self-complacent, unsympathetic, and reserved. There is plenty of emotion further down, but it never gets used. There is plenty of brain power, but it is more often used to confirm prejudices than to dispel them. With such an equipment the Englishman cannot be popular. Only I would repeat: there is little vice in him and no real coldness. It is the machinery that is wrong.

I hope and believe myself that in the next twenty years [this was written in 1920] we shall see a great change, and the national character will alter into something which is less unique but more loveable. The supremacy of the middle-classes us probably ending. What new element the working classes will introduce one cannot say, but at all events they will not have been educated at public schools...

The nations must understand one another, and quickly; and without the interposition of their governments, fot the shrinkage of the globe is throwing us into one another's arms. To that understanding these notes are a feeble contribution - notes on the English character as it has struck a novelist.

Fry's response to this is as follows:

Well, have we seen 'a great change'? Has the supremacy of the middle-classes ended? In a pig's arse has it ended. Even today, mutatis mutandis, the character of the English is defined by the character of its (still rising) middle-classes and even today, the character of those middle-classes is defined by the character of the (still disproportionately) poweful public-school product. The schools of course have changed, to the extent that public schoolboys wear baseball caps and expensive Nike footwear, listen to rap music, raise the pitch of their voices at the end of sentences in that bizarre Australian Question Intonation picked up from the TV soaps, and say 'Cool' and 'Slamming' a lot. That is nauseating certainly, embarrassing obviously, but fundamentally it alters nothing. No one can seriously suggest that the average English public schoolboy emerges from his school with a South Central Los Angeles sensibility, or the outlook, soul and character of an unemployed working-class spot welder. The body is probably even better developed, the brain is fairly developed but the heart just as undeveloped.

Thank you, oh thank you Stephen Fry for so eloquently putting into words all that I stupidly struggle to express. I heart you.

Man Overboard

If I ever get to meet God or whichever chief kahuna who runs the earth operations, I'd request for a do-over and ask to be sent back down as a man. Not just any man. I don't want to be sent back as a wee babe of a boy and have to go through the horrors of puberty and learning why there is a rush of blood to a certain appendage on really cold days. I'd like to come back as a grown male between the ages of 32 to 39, preferably single, preferably with a decent job and not living with my mother and preferably pumped full of idiotic testosterone.

The male psyche has always held immense fascination for me. Not because I grew up in a house full of boys. On the contrary, I grew up in a household dominated by females with my dad and brother being the only exceptions and trust me, too much estrogen in a confined space for extended periods of time can be a diabolical thing. If you think one pms-ing female is hard to deal with, try living with 4 pms-ing females aged between 12 and 40 and you'd get a slight inkling of what it was like in my house. Given the extreme female conditions that I grew up in, boys or members of the opposite gender have always been a bit of an enigma. Thankfully I grew up and realized that there wasn't much that was enigmatic about men in general. Most of them, for lack of a better word, are twats. In any case, prior to the time where cynicism became part of life, I used to scratch my head and wonder what made males and females so different. Being the elder of two children, when my brother came along, I used to spend hours staring at him whilst he slept the sleep of the innocent or watch him play or do whatever it was that little baby boys do. Essentially this meant observing him poop, pee, puke, and wail like a banshee whenever he wanted something. I learnt very early on that this creature, my brother (whom I love very dearly even today), was a different species from me. It didn't help that my parents hammered home the point that he was a) not a toy, b) not a girl and c) not to be flung about like my little BMX training bicycle. So at the tender age of 4 I learnt a life-altering lesson. Boys are different.

Before I carry on, I think I need to clarify that I will be using the terms, 'boy', 'bloke', 'men', 'man', 'feller', 'guy', 'cockwit' and quite possibly 'fuckwit' interchangeably throughout this post to refer to the males species. So when I make reference to a 'boy', it does not meant that I specifically refer to a wee lad. What I am actually referring to is basically, that of the male gender.

And so it was that at that young, pure and impressionable age I was exposed and privy to the appalling truth that there existed in this world a species different from myself. What I did not understand or was not told is that there would be no instructions given on how to co-exist in a world with this weird species. Even worse was the fact that though I knew that the male species was appalling different, nobody could explain to me WHY this was so. And so I went out into the world and learnt many a horrific but probably necessary lesson.

I make no excuses for my relationship histories with men. To be fair, I have gone out with what I think is more than my fair share of men. I don't know what the national average is (in any case, all the women will lie in that survey for sure), but I can quite frankly tell you that I have dated and bedded enough guys to have a pretty decent understanding of how most of them work. How many exactly? I can't answer that question not because of any inhibitions but if you want the truth, I can't bloody remember. (Yes, great impressions they made, as you can tell.) If I had to give an estimate, I would say that the number is somewhere in the 20s. Now, I'm not bragging about this but I went through a slew of guys in my early 20s and honestly, a lot of it is a big blur now. Part of me wishes I could remember but there's another part that says that maybe it's better that I don't.

Having done my field research, I tend to categorize men into three groups.

1. Hopeless
2. Semi-hopeless but with potential
3. Hopeful but may drive you to the edge of the cliff as a result of sheer boredom

You know how all those newly-wed women always coo and gush about how fantastic their new husbands are? Well let me tell you that they didn't marry the perfect man. They settled for the one in category no. 3. So don't bloody believe it when they squeal, "Oooh he's just so perfect!" Sorry girls and boys, there ain't no such thing as perfect. You have a higher chance of finding a bra that fits you perfectly than a man. Show me a perfect man and I'll show you that all you really got is a fuck-nosed wanker.

Me, cynical? You've got to be kidding.

Needless to say most of the guys I've dated were hopeless from start to finish. I don't know about other women but you kinda know very early on whether a guy is worth the effort or not. The problem is that women tend to be too nice at times and always want to give the cockwit the benefit of the doubt and a few more chances than really necessary. Ironically, it is because of this very mentality that many women stop dating a guy or get dumped by a guy and then come away and tell their girlfriends in a self-righteous huff that 'He was SUCH a waste of my time.' But surely sweetheart, you must have realized this earlier when he sent you a series of texts after your first date saying you were his soulmate because you both share a great love for penne pasta?

So yes, the hopeless exist. And they exist for good reason. They provide one with the experience required to deal effectively with those that fall under category 2 and particularly category 3.

Yes, men who fall into category 3 exist. They are closest thing you're gonna get to Mr. Perfect by about 3 football pitches off. Why? Again this is not me being cynical for the sake of being a cynic. Throughout my dating history, I can safely say that I have come across a grand total of 2 guys who fall under category 3. One of them I knew at a young age and we had a weird online relationship that spanned several years. He was in no way, mine or a boyfriend per se. What we did have though was a surreal chemistry that kept us very close even though we were miles apart. There was no need to think too hard or compete or impress. The conversations were natural, his personality clicked with mine and we both knew that it was a strange connection to have but we never denied it either. We're still friends today even though he's married to someone else but funnily enough, I don't have a problem with that. :)

The second no. 3-esque feller is my ex-boyfriend. After 6 years of mucking around I finally met someone who, at that point in time, felt worth the effort. To be honest, I was completely skeptical about him in the initial stages but he disarmed me by simply being himself. He was honest, he made an effort and he didn't leave me paranoid and waiting for him to run off with another girl. It took all of 3 months to realize that I had fallen in love with him (and miraculously, he felt the same way too) and we spent 3.5 years together until I came to the point where I discovered that though I very much loved him, I could not be with him because I was no longer as happy and fulfilled as I should have been. Leaving him was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made in all my years. I do ponder that decision from time to time and prod around my emotional landscape to see if there's any regret. Though I am sad at the fact that the relationship ended, I cannot claim to regret my decision because deep down in my heart I think I made the right move.

