tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265911362024-03-13T14:21:43.320+00:00oriental in rondonSynopsis of a bad chick-flick: 31 and not quite where I thought I was going to be when I was 25... Oops!reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.comBlogger621125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-69620902896378430412010-04-20T23:44:00.004+01:002010-04-21T00:18:56.815+01:00"My dear fellow, who will let you?"<span style="font-family:arial;">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* </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">4 years + 2 days, 1 passport, 28 countries, 75 different cities, 85 gigs (before I stopped counting). Can't complain :)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">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*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">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 ;)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm leaving you with my fave quote from my fave book. I've always had a copy of <a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/book/9780141188621/The-Fountainhead">The Fountainhead</a> 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 - </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >"That's not the point. The point is, who will stop me?"</span><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-11402715901125068142010-03-25T12:01:00.006+00:002010-03-25T13:05:27.321+00:00Indefinitely (part ii)<span style="font-family:arial;">When I told Rondoners I was leaving town, the number one response was, <span style="font-style: italic;">"That's soo sad!"</span><br /><br />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 <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/06/non-sequitor.html">whinge</a> to me about their relationships, their jobs and their lives. To the point where I just wanted to smack them and say, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Muscle up princess"</span> :P<br /><br />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. <span style="font-weight: bold;">*cliche* *cliche*</span> but it's true.<br /><br />What do I loves about being back in Sydnery?<br /><br />WELL, the first person I called was <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2008/08/hvar-part-ii.html">Boozy Floozy</a> *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*<br /><br />Immediately after were S&J, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Surprise!!! I'm back, whatcho doing?" </span>Followed by a wunderbar evening out on the warm outdoor terrace of <a href="http://barzine.com.au/ching-a-lings-darlinghurst.html">Ching-a-ling</a> 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.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://www.vellanero.com.au/">Vella Nero</a> :) 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.<br /><br />What's there not to love about being back?<br /><br />I haven't even mentioned the <span style="font-style: italic;">magical laundry basket</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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*<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Now if only B was here...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcqY_moMI/AAAAAAAADJM/YC4ZmCGa_Is/s1600/photo.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcqY_moMI/AAAAAAAADJM/YC4ZmCGa_Is/s320/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452553657195602114" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tdAfTOOhI/AAAAAAAADJ0/gq85U5_VO78/s1600/photo%287%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tdAfTOOhI/AAAAAAAADJ0/gq85U5_VO78/s320/photo%287%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452554036845623826" border="0" /></a><br />I drinks my coffee every morn at <a href="http://singleorigin.com.au/">Single Origin</a>:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcrhvyCuI/AAAAAAAADJs/aJYSKKWGdFw/s1600/photo%285%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcrhvyCuI/AAAAAAAADJs/aJYSKKWGdFw/s320/photo%285%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452553676725029602" border="0" /></a><br />I ates at <a href="http://www.bankhotel.com.au/">Sumalee</a> with my visiting Rondon lovelies:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcrOs1PsI/AAAAAAAADJk/dDT_JdizmD4/s1600/photo%284%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcrOs1PsI/AAAAAAAADJk/dDT_JdizmD4/s320/photo%284%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452553671612382914" border="0" /></a><br />_Bestest_ eggs at <a href="http://www.timeoutsydney.com.au/venue/restaurant/cafe/kawa-cafe.aspx">Kawa</a>:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcquxJw9I/AAAAAAAADJU/muzWIbl_icU/s1600/photo%286%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcquxJw9I/AAAAAAAADJU/muzWIbl_icU/s320/photo%286%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452553663040570322" border="0" /></a><br />I screamed like a girl:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcq3TGouI/AAAAAAAADJc/hK78tf2qrLE/s1600/photo%283%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6tcq3TGouI/AAAAAAAADJc/hK78tf2qrLE/s320/photo%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452553665330455266" border="0" /></a><br />(...and then I screamed some more when my Dad pretended to pick it up and chuck it at me)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">If you ask me what hurtses the most about being in Sydnery, it's not having <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-woke-up-this-morning.html">Chubby</a> here. I swear, I can still hear him *huffing* and snoring. I can hear his nails clicking on the floorboards...<br /></div></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-21316777745694880532010-03-18T13:05:00.006+00:002010-03-18T13:39:48.904+00:00Staycation<span style="font-family:arial;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">country</span> to enjoy it *grin*<br /><br />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.<br /><br />What's a <span style="font-style: italic;">"Staycation"</span>, I hear you say? It's when there's a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Financial_crisis_of_2007%E2%80%932010">GFC</a> (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.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Most high-larious thing - I was the only one without hiking shoes, and I was the only one who survived without injury ;)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Anyways, enough rambling, here are some proper rambler piks :P</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqFlUZIAI/AAAAAAAADIY/yX24nxpvNNo/s1600-h/P1040943.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqFlUZIAI/AAAAAAAADIY/yX24nxpvNNo/s320/P1040943.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449964774477078530" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqEzWccsI/AAAAAAAADIQ/m5JohHCcxbQ/s1600-h/P1040940.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqEzWccsI/AAAAAAAADIQ/m5JohHCcxbQ/s320/P1040940.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449964761063912130" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqGLpI5PI/AAAAAAAADIg/aIzCiWRQ7k4/s1600-h/P1040944.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqGLpI5PI/AAAAAAAADIg/aIzCiWRQ7k4/s320/P1040944.