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.

Meet the Meat

I have a date tonight.

This is a date date. Hanging out with male friends, my brother or male colleagues does not qualify as a date. I am meeting a new person, who is not part of my social circle and worse, have not met previously. So this is in essence, some weird version of a blind date.

Date in question shall henceforth be referred to as Spooner. Before you get any weird ideas, Spooner is a nickname he had been previously bestowed with by his soccer buddies for the ability to 'spoon' the ball over the crossbar instead of into the goal. Doesn't speak much of his goal-scoring abilities but well, that's not really of much concern to me. But since he plays footie regularly, I am going to check his ass out. (I have a this theory that all soccer players have nice butts. So far,I have to yet to be proven wrong.)

Apart from my intention to do some top perving, I am horribly nervous. Yes, I know you're raising your eyebrows going, "Whaaaat? You? Nervous? Pffft." Truth is, I am. Despite having skin like buffalo hide, I am capable of suffering from the odd bout of nerves. Weirdly enough, the logical part of my brain tells me that I should have no reason to be jittery because I am quite capable of holding my own in most situations. Okay, so I don't look like the female version of Frankenstein's monster. Good. And I can make conversation with a bunch of cacti if I had to. Bonus! And Spooner has not met me in person before so technically there should not be any prior expectations that I need to surpass. Therefore, I should go there with an open mind, minimal expectations (whoever says there are no expectations is a fucktard), and be my usual, charming and witty self. I kept the slightly insane part of me on the shelf at home today. Clever me.

It's probably a good thing that I freak out over this now instead of freaking out later. I am going to intentionally turn up 20 minutes earlier than the set meeting time at the rendevous point, order meself a nice cold Heineken and pour it down my throat before Spooner arrives so that I won't be a total basket case. Plus it will give me a chance to mentally prepare a list of possible things to chat about. Bloody hell, I sound like I am preparing for an interview!

The last time I went on a proper date I ended up in a 3.5 year long relationship with that person. That date started with lunch on a weekend and ended two days later. Needless to say I don't want that to happen again, at least not in the near future. Call me paranoid and I won't blame you because I am.

So Spooner and I have been communicating via email over a couple of weeks. Between the first email and latest one, there has been more than 80 mails flying back and forth. I have no idea if that's a good thing because we could end up having nothing to talk about later. On the other hand, it has been established that like me, he is the eldest of two children, has a younger brother that gets on his nerves, and is a DVD junkie. Other random bits of information - 1.8 metres tall, plays football, is a marine underwriter and gets hit on by gay men regularly. I am not quite sure what to make of the last part. Far be it from me to judge considering the number of times I have been hit on by lesbians. (Don't ask.)

Regardless of how tonight turns out, I suppose I have something to get out of the experience. I have to slowly start re-initiating myself into society by learning how to interact with new people again. I am not saying that this can only can be accomplished through serial dating. Of course I can meet new people by picking up a new hobby (not knitting), like uhm... joining a Alcoholics Anonymous group but I'll save that for after I get sick of being part of the 'Singles Meat Pool'.

In the meantime, wish me luck and I'll post-mortem the date tomorrow. (Yes, I know you people are damn kaypoh!)

Walk Like An Egyptian

It's a non-emo post today. Sorry to disappoint but yeah, even I get sick of my own emotional dramas at times, surprising as that may seem. :P

Today is about walking. Particularly, the fact that Singaporean women are such bad walkers. I know that what I am going to say is not going to sit well with the majority of the female population but I'd rather you read further, and if after that, you still want to set my hair on fire, I'll acquiesce. Or maybe not.

I've always observed how people move. It's one of the things that fascinate me. Athletes and dancers are probably the most blessed people on earth because they are trained to move efficiently and most importantly, with grace. Well, most of us aren't athletes or dancers but that doesn't give us an excuse to move around like a giant lump.

I happen to have an issue with how women walk in particular. It doesn't matter how tall or small you are or whether you're 70 kilos or a featherweight 40. You are all equipped with the same machinery - thighs, calves, knees, hips - therefore, you should technically be able to move or at least have some mastery over your movements, in particular, your walk.

The way you walk reflects a lot about your personality. It doesn't matter if you're decked out head-to-toe in Gucci and your hair is set everyday by a professional stylist and your complexion glows like that of a Greek goddess because if you choose to shuffle past me, I (can only speak for myself), will probably not notice you.