Damn this is a long post. Had to stop for a pee and a fag. Bugger me for being a prolific writer. Hur. Anyway, where was I?

Oh yes, the semi-hopeless but with potential candidates. Personally, I think a lot of women will encounter this lot quite a fair bit. They're usually charming and seem quite harmless, though the latter part is something that can only be determined with time. The current bloke I am dating falls into this category. Yes, it's the same one that I have mentioned before. I haven't quite made up my mind about him yet and I think that sentiment is mutual.

I must say that there's nothing fundamentally wrong with this one. Or at least I can't seem to find any major flaws as yet apart from the endless procrastinating and rudimentary insensitivity which seems to be rearing its ugly head more often than not. He's a man's man. You know the deal. Bros before hos and all that shit. I can deal with this although sometimes it strains the dating experience. For example, just this afternoon after convincing himself that going out to get lunch to feed his raging hangover would be a good idea, he got a phone call from a friend based overseas whilst walking up the hill back to his place. Now, I think I need to give you a bit of background here. He has/had a nightmare hangover because he was out at an Xmas party for his football club yesterday and stumbled in at 4am. I was not invited to attend this party even though I was informed about it more than a month ago. In fact, I was disallowed from attending this party. Why this is so, I have no idea. I did not bother to ask. When you get to my age, you learn to pick your fucking battles. So he enjoyed the party, came home in the wee hours of the morning, crashed in the bed next to me and stank up the whole room with alcoholic fumes emanating from his drunk body. I did the coffee run in the morning, convinced him to take a shower and we went out for lunch. Friend calls and he has a conversation that lasts about 15 minutes. Post phone call and he tells me that said friend who rang was planning to arrange a group trip with a number of other lads to watch the rugby 7s next year in Las Vegas. I know he got all excited about this over the call because he mentioned to the friend that he would have to go to the states next year and that he would love to take some time off and join in the fun. Well, that's all well and good right? Totally cool? Ha! I fucking wish.

"So my mate is planning this thing to watch the rugby 7s in Vegas next year. I have to go to the States for work anyway and I thought I might make a weekend out of it. Problem is it's in February. And your birthday is in February. Wait, what date is your birthday?"

At that very moment, I wished I was Zeus so that I could call down a mega lightning bolt that would have fried his ass on the sofa.

"I've told you when my birthday is. Several times. The last was yesterday morning." (At this point I stormed out to the balcony to have a cigarette because I didn't trust myself to not grab his head and smash it against the nearest wall.)

One would have thought he would have used the 10 minutes to good use to come up with an apology but when I returned from my fag break, he was sitting on the sofa, Blackberry poised in his hand, "What date is it? You told me February, you never mentioned the date."

For fuck's sake.

You would think if you've been dating someone for 4 months, the least you could do is remember their birthday right? I'm not asking you to marry me. Just remember my bloody birthday! I remembered yours! ARRRRRRRRRGH. And I promise you, I have mentioned my date of birth several times.

I conceded this one. I gave him the date, watched him tap it into his Blackberry (cue more internal growling) and proceeded to ignore him by reading my book. I pointedly chose to ignore him for the next 20 minutes whilst he surfed the football highlights on his laptop. He did not even try to make oblique amends. He just squeezed my knee, stroked my leg absent-mindedly with one hand and then went, "What's wrong?" whenever he asked me something and I gave a curt retort.

Hopeless? Oh yes sir.

Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, the typical category no.2 male. Nothing wrong with him. Seems normal. Stable job, okay personality, slightly weird, got loads of friends, insane interest in testosterone-filled sporting activity, a great kisser and a decent shag. The problem with this sub-species is that though they have many hopeless moments, they tend to counteract their hopelessness with actions that leave you stumped. For example, they send you really sweet text messages out of the blue, or they give you the spare key to the apartment and they are quite happy to spend their weekends with you, doing whatever the hell you want. On the contrary, they do not tell you about their holiday plans (I am IRATE about this because I cannot understand WHY he's still not telling me that he's going to be gone for Xmas and New Year's - what IS he waiting for really?), they do not remember your birthday, they do not refer to you as the 'girlfriend'. Yes, I am still just after 4 months.

All this weird behaviour leaves me bewildered and quite frankly, exhausted. On one side, I desperately want to trust him and allow myself to open myself up to him. On the other hand, all this peek-a-boo situations leave me insecure and half-hearted and to be honest, I feel like I am just waiting for him to say, "Was nice knowing you, goodbye and good luck." Please don't tell me that I need to stop looking at the glass as half empty. I'm not. What I'm saying is that I don't enjoy, don't want to be and really don't need to be mind-fucked.

So you see, I really want to get a do-over as man because I want to understand what the hell is going on in a male brain. I suppose I am prepared to be disappointed because the likelihood of anything noteworthy to be found floating in a man's brain might prove to be near impossible. However, it would still serve me well to get to know the inner mechanics of this weird species.

Plus I'd have the joy of scratching my balls every morning.

Pop Goes the Bubble

Yeah I haven't written. And it's not because I've fallen off the wagon and decided that the wayside is a comfy spot. It's more like my writing demon has been stuffed with tissues and forced to shut up. Well, not forced exactly. It's just me, myself and I who decided to exercise totalitarian control over my writing demon and pressed the mute button. Temporarily of course.

Having been an on and off blogger since the age of 18, writing has served me well. It's the one outlet I've had the chance to completely abandon myself to. Sure, during the more-angst ridden years (some may argue that the correlation between angst and age is non-existent but...), I ranted, vented and went stark raving mad on my blog(s) because I could, I wanted to and in many a frustrating moment, I had to. There was also a slightly insane foray into poetry. Let's just say that I am a dead poet's society type of poet. Hence trying to find a word to rhyme with 'bastard' at 3:28 in the morning is not exactly cathartic. I stopped the poetry but I've never really stopped writing and for the sake of my own sanity, I hope I never get to the point where I throw my pen down and call it quits.

The only issue I have with writing as the years passed is the need to censor. Ten years ago (yes, I'm not THAT young), I had no qualms about letting my emotions go into free fall on a screen or on a piece of paper. In fact, the more I did it, the more I wanted to let it all out. It got to the point of almost being addictive. Even now, as I bang out this entry, I hardly stop to think about what I'm saying. It's pure, unadulterated relief to be able to open the dam and let everything pour out through my fingertips. Fortunately for me, I am a reasonably rapid typist who employs more than two fingers.

Alas, having grown older, I've come to value my privacy even more. I am, by nature a quiet creature. I hate loud noises, I hate loud people and I just hate situations where the ambient sound around me does not allow me to hear my own thoughts. Having said that, this means that I'm a quiet individual who prefers to keep a lot to myself. You could say that I live pretty much in my head. Those who know me in person would probably beg to differ. I'm quite well known for spouting my mouth and being generally sociable. This is not something I disagree with. I like being around people. People interest me. I like to be able to have a conversation and learn new things about people and expand my myopic view about well, everything. However, just because one is a sociable, it does not mean that the individual will necessarily be open about themselves. You can be very sociable and put entire groups of people at ease in any social situation without having to reveal fuck all about yourself what you're feeling or thinking. Don't believe me? Try it out at the next party you attend. Start a conversation with a couple of people. Ask questions. Talk about the latest video your friend posted on Facebook. Drive the conversation and then note how many things you actually reveal about yourself. You'd be surprised at just how little you give away. Not recommended for narcissists though.

