"My dear fellow, who will let you?"

This is it. 4 years + 2 days since I landed on Ol' Blightey's shores. This post would've come earlier if I hadn't fcked up my router at home and lost my internets *oops*

4 years + 2 days, 1 passport, 28 countries, 75 different cities, 85 gigs (before I stopped counting). Can't complain :)

There is nothing else much for me to say :) You've read it all. Thank you everyone! Especially you, Sparkles Magoo for always providing a challenge *lol*

One last thing about being back. Yes, I've started seeing someone. He's a nicely buff young geek by the name of Daniel *grin* I pwn'd his ass on Xbox (3-0 Soul Calibur! W00t!), so there's hope for this relationship yet ;)

I'm leaving you with my fave quote from my fave book. I've always had a copy of The Fountainhead wherever I end up. I've read and re-read this book countless times. I open it when I need a reminder of myself. For those who always wondered what motivated me to do the things that I did on this blog -

"That's not the point. The point is, who will stop me?"

Indefinitely (part ii)

When I told Rondoners I was leaving town, the number one response was, "That's soo sad!"

Erm... Not really :) I can tell you that my last 12 months in Rondon has taught me to be optimistic beyond optimism. I can tell you that I went to temple every week to ask for guidance and the courage not to breakdown. I can tell you that the only time I felt quiet and at peace was when I was in a room with my golden gods. I can tell you that I had a lot of people whinge to me about their relationships, their jobs and their lives. To the point where I just wanted to smack them and say, "Muscle up princess" :P

Got to look forward, no time to feel sorry for myself. Get over it, because it ain't going to get easier until you do. *cliche* *cliche* but it's true.

What do I loves about being back in Sydnery?

WELL, the first person I called was Boozy Floozy *grin* He made me swoon over a welcome back lunchies of tuna sashimi marinated with soy and truffle essence sauce AND a black cod marinated in white miso *swoooon* I never gets tired of that dreamy tuna... Boozy Floozy and his Missus have kept me in a constant Friday hangover state since I've been back *grin*

Immediately after were S&J, "Surprise!!! I'm back, whatcho doing?" Followed by a wunderbar evening out on the warm outdoor terrace of Ching-a-ling with the fresh-from-Japan-pow-pow de Freres and the gang (^_^) Capped off with a roast cooked with an USB temperature gauge *uh huh* at H&B's place.

Two weeks back and I'm working in the city. Won't talk about the job, but will talk about Shuai being my lunch and coffee buddy at Vella Nero :) Friday mornings definitely wouldn't be as much fun if I wasn't hungover at Vella Nero and catching up on the news with Shuai.

What's there not to love about being back?

I haven't even mentioned the magical laundry basket at home yet *grin* Oooh yeah, I loves being spoilt. After 4 years overseas, and before that, 6 years out of home - I've finally learnt to appreciate just being with my parents.

On the flipside, there are the babies. TONS of babies. It's a bit weird to be hanging out with friends from Uni, whom I used to catch the train with 10 years ago, and whose kids are now all playing together. Put me in the mix and you'll be playing the Sesame St game "One of These Things is Not Like The Other". I can now tell you about childcare rebates, toilet training and The Naughty Corner. It's still all good.

A city is what you make of it. Right now, what makes Sydnery for me, is being with those I heartses the mostest. And having the fun with them that I've missed out on in the past 4 years *big grin*

Now if only B was here...


I drinks my coffee every morn at Single Origin:

I ates at Sumalee with my visiting Rondon lovelies:

_Bestest_ eggs at Kawa:

I screamed like a girl:

(...and then I screamed some more when my Dad pretended to pick it up and chuck it at me)

If you ask me what hurtses the most about being in Sydnery, it's not having Chubby here. I swear, I can still hear him *huffing* and snoring. I can hear his nails clicking on the floorboards...

Staycation

Living in Rondon doesn't mean you have to leave it to enjoy it :) Well, err, actually, it does mean that, but you don't have to leave the country to enjoy it *grin*

One of the best holidays I've had, is at the Lakes District. You get the freshest air, you get the greenest view. Value for hiking effort. All about 5 or 6 hours outside of Rondon.

What's a "Staycation", I hear you say? It's when there's a GFC (the one that didn't hit Australia but Australians seem to think it did... and it makes me think of KFC) and you can't afford to leave the country for a holiday. So you take a break and eksplore (my retarded "aks" key doesn't work on my MBP anymore) your own territory.

Most high-larious thing - I was the only one without hiking shoes, and I was the only one who survived without injury ;)

Anyways, enough rambling, here are some proper rambler piks :P

Here endeth my travel tales...
It wouldn't have been the same without the Ladiezzz :)
*MUAH*

Sidetracked

"Asian in Sydnery" just doesn't have the same ring. However, here's what I'm thinking tonight.
===
I'd like to think that I'm pretty open minded and non-prejudicial. I looooves my curries. I looooves my garlic and onions. I looooves my booze. All this must reek the next day, and I wouldn't know unless you tells me.