There are a few common walk styles. I will limit myself to the top five.

1. The Bounce
People who walk with a bounce look kinda weird for sure but there's something extremely cheering about the way they move. The bounce walk is instinctively 'happy'. You see someone walking past with a bounce and you tend to think that the person must be one of those chirpy and positive personalities.

2. The Shuffle
We all know someone who shuffles. Hang on, you might be a shuffler yourself. The shuffle is one of the most annoying walks. It reeks of depression. A person with the shuffle walk comes across as slow, depressed, almost Mr. Magoo-like in outlook. Everytime I see a shuffler, I feel like smacking them across the head. Not only do they look ridiculous, they also get in the way because let's face it, you canNOT shuffle fast.

3. The Pigeon Toe
Have you ever noticed how a pigeon walks? It's legs, in comparison to the rest of its body are supremely short. The pigeon has a thick chest and if you look closely enough, pigeons technically cannot see their own feet because of the way they are built. Humans on the other hand, unless blessed with a giant beer gut or heavily pregnant are well able to see their own two feet. Alas, there are those who have the tendency to walk with the Pigeon Toe. These are the folks who insist, for some strange reason, to point their toes inward when walking. Left foot, step, point inward, right foot, step, point inward. Apart from being totally kooky, this walk is also bloody dangerous because the chances of you tripping over one of your own feet is extremely high. Hence, Pigeon Toe walkers always, always, always end up looking down at their feet as they move. Hazardous? Definitely. If you look down all the time, how can you see where you're going?

4. The Strut
I admit, I am biased. This is my favourite type of walk. The Strut embodies many characteristics. Sexiness, confidence, power and that "Look at me!" quotient that makes you want to well, look at the person who struts. It's not a difficult style of walking and you don't have to be wearing high heels all the time to pull it off. The trick is to adjust your posture. Throw your shoulders back or at least keep them straight, try to hold your stomach in, even if it's bigger than you'd like it to be and most importantly, STRIDE. Yes, it's all in the stride. Lengthen your strides and you will end up with in a strut. Your legs no matter long or short, are capable of taking long strides. And once you lengthen your strides, your body will naturally adjust its center of gravity and you will find that you will automatically throw your shoulders back to keep your balance. Just remember to keep your chin up and voila, I present to you, the mind-boggling, attention-grabbing strut.

5. The W
The W is the walk which requires one to have the incredible skill to NOT keep one's feet close to each other. People who walk the W are actually waddling. I cannot understand why people insist on walking like Ronald MacDonald. At least he had a decent excuse; his shoes were gigantic. So unless you have webbed feet, please don't waddle. It is not attractive and it just looks plain bizarre. What freaks me out is the number of women I see who wear heels, court shoes and platforms and then, of all things, waddle. *facepalm*

Now that I have defined some of the walks, it depresses me enormously that my observations of the female population in Singapore has forced me to realize that they are either Shufflers or Waddlers. It's a shame really because local women are generally well put together. Most have nice hair and fashionable outfits including shoes but the way they move, just kills all that effort. I have seen some ladies trying to strut and not quite making it. I tend to attribute it to the fact that they aren't used to strutting around in the shoes they are wearing. Most of them look like they're battling to keep their balance so that they won't fall face first. So darlings, if you can't quite strut in high heels, you can definitely practice in your ballet flats first. (Yes, you can strut in ballet flats too!)

And if you need more inspiration, then you might want to take a cue from Beyonce (the queen of strutting if you ask me).



"In my life, when I put on the stilettos, it's all about being confident, sometimes overly confident."

Strut my darlings. Stride and strut, and be overly confident please.

Social Intercourse

I have this theory that if I ever have the misfortune (or total suay-ness in local speak), to get marooned alone on a deserted island, my death will be the result of isolation. Sure, I could die a hundred other ways... death by typhoid, death by dysentery, death by starvation or dehydration, death by coconut falling on head or death by being mauled by local grumpy bear on island (shut up, I know there aren't any bears on tropical islands, oh wait, are there?).