In any case, I've been silent for a while not because I haven't got anything to say but more like I'm trying to figure out where the boundaries are. There's a lot of stuff floating around my head which is slowly driving me crazy but because I am now a responsible adult (fml!) I have come to realize that I can't always be spilling all as and when I want to, even though at times, I truly and desperately want to. You could say it's about like dating in your late twenties (oh yes, I speaketh from that fucked-up thing called experience). The older you get, the harder it becomes to meet new people that you actually want to go out with. And if that weren't bad enough, when you finally meet someone and start dating you run into a whole gamut of nightmares that make Freddy Kruegar seem like something from The Muppets. Let's face it. Dating becomes an uphill battle the older you get. There's enough emotional baggage on both sides to fill up and entire cargo plane and because of all that excess shit lying around, people have a tendency to develop weird trust issues. You just don't find yourself wanting to open up another adult. Weirdly enough, it's a bit reminiscent of being a teenager when you were pimply, and your raging hormones got the better of you. At least back then you knew for sure that you simply don't open up to adults. Because they are spawn of Satan. Well no, not really. More like, because adults just didn't 'get it' and by default, you didn't trust them because trusting them was akin to dropping yourself into a giant vat of boiling oil. Fast forward 15 years and into the dating world and you're confronted with the same effing beast from hell. Oh hello, we meet again, but this time I'm disguised as this thing you silly humans love to call 'trust'. And yeah, I'm as shitty as you remembered me to be.


Can you tell that I'm having a trust crisis?

I take no pleasure in saying this but trust is the be all and end all of most relationships. Unless you lied to your parents. Then yeah, they'll be disappointed but hey, they're your parents. You could be a child molester, a terrorist or Mel Raido from He Kills Coppers and they'd still bloody forgive you and trust you because you're their offspring. Unfortunately in most other human-human relationships, trust is a foundation ingredient and if it's laid too thin in the early stages, you are bound to realize at some point that the ground beneath your feet is shifting and you're falling off a precipice and about to hit your head. Hard.

The thing with the trust demon is that it doesn't work alone. It's got a band of mini horrors that it runs around with. Paranoia, lies, loaded questions, evasive answers and several other minions muck about at the trust demon's beck and call. At any point in time you've got about three of these little devils hanging around making you feel like total shit with the trust demon sitting on an armchair, sipping on a Mount Gay mojito and pulling the strings that make you want to go insane.

But let's not just blame the bloody demons. Let's allocate some blame to the damned humans themselves. The world would be a much easier and nicer place to live in if we all just opened up to people and were honest with each other. But that's a bit like asking for the sun to shine out of your arse so it rarely happens and you end up second-guessing, mistrusting and if you're really lucky, fucking up a really good thing. (Note: Fuck-up can be due to false accusation OR being lied to the face. Prior tests have revealed that the lying-to-the-face phenomenon tends to top the charts with a ratio of 10:2.)

Unfortunately, the trust demon usually cannot be banished by one person alone. The pesky thing requires combined efforts which means that all parties involved need to sit down with equal resolve and send it packing back to hell. But for this to take place, all parties first need to be aware that a trust issue exists. If one party or (several parties) are not privy to the existence of the issue then you might as well stab yourself with a fucking spoon because nothing, and I mean this in all seriousness, nothing is more frustrating that having a totally oblivious party.

Well, I suppose I could play the oblivious card too. For how long? No clue but being oblivious seems to be an easy option compared to all the others. Time for a fag, a decent coffee and most of all, time to give the cosmos the finger.

Categorize Me

Gah! It's been more than a month. If my last post was anything to go by, I really have no sense of where all my time goes. Depressing, but such is life.

And so my life has been really hectic and exciting (hur!). I'm still working too hard, spending too much money, drinking too much, smoking excessively and whiling my time away with Spooner. Yes, he's still around, thankfully. :)

It's closing in on the third month since we first started going out. One part of me of is ridiculously excited about this prospect because cynical me never imagined that he'd like me enough to stick around. The other part is bewildered and confused and well, cynical, and thus wondering 'Why the hell is he still here?' (Please don't psychoanalyze and tell me that this is a confidence issue because I really am just plain cynical.)

Either way it's an interesting situation to be in. We sort of know each other better now but not well enough to be blurting out our deepest and darkest secrets to each other. Though, to be honest, I am the obviously reticent half of this couple (for lack of a better word, I swear!) Spooner has been pretty transparent about most things. Contrarily, he has yet to meet any of my friends/colleagues. May I clarify that this is in no way my fault. I invited him out for a drink with my work mates last Thursday, but guess what, football took priority so he didn't join me. (See! I am trying!) Am in two minds about his decision to prioritize footy above yours truly though. Firstly, I can totally get the need to kick a ball around a field like a chipmunk on speed and vent off excessive testosterone. Pent-up testosterone is a recipe for disaster so I will usually not stand in the way of one to go work it off. On the flipside, for someone who has been bugging me about meeting my friends, when I finally extend an invitation (albeit grudgingly), his stoic and immediate response was, "Have to check if I am playing footy on that day. If yes, then I have to play. Sorry, it HAS to be done."

......

So seriously, if I lie in wait in his bed with really sexy lingerie, is he going to go, "Not now babe. West Ham are playing Chelsea!" (?)

I suppose I should not be surprised considering that the first thing the man does on a Sunday morning is grab is MacBook Pro and look up the football scores from the night before and goes on to watch the commentary and manager's comments with the volume turned up while I try my hardest to fight the urge to whack him over the head with a pillow because I'm trying to sleep.

Aye, what have I got myself into?

However, the more pressing issue is this. The fact that people around me have started referring to him as my *cringe*... as my....*whispers* boyfriend. Now, I am not afraid of the word but I'm going to put my foot down here and stamp all over the place and declare that he is NOT my boyfriend. (Christ, it sounds like a dirty word!)

Now before you all descend on me with the wrath of a giant thesaurus, please let me explain where I am coming from. I've had different people throw different questions at me trying to prove that he is indeed my boyfriend and I fully understand where these people are coming from. For example, 'Are you dating exclusively?' Yes. 'How long have you guys been seeing each other?' About three months. 'Do you stay over at his place?' Huh? Relevance people, relevance! But okay, yes, I do. 'Has he bought you anything aside from food and drink?' (This one was mind-boggling.) Yes he has! He bought me a really expensive hair-tie because he.felt.like.buying.me.something.

Somehow the people who have asked me the above questions and those of similar nature have all landed/flopped on the same conclusion. Verdict: He is your boyfriend lah!

*insert violent protest here*

For the sake of arguing, thesarus.com defines 'boyfriend' as male acquaintance or romantic companion. Logically, the 'male acquaintance' portion is somewhat wishy-washy because that would mean I have a long list of boyfriends which may imply that I am some sort of harlot. 'Romantic companion' is also negligible as it would involve 'romance'. And uhm... 'romance' is a bit of a dodgy noun on its own. :P

Synonyms for the dirty B word include admirer, beau, companion, confidant, date, escort, fiance, flame, follower (uh?), friend, intimate, partner, soul mate, steady (ha!), suitor, swain (wazzat? A piggy?), sweetheart, and young man.

Using the above as a benchmark, I'm going to embark on the time-tested process of elimination.

Hence, in my head, Spooner is:
admirer, beau, companion, confidant, date, escort, fiance, flame, follower, friend, intimate, partner, soul mate, steady, suitor, swain, sweetheart, and young man. (Sorry, he ain't a spring chicken.)