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449964784764642546" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqG6qze9I/AAAAAAAADIo/wMAl544LoGA/s1600-h/P1040948.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqG6qze9I/AAAAAAAADIo/wMAl544LoGA/s320/P1040948.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449964797388094418" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqHjmqO_I/AAAAAAAADIw/rDANsn9s510/s1600-h/P1040959.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IqHjmqO_I/AAAAAAAADIw/rDANsn9s510/s320/P1040959.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449964808376564722" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IsUcqOD3I/AAAAAAAADI4/GYOhSBtmQ5o/s1600-h/P1050001.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IsUcqOD3I/AAAAAAAADI4/GYOhSBtmQ5o/s320/P1050001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449967228874002290" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IsU0fJ33I/AAAAAAAADJA/Ho1P0xU-MaQ/s1600-h/P1050014.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S6IsU0fJ33I/AAAAAAAADJA/Ho1P0xU-MaQ/s320/P1050014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449967235270041458" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Here endeth my travel tales... </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It wouldn't have been the same without the Ladiezzz :)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">*MUAH*</span><br /></span></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-6871643180954971692010-03-18T12:50:00.002+00:002010-03-18T12:55:46.551+00:00Sidetracked<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Asian in Sydnery" </span>just doesn't have the same ring. However, here's what I'm thinking tonight. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">===</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> 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.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> 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?!?</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> 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.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> 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.<br /><br />Yes, that's what my everyday mornings on the train are like.<br /><br />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, <span style="font-style: italic;">"fat fckers"</span>. Gawd forgive me for thinking bad thoughts about humankind.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Can't wait for those heart attacks to happen :P</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> 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.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> To be fair, I'm not a morning person.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Don't even get me started on fatties on planes.</span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-67360731179489145412010-03-10T09:53:00.006+00:002010-03-10T10:37:39.839+00:00Indefinitely (part i)<span style="font-family:arial;">It's been a strange end to an amazing, rollercoaster journey.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Some of you know - I've left Rondon. Returned to Sydnery. Indefinitely.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The others - I can hear you *gasping* now :)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />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. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">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 <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2006/04/getting-here.html">never change</a>), another 7kg of extra-gawd-knows-what later, I was on a plane home.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> So, here I am. After eight months of dredging through the Rondon job market, I found myself a job in Sydnery within two weeks. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In my last week in Rondon, I got immensely queasy and ill with <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2010/01/legless.html">Babsy</a> :) Bad oysters, bad clams or just too much alcohol? We'll never know *grin* I had one last dinner date with <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/12/weddings-part-1.html">Mrs P</a>, who has been my constant <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2006/07/fattening.html">cake</a> 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*</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />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.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">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!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">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.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">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. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">My final night dinner was with B at <a href="http://www.barrafina.co.uk/">Barrafina</a>, my fave tapas bar. The only thing missing was the hawt Spaniard waiter! Haha :)<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S5dzMZy9JEI/AAAAAAAADII/0HWWHsQAFqA/s1600-h/IMG_0001.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S5dzMZy9JEI/AAAAAAAADII/0HWWHsQAFqA/s320/IMG_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446948931248137282" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />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 ;)<br /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> </span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-74193401012583687532010-01-27T03:58:00.002+00:002010-01-27T04:02:55.489+00:00Legless<span style="font-family:arial;">Is thinking that I should stop answering, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Strong"</span>, when the bartender asks me how I like my cocktails...<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S1-6mStOG1I/AAAAAAAADG0/rKLj5TJgrcI/s1600-h/photo%284%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S1-6mStOG1I/AAAAAAAADG0/rKLj5TJgrcI/s320/photo%284%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431264842651409234" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S1-6mmN4l7I/AAAAAAAADG8/PKrVxMAX2yU/s1600-h/photo%285%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S1-6mmN4l7I/AAAAAAAADG8/PKrVxMAX2yU/s320/photo%285%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431264847888684978" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Not a word about the journey home hunny. Not. A. Word.</span><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-44200746221686841332010-01-26T01:30:00.006+00:002010-01-26T02:08:59.009+00:00The awkward question<span style="font-family:arial;">Hottie lent me a book to read recently, called <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/4-hour-Work-Week-Escape-Anywhere/dp/0091923727/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1264466214&sr=8-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">"The 4-Hour Work Week"</span></a>. At the end of each chapter, is a "Comfort Challenge" for readers to complete. The one which keeps me entertained at the moment is:<br />=====<br /></span><b style="font-family: arial;">Get Phone Numbers (2 Days)</b><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">=====<br /><br />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 <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2007/01/9-above-beyond.html">Above & Beyond</a> 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 <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2010/01/clarity.html">Whirlwind</a>, and well, you know how that went. Trust me when I say being a girl doesn't make </span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">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!