Hence, assuming that I survive the odds and somehow manage to stay alive, the one thing that will surely kill me then would be the lack of human interaction. Over the weekend I met up with my girlfriend J for dinner and a night out. We weren't exactly partying very hard because we sat and watched the band at La Baroque the whole night but for me, it was like someone had finally pulled a plastic bag off my head and allowed me to breathe. I realized somewhere between pint no. 3 and pint no. 4, just how much I miss being around people.

The recently-ended relationship was VERY insular. It is quite scary that over a period of 3.5 years, as a couple, we never made any new friends as a unit, and neither did either one of us expand our own social circles. If anything, the number of personal friends on either side shrunk. Why? Simple really. We spent too much time together. This could have been avoided I suppose. Alas, the ex is severely paranoid and insecure. The reason I could only go out with him or hang out with my friends with him in situ is because he was always worrying that I would run off with someone else.

Was that a valid concern? Maybe. I am not saying that I wouldn't have done it. But before you point your finger and yell, "Promiscuous harlot!", let me explain that I am not inclined to jump into bed with every male I find remotely attractive. If I am in a serious relationship with someone, I am committed to be faithful, unless I get pushed into a corner that I see no way out of.

I suppose I should have been more proactive about dealing with the situation as well. I could have made more effort to find time to hang out with my friends so that I wouldn't feel so neurotic about having all my weekends burnt with the ex. Yes, we spent every weekend together and 90% of the time, no one else would be involved. There are two ways of looking at this. Spending time with your significant other after a shitty week of work is good. You both learn to relax together, and enjoy the time off in whichever way you see fit. Alas, if you do this every effing week, you're going to end up in a mind-numbing routine that drains you. After a while, there is no more relaxation because you start straining to think of new ways to spend your time together, of new places to go to and of new things to say to each other.

This is why couples should be allowed to have time-outs from each other. Sure you're a couple and it's a bit like a package deal. Buy one, get the other free (even if you don't want it). In any case, it is healthy to spend time away from your partner once in a while to hang out with your friends, meet new people (not to sleep with), but to learn new things, expand your horizons, hone your social skills and become a more well-rounded individual. Most importantly, it keeps you from going barking mad and killing your partner with a biscuit tin.

So to all my friends that I have abandoned over the past few years, I would like to say a big, 'Sorry'. I miss you guys and for those who have been there with me regardless of whatever has materialized, I am forever grateful for your friendship. I know I'm an Aquarian and that on the surface we look all calm, stoic and aloof but in truth, we're all closet basket cases. I know I would be nothing (or maybe just insane) without my friends and I hope they stay close for a long time to come.

:) :) :)

Date Munster

There's a million ways to scare a woman off. Here's just one out of that million.

Dream Connection

Last night I had a beer with my colleagues celebrating the lack of Monday blues this week. Went home and decided that I somehow needed to get some proper shut-eye so I bought myself two more tall cans of beer to keep me company. Was online chatting with a couple of folks and after stuffing a piece of Kraft singles down my throat and gnawing on a piece of my mother's fried chicken,I conked out at 11pm. For the first time in 4 days I managed to get a decent 6 hours of kip until my alarm went off at 5:30am. I know I'm being ridiculous with wanting to hit the gym without proper rest and bouts of nausea throughout the day but I'm hoping that the exercise will help re-adjust my sleep cycle and set my body back on track. But that's easier said than done.

So between 5:30 and 7:00, I dozed in and out of some sort weird half-sleep session and was plagued by a vivid dream/nightmare that left me very perturbed even after getting up. The whole thing is so bizarre that I had to go into work and Google the interpretation of it. Me being the curious cat that I am, could not bear not knowing. But let me explain what happened during the dream/nightmare.

We were in a carpark. There was another person present. I could not see this person's face but I knew this person was male and his name is Archer. (Go ahead, laugh your ass off because even I'm like wtf? And I don't know anyone by the name of Archer in real life.)

So for some reason Archer is running around the carpark (as a form of recreational activity I assume), and then Archer suddenly hurries over to the car where I am and tells me, "Babe, help me. We need to go. Something is after me."

I get out of the car and run with Archer. We enter some building and there are long corridors and lots of doors. Weirdly enough, I have keys to all the doors. A gigantic bunch of them. We fumble at every door trying to find the right key that will unlock each door. I struggle with the keys, dropping them in a haste and Archer starts telling me to hurry up or else we're both going to die. Whatever is after us catches up to us. I manage to open the last door at the last moment and shove Archer through it, yelling at him to run.

