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Saturday, August 30th, 2008
poofterama
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6:45p
petty and superficial
I don't know why I'm so bugged by him having such ugly friends. Wouldn't it be worse if they're goodlooking? Maybe I just don't want him to have friends.
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(comment on this) Wednesday, August 27th, 2008
sophiaysf
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3:43p
I am having my cold sore!!!
It has been almost a year since I had an attack. In fact I forgot about my last attack. This is bad timing. I haven’t seen the kids in 2 weeks and I’ve loads of hugs and kisses reserved for them this Saturday! Damn!
Actually, it came late, I should have been affected in Scotland since the weather was so cold, I was having a cold and a bad throat, having my period and didn't have enough rest. 4 enough reasons for a breakout. The last reason for a breakout is too much sun.
Can you fucking imagine that? Too much cold, too much sun, not enough rest, period and sickness can bring about my cold sore! I should be constantly sterilized or something.
But then again, I’ve been living with this since god knows when. And I am my own cure and medicine.
On other news, my ANOTHER new laptop bag just arrive yesterday from the States!
TADA!
The Komen
It’s my third Mobile Edge purchase! This one cost me SGD 220. Worth every cent since I need to carry my lappie whenever I go. My shoulders are suffering from the lopsided bag that I’ve been carrying for years.
My other conquests of Mobile Edge:
Madison Tote (I’ve got the lighter one)
Milano Tote (faux leather, a little small for me)
I think they are better investment than a LV, Prada or a Gucci bag. Comes lifetime warranty and super functional. Everyone keeps asking me where I get my chio chio bags. =D
current mood:  jubilant
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(comment on this)
sophiaysf
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1:20p
Things are changing and I just know it.
He started to buy green tea and I thought nothing of it. It tasted good, plenty of antioxidants, doesn't keep you awake at night. Then we start out with 1 vegetarian day a week. It was great and it got even better when we went full salad days in Scotland. I started to have a hunger for more, I’ve been eating vegetarian whenever possible, buying organic ice cream because I always puke after eating milk or creamed ice cream. Ice cream with rice taste so much better and it actually keeps in my stomach!
Then just yesterday, a conversation we made almost 6 months ago visualized. He actually wanted to organic detoxification juices. So today, I’m on a quest on finding the most cost effective organic juices available to purchase. Organic foods are not exactly THAT cheap… well except for organic ice cream, IF you compare them to Haagen-dazs or Ben’s and Jerry. Organic ice cream is about 20% to 30% cheaper only lah.
Oh, did I mention that we have also stopped putting sugar into our coffee? It started out because we have extra packets of sugar lying around and we didn't want to waste it, hence we are getting coffee with creamer. Then it tasted so nice without the sugar, we totally drop the sugar. It’s now lying some around in my dad’s kitchen.
I’m looking forward to more great things to come. A fridge full of fresh vegetables, boxes of juices, soya bean drinks, and lots more of supplements. I’ve also started to buy supplements again.
current mood:  hopeful
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(comment on this) Monday, August 25th, 2008
witheringtravis
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11:30a
one year on
and everyday is still a celebration.
i am so blessed.
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(5 comments | comment on this) Sunday, August 24th, 2008
witheringtravis
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11:35a
loss
It is a dark place to be now but we will pull through.
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(5 comments | comment on this) Friday, August 22nd, 2008
(comment on this) Thursday, August 21st, 2008
poofterama
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9:49p
textbook perfect
Reunion - John Cheever
The last time I saw my father was in Grand Central Station. I was going from my grandmother’s in the Adirondacks to a cottage on the Cape that my mother had rented, and I wrote my father that I would be in New York between trains for an hour and a half, and asked if we could have lunch together. His secretary wrote to say that he would meet me at the information booth at noon, and at twelve o’clock sharp I saw him coming through the crowd. He was a stranger to me – my mother divorced him three years ago and I hadn’t been with him since – but as soon as I saw him I felt that he was my father, my flesh and blood, my future and my doom. I knew that when I was grown I would be something like him; I would have to plan my campaigns within his limitations. He was a big, good-looking man, and I was terribly happy to see him again. He struck me on the back and shook my hand. “Hi, Charlie,” he said. “Hi, boy. I’d like to take you up to my club, but it’s in the Sixties, and if you have to catch an early train I guess we’d better get something to eat around here.” He put his arm around me, and I smelled my father the way my mother sniffs a rose. It was a rich compound of whiskey, after-shave lotion, shoe polish, woolens, and the rankness of a mature male. I hoped that someone would see us together. I wished that we could be photographed. I wanted some record of us having been together.
We went out of the station and up a side street to a restaurant. It was still early, and the place was empty. The bartender was quarreling with a delivery boy, and there was one very old waiter in a red coat down by the kitchen door. We sat down, and my father hailed the waiter in a loud voice. “Kneller!” he shouted. “Garçon! Cameriere! You!” His boisterousness in the empty restaurant seemed out of place. “Could we have a little service here!” he shouted. “Chop-chop.” Then he clapped his hands. This caught the waiter’s attention, and he shuffled over to our table. “Were you clapping your hands at me?” he asked. “Calm down, calm down, sommelier,” my father said. “If it isn’t too much to ask of you – if it wouldn’t be too much above and beyond the call of duty, we would like a couple of Beefeater Gibsons.”