<br /><br />Which brings me to my point of <a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26591136&postID=3406545404180543076">"Nice guys finish last"</a>. 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.<br /><br />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*<br /><br />Maybe it's harsh to condemn nice guys to last place. Aives corrected me the other day, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Nice guys don't finish last, they just finish s..l..o..w."</span> <span>*grin*</span><br /><br />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 :)<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Wazzz pretending to be cute bartender:</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S15LVJLTt6I/AAAAAAAADGk/3ehIkOfGMiI/s1600-h/photo%282%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S15LVJLTt6I/AAAAAAAADGk/3ehIkOfGMiI/s320/photo%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430861027268081570" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">My line? It's pretty lame <span>*grin*</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"If I ask you for your number, would you give me a real one or a fake one?"<br /></span>Results:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">:: </span>Guy with a fiancee - Gave me his real number <span style="font-weight: bold;">*lol*</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">:: </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">2 guys, both with gfs - Didn't give me a number at all!<br /><br />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 :)<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S15LVTG7UnI/AAAAAAAADGs/6FFrmIzAXo4/s1600-h/photo%283%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S15LVTG7UnI/AAAAAAAADGs/6FFrmIzAXo4/s320/photo%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430861029934060146" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wazzz:</span> "What do you want?"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me: </span>"Nothing with Sambuca in it... *gag*"<br />*Wazz orders drinks*<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "What's that??"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bartender:</span> "It's a Baby Guinness. It's Sambuca topped with Baileys."<br />*Me smacks Wazzz*<br /></span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-55190166504400470292010-01-14T16:52:00.005+00:002010-01-14T22:24:58.090+00:00The problem with...<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:arial;">...trying to forge an alternative career as a romance novelist is -</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I know shit-all about romance</span>.</span></div><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">I think one of the most depressing questions I've ever been asked is, <span style="font-style: italic;">"What's the most romantic thing that's ever happened to you?"</span><br /><br />To which I replied, <span style="font-style: italic;">"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"</span> :P<br /><br />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?!? </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />What on earth made me think about being a romance writer to begin with?<br /><br />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!!<br /><br />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<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S09PG2KMN5I/AAAAAAAADGc/IRqet0PweFQ/s1600-h/modern+pantry.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S09PG2KMN5I/AAAAAAAADGc/IRqet0PweFQ/s320/modern+pantry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426643055040804754" border="0" /></a><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-26277252935348061562010-01-08T17:22:00.008+00:002010-01-08T23:29:24.733+00:00The journey...<span style="font-family:arial;">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.<br /><br />So it started out here, at the Tower of Rondon </span><span style="font-family:arial;">(home of the Crown Jewels and a 105-carat <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Koh-i-Noor">diamante</a>. I've seen it, and yes, I will "<a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2010/01/clarity.html">settle</a>" if you offer it to me *grin*)</span><span style="font-family:arial;">.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">That's an ice-rink on a moat infront of a castle, cool eh?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Literally cool. It's freaking freezing in Rondon atm.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Coldest winter *EVA*:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0ehSHLqAGI/AAAAAAAADEc/bIAD61T0EyQ/s1600-h/IMG_0139.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0ehSHLqAGI/AAAAAAAADEc/bIAD61T0EyQ/s320/IMG_0139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424481608728707170" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />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.<br /><br />My first stop, Christopher Wren's Monument. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">For the history buffs, the Monument marks the spot where the Great Fire of Rondon started in 1666.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">It's the brightly lit tower thingy standing in at 61m tall, just left of center:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0ehShwIMZI/AAAAAAAADEk/tTxSE2qGMK0/s1600-h/IMG_0140.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0ehShwIMZI/AAAAAAAADEk/tTxSE2qGMK0/s320/IMG_0140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424481615861002642" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">I might not know where I'm going, but I kinda know where I live.<br />There's a hovering clock tower which looks familiar at the end of the street:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0ehS4rRMGI/AAAAAAAADEs/v3tLh1Nd8xU/s1600-h/IMG_0143.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0ehS4rRMGI/AAAAAAAADEs/v3tLh1Nd8xU/s320/IMG_0143.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424481622014636130" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">At this point, I'm contemplating catching a black cab:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e4zaE4ZpI/AAAAAAAADE0/mffteGA64_U/s1600-h/IMG_0145.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e4zaE4ZpI/AAAAAAAADE0/mffteGA64_U/s320/IMG_0145.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424507469503686290" border="0" /></a><br />Or a double-decker bus:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e4zxuHMLI/AAAAAAAADE8/A775e_DrO3g/s1600-h/IMG_0148.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e4zxuHMLI/AAAAAAAADE8/A775e_DrO3g/s320/IMG_0148.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424507475850637490" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">But hang on! Aah hah!!