This is the point where I startle myself awake. I have no idea if I made it through that last door.


My online research on the basis of 'being chased' and 'running' in the realm of dreams came up with several interpretations, most of which happen to be telling me the same thing. Here is a basic interpretation according to dreammoods.com:

"Chase dreams are one of several common dream themes, stemming from feelings of anxiety in your waking life. Flee and flight is an instinctive response to a physical threat in the environment. In these dreams, the scenario features you being pursued by an attacker, an animal, a monster or an unknown figure, who wants to hurt or possibly kill you. Consequently, you run, you hide or you try to outwit your pursuer. Your actions in the dream parallel how you would respond to pressure and cope with fears, stress or various situations in your waking life. Instead of confronting the situation, your dream indicates that you have a tendency to run away and avoid the issue. Ask yourself who is chasing you, so that you can gain an understanding and insight of the source of your fears and anxieties.

The pursuer or attacker who is chasing you in your dream may also represent an aspect of yourself. Your own feelings of anger, jealousy, fear, and possibly love, can manifest itself as the threatening figure. Or the shadowy figure can also symbolize rejected characteristics of your self. You may be projecting these feelings onto the unknown chaser. Next time you a dream of being chased, turn around and confront your pursuer. Ask them why they are chasing you. Perhaps you are running away from something. What are you trying to run from?

Consider the distance or gap between you and your pursuer. This indicates your closeness to the issue. If the pursuer is gaining on you, then it suggests that the problem is not going to go away. The problem will surround you until you confront and address it."

Bugger.
This doesn't help me at all. Yes, I am stressed, anxious and generally upset about the break-up and I can accept that its affecting more severely on a sub-conscious level than I'd care to admit. To be honest, I am just trying to take one day at a time and I'm going through the motions hoping that my life will return to having some semblance of normalcy soon.

But there is one piece of good news though. At least I didn't cry myself to sleep last night.

Clarity in Brief

T'was a snot-filled weekend. I have to hand it to my mum and brother who clearly clocked my red, puffy eyes, the piles of tissue next to my pillow and my general state of despair and yet, chose to ignore the elephant in the room. But that's my family for you. You'd literally have to fall into pieces in front of them before they confront any subject headlong. Sometimes I wish they weren't such dogged pacifists.

And so I have decided that as part of moving on, I will chronicle, chronicle, chronicle this experience. As I grow older, I tend to compartmentalize my life into categories. The general sections look something like this:

1. Negative past
Subsection A: Things I don't want to remember
Subsection B: Things I don't want to remember but do anyway

2. Positive past
Subsection A: Things I should remember
Subsection B: Things I should remember but fail to do so

3. All encompassing present
Subsection A: Current fucked-upness
Subsection B: Current good stuff
Subsection C: What if, If only, Oh crap, Hmm...

4. The future
Subsection A: Plans that may or may not materialize
Subsection B: The bleeding unknown

Of course there are situations which don't belong neither here nor there. Sometimes they overlap or maybe they start out in one compartment and then shift into another after some time. For example, my current experiences fall into the Category 3, Subsection A but with time, I hope it moves into Category 2, Subsection A instead of Category 1, Subsection A or B (both equally bad in this case).

I know it all sounds very complicated and that you probably think I am a certifiable nutcase but I do this with good reason. I have, for a good part of my life always kept a journal of my life events. I started blogging ten years ago and my first blog was one very long angst-ridden piece of prolonged whining. Prior to blogging and during the intermittent periods where I was absent from the blogosphere, I went back to traditional journalling. I still have the journal I kept from my early 20s and when I read some of the entries I penned back then, I don't know whether to laugh, cry or be to utterly horrified. Sometimes reading those past entries is gut-wrenching. Episodes that your sub-conscious filed away under the 'best forgotten' section suddenly grab you by your neck and you re-live the entire episode in your head and run the gamut of emotions that you felt back then, only in a slightly muted fashion.

But the positive is this - no matter how difficult or painful or complex that period of my life may have been, I can safely say that I survived it, got past it, learned from it and went on to have other experiences. This is why I want to chronicle my life. Personally, it is very important for me to look back and know where I came from so that I can not repeatedly make the same mistakes and then repeatedly club myself over the head for doing so. That doesn't make everything smooth sailing because I am after all human and idiotic and compelled to fall headlong into the every hole that comes my way at every given opportunity. So the head bashing is kinda inevitable.