Mathematically, this means that he only fulfills 22.2% of the 'boyfriend' criteria and thus, cannot be labeled as one! :D

I'm not just being weird and insane about calling him my 'boyfriend'. Truth is, I am not ready. I associate that word with a lot of things and to be fair, I do not think Spooner and I have reached that level of trust and companionship where I'd gladly nod, smile and say, 'Yeah, he's my boyfriend.' As such, he currently hovers between status quos, thanks to my high, exacting and some may say, slightly loopy standards. Don't get me wrong, I like his company, the weird things he says, the funny gait in his walk and even the fact that he 'sweats like a rapist' and has a penchant for freaking normal people out by taking the piss. But that's just not enough reason. What am I waiting for then, you ask? I haven't got a clue to be honest but if you'll excuse the cliche, I suppose I'll know when I know.

And honestly, there's no need to put anyone in boxes, just yet. :)

Where Does It Go?

It''s 10:36 pm on a Tuesday night and I am still in the office.

I suppose that sums up why I have been silent the past few weeks. After getting a new client on board, things have been more than a little hectic. I rather miss the days when I could sit at work and read stuff at my leisure. These past few weeks have been pretty rough. Lunching in, late nights, endless meetings, pulling one hair's out, almost punching people in the face, chainsmoking and just praying for the weekend to come as quickly as possible.

Honestly it's not healthy. I believe a certain amount of stress in one's life is a good thing. But going from zero to hundred in a matter of seconds is meant for V8 engines, not mere mortals like me. May I clarify that I am not complaining. I like my job. I learn new things everyday and I am grateful that I have the opportunity to use my brain when it comes to dealing with day-to-day situations. More often than not, it's the people who drive me up the wall. Dealing with humans in general can be trying. And in stressful situations, you tend to see the worst sides of people which makes dealing with humans, that much harder.

But let's not whinge about it so. :)

I have been slaving away for an event that is scheduled to take place tomorrow. I am still sitting in the office trying to tie up loose ends. I hope, with all my fingers and toes crossed that tomorrow goes well.

Apart from work, I've been busy trying to find some time to catch up with my friends. I am slowly getting there I think. Went to Bali last week with a couple of mates. Loads of fun and a much needed break from all the work madness. Came back feeling a little more positive about things which will probably explain the second wind at work. Spooner and I are still seeing each other. I think it's just under 2 months now and things are going okay. It's very weird when a two people who are generally reserved and closed about themselves go out with each other. We tip-toe around each other a lot and the irony is I think we both realize that we're trying to very carefully navigate around each other. It takes time to get to know a person and to trust someone and I'm quite happy to just do what we're doing now - movies, going out for a meal, or just watching tv on the sofa. He's funny, affectionate, smart and a pretty chilled out guy and well, I'm quite pleased with the package. ;)

I'm hoping that after this event I'll get a bit of a breather but I highly doubt it because there is another one coming up next month so I'm just going to keep pushing. I don't like when my days melt into each other and I can't tell morning from night anymore. It feels like I'm losing a grip on life which may sound a bit morbid but I'm not actually talking about being compos mentis. :P

Well, gotta get back to it. Wish me luck.

A is for Annoyed

Yesterday was a huge test to my patience.

1. I was annoyed at myself for being sick, wonky and not being able to think and function properly as I was drugged up to my forehead. (If you haven't realized by now, I am one of those people who does not like NOT being in control of her faculties.)

2. I was annoyed that despite being on sick leave I was worrying about work and ended up working from the middle of the afternoon til about 7pm because well, I had no freaking choice.

3. I was annoyed at a certain individual from work who, when approached for direction, gave none whatsoever and instead heaped a load of ridiculous attitude in my face. In my opnion, this one is a overpaid, fuckwitted cretin.

4. I was annoyed with Spooner. After asking me and reminding over the past month about his friend's birthday party which happened yesterday, he sends me a last minute text saying he was not in the mood to go but would bring me along if I were (quote) "gagging to go out".
(Hello, what part of 'I have been sick the whole week' did you miss in the memo? I thought that the whole premise of us attending the party was so we could hang out. What are you? A muppet?)

5. I was annoyed with my Mum and my Grandma. Seriously, sick person needs peace and quiet. Sick person does not need people talking at the top of their voices trying to decide how to invade Poland or Dhaka (whichever you prefer).

Hence, being annoyed on several counts, I didn't eat dinner, shoved my medication down my throat, crawled into bed with my book and waited for the drugs to kick in. But even as I was drifting off into the land of nod, my brain was still going through the annoying events of the day and I eventually fell asleep, feeling (you guessed it!) annoyed.

I woke up this morning feeling slightly better but not quite altogether thus explaining this entry. I am hoping that by itemizing my frustrations, I'd be able to let go of them by let's say, noon today. (Aren't I practical?)

The one good thing about yesterday was that I managed to not blow up at anyone and kill them. Had this happened to me 10 years ago, I would have exploded by the time I had reached no. 3 on the 'Reasons for Annoyance' list. I will not hesitate to tell you that my temper used to be legendary. I suspect my parents almost went crazy because my brother and I both had equally volatile tempers which were usually directed at each other because we're brother and sister. Believe me, it's not always sugar and spice and all things nice when you're teenagers or young adults.

Fortunately, I think both of us mellowed tremendously about 5 years ago, particularly after our dad passed away. Funny how it takes something like that to knock sense into people and force them to change their perspective. In any case, we've both managed to bring our tempers under control now and I think we're a lot smarter with picking our battles. Weird thing is, he and I don't get into disagreements anymore. The exact opposite has happened. Our relationship as siblings has developed to the point where we can talk about whatever is going on in our lives to each other with the knowledge that everything is said in confidence. And yes, it's very nice to be able to sit and talk to my brother without wanting to throttle him every 3 minutes. This is not to say that everything is rosy and perfect. We don't always see eye-to-eye on some things and we're both naturally impatient people so there are occasions when red flags get raised but it's a lot better now than it was before.

Alas, I cannot say the same about the other areas of my life. Oftentimes, when I get ticked off, I just don't say anything. Some people, usually the smarter ones, realize that I am annoyed and they give me a wide berth to cool off and don't push the matter further. Unfortunately, there are more stupid people than smart ones in my life and when faced with my mutinous silence, they just don't get the hint and usually say/do something that makes me want to reach out and smack them across the head or bludgeon them with a bat. (Personally, I prefer bludgeoning. Much more cathartic I tell you!) But being a member of polite *snort* society, I have to rein in my instinct to clobber people and bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying something that might land me in jail for slander.

The other issue is how some morons tend to take my silence as a sign of weakness and then proceed to attempt to walk all over me. I don't know how to help people like this. Doing this is equivalent to playing tag in a landmine. I'm not a doormat. If I were, you'd be welcome to stomp all over me. But if you insist of behaving like an idiot, my only advice is, be prepared to be shredded.

The good news is that I don't lose my head that often. It takes a hell of a lot these days before I completely lose it. Usually I hover between being immensely annoyed and immensely frustrated. This is still pretty far from pure, white rage. But honestly, I sometimes wonder if it's not healthy to put up with all the bullshit that people throw my way just to keep my temper in check.

Now where's my brother? I need a fag...

Going Potty

I've been meaning to blog about this earlier but work has just been insane today. Honestly, it's not the work that bothers me. It's the people that I need to deal with who usually drive me to want to pick up the nearest sharp implement and stab them with it. Anyway... let's get on with it.