<br />As the bus moves away, the giant dome<br />of <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2010/01/this-christmas.html">St Paul's Cathedral</a> (another Christopher Wren creation)<br />blinks out at me:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e40o-Hm2I/AAAAAAAADFM/TmibJig0odQ/s1600-h/IMG_0146.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e40o-Hm2I/AAAAAAAADFM/TmibJig0odQ/s320/IMG_0146.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424507490681723746" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">So I keep walking towards the giant dome,<br />stumbling down streets I've never stumbled down before:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e60IR3Z8I/AAAAAAAADFs/unAzL11yxOk/s1600-h/IMG_0156.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e60IR3Z8I/AAAAAAAADFs/unAzL11yxOk/s320/IMG_0156.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424509680929433538" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e6zSC9agI/AAAAAAAADFc/ca3RlEFTp_Y/s1600-h/IMG_0155.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e6zSC9agI/AAAAAAAADFc/ca3RlEFTp_Y/s320/IMG_0155.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424509666371398146" border="0" /></a><br />Now I know where I am :)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e6zkN6GfI/AAAAAAAADFk/6eVUYx5-iiM/s1600-h/IMG_0157.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e6zkN6GfI/AAAAAAAADFk/6eVUYx5-iiM/s320/IMG_0157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424509671249156594" border="0" /></a><br />Rondon wouldn't be Rondon without the cranes in the sky:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e60j9xAzI/AAAAAAAADF0/K4cO8IUDSKs/s1600-h/IMG_0159.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e60j9xAzI/AAAAAAAADF0/K4cO8IUDSKs/s320/IMG_0159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424509688361321266" border="0" /></a><br />I walk through another piece of history.<br />Centuries-old meat market...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e76tzPezI/AAAAAAAADF8/8ij6KFMsq7c/s1600-h/IMG_0166.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e76tzPezI/AAAAAAAADF8/8ij6KFMsq7c/s320/IMG_0166.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424510893592378162" border="0" /></a><br />... or Middle-Age execution ground for heretics?<br />For those Braveheart fans, William Wallace was executed<br />just round the corner from here:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e77MyJhjI/AAAAAAAADGE/wIRb7sBgI-s/s1600-h/IMG_0168.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e77MyJhjI/AAAAAAAADGE/wIRb7sBgI-s/s320/IMG_0168.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424510901909292594" border="0" /></a><br />Kurz & Lang, where me and B go for half price wieners *grin*<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e77UM5uyI/AAAAAAAADGM/jEAvnzpzZkw/s1600-h/IMG_0169.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e77UM5uyI/AAAAAAAADGM/jEAvnzpzZkw/s320/IMG_0169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424510903900551970" border="0" /></a><br />And I'm finally home:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e77_ZRfUI/AAAAAAAADGU/kfZirmvx2N8/s1600-h/IMG_0173.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/S0e77_ZRfUI/AAAAAAAADGU/kfZirmvx2N8/s320/IMG_0173.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424510915495165250" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Give me lost in Rondon anytime over owning a GPS...</span><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-71501129575318715022010-01-06T01:45:00.003+00:002010-01-06T02:32:44.124+00:00Clarity<span style="font-family: arial;">How funny.<br /><br />The <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/09/stupid-3.html">Whirlwind</a> 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.<br /><br />Later on in the evening, I met up with a guy from <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/11/3-mins.html">speed dating</a>. 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<br /><br />After a second half-pint of Guinness, I was relieved to find the answer in my heart is still <span style="font-style: italic;">no</span>.<br /><br />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? </span><span style="font-family: arial;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />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*<br /><br />Closure feels good. Understanding how "settling" seems so much more plausible and tempting at this stage of my life though, feels awful. </span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-77629224847303676592010-01-03T00:55:00.006+00:002010-01-03T01:13:17.984+00:00This Christmas...<span style="font-family:arial;">...I woke up at 2am, and made <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2008/11/fat-duck.html">Heston's</a> <a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/food_and_drink/heston_blumenthal/article706806.ece">6-hour spagbol</a> *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<br /><br />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.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">At 2pm, I walked over to St Paul's:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Me wondering if the timer works)</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tNM69-ZI/AAAAAAAADDk/EFcUUmZlOqg/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tNM69-ZI/AAAAAAAADDk/EFcUUmZlOqg/s320/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422313287440005522" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Me dropping my iPhone)</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tNZ_eYgI/AAAAAAAADDs/H31FvezmWTw/s1600-h/2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tNZ_eYgI/AAAAAAAADDs/H31FvezmWTw/s320/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422313290948567554" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Me wondering if the timer took the pic already)</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_uy0CXQvI/AAAAAAAADEM/SKA0ieO9reY/s1600-h/P1050656.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_uy0CXQvI/AAAAAAAADEM/SKA0ieO9reY/s320/P1050656.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422315033106793202" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Me closing my eyes)</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tNtmx1zI/AAAAAAAADD0/GOyIb1btLnA/s1600-h/3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tNtmx1zI/AAAAAAAADD0/GOyIb1btLnA/s320/3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422313296213694258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Got it right! :)<br />HAPPY NEW YEAR!!<br />(if you haven't noticed, I'm dressed like a Christmas tree for you)</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_uzbOwVSI/AAAAAAAADEU/EmfngL5A9_w/s1600-h/st+paul.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 257px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_uzbOwVSI/AAAAAAAADEU/EmfngL5A9_w/s320/st+paul.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422315043627750690" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My pecan pie before oven...</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tN-BFoYI/AAAAAAAADD8/wCFhC-iJ5x0/s1600-h/5.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tN-BFoYI/AAAAAAAADD8/wCFhC-iJ5x0/s320/5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422313300619010434" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My pecan pie after oven and what it so doesn't look like :(</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tONL8ByI/AAAAAAAADEE/zhSLdeG8zNE/s1600-h/6.