But FFS, how can it be that bad that even though my nose is against an open window and there's half a metre between us - I CAN SMELL YOU ENOUGH THAT I HAVE TO STOP BREATHING?!?

I'm sorry to say, the stinky curry stereotype is true. You want to know how tolerant I am? I stayed in my seat until the next stop 15 mins away. *15mins* of inescapable body odour without a dirty look or word.

The other gripe I have, and I'm saying this because it seriously vexes me - total fatties on trains. I'm talking about fat to the point of I understand why it's called morbid. I'm not apologising for thinking this either. You know what? I eat. I loooooves my food. If you look at my genetic history, my father's side is filled with pot bellies, size 16-20, zipper club triple bypasses, bowel problems, secret diabetes and hypertension. My point is, in our time and generation - we know better. I've learnt from it and I don't eat lard as an everyday food like my Dad used to (yes, it's nommy). You don't fcking eat to the point where you waddle. You don't fcking eat to the point where a seat for three is a competition between me and two fatties.

Yes, that's what my everyday mornings on the train are like.

An evil glance at the two fatties who take up a seat for three. For this I have to stand for 40mins. I seriously *tried* once to squeeze in between two fatties. I had to stand up again when my butt obviously couldn't fit. You know what's bad?!? The fatties _didn't bother_ to make space at all. No shuffling over. All I needed was an inch or two either side. To which I'm internalising, "fat fckers". Gawd forgive me for thinking bad thoughts about humankind.

Can't wait for those heart attacks to happen :P

Yes. I think you _should_ feel bad about taking up an extra half seat. I fcking run when I *hates* running. At least try to take some pride in your body, especially when you're a fatty at <= my age.

To be fair, I'm not a morning person.

Don't even get me started on fatties on planes.

Indefinitely (part i)

It's been a strange end to an amazing, rollercoaster journey.

Some of you know - I've left Rondon. Returned to Sydnery. Indefinitely.

The others - I can hear you *gasping* now :)

It was never planned, I just had a ticket. My life felt like it had been on hold for the past twelve months. Push eventually came to shove and I'd lost this round against destiny and my gods. When the decision was made to leave Rondon, I had one week to pack up four years of my life. 28kgs of singlet tops (some things about me never change), another 7kg of extra-gawd-knows-what later, I was on a plane home. So, here I am. After eight months of dredging through the Rondon job market, I found myself a job in Sydnery within two weeks.

In my last week in Rondon, I got immensely queasy and ill with Babsy :) Bad oysters, bad clams or just too much alcohol? We'll never know *grin* I had one last dinner date with Mrs P, who has been my constant cake and chocolate buddy since... 2003! I made a batch of laksa from the last of my stash for Sus, Wazzz and Frisbee (surprised that we're still friends? So am I!). Niffies and M-San fine dined me at Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley (where I was politely told to put my camera away or the chef would get upset). I had my last Benito's Hat burrito with Hottie and Mr D. Then I felt queasy and had to go home *grin*

My last day in Rondon? I woke up early, met my aunt for brekky at The Wolseley. Walked out to a crisp sunny Rondon day. As I walked from Piccadilly to Oxford Street to pick up my Uniqlo jeans, I was quiet and happy. The streets of Rondon were more familiar to me now than Sydnery. 4 years in Rondon had gifted me with a LOT of love and adventure. Ups and downs.

Tell you a not-so-well-kept secret - I hated living in Rondon when I first arrived. It was complicated, filled with paperwork, and I had *nothing*. I was in tears a lot, and at one point, ready to pack it all in and go home. Now I love it because it has never ending possibilities. It's about having choice and empowerment. Hottie and Mr D made the biggest impact on me before I left. They showed me that what I want is possible, especially in Rondon... If only I could focus long enough to figure out what I wanted!

My last day in Rondon I donated a crapload of clothes and books to Oxfam. I met up with Mrs P for an almond croissant at South Bank. I packed, and unpacked, and packed. For a "minimalist", I had a surprising amount of crap.

If you ask me what I miss most about Rondon - it's B. I can't tell you how much I miss B. The constant in my life for over a decade. The first person to greet me when I was fresh off the boat. Seriously, B was on the doorstep with a Timeout Cheap Eats guide waiting for me :) The only one who made me teary when saying "see you soon" before I left. The persona who is always there for me. Strangely, this is the first time we've lived separate lives. My final night dinner was with B at Barrafina, my fave tapas bar. The only thing missing was the hawt Spaniard waiter! Haha :)

I'll avoid the cliches. This is all I'm going to say about leaving Rondon - Thanks to all who have made Rondon a bloody good time for me. You know who you are. It's not goodbye, it's see you later ;)

Legless

Is thinking that I should stop answering, "Strong", when the bartender asks me how I like my cocktails...