I've never been one to do drugs. It boils down to a few simple reasons:
1. I live in Singapore and basically being caught in possession of your own children here could sometimes land your ass in jail.
2. Even if I did get hold of something I wanted to try, I wouldn't quite know the proper 'procedure' so to speak of 'consumption' (Yes, I'm that vanilla).
3. Why do I need drugs when cigarettes and alcohol can be consumed in copious amounts legally?
4. I live in fear that my own mother would throw my ass in jail if she ever caught me with a prohibited substance that didn't come out of my doctor's office.

As a result last weekend's experiment with marijuana/weed/hemp/pot/cannabis/ganja (seriously, how many damn names does that thing have?) was quite interesting to say the least. It was not the first time I had smoked the stuff so I sort of knew what was happening. The whole preparation aspect of it has always amused me. I have seen former potheads, argue with current and in-remand potheads on the correct method of rolling a joint and honestly, I don't think there's a set way of doing it. Think about it, if you had big hands, you'd probably end up rolling a fatter spliff because you'd pick up more tobacco with your fingers. But the relativity of one's hand size in relation to joint-rolling is a conversation for another day.

The first couple of instances that I encountered weed, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Had it not been for those in the know, I would have probably munched on the bloody produce. The virgin attempt to enjoy the psychoactive substance was outside a club with one very drunk female friend. I distinctly remember having one of those nights out where every progressive drink just makes you more and more sober. Sadly, I could not say the same for my girlfriend. In the attempt to help me enjoy my night, she shared her joint with me. And it had absolutely zero effect. I can safely tell you that I felt nothing because I was sober enough to remember everything. What an absolute bummer. It's kind of like meeting a guy you really, really like and then realizing that he is absolute shite in bed. (In case you were wondering, that HAS happened to me too.)

My second attempt was with the ex boyfriend and a couple of other friends. This time there was a physical reaction. Nausea. All I wanted to do was throw up and I remember only taking a few drags. The lingering smell in the apartment kept making my stomach heave and it did not help that my friends and the ex were getting stoned out of their minds, demanding for repeated rounds of Sara Lee chocolate pound cake, which I faithfully fetched for them. I even had to wash the dishes. Absolute buggery.

Hence, when presented with the opportunity to try again last weekend, I didn't quite jump at the chance. I was a bit apprehensive about the side-effects or rather, the expected effects on my body. I had been drinking since about 4 in the afternoon and 4 beers on a hot day with an empty stomach certainly clouds one's judgment. So when the joint came my way, I didn't turn it away. I had a few small drags, handed said spliff to next person and carried on watching the television. Didn't feel much physically so I just sat and kept skulling water because I suddenly felt really, really, thirsty and also, I didn't want to be plastered before dinner.

Second spliff appeared about half hour later and this one was way stronger than the first because every drag felt thick and heavy and tasted (to me), like coffee for some reason. This time, after a few minutes I started feeling the 'expected' effects. My body was slowing down, I felt relaxed, still thirsty as hell for some reason but I felt calmer, less inclined to want to talk (slur), and things seemed brighter. Now, while all of this was happening, one part of my brain was making mental notes. I was conducting an experiment on myself and yet ironically still could keep enough of my mental faculties together.

What I did not expect was how hard the high hit me. Maybe it was because it was the first time my body was experiencing the drug in full capacity so when it hit, it felt absolutely bizarre. My eyes were wide open, lights seemed harsher and my brain was clearly awake but obviously not up to its usual fantastic self because I struggled to keep my psychomotor skills in check. I can quite honestly admit that my body felt liked it weighed a ton and my legs were moving out of pure instinct to get from point A to the dinner location, which for some reason, seemed like it involved a lot of crossing of roads.

Dinner was another episode altogether. I attacked the bread basket. Go ahead, laugh. After I had taken the first bite of bread, it felt like my saliva glands had been resurrected and I instantaneously attacked everything in sight. One particular dinner companion realized that I had a serious bout of the munchies and started laughing insanely. And there was more water. Bread and water. Never have I drunk so much water in one sitting. Even after I've finished a 6km run, I don't pour that much water down my throat. That night however, I was like a dehydrated nomad in a desert. All I wanted was water, And more bread. And ooh, let us have a tagiatelle Ragu pasta dish while we're at it please?

So I attacked the bread, glugged my water, scoffed my pasta down and then poured a cappuccino down my gullet in an attempt to stay awake. At this point, I was still floating and quite high. I also felt immensely tired. I wanted to lie down on the pavement and sleep. And I would have done just that if Spooner didn't pull me out of my chair and make me walk. Back at the apartment, I remember curling up on the sofa watching the Gorillaz's DVD of their performance at Manchester. Did I ever tell you that I think Demon Days is one of the best albums ever made? Well, there you go, I've said it. I don't remember falling asleep although Spooner claims I fell asleep on him but I woke up in bed the next morning (no hangover, result!) and I felt more or less human so I guess that was really the end of my narcotic adventure.

Not very exciting huh? Yeah, I thought so too but it was interesting to say the least. At least now I know why people choose to do it. I'm not saying that smoking pot is something I intend to start doing on a regular basis. It's just that I now have a clearer understanding of some people fall prey to wanting to get high repeatedly. Marijuana is both a stimulant and a depressant at the same time. Technically, this means that it slows one part of your brain down, usually the area that controls your psychomotor skills and then stimulates a different section which explains why lights and sounds seem way brighter and louder when one is under the influence. The drug is also known to be a hallucinogen which explains why some people have diminished levels of concentration and may tell you the same joke again and again and laugh at it repeatedly if they've been smoking pot. As for me, I just felt that Damon Albarn is an effing genius and that I had a special kinship with him. Thereafter, I am pretty sure, I fell asleep.

Because People Maketh the Man

And so I met Spooner's friends over the recent long weekend. It's not the first time though. The first time was during a touch rugby match on the beach where I was tackled headlong by a full-grown man barreling into me at about 5 kilometers per hour. Note to my female readers - DO NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO YOU. I felt like I had been hit by a concrete wall and I'm surprised I didn't break a rib.

Last weekend was little less physically intense. Well not really, considering I drank about 10 bottles of Heineken over a 5 hour period and I felt like dying the next morning. But the night in itself was not all that bad. The rendevous point was KPO and the drinks just kept coming. It was interesting to see Spooner in a social situation and it was quite nerve wracking for me to sit there and partake in conversations with a few people that I had never met before. I can only hope that I made a positive impression. You know how it gets when you've been drinking. Tongues get looser as people become more relaxed. Things you normally wouldn't say in a different situation come flying out of people's mouths and you don't really reflect on what they're saying until your hangover has properly worn off about 3 days later. :P

Being the only female in the entire group was pretty pressurizing. And there was also the fact that a couple of guys present didn't say a single word to me throughout the whole night. I pondered this quite a bit and could only draw two conclusions: a) they did not know what to say to me (I suppose the pressure works both ways), and b) they just simply did not like me. In the event that the latter reason is true, I refuse to be disheartened. I mean, how can you decide whether you like someone if you pretend to be mute the whole time? Personally, I am not one for snap judgments and I usually don't have people 'disliking' me for no reason. Yes, there have been a few but then again, those folks are insane. (Disclaimer: If you're one of those 'I make my mind up in 20 seconds' kinds, please stop reading and go away. Thankyouverymuch.)

Overall the friends proved to be an interesting bunch. Journalists, traders, insurance people, all sorts. My thoughts on this are quite positive. After all, if all his friends came from the same industry, then all the conversations would be monopolized by work and what the hell would I (or most people), know about marine underwriting? Hence, the diversity proved to be a good thing because it meant a range of topics could be discussed and different opinions could be expressed. Furthermore, it gave me some insight into Spooner's randomness. The man has thrown me off guard on several occasions and I've found myself knitting my eyebrows in bewilderment at some of the things that fly out of his mouth. Having hung out with the friends I suppose I have come to a semi-conclusion that it was probably wrong of me to try and fit him into a mould. Yes, most of us fall into one category or type of person but I don't know him well enough to stick a label on him just yet. But it is nice to sort of understand what sort of person he is. And believe me, you can tell a lot about a person from the friends they keep.