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_tONL8ByI/AAAAAAAADEE/zhSLdeG8zNE/s320/6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422313304691050274" border="0" /></a><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-34065454041805430762010-01-03T00:52:00.001+00:002010-01-03T00:55:32.831+00:00Premature ejaculation<div face="arial" style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_p3kh_P-I/AAAAAAAADDU/MqBe5ioCDPU/s1600-h/IMG_0137.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_p3kh_P-I/AAAAAAAADDU/MqBe5ioCDPU/s320/IMG_0137.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422309617285677026" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">leave</span> home to catch the last tubes <span style="font-style: italic;">out</span> 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).<br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"I likes showing off my tattoo"</span><br />(You can tell because it's freaking cold atm and he's holding his jumper)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_p4P95OxI/AAAAAAAADDc/c_zX6CcSoIE/s1600-h/IMG_0138.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sz_p4P95OxI/AAAAAAAADDc/c_zX6CcSoIE/s320/IMG_0138.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422309628945447698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">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, <span style="font-style: italic;">"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"</span>.<br /><br />Not sure about the other girls, but that'd work for me. Free booze! ;P As opposed to the, <span style="font-style: italic;">"HEY! WHAT'S YOUR NAME?!?!"</span>, I got tonight. <span style="font-style: italic;">"It's None of Your Fcking Business..."</span>, is what I was saying in my head.<br /></span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-6402085406547738772009-12-27T00:38:00.011+00:002009-12-27T01:12:38.948+00:00Things I saw in Cambodia<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >Firstly, did you know Tin Tin had a mishap in Cambodia?</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">I never read this one:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szas-0yldVI/AAAAAAAADBM/4X7cdUgLRzw/s1600-h/P1050587.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szas-0yldVI/AAAAAAAADBM/4X7cdUgLRzw/s320/P1050587.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419709396909651282" border="0" /></a><br />The beauty:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szau1NZU3mI/AAAAAAAADCU/wbdE2aRXyWQ/s1600-h/P1050443.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szau1NZU3mI/AAAAAAAADCU/wbdE2aRXyWQ/s320/P1050443.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419711430739156578" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szatii0V9II/AAAAAAAADBk/PV8i0Glpi5A/s1600-h/P1050476.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szatii0V9II/AAAAAAAADBk/PV8i0Glpi5A/s320/P1050476.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419710010560476290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_vWBgVI/AAAAAAAADCE/qTtIg2SPENA/s1600-h/P1050536.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_vWBgVI/AAAAAAAADCE/qTtIg2SPENA/s320/P1050536.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419710512139174226" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_GwuhUI/AAAAAAAADB0/OlKxe6xMOQ0/s1600-h/P1050491.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_GwuhUI/AAAAAAAADB0/OlKxe6xMOQ0/s320/P1050491.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419710501245322562" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_3nyl1I/AAAAAAAADCM/2I8c1dsf2jE/s1600-h/P1050557.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_3nyl1I/AAAAAAAADCM/2I8c1dsf2jE/s320/P1050557.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419710514361177938" border="0" /></a><br />Me in ruins (800+ year old ruins!):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_WrX1xI/AAAAAAAADB8/04aDZV25dx4/s1600-h/P1050524.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szat_WrX1xI/AAAAAAAADB8/04aDZV25dx4/s320/P1050524.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419710505517831954" border="0" /></a><br />The poverty.<br />Where a woman with a baby rows up to us and begs for money:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szavjbs5fCI/AAAAAAAADCc/fxQZlQ8d-Hk/s1600-h/P1050568.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szavjbs5fCI/AAAAAAAADCc/fxQZlQ8d-Hk/s320/P1050568.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419712224853326882" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzavjlMN3SI/AAAAAAAADCk/eHvA4U8L3FY/s1600-h/P1050567.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzavjlMN3SI/AAAAAAAADCk/eHvA4U8L3FY/s320/P1050567.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419712227400604962" border="0" /></a><br />The fried stuff (crickets and spiders):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzawxmbcpFI/AAAAAAAADDE/DUUFkouixSA/s1600-h/P1050571.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzawxmbcpFI/AAAAAAAADDE/DUUFkouixSA/s320/P1050571.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419713567762719826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzawxWGwzTI/AAAAAAAADC8/jXtufUADxSI/s1600-h/P1050572.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzawxWGwzTI/AAAAAAAADC8/jXtufUADxSI/s320/P1050572.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419713563380993330" border="0" /></a><br />The evil:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzayKIBQoUI/AAAAAAAADDM/VreARiLvobM/s1600-h/P1050574.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzayKIBQoUI/AAAAAAAADDM/VreARiLvobM/s320/P1050574.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419715088608174402" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Even though we'd pledged it would never happen again after 1945, it happened between 1975-1979. My parents wouldn't have survived. My brother born in 1972 would've been shot. I would've starved to death if I made it. 2 million people died. 8000 skulls are piled up high in the killing fields. So how can we say we've learnt our lesson?<br /></div></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-70207288029213679052009-12-26T18:46:00.006+00:002009-12-27T00:36:38.191+00:00Moral dilemmas<span style="font-family:arial;">I saw the part of Asia that I never saw before. I grew up amongst bougainvilleas, hawker food, night markets and baseball played with a 2x4.<br /><br />I was the first in line to vote for seeing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ping_pong_show">ping pong</a> in Bangkok. Sure, it's always been funny in pop culture. The thought of seeing someone project a ping pong ball from their va-jay-jay seemed high-la-ri-ous.<br /><br />Until I stepped in. There's someone in there who could be my sister. And my mother. Even my grandmother. *</span><span style="font-family:arial;">That one*, she could be my brother!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />It's not just that which makes it less funny. It's not funny at all. Women shouldn't honk horns, draw <span style="font-style: italic;">"Welcome!"