Not a word about the journey home hunny. Not. A. Word.

The awkward question

Hottie lent me a book to read recently, called "The 4-Hour Work Week". At the end of each chapter, is a "Comfort Challenge" for readers to complete. The one which keeps me entertained at the moment is:
=====
Get Phone Numbers (2 Days)
Being sure to maintain eye contact, ask for the phone numbers of at least two (the more you attempt, the less stressful it will be) attractive members of the opposite sex on each day... Remember that the real goal is not to get numbers, but to get over the fear of asking, so the outcome is unimportant.
=====

I'll be honest, in all my life, I can only remember two occasions which I've ever asked for a guy's number. The first time was when I met a pretty cool clubber at an Above & Beyond gig in Glasgow :) We actually kept in touch for awhile and nerdily, exchanged fave tracks of our week *grin* The second time was when I met Whirlwind, and well, you know how that went. Trust me when I say being a girl doesn't make asking for someone's number any easier. I feel even sorrier for guys as based on a survey I've done amongst friends, girls rarely ever ask for numbers!

Which brings me to my point of "Nice guys finish last". I just want to be clear, I'm NOT bagging out nice guys. I'm all for nice guys! It's just that I've heard a lot of complaints from my nice guy friends that they never get the girl! I'm saying it's because, judging by all the nice guys I'm friends with, it's totally against their nature to approach a girl, begin a conversation and ask for a number. If you're asking the question why do girls always end up with bad guys, it's because bad guys are typically arrogant and confident enough to make the move while the nice guys are standing against the wall.

Or from Hottie's point of view, maybe I'm just the type of girl that nice guys don't want to talk to :( *lol*

Maybe it's harsh to condemn nice guys to last place. Aives corrected me the other day, "Nice guys don't finish last, they just finish s..l..o..w." *grin*

Anyways, if you're looking for a way to amuse yourself, try completing the "Comfort Challenge" above. When I told AA about it, she insisted I try it out infront of her. It took me 3 beers and a margarita to build up enough Dutch courage to move my butt out of my seat and plonk it down opposite a male diner of AA's picking. When I was talking to Wazzz about it, it took me an old fashioned, a mojito, a vespa and a daiquiri (that's at least 7 shots) before I could open my mouth to the cute bartender :)

Wazzz pretending to be cute bartender:

My line? It's pretty lame *grin*
"If I ask you for your number, would you give me a real one or a fake one?"
Results:
:: Guy with a fiancee - Gave me his real number *lol*
:: 2 guys, both with gfs - Didn't give me a number at all!

I was quite impressed that all three immediately responded with their current relationship status. At the very least, I got happily trashed and I probably made three guys pretty happy that day :)

Wazzz: "What do you want?"
Me: "Nothing with Sambuca in it... *gag*"
*Wazz orders drinks*
Me: "What's that??"
Bartender: "It's a Baby Guinness. It's Sambuca topped with Baileys."
*Me smacks Wazzz*

The problem with...

...trying to forge an alternative career as a romance novelist is - I know shit-all about romance.

I think one of the most depressing questions I've ever been asked is, "What's the most romantic thing that's ever happened to you?"

To which I replied, "Errr... nothing. The only time I ever got flowers was when the Ex knew he'd been a major dick and was in big trouble" :P

I know nothing about random love notes, random love surprises, random I-love-you-just-because moments, random sweep-me-off-my-feet-Mr-Darcy gestures. Does anyone?!?

What on earth made me think about being a romance writer to begin with?

Well, honestly? I was busy mocking all the crappy Mills&Boons novels out there and thinking I could do better. Come on... Greek tycoon subjugates Wild Beauty?!? Down-to-earth ambitious Heroine tames arrogant and obnoxious Rich Billionaire? Come on!!

Huh... What do I know... At least after a glass of white, I was able to knock out a page of "breathtaking" dates. No shirt ripping or throbbing genitals though. I think that might take a whole bottle of white... I'm starting to understand why Keats was always wasted when he wrote poetry :P

The journey...

I have an awful awful sense of direction. My saving grace is that I live in Zone 1, and I'll eventually get home regardless of where I start out from.

So it started out here, at the Tower of Rondon (home of the Crown Jewels and a 105-carat diamante. I've seen it, and yes, I will "settle" if you offer it to me *grin*).