However here comes the quandary as I am now wondering how soon or is it still too soon for him to meet my friends. I suppose in these foreign dating situations, one is expected to reciprocate actions to a certain degree. Alas, I am also quite aware that most of my friends are in no hurry to do the 'meet the mates' thing. After all, it's only been a mere five weeks now. Besides, I can hardly say that I know the guy well enough because everytime we hang out I find out something new about him. For example, he has a weird obsession with drinking tons of water. He says it's because he dehydrates easily. I say it's more about him trying to avoid grabbing a beer or a Coke from the fridge each time he is thirsty.

In any case he has asked me to go his friend's birthday party with him next weekend. I suppose it will be another chance to meet more of his friends. The weekend after I will be in Bali with my erstwhile friends (woohoo!) so that's a little bit of time off from him and his entourage which could prove to be a valuable opportunity to sit and think about things. And maybe, just maybe I might consider letting him meet some people from my social circle after that trip. But I refuse to get ahead of myself. Let me live out the next couple of weeks before I make any decisions.

Okay, I shall now attempt to go something productive...like create a massive deliverable list. How bloody exciting.

Cyber Perving

I'm working from home today. And let me tell you that this requires a tremendous amount of discipline, something I seem to be lacking a lot of this blazing hot Monday.

I was thinking about how much time I spend online as a result of my job. The short answer to that is I spend a solid 6 to 8 hours a day on the web trawling for information, researching, reinventing and of course prying into things that should normally be left alone. Let's face it. The world wide web is a black hole of information. And when you spend three quarters of your professional life trying to seek answers and solutions to your clients' never-ending list of issues, it's only natural that your curiosity spills over and you start digging around for things that don't really concern work at all. It doesn't help that you have social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter that works on the premise of being well, nosy. No one logs into Facebook thinking, "Okay, I'm going to log in and not look at what my friends are up to." Bullshit. We thrive on perving, prying and poking around in our neighbours' backyards all the time. What is the point of status updates and news feeds then? Here's the truth - We want to know.

So having had my lunch and considering the fact that my boss has been relatively silent today, I decided to carry out some cyber-research on Spooner. I've known him for a little less than a month now and we've hung out enough times to know that we like each other's company. I have also over the course of a month managed to find out where he lives, where he works, what he does for a living, got some details about parents, upbringing, past girlfriends, close friends, and gained some insight into his quirks. Good progress? Yes. Alas, it doesn't stop there.

The problem with meeting a new person is this. You have no choice but to take everything they say (and do) to you at face value. Maybe it's just me and my cynical personality that is so inclined to take everything with a pinch of salt. I attribute this to the plain and simple fact that I never trust people easily. I reckon this was a trait that reared its head aggressively after my first serious boyfriend cheated on me repeatedly over three years. The day I walked away from that relationship it felt like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest and I was a complete wreck for a solid six months after. Now, all this happened almost ten years ago and I have gotten over it and I don't want to take an axe to the guy's head anymore. I also know that I have managed to deal with some of it as I have had other semi-serious and some quite serious relationships after. Unfortunately, practice does not make perfect in all scenarios.

My ex and I both have FB accounts. Ironically, during the course of our relationship, we never added each other. Why? I think we didn't see it as necessary because we had been together for that long and it made sense that we could at least have some degree of privacy to our individual selves. Well, that's the politically correct answer. Here's the uncensored version. We didn't add each other on FB because we both has issues with each other's friends. There were people on either party's list that we didn't like and secondly, we didn't want any of our 'friends' blurting out something that the other person wasn't meant to know. And thirdly, we both knew that if we read something posted by someone on each other's wall and we didn't like it, it'd become an issue of contention that would probably lead to a fight. So much for trusting each other eh?

So here's the thing. Spooner over the past couple of weeks has been indirectly dropping hints about us adding each other on FB. The first time he subtly brought up the subject of things like FB and Twitter and asked if I used them. I nonchalantly replied that yes, I do have them and use them but mostly for work reasons. (This IS true.) The second time was on Saturday when we were having drinks before dinner and the topic of ex-partners had come up. I asked him to describe the exes, in terms of physical appearance. His answer, "Well, you can look at it in my FB pics." My reply? Astounding silence.

Sorry, I'm just not ready to take that step. I admit I have tried to search for him online and on FB and have been returned with like 500 people with the same name. There goes that idea. I suppose on his part, he must be pretty open about most things if he is willing to let me into his network. On the other hand, as a friend said, perhaps he just wants to get a proper snoop around my FB page and profile because there's a lot of historical content there and people tend to self-censor a lot in real life. Personally, I am leaning towards the latter explanation.

There is also the other part that freaks me out. He keeps wanting to introduce me to his friends and in turn meet mine. I don't have any qualms about this apart from the fact, that again, I don't trust him enough to want to let him into my circle of friends. My friends, the close few that I have, and my colleagues are my biggest security blankets. I fall back on them every time something fucks up. Letting him get close to these people and allowing him to question, scrutinize and form opinions about them is for me, very personal. He might as well be doing that to me. (I know this works both ways because he in turn, will be questioned, scrutinized and judged too.) But, I'm not ready. I simply don't trust him, yet. Oh and yes, there's also the fact that I am morbidly insecure and am partly waiting for him to give me the flick because my brain says, 'Here's a guy in his thirties, single, no children in the closet, unmarried, with a decent job, a sense of humour and even guess what, he's reasonably good-looking. What is wrong with this picture? And why does he want you in it?'

Paranoid? Yes. Hard on myself? Very much so. This is purely me putting on my full suit of defence. In the event that he turns out to be a royal fuckwit and I give him the boot or vice versa, I would not feel so bad about it because he would not have met my friends and secondly, there would be no embarrassing 'Need to Delete off FB' dilemmas either. So let's see if he sticks around for a few more months and I can bring myself to begrudgingly offer a few more ounces of my trust. Until then, I'm going to stick with just taking things at face value.

Body Issues

The next person who comes to me whining about their weight/body image issues is going to get a nice, resounding smack from yours truly.

Seriously people, there's a whole load of other shit you can worry about instead of obsessing about the number showing on your weighing scale. Mind you, it's not just the women who are whinging. The men are too. Case in point Spooner who is in Hong Kong this week for work complaining over text messages that he is growing as fat as a pig because all he's doing is eating rich food, sitting in his chair the whole day and not exercising. This, coming from a man who usually hits the gym everyday and plays football twice a week on top of that is honestly, a bit much because as far as I can tell, he doesn't have any excess weight anywhere!

If you're wondering who the chick in the picture is, it's Ximena Navarrete, the current Miss Mexico and also the winner of Miss Universe 2010. She's 21 and stands at a pretty normal 1.74 metres. (I say normal because there is a large part of the world that is taller than the average Singaporean making us, the subnormal ones.) If there is one person in the world who has the right to be going mental over her weight or body shape, it's her. The rest of us should learn to be a little more realistic with our megalomaniacal hang-ups.