</span> signs, shoot darts out of their va-jay-jay. How the hell do you even find out you can do those sort of things? So yeah, it's really depressing to watch. It's depressing to watch the 50-something year old beer-bellied white guy with a wedding ring on, get a blow job just a meter away behind us. It's disgusting to watch him rub his face into a girl's muff just because he can.<br /><br />But... what other choice is there?<br /><br />I'm in the Russian markets in Phnom Penh...<br />(<span style="font-weight: bold;">My Ma:</span> "Why do they call it Russian markets? I didn't see any Russians..."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "Maaaa, I told you, a lot of foreigners used to live here. The foreigners were mainly RUSSIAN and they use to come here all the time!").<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szarv7K4bvI/AAAAAAAADBE/49twyV18PZs/s1600-h/russian+markets.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Szarv7K4bvI/AAAAAAAADBE/49twyV18PZs/s320/russian+markets.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419708041412505330" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "I'd love to buy that for our niece, but it's probably made by a kid our niece's age."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My brother:</span> "SO? Would you rather our niece prostitute herself? It's either work in a sweatshop or sell yourself for sex."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "So what sort of power plant are you building? Nu-cu-lear?"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My brother:</span> "Nope. Coal."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "Wtf? What happened to green and global warming? Coal is filthy!"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My brother:</span> "They can't afford it. It's coal or the people die. What do you want? Do you want them to die?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My brother: </span>"That's the prime minister's house. It took three years to build."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "That's a freaking mansion!!! Wtf, there are people sleeping on the streets outside his house."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My brother:</span> "Yup."<br /><br />That's the side of Asia I never saw growing up. We were poor, but we weren't dirt poor. We were corrupt, but we weren't *that* corrupt that teachers and doctors had to be paid to do their jobs. Corruptness to the point where NGO's could pay for penthouses for self, spare apartments for storage and visiting friends.<br /><br />A middle-aged guy sat next to me on the plane from Bangkok to Singapore. I eavesdropped as he told the lady on the other side he'd been to Pattaya, Bangkok, Hua Hin, etc. My first thought - <span style="font-style: italic;">You sleazy bastard. Wtf is someone your age doing travelling alone in Thailand? </span><br /><br />I perpetuated. It doesn't make me sleep easy.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Beauty really is skin deep.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzapOfRCGoI/AAAAAAAADAs/yFRQ3q5IWCg/s1600-h/P1050435.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzapOfRCGoI/AAAAAAAADAs/yFRQ3q5IWCg/s320/P1050435.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419705267963173506" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzapO6fgGTI/AAAAAAAADA8/QyzRx9qeivo/s1600-h/P1050439.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzapO6fgGTI/AAAAAAAADA8/QyzRx9qeivo/s320/P1050439.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419705275271616818" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzapOoFaaQI/AAAAAAAADA0/WzvuX8s-QS4/s1600-h/P1050438.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SzapOoFaaQI/AAAAAAAADA0/WzvuX8s-QS4/s320/P1050438.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419705270330353922" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-54722610684230128292009-12-20T04:08:00.003+00:002009-12-20T04:14:18.639+00:00Analytics<span style="font-family:arial;">Here's what I've learnt from Google Analytics' "keyword source" tonight *grin*<br /><br />a) There is hope for oriental guys wanting to date non-oriental gals:<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2j1QFjAWI/AAAAAAAADAk/3XVGjv_LzrA/s1600-h/Screen+shot+2009-12-20+at+4.10.37+AM.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 56px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2j1QFjAWI/AAAAAAAADAk/3XVGjv_LzrA/s320/Screen+shot+2009-12-20+at+4.10.37+AM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417166062043201890" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">b) <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/11/where-to-look-nsfw.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Council Estate Skanks"</span></a> is the one to watch:<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2jmrrM5II/AAAAAAAADAU/ZzjhNMjJiv4/s1600-h/Screen+shot+2009-12-20+at+4.08.04+AM.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 23px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2jmrrM5II/AAAAAAAADAU/ZzjhNMjJiv4/s320/Screen+shot+2009-12-20+at+4.08.04+AM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417165811750855810" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2jm9ZUvPI/AAAAAAAADAc/KyHSTsGnn-I/s1600-h/Screen+shot+2009-12-20+at+4.08.14+AM.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 157px; height: 25px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2jm9ZUvPI/AAAAAAAADAc/KyHSTsGnn-I/s320/Screen+shot+2009-12-20+at+4.08.14+AM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417165816507710706" border="0" /></a><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-7196083638022853562009-12-20T02:33:00.015+00:002009-12-20T03:54:36.270+00:00Will eat for love<span style="font-family:arial;">As boring as it may sound, I spent my my 31st birthday with my parents :) No getting </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2006/11/oh-dear-lord.html">drunk</a><span style="font-family:arial;">, no </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2007/11/29-and-7-days.html">running away</a><span style="font-family:arial;">, no </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2008/11/30-years-30-snogs.html">mad hats and kissing girls</a><span style="font-family:arial;">. Just eating lots with my beloved parents and family :)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">It sounds weird, but my family are feeders.<br /><br />We talk about food when we wake up, we talk about food one meal ahead, we eat between meals, and we talk about food before we sleep. My fondest childhood memories are of eating hawker food late at night with my Mum, Dad and brothers. My Mum helping me to squat and pee in a monsoon drain after supper (ssssh, don't tell my future employers that I can do the oriental squat!).<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Instead of the Maccas scale to judge the standard of living in different countries, we have the crab scale.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Chilli crabs in Singapore:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2TmtUxktI/AAAAAAAAC9s/wbUrTooXaog/s1600-h/P1050306.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2TmtUxktI/AAAAAAAAC9s/wbUrTooXaog/s320/P1050306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417148220007617234" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Chilli and curry crabs in Thailand (sorry, forgot to take a pic!)