Alas, given the current situation, my brain is still grappling with the reality of my decision at 2am on Saturday morning. The full impact hasn't quite hit me yet. Despite bawling my eyes out and blowing my nose so much that it has started to peel (eww...), my brain and my heart seem to be bewildered and cannot reconcile what was said that night(morning?) with the consequences of those statements that were exchanged.

So pardon me if I suddenly start blogging like a possessed creature. I just need to let this out so I can find myself all over again.

Forever is a Bloody Long Time

And so I was on the train en route to work doing the usual 'I will pull out my smart phone and pretend to look busy by surfing Facebook' act when my attention was yanked by an update from one of my colleagues who announced her engagement to her boyfriend. As my brain registered the update, I ran through a series of thoughts in the following order:

1. WOW!
2. HA!
3. Good for them!
4. Aren't they a little young?
5. Hmmm... o.O

I am truly happy for the said colleague but of course, my non-linear brain had to veer wildly and start thinking of all sorts of things. I sometimes believe that I am some type of crazy but it's just that nobody has attached a medical name to it yet. Anyway...

The concept of marriage has always boggled me. Growing up in my house, relationships and marriage were not topics of open discussion. And after witnessing my parents' marriage, I grew up telling myself that I would be very careful with my choice of partner and even more careful about who I would marry. Of course this perception changed as I grew older. Had you asked me when I was 23 or 24, what I wanted to do with my life, I would have not hesitated to tell you that I wanted to get married and start a family. Ask me that same question now and I will bestow upon you my most flummoxed expression, shrug like a Frenchman and tell you "not now".

Before you point an accusatory finger and say that I am jaded, let me explain that I am not against the idea of marriage. I am all for it BUT(!) marriage is far too serious an issue to just rush headlong into. Having got myself stuck (yes, I said stuck), in a long-term relationship, I realize why there are many brave people who choose to plunge into that gigantic M pool. Alas, it is this same relationship that has made me realize jumping into the M pool with the wrong person is a bid for disaster.

Sure, when we all start going out with someone new, it's all fun and fluffy and exciting that you think his/her compulsive need to iron his/her underwear is just soooo cute! And then when that initial insanity high wears off, everything you found cute, cuddly and adorable about that person drives you up the wall and you want to reach for the nearest implement (recommended: giant flower vase) to bludgeon the person on the head, repeatedly.

This is not to say that after 'honeymooning', it's all over. However, relationships are in general a real test of character. Patience, compromise and not yelling 'I quit!' and running for the nearest hill each time you get ticked off is a big-ass commitment. Marriage is that level of commitment to the power of n or until one of you kicks the bucket. In simple terms, that's one hell of a big ass.

Well there's always divorce you say. Personally, I am in two minds about the D word. Yes, if your spouse is an adulterous bastard/whore shagging everything that moves apart from you and you want out, I say that's totally fair. No one should put up with that. If you choose to put up with that though, I suggest you don't behave like a martyr. Then there's the other lot who decide that after getting married for X number of years and having a brood of children and a dog that the person they married is not right for them. I agree people change over time but I don't believe that that's sufficient reason to dissolve a marriage and a family unit just because one party 'can't stand it anymore'. Divorce is ugly regardless of whether there are children in the picture or not. Adults often don't realize the side-effects that a divorce has on them. I have witnessed several people go through the process with and without kids and either way, the final outcome is never pleasant for all members involved. Having said that though, if you've been married and suddenly realize that you're a gay/lesbian and need to come out of the closet because you can no longer hide your homo-erotic desires and tendencies, then okay, divorce away. Better that than live a painful life of lies.

I'm pretty sure that not everyone will agree with my views and I can accept and respect that. My only advice for those who choose to take the plunge is to ask yourself if your commitment to other person is rock solid. Put together a checklist of things that you like and dislike about the other person. Go through the list of dislikes and ask yourself if you really, really, really see yourself putting up with those dislikes and all the forms into which they could mutate with time, for the rest of your life. If you find yourself being unsure of more than half those items on that list, then it's time to take a step back and ask yourself if marriage is really the route you want to walk down. To be fair, this probably isn't the best way to decide if you want to settle down with someone because there are a million factors that could come into play (e.g., shotgun pregnancy, need green card to stay in significant other's country, bored and don't know what to do with one's life etc.) However, it's a basic requirement. If you can't see yourself dealing with the small stuff, then forget about dealing with all the other crap that is going to fly your way over the period of forever after.