Before you start moaning about your legs are not long enough, your tummy is causing the buttons on your jeans to pop out like missiles and your hips are wider than the moon, please register a very simple fact in your head - your body type is genetically determined. So just because you're not so small and can't fit into a size 24 pair of skinny jeans, that fact alone does not make you overweight or obese or even (the dreaded F-word), fat. The truth is, the shape of your body is determined by several factors. Genetics is the first one. Lifestyle is the second biggest factor. If you insist on eating good food, not exercising and basically slobbing around all the time, then do not be surprised if you pile on the pounds. But nevermind lifestyle. Let's deal with the horrible G word. Genetics. Though I would very much like to tell you to go scream at your parents for passing on their thunder thighs and narrow shoulders to you, it would end up being moot. So let's deal with this with a few more ounces of intelligence and approach this with a more scientific perspective.

What's your body type? An apple, a pear, a H? Identifying what kind of body you have could help you deal with your body image issues and even help you change your exercise regime or buy clothes that suit you better. So here we go...

The Apple



The apples amongst us generally have larger upper bodies (chest and stomach), with smaller arms and legs. If you have a thick waist, full breasts/chest, a wide torso and upper back, then you have a typical apple-shaped body. Men predominantly have this shape but women seem to be prone to develop this body shape later in life.

People with this body type should focus on aerobic training in order to lose overall body fat. High intensity cardio activities like jogging and stair-climbing help to lose fat all over while helping with definition in the lower half of the body. Cable training helps to strengthen your back and chest. Avoid wearing clothes that highlight your upper body width. Tube dresses and tight wife-beater tops don't flatter you so leave them alone.

The Pear



We all love Beyonce because she's bootylicious. Congratulations to all my pear-shaped friends because you're bootylicious too. :)

Pear-shaped bodies have small upper torso and wider hips and thighs. Your bodies tend to naturally store fat in your lower half so your exercise regime should concentrate on toning these specific areas. Ideally, you should spend about 75 percent of your time exercising your lower half and the remaining 25 percent on your upper body. Cycling, leg lifts and squats are some of your best friends. To balance out your top half, concentrate on shoulder presses and push-ups.

If you're insecure about your wider lower body, avoid tight outfits. If you think you can rock it, then by all means go ahead.

The Hourglass



Ahhhh Scarlett. Go on, drool. Hourglass shapes or people who are known to have the 8-frame are usually the envy of most. However, they tend to put on weight on both upper and lower halves quite easily. Their saving grace comes in the form of having a narrow waist that balances out their shoulders and hips which are usually of equal proportions.

To maintain the balance, hourglass-shaped folks should undertake an exercise regime that concentrates on all areas equally. You should be focusing on both cardio and resistance exercises like stationary biking, jogging, jumping rope, swimming, bicep curls, the shoulder press, and squats.

Oh and wear what you like, because you'll probably get away with it.

The H



Hello H. I don't know whether this body type is a bane or boon. I fall into this category. Large shoulders, large waist and long limbs make us look a little grass-hopper like.

H-type bodies should focus on keeping the upper body trim or else risk looking seriously stocky. Running on an incline helps keep the bulk down and to even out the lower half, concentrate on leg extensions and squats so that you don't end up with stick legs.

As far as clothes go, we tend to look better in shirts and clothing that requires 'hanging'. Jackets and longer tops help to even out the heaviness of the shoulders and the length of the torso. I have also come to realize that women with H-shaped bodies tend to look damn good in boy-cut jeans for some reason. :)

The Ruler



Every girl wants to be a ruler. We all want to eat as much as want, drink as much as want, not lift a finger and still look like a rake. Needless to say, it just doesn't work that way. Alas, there are a few out there who are born with ruler-shaped bodies and blessed with insane metabolic rates that don't allow them to put on much weight. The flipside to this is the fact that people with this body type generally struggle to put on muscle mass. So if you're looking to get a toned, nicely ripped look, it's going to be a bit of a battle.

Ruler-shaped folks should concentrate less on cardio and more on resistance training. This includes bench presses, squats, lat pull downs and hamstring curls. Resistance exercise helps create definition and believe me, a little bit of definition is always nice to see unless it's your life's ambition to resemble a piece of pasta.

What to wear? Avoid body-hugging, skin-tight outfits because they just make you look skinny. You're lucky enough to be able to wear all the frills and ribbons and layers you want so please, milk that opportunity.

The Inverted Triangle or V



The inverted triangle or V frame is quite a rare body type. It's considerably bigger on top when compared to the lower half. People with this body shape usually have shoulders measuring two to three inches more than their hips. The classic example of this is a swimmer's body. This is the ideal body shape for men and those with this frame should concentrate on bringing the lower body up to speed with the top half. Resistance training concentrating on the glutes, thighs and calves are your priority. Otherwise you'll end up risking looking like a giant box balanced on two stilts.

Please don't run out and get a boob job and PLEASE avoid wearing skinny jeans under pain of death.

Well I've educated you on the different body types that genetics has played a part in determining and what you can do to emphasize the good bits and how to deal with the not-so-good bits too. The onus is now on you to either get into a proper exercise regime or change your entire wardrobe. And if after all of this, you still insist on moaning about your body, then please call/text/email/skype me and I will be most happy to oblige and smack you across your head.

Til next time, bye! :)

Good Food = Good Mood

After last Friday's company event, I thought I'd lay off the alcohol over the rest of the weekend. So it was a very restrained, one pint of Heineken and a glass of red over dinner on Saturday. No alcohol on Sunday. Result!

Had dinner with Spooner at Le Pont De Vie at Khandahar Street on Saturday night. I didn't know what to expect so I was pretty blown away with the experience. The both of us were in jeans. Him in flip-flops too, making us the most under-dressed patrons in that place. But in all honesty, the place is NOT that stuffy. You can be casual but don't be sloppy if you decide to head there. It is very small and very intimate. Can't fit more than 15 people in there. There were only 5 tables when we were there and it felt pretty crowded. In other words, please make reservations.

The staff are friendly. Well-trained, not hoity-toity and genuinely happy to stop and chat with you if you want them to. And most importantly, they LOOK at you when they talk. I cannot emphasize how important eye-contact is for people in the service line. Please look at your customers. It's polite. We like to know that you acknowledge our existence instead of just spouting your standard lines at us while staring into mid-air. If there are two people at a table, please don't ignore one regardless of who asked you the question. Similarly, if you're a patron, and they serve your food, be decent and say thank you while looking at the person who just presented your plate and don't mumble your thanks into your plate. Like most things, this too works both ways.

Apart from the staff, the food was excellent. We had two appetisers. I had - Pan seared queen sea scallops with a confit of lime, crisp mesclun, and spicy oriental sambuca salsa.
Kudos for the freshness of the scallops and the fact that they didn't over cook them. Scallops are often rubbery because they get overcooked. These were excellent. Cooked but they weren't tough and they were moist. Alas, the accompanying dressing was disappointing. It was tasty BUT overpowering. I think they went a wee bit overboard with the garlic because combined with the lime, my taste buds went loco and all I could taste was the garlic and lime after the first mouthful. :(

Spooner went for the Le Pont De Vie smoked duck salad which is essentially house smoked Margret duck, crisp greens and grapefruit dressing. I had a taste or rather I picked off his plate because he wouldn't leave mine alone and I will say that his appetiser was something out of heaven. The duck was rich, moist and smoked enough to obviously not kill people with Salmonella but the smoky after-taste did not overpower the original taste of the meat. The grapefruit dressing with the rocket and other green bits were a good complement.

We both had the same mains - grilled Kurobuta pork cheeks with roasted potatoes, roasted caramelized Fuji apple and truffle reduction. If you're wondering which part of the animal pork cheeks come from, it is pretty much what it is; a facial muscle. (No it's not part of the ass!)