<br /><br />Salty egg (Haam Daan) crabs in Cambodia -<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2TnG-wHnI/AAAAAAAAC98/7CP-ho-9sgg/s1600-h/P1050599.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2TnG-wHnI/AAAAAAAAC98/7CP-ho-9sgg/s320/P1050599.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417148226894569074" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Which country had the best value crab meal?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">WEEEELL....<br />Biggest crab ever, goes to Singapore Chilli Crabs.<br />Err, with crabs from Sri Lanka. HUUUUGEN:<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2UlMQ7c2I/AAAAAAAAC-E/uIWwjASNeD4/s1600-h/P1050311.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2UlMQ7c2I/AAAAAAAAC-E/uIWwjASNeD4/s320/P1050311.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417149293464875874" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Best value for money, Thai crabs. Cheap as chips! 2 mud crabs for next to nothing in Baht (again, sorry no pix).<br /><br />Tastiest crab goes to CAAAMBODIA :) Which surprisingly has a lot of really good seafood. For exorbitant US prices. More on that later.<br /><br />Here's what my Dad told me on the last day of our holiday together - <span style="font-style: italic;">"What do you want to eat? CRAB. PRAWNS. Because I know you're not going to have the same in Rondon! You will never find this in Rondon!"</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">My Dad was right. Best. Birthday. Ever.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2WS3sLqOI/AAAAAAAAC-M/f6ajTDewf5g/s1600-h/P1050603.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2WS3sLqOI/AAAAAAAAC-M/f6ajTDewf5g/s320/P1050603.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417151177727650018" border="0" /></a><br /></div>(Followed very closely by the time the dFs, B, He Who Shall Not Be Named and I went mental for a week :) )<br /><br />Here are the other foodie pix from Singapore (where a brilliant laksa cost me less than 2 squids) and Cambodia.<br /><div style="text-align: center;">THAT laksa:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2bRfu02wI/AAAAAAAADAE/TE7D89zRujE/s1600-h/IMG_0120.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2bRfu02wI/AAAAAAAADAE/TE7D89zRujE/s320/IMG_0120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417156651674557186" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Char Kway Teow:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Xu1eSzWI/AAAAAAAAC-U/rNJU1DC1fCU/s1600-h/P1050261.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Xu1eSzWI/AAAAAAAAC-U/rNJU1DC1fCU/s320/P1050261.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417152757680491874" border="0" /></a><br />Teow Chew Braised Duck:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XvnOR8AI/AAAAAAAAC-k/jiItPgBPD9s/s1600-h/P1050264.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XvnOR8AI/AAAAAAAAC-k/jiItPgBPD9s/s320/P1050264.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417152771035099138" border="0" /></a><br />Kway-Something-Something, it came with the Braised Duck:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XwYbAMBI/AAAAAAAAC-0/cgadptcokmk/s1600-h/P1050267.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XwYbAMBI/AAAAAAAAC-0/cgadptcokmk/s320/P1050267.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417152784241799186" border="0" /></a><br />Tofu, simple and honest :)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XwOazGhI/AAAAAAAAC-s/o8DC7Sb2aMs/s1600-h/P1050265.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XwOazGhI/AAAAAAAAC-s/o8DC7Sb2aMs/s320/P1050265.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417152781556587026" border="0" /></a><br />Foodcourt Rojak and dang it was good:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XvXcihPI/AAAAAAAAC-c/ypXq5ETiq98/s1600-h/P1050263.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2XvXcihPI/AAAAAAAAC-c/ypXq5ETiq98/s320/P1050263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417152766799938802" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Durian, the KING of fruit.<br />Smells like a public toilet, tastes like heaven...<br />(to be honest, I loooooves the smell)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y2zxgiXI/AAAAAAAAC_E/6_30WsHxDZw/s1600-h/P1050295.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y2zxgiXI/AAAAAAAAC_E/6_30WsHxDZw/s320/P1050295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417153994174794098" border="0" /></a><br />My birthday dinner of Steamboat with every luxurious seafood available:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2ZqI60iCI/AAAAAAAAC_k/bVR-aOavK6U/s1600-h/P1050281.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2ZqI60iCI/AAAAAAAAC_k/bVR-aOavK6U/s320/P1050281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417154876024326178" border="0" /></a><br />(there's abalone in there)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y2naKuWI/AAAAAAAAC-8/E9aKwV7N6vo/s1600-h/P1050290.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y2naKuWI/AAAAAAAAC-8/E9aKwV7N6vo/s320/P1050290.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417153990855670114" border="0" /></a><br />The best fish head curry on banana leaf in Singapore:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y3SczjzI/AAAAAAAAC_M/bv570Dbc18I/s1600-h/P1050300.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y3SczjzI/AAAAAAAAC_M/bv570Dbc18I/s320/P1050300.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417154002409459506" border="0" /></a><br />The pippies (la la) I haven't had for years because it's not sold in Rondon:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y37p7NvI/AAAAAAAAC_U/LKoYHfVuw_k/s1600-h/P1050302.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y37p7NvI/AAAAAAAAC_U/LKoYHfVuw_k/s320/P1050302.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417154013470340850" border="0" /></a><br />The boat noodles I had by the side of the floating markets:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y4SAwnBI/AAAAAAAAC_c/f-W0rw4JAyw/s1600-h/P1050323.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Y4SAwnBI/AAAAAAAAC_c/f-W0rw4JAyw/s320/P1050323.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417154019471694866" border="0" /></a><br />The riskiest thing I did in BKK...<br />Eat fly-infested noodles (before I found the more hygienic noodles above)<br />THE DAY BEFORE T&D's wedding:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Zqbxs0kI/AAAAAAAAC_s/VHkiLpQWtCY/s1600-h/P1050318.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Zqbxs0kI/AAAAAAAAC_s/VHkiLpQWtCY/s320/P1050318.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417154881086345794" border="0" /></a><br />Nom nom nom... The Cambodian grouper:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Zq_JY4xI/AAAAAAAAC_0/ek8xdpbsNNg/s1600-h/P1050601.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2Zq_JY4xI/AAAAAAAAC_0/ek8xdpbsNNg/s320/P1050601.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417154890580943634" border="0" /></a><br />The mangosteens. HELL the fruit in general:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2bRJ6SJpI/AAAAAAAAC_8/oDKtt3qjPyM/s1600-h/P1050588.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2bRJ6SJpI/AAAAAAAAC_8/oDKtt3qjPyM/s320/P1050588.