As for me, I'm going to risk sitting down and shooting the breeze until I'm ready to throw myself into the pool.

Emotional Wrecking Ball

Trying to give-up something is sometimes a lot harder than I would like it to be. Look at me - can't and don't want to give up smoking, can't and don't want to give up alcohol, can't and don't know how to get out of what can only be described as a dysfunctional 'relationship' situation. Oh yes, I am a wreck, in more ways than one.

I've often been in the position to give my friends emotional counsel especially where matters of the heart are concerned. Alas, I am the worse type of physician there can be because I have an awful lot of trouble trying to swallow a dose of my own medication.

You see, I have rarely been in the situation of being the 'dumper' when it comes to ending a relationship. I have no qualms admitting that I have been very much plonked into the 'dumpee' position more often times than I can care to remember. Does this make me a pushover? No. It's more a case of wrong guy, wrong time, wrong place all at once. I admit to not having been wise with my previous choices but therein lies the beauty of hindsight and experience.

Having been in and out (mostly in) in what many will call a serious relationship for over 3 years now, I seem to have reached a major crossroads. The question is not 'What next?' as many would expect from a long-term relationship but 'How do I get out of this?'

Whilst you sit in your chair and lurch in horror at that statement, let me clarify that this is not a fly by night statement but an issue that has been plaguing me for many months now. Of course, you're bound to ask the usual questions - Is there someone else? Nope. Is he cheating? Nope. Are you happy? Nope. (Surprise!) Is he awful? Nope. Are you insane? Possibly. Do you love him? Yes but not enough.

So what is the problem? The problem is that this relationship is no longer what it is meant to be - a relationship. It has become a situation where two people who have known each other for an extended period of time fall into a monotonous routine that is boring, suffocating and far from enriching to either party. Put it this way, when we meet we end up talking (more like bitching) about work, discussing the few mutual friends we have, planning what to eat or watching tv in an almost ascetic silence. In the absence of a tv, we end up staring into the distance with a look that suggests we're contemplating something and nothing at the same time. Multiply this scenario by two weekdays and every weekend of your life and you'd get a faint understanding of what this is all about.

Before you jump to the conclusion that it is just one big boring repetition of same story but different day, let me clarify that there have been/are ups and downs too. However, despite the closeness, the time spent together and the supposed connection that we share, I spend a lot my time fretting and asking myself why I feel empty. The hardest part is not figuring out why. It's the 'Oh shit, what do I do now?' that bothers the crap out of me.

Most sensible people will very sensibly tell me that I should sit down with the other person and have a sensible conversation and tell him that things aren't working out. Problem is, these issues are rarely ever sensible to begin with and even harder to be sensibly dealt with. Plus throw in the fact that the partner has a tendency to go ballistic at the slightest indication of your departure. Even mentioning it is taboo because he will turn around and make you feel vile about the whole thing despite you saying "It's not you, it's ALL MY FAULT."

No one likes being the bad person in any given situation. Okay, except maybe Hannibal Lectre but that's a moot point. The point is, no one likes to deal with break-ups regardless of whether one is the 'dumper' or 'dumpee'. Either way, it sucks. If you've always thought that being on the receiving end sucks, then imagine the person who is sitting there telling you that 'it's all over' because he/she knows full well that you're going to cry, be upset and basically hate him/her and label him/her a #*%&!@(&$)%#()#!! bastard/bitch/asshole/slut/ingrate (delete where applicable).

So what am I going to do? I don't have a clue. I admit to being a spineless worm in this situation. I've been given tons of advice by members of both sexes with varying experiences of the 'dumper'-'dumpee' situation and I am none the wiser. But needs must and all that good stuff, I need to get out of this rut before my heart turns to complete grot.

Half my heart's got a real good imagination
Half my heart's got you
Half my heart's got a right mind to tell you
That half my heart won't do

Gee thanks, John Mayer.