That's an ice-rink on a moat infront of a castle, cool eh?
Literally cool. It's freaking freezing in Rondon atm.
Coldest winter *EVA*:

I'm sick as, and it's freezing. So I say my goodbyes and start trying to find my way home. Which would be a lot easier if I hadn't had 2 pints, Sudafed, paracetamol and no dinner. The cool thing is, landmarks are HUUUUGE in Rondon.

My first stop, Christopher Wren's Monument. For the history buffs, the Monument marks the spot where the Great Fire of Rondon started in 1666.

It's the brightly lit tower thingy standing in at 61m tall, just left of center:

I might not know where I'm going, but I kinda know where I live.
There's a hovering clock tower which looks familiar at the end of the street:

At this point, I'm contemplating catching a black cab:

Or a double-decker bus:

But hang on! Aah hah!!
As the bus moves away, the giant dome
of St Paul's Cathedral (another Christopher Wren creation)
blinks out at me:

So I keep walking towards the giant dome,
stumbling down streets I've never stumbled down before:


Now I know where I am :)

Rondon wouldn't be Rondon without the cranes in the sky:

I walk through another piece of history.
Centuries-old meat market...

... or Middle-Age execution ground for heretics?
For those Braveheart fans, William Wallace was executed
just round the corner from here:

Kurz & Lang, where me and B go for half price wieners *grin*

And I'm finally home:

Give me lost in Rondon anytime over owning a GPS...

Clarity

How funny.

The Whirlwind was in town and we were going to hang out today before he jumped onboard a plane back to his side of the world. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that not only was he a no-show, but he also didn't bother to let me know he couldn't make it this time. I didn't really feel anything. He's irresponsible enough that I know this is just how he works. I'm just annoyed at myself for falling for it. Whatever *it* was.

Later on in the evening, I met up with a guy from speed dating. This was the first time we'd met up since the event. Alas! Nice enough guy, decent looking, but sadly no spark throughout the evening. As I teased him over my half-pint of Amstel, I quietly asked myself if I could see myself in a relationship with this nice-enough-guy. In other words, could I just "settle" for whatever's thrown at me these days? Because, let's be honest, I'm not a spring chook anymore :P

After a second half-pint of Guinness, I was relieved to find the answer in my heart is still no.

Wait... If I'm not settling for a sparkless Nice Guy, why on earth was I putting myself through the emotional wringer for a Bad Guy? Who didn't even live in the same city as me? Who made me feel like a mental stalker waiting around for his calls? I think I overrated spark (and six-packs). Spark (and six-packs) are great *grin*, but it's no excuse for turning a blind eye to all those other things that are wrong.

So I wrote Whirlwind a goodbye email and told him not to contact me anymore. Shuttit... He's on a plane, so there's noway I can do this over the phone :P Besides, I'm too cheap to make an international call *grin*

Closure feels good. Understanding how "settling" seems so much more plausible and tempting at this stage of my life though, feels awful.

This Christmas...

...I woke up at 2am, and made Heston's 6-hour spagbol *grin* That's right! I finely chopped, heated loads of butter, mixed ingredients (bar celery because I was out of it) until 4am, then slotted it into the oven. I managed to stay up till 7am watching movies before conking out. Waking briefly at 10:30am to turn the oven off. Then going back to bed :P

Was it good? Wooo, yeah it was tasty. I have to say star anise and nutmeg really do make a difference. Was it worth the 6 hours in the oven? Heck no! :P I'd give it 3 hours max.

At 2pm, I walked over to St Paul's:
(Me wondering if the timer works)

(Me dropping my iPhone)

(Me wondering if the timer took the pic already)

(Me closing my eyes)

Got it right! :)
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
(if you haven't noticed, I'm dressed like a Christmas tree for you)
My pecan pie before oven...

My pecan pie after oven and what it so doesn't look like :(

Premature ejaculation

It's what happens when you have an itch to dance, but because there's nothing on, you grasp at RNB. It's when you rock up at the club at 9-freaking-30pm because that's when it starts. It's when you still manage to catch the last tubes home at midnight. It's 00:35 and I'm in bed already (this is when B and I normally leave home to catch the last tubes out to a dance club). It's where you go to meet guys who will stand next to you looking all nonchalant, and will wait for the girl to say the first word. Wow, that's not *awkward*. Grow some fcking balls! (sez I, as I stumble down the road home in my clickety-clackety patent RnB heels and shiny shiny RnB top).

"I likes showing off my tattoo"
(You can tell because it's freaking cold atm and he's holding his jumper)

The truth is, nice guys finish last because they don't have the balls to open their mouths. They don't make the effort to say, "Hey, you know what? You look fcking hot on the dance floor tonight and I'd love for you to do a shot with me".

Not sure about the other girls, but that'd work for me. Free booze! ;P As opposed to the, "HEY! WHAT'S YOUR NAME?!?!", I got tonight. "It's None of Your Fcking Business...", is what I was saying in my head.