“I don’t like to be clapped at,” the waiter said.
“I should have brought my whistle,” my father said. “I have a whistle that is audible only to the ears of old waiters. Now, take out our little pad and your little pencil and see if you can get this straight: two Beefeater Gibsons. Repeat after me two Beefeater Gibsons.”
“I think you’d better go somewhere else,” the waiter said quietly.
“That,” said my father, “is one of the most brilliant suggestions I have ever heard. Come on, Charlie, let’s get the hell out of here.”
I followed my father out of that restaurant into another. He was not so boisterous this time. Our drinks came, and he cross-questioned me about the baseball season. He then struck the edge of his empty glass with his knife and began shouting again. “Garçon! Kneller! Cameriere! You! Could we trouble you to bring us two more of the same.”
“How old is the boy?” the waiter asked.
“That,” said my father, “is none of your Goddamned business.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter said, “but I won’t serve the boy another drink.”
“Well, I have some news for you,” my father said. “I have some very interesting news for you. This doesn’t happen to be the only restaurant in New York. They’ve opened another on the corner. Come on, Charlie.”
He paid the bill, and I followed him out of that restaurant into another. Here the waiters wore pink jackets like hunting coats, and there was a lot of horse tack on the walls. We sat down, and my father began to shout again. “Master of the hounds! Tallyhoo and all that sort of thing. We’d like a little something in the way of stirrup cup. Namely, two Bibson Geefeaters.”
“Two Bibson Geefeaters?” the waiter asked, smiling.
“You know damned well what I want,” my father said angrily. “I want two Beefeater Gibsons, and make it snappy. Things have changed in jolly old England. So my friend Duke tells me. Let’s see what England can produce in the way of a cocktail.”
“This isn’t England,” the waiter said.
“Don’t argue with me,” my father said. “Just do as you’re told.”
“I just thought you might like to know where you are,” the waiter said.
“If there is one thing I cannot tolerate,” my father said, “it is an impudent domestic. Come on, Charlie.”
The fourth place we went to was Italian. “Buon giorno,” my father said. “Per favore, passiamo avere due cocktail americani, forti, forti. Molto gin, poco vermut.”
“I don’t understand Italian,” the waiter said.
“Oh, come off it,” my father said. “You understand Italian, and you know damned well you do. Vogliamo due cocktail americani. Subito.”
The waiter left us and spoke with the captain, who came over to our table and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but this table is reserved.”
“All right,” my father said. “Give us another table.”
“All the tables are reserved,” the captain said.
“I get it,” my father said. “You don’t desire my patronage. Is that it? Well, the hell with you. Vada all’inferno. Let’s go Charlie.”
“I have to get my train,” I said.
“I’m sorry, sonny,” my father said. “I’m terribly sorry.” He put his arm around me and pressed me against him. “I’ll walk you back to the station. If there had only been time to go up to my club.”
“That’s all right, Daddy,” I said.
“I’ll get you a paper,” he said. “I’ll get you a paper to read on the train.”
Then he went up to a newsstand and said, “Kind sir, will you be good enough to favor me with one of your Goddamned, no good, ten-cent afternoon papers?” The clerk turned away from him and stared at a magazine cover. “Is it asking too much for you to sell me one of your disgusting specimens of yellow journalism?”
“I have to go, Daddy,” I said. “It’s late.”
“Now, just wait a second, sonny,” he said. “Just wait a second. I want to get a rise out of this chap.”
“Goodbye, Daddy,” I said, and I went down the stairs and got my train, and that was the last time I saw my father.
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(comment on this) Tuesday, August 19th, 2008
(comment on this)
poofterama
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6:51p
the new nazis
Anthony Lane on the Olympics opening ceremony:
The obvious precedent for Beijing was the Berlin Olympics, in 1936. Both were showcases for a muscle-flexing nation, although Hitler made an elementary error when he chose not to dress his young National Socialists in lime-green catsuits laced with twinkling fairy lights. By a careful choice of color scheme, China was able to draw the sting from any accusations of militarism, while rarely permitting the result to slide into camp. Whereas the organizers of the Sydney Olympics, in 2000, served up bicycling prawns without a murmur, this was a serious spectacle, and its climax—Li Ning, a former Olympic gymnast and now the owner of a leading sportswear brand, loping through the midnight air, in slow motion, around the inner rim of the stadium—was a pure crystallization of Chinese intent, the entrepreneurial fused with the wondrous. Shares in Li’s company soared like the man himself, and that one night reportedly made his life sweeter by thirty million dollars.