It was my first time eating pork cheeks and I was hesitant about how good it would be. Seriously, if you've spent your whole life chewing shit, that muscle would be pretty tough no? Alas, my fears were unwarranted because the meat was perfectly tender. I suppose grilling it did suck some its moisture out but it wasn't dry like a twig. In fact, it was very tasty because there was no weird marinade inhibiting the flavour of the meat. The potatoes were a good complement but not as impressive as the Fuji apples which with the pork, exploded in your mouth. The meat was accompanied with a small bunch of rocket. Spooner set his greens aside because he felt they didn't go with the dish. On the other hand, I ate everything because I felt that the bitterness of the rocket pitted against the sweetness of the apple worked well together. Then again, he had ordered a side of chips (okay fries, if you insist), and was busy stuffing his face with them with the reasoning that, "It's the weekend and I want my chips because all I eat during the week is healthy crap."
And to be fair, the chips were gooooooooood. :)

Total bill came up to about $182 bucks for the both of us. That, given the amount of food and drink (1 beer, 2 glasses of red, 1 bottle of water) we had is a VERY reasonable amount. They charge 10% service fee but NOT GST. I say that's a bloody good deal. In my books, Le Pont De Vie, is highly recommended. :)

What did we do the rest of the night? Well we sat on the kerb and had a cigarette and then decided we needed to work off some of the food we had just stuffed ourselves with, so we went dancing. Actually we went bopping. But hey, it was a good night out and I have nothing to complain about.

Grassy Moments

I guess I owe you the details of date number two (and three) with Spooner. :)

Date number two was far more interesting than the first. He had asked me out on Saturday afternoon to go out for dinner that night. I agreed considering I had no plans and I did want to see him again. Weird part was that he asked me to pick him up. Like hello, I have no car or motorcycle. No bicycle even. But considering that we were heading to Dempsey and he lives close by, I decided to put my narrow-minded perceptions aside and went to pick him up in a cab.

Can I just say, that office clothes do nothing for that man? He was decked in a blue polo t-shirt, jeans and sneakers on Saturday and had changed his glasses. He looked like Clark Kent. I think the taxi driver heard the sharp intake of breath I took in as my brain registered the shoulders, the long torso, the legs, the whole damn package and thought, "Shit. He's hot."

We headed to Dempsey. I was a retarded bundle of nerves. Got to our location and ordered our drinks. Sapporo and Asahi kept us company at the Tippling Club as I fought to remain intelligent and witty. I am going to admit that my hormones were getting the better of me that night because I had no greater desire than to lunge across the table and rip his shirt off. The man was proving to be well-read, smart and funny. He asked questions. He listened. We bantered, we discoursed, we laughed at each other. And he was really nice to the service staff. Plus, did I mention that he's hot? What to do? I sat on my hands. Yes, I was that mind-fucked.

Five drinks and some bar snacks later (Recommendation: try the duck sausage!), we decided that we needed a change of scenery and went off to Blue Jazz near Haji Lane. The entire time, the man did not lay one finger on me. I was amazed and confused. 'Am I so repulsive that he always has to keep an arm's length away from me?' or 'Maybe he's gay...' were taking turns to run through my befuddled brain.

We got to our second destination and went up to the second floor. The man is into rap and hip-hop and fortunately, the second floor of the Blue Jazz place is dedicated to that genre so he was quite happy about it. He ordered the drinks. I went to the bathroom and came back and found him on a sofa. I sat across him. He moved to the stool next to me and then eventually asked me to sit next to him. (Finally!) And then came the clincher. He leaned over to ask, "Is it okay if I put my arm around you?"

I almost exploded with laughter. I know most people are generally polite, but this man was taking it to another level altogether. And the other thought was, "He's not gay! Woohoo!"

So we sat there, smoked our cigarettes, bopped to the music and chilled out. Made a new friend with a Thai guy who needed a lighter. All good fun. Went home plastered at 3:30 and crashed in our own beds.

Now I am too lazy to type so I am going to put a screenshot up.



So we hung out on Sunday at East Coast in the afternoon. Nothing fancy. He had to eat after his football match so we had a late meal and then we proceeded to both lie down on the grass and fall asleep for a while.

It was just so nice. To just lie there on my back, be quiet, stare at the trees and the sky through my sunglasses. No pressure from the guy lying next to me who was equally silent. I stared up into the sky wondering when was the last time I was that relaxed. I couldn't find an answer to that and let me assure you, it had nothing to do with Spooner being next to me. Yes, he was still as yummy as the night before but we were both in our own mental zones and there was no frantic need to make smart conversation. When we did talk, it was just about what people around us were doing - the Malay family spending a day a the beach waiting to break their fast at sunset, the kids flying kites and playing frisbee on the sand, and the couples sitting on the breakwater in front. I think I finally figured out the meaning of shooting the breeze.

Sunday ended with a milkshake from Once Upon a Milkshake (OUAM). I am in lurrrve...with their chocolate truffle shake which is sinful and diabetes-inducing but so, so, sooooo good.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is dates number two and three with Spooner. And if you're wondering whether he has kissed me yet, well, I'm not saying anything for now. :)

Meet the Meat - Post Mortem

He looks a bit like this...



Before you get your panties all sweaty, let me clarify that though there is a resemblance to Hugh Laurie - blue eyes, dark hair, expressive mouth - he is not an exact replica. But he doesn't look like a complete oaf either which in my books is a huge plus.

As planned, I turned up early at the date venue and battled with my nerves with a Heineken and game after game of Scrabble on my iPhone. (Yes, I am such a geek.) Needless to say, it was quite embarrassing when Spooner finally arrived and went, "Hello Scrabble girl."

Date proceeded with round after round of beer and way too many cigarettes. Conversation was easy. Talked about family backgrounds, work, getting hit on by people of the same gender. Funniest topic of the night was music.

Me: So what's your favourite band, if you have one?
Spooner: Uhm, I'm not into mainstream stuff. Actually, I don't listen to what most people listen to.
Me: Er...okay. So what, you listen to trance? (Was holding my breath at this point, ready to jump into the river if he said yes.)
Spooner: I know it's weird because I'm English but I really like to listen to...rap.
Me: Huh? Like Kanye West? (Seriously, what the fuck would I know about rap? Aside from the fact that it rhymes with map and tap and they sing about women sitting on their laps... uh, anyway...)
Spooner: Well, grittier than Kanye. Serious hip hop and rap.
Me: Oh wow. I listen to indie bands. The only so-called rap I listen to is Kanye. Listened to 2Pac a long time ago but that's about it. (Talk about clutching at straws. Way to go babe! *facepalm*)
Spooner: Ah, it could have been much worse. I'm glad you didn't say 50-cent.
Me: (!!!!)

Okay, so he has a cheeky sense of humour. Yay!
I am not used to seeing men who are tremendously animated when they speak. Spooner has a variety of facial expressions and uses his hands a lot when he's talking about something. I have this pre-conceived notion that Englishmen are all stiff upper lip and about as expressive as a brick. Well, that got shot to hell. In fact, I found myself moving my beer bottle further and further away from Spooner because I was afraid he'd knock it over. At times it felt like I was sitting across a hyperactive beagle.

I regret to say that I did not get the opportunity to perv at Spooner's butt. Sorry, it was just too dark. I did notice one thing though. He has very small teeth. Weird observation I know, but he was laughing at something and all I could register was, "Such small teeth!" (I agree. Totally WTF.)

So, overall it was a good first meeting. I know you're dying to know if I will go out with him again but I am going to ponder that over lunch and when I make up my mind, I'll let you know. ;)

Hungry, hungry, hippo... I need some grease.