Like Berlin’s ceremony, Beijing’s was entwined with cinema, and with the great expectations that movies leave in our mind’s eye. The German Games were filmed by Leni Riefenstahl, and shaped into “Olympia” (1938), just as the Nuremberg rallies were commemorated—and their full meaning revealed—in her 1935 “Triumph of the Will.” The artistic director of this year’s ceremony was Zhang Yimou, recently the director of “Hero” and “House of Flying Daggers.” His films have been dreamily beautiful from the start, and, in a sense, to go from “Raise the Red Lantern,” in 1991, to raising one vast, glowing, earthlike lantern from the bowels of the National Stadium, with people standing on it at every angle, like the Little Prince, is not so surprising a progression. But there was a time, too, when Zhang made trouble for the Chinese authorities, who banned him from accepting a prize at the Cannes Film Festival in 1994, and when his movies stared hard at the problems of individual folk. He has softened since then, becoming a dazzling arranger of hue and motion, and is now the favored son of his homeland, but we no longer watch his work for the depth of the characters, any more than we do Riefenstahl’s. We watch them both and ask ourselves, what kind of society is it that can afford to make patterns out of its people? India is hugely populous, too, but a Delhi opening ceremony would be a more rambunctious affair. Nobody will ever surpass the mathematical majesty of that night in Beijing, and, in retrospect, that may be a good thing.
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(3 comments | comment on this) Monday, August 18th, 2008
sophiaysf
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12:23p
Sam and I have apparently morphed into this comfortable couplehood that we have started planning yearly trips for the rest of our lives. We have also started to look at furniture, appliances, electronics and bedding. He was quite delighted that we managed to get a set of bedsheet with 400 threadcount at only 70 bucks. He is mid-way domesticated. Haha! It’s every Virgo woman’s dream!
Anyway, so having fulfilled the quota for this year’s traveling, in fact I think we over traveled a little. We are homebodies, having to always go on trips stresses us out. So for next year’s plan, we are just going to do the little island of Hong Kong. I wonder if I should do this trip by ourselves or hunt out friends and relatives.
Sam can read the Chinese words and I can translate them into Cantonese. Language is not a barrier. The last time I remember going to HK was when the plane was still flying over the squatters. I remembered looking out the window and saw a lady hanging her clothes, I had a rude shock. That was I think during the early 90s, I was still in secondary school. Shortly after that, I made a second trip either after O levels or was in first year poly. I can’t remember the exact date. I went with my mom and sis and didn’t really have a good time.
I promised Sam that I will show him around, for I still remembered the way. I wanted to show him the streets and alley but I think by now, they would have changed a lot. The main purpose of him going is to get limited edition toys. His regular toy shop always go to HK to get the toys, Sam wanted to go find the source himself. He just got a limited edition Mattel Batmobile that was dated back in the early edition of Batman, around 60s or 70s. It was such a prize buy to Sam that he had to hide it in the car in case someone breaks into his car and steals it. -_- talk about obsession!
He got me a gorgeous Corpse Bride, about 20-30 inches tall, with furry purple hair and dirt-induced off-white wedding dress. Sam keep asking the owner of the shop if they have opened the box as the wedding dress is indeed dirty. Corpse Bride IS dirty what! She’s a half-decaying zombie! And yet she looks gorgeous. I have 2 Corpse Bride figures already but I can never find Victor the ‘Groom’.
Anyway, back to HK, so we will have a detour to Taiwan, where he will take charge and show me around since I hardly read any Chinese. I just hope that I don't make a fool out of myself, my Cantonese is goddamn rusty and my Chinese is half baked. Hokkien is out of the question.
By the way, while I was cleaning my mom’s house yesterday, a Malay guy came over and wanted to sell us crackers. He couldn’t speak any English and none of us could speak proper Malay. I ended up having short words and sentences in Malay with him and got myself a packet of ikan koropo. Sam was surprised at my Malay leh! The last time I traveled with Sam and his father to Malaysia, his dad really though that I could speak Malay and talked to me in Malay! This makes me even more eager to put up conversational Malay. Gotta go hunt for courses now.
So this coming Friday, I will be on the cruise finally! Yippee! Sun tanning, books reading and plenty of cheap cocktails!
current mood: cheerful
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(comment on this)
sophiaysf
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10:59a
It must be PMS that is causing all these. I’m highly irritable by my mother since yesterday, she is like a needle poking constantly on a balloon causing it to have a major explosion and break into a million pieces.
A Recipe for Disaster
1 part anger
2 parts strength
¾ of a day
3 healthy adults
1 semi-blind self-proclaimed ‘old lady’
1000 pieces of rubbish and/or junk
40 fixed carton boxes
15 parts frustration
3 averaged sized bedrooms
1. Put ¾ of a day into hot piping pan. Stir fry till brown.
2. Add 3 healthy adults, slightly shaken, for additional (optional) flavor, add 1 semi-blind self-proclaimed ‘old lady’. Beware of splatter though.
3. Mixed everything in the pan. Slice 1 part anger and 2 parts strength, put them into the pan and keep the temperature and fire steady.
4. Let it simmer with 3 average sized bedrooms for about 20 minutes.
5. Meanwhile, prepare 1000 pieces of rubbish and/or junk, dice and slice finely, and fix them into the 40 fixed carton boxes.
6. After the pan has been stewed for 20 minutes, pour contents into the 40 fixed carton boxes.
7. Garnish with plenty of 15 parts frustration.
8. Ready to serve 4
Mom is really driving me up the wall with her negativity and indecisiveness.
current mood:  pissed off
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(comment on this)
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