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417156645817034386" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So yeah, I took more pix of food than anything else ;P<br />(THANK YOU LI,<br />ESPECIALLY FOR LETTING ME EAT DURIAN<br />IN YOUR APARTMENT<br />*grin* <span style="font-weight: bold;">*MUAH*</span> )<br /></div></div> </div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-10138623920017660242009-12-20T02:17:00.005+00:002009-12-20T02:21:42.201+00:00My new niece<div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2JOgOmbCI/AAAAAAAAC9k/zm0Ak7hdYUQ/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sy2JOgOmbCI/AAAAAAAAC9k/zm0Ak7hdYUQ/s320/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417136809058921506" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Olivia Catherine Liew :) I'm joyous the day of. And I'm <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-woke-up-this-morning.html">grieving</a> the day of. Conflicting emotions and I can guarantee you that it's confusing the crap out of me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I cried my heart out on the day I heard my new niece arrived <span style="font-weight: bold;">*le sigh*</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Still, I'd like you to see my new niece :)<br />(Tell me that's not a good enough reason to mate with a whitey ;) )<br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-11529479046606533042009-12-19T02:09:00.005+00:002009-12-19T02:27:20.642+00:00I woke up this morning<span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >... to an email from my Mum: </span> <span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Subject: Chubby-R.I.P.</span></span> <span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Hi Girlie,</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><br />We are so sorry have sad news for you.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >Actually I meant to tell you last night about him but forgot.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >Chubby has become worse past 2 days he can’t walk anymore.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > Dad said he didn’t sleep last night probably in pain dad has been giving him Osteo-Panadol.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > Anyway we took him to the Vet this morning and was advised to put him to sleep.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > They can’t do anything it is due to old age his heart is failing too.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > So they put him to sleep this morning we didn’t want to watch came home then went back to collect him and bury him in the backyard.</span> <span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><br />It has been raining all day the sky is crying too.</span> <span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><br />Dad pretty upset but he will get over it in time. I am too.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" > Anyway I think it is better for him as he was suffering.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >It is really sad after having him for nearly 15years but he has been treated well.</span> <span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><br />Love Mum"</span><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Syw3Z8PNlMI/AAAAAAAAC9c/cHkbpKEIuuw/s1600-h/Chubby.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Syw3Z8PNlMI/AAAAAAAAC9c/cHkbpKEIuuw/s320/Chubby.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416765370626053314" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >It's silly to be soo upset. Chubby is just a dog. A plain old pug. He's a dog that's been part of my life for the past 14 years. He's the dog that was always happy to see me. He's the one that's always loved me unconditionally. He's the one that made me jealous because my parents hand-fed him! He was no longer "just a dog". He was part of my family. I love him because he never ever stopped loving me. Even when I was mad at him for pooping on my carpet :) </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >To be honest, I knew Chubby's time was up when I spoke to my parents a few weeks ago about him. It's just maddening that I never got to say Thank You and Goodbye. I still remember the day I picked him up, the car accident we had on the way home, and how he fit just perfectly on my lap. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Chubby always sat at my feet when I was at the pooter. He always snuck a stink bomb in and I would call him "STINKY!" and push him away :)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >Love you Chubs. Always and Forever. I never doubted your beauty.<br /><br />I am grieving.<br /></span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-35173147869567424272009-12-16T19:23:00.004+00:002009-12-16T19:46:20.397+00:00The Apocalypse<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">(Otherwise known as "Winter in England")</span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Syk0H2G9NvI/AAAAAAAAC9M/Z2bNUpaGRW0/s1600-h/P1050624.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Syk0H2G9NvI/AAAAAAAAC9M/Z2bNUpaGRW0/s320/P1050624.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415917336278152946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Ruuuun for your liiiiives! Timestamp: 16:43</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Every year, the Aussie-ex-pats bitch and moan about what is to come. The bitter cold. The grey. The rain. The instant dark by 4pm. The puffy jacket weather. The absolute *bone-chilling* bitter cold!<br /><br />Everyone's talking about whether we're going to have a white Christmas this year. According to <a href="http://wiki.answers.com/Q/When_did_it_last_snow_on_Christmas_day_in_England">WikiAnswers</a>:<br /><br />"</span><span style="font-family:arial;">For a white Christmas to be official, a flake of snow must be observed to fall at the four specific sites between midnight on 24 December and midnight on 25 December, even if it is mixed with rain and is not necessarily snow lying on the ground. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> Given this definition, England last enjoyed a white Christmas in 1999."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The first snowflakes fell in Rondon today. Messages flew across the network about it. The <a href="http://www.online-betting-guide.co.uk/snow-on-christmas-day-london.htm">odds</a> are currently at 3.25.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Secretly inside, when it snows, <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/search/label/snow">we love it</a> :) </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Looking out a train window. Timestamp: 17:35</span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Syk0IUgOmZI/AAAAAAAAC9U/9J7tltYIL40/s1600-h/P1050638.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Syk0IUgOmZI/AAAAAAAAC9U/9J7tltYIL40/s320/P1050638.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415917344437213586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-19444343475935500252009-12-05T15:13:00.003+00:002009-12-05T15:25:05.441+00:00Weddings (part 2)<span style="font-family:arial;">Tis no secret how T and I became buddies. We met in uni, T ambushed me in the Collanade one day, and an hour later we were plotting out how to tell our parents we were going to move out together *lol* The story of when I first met D is a little sweeter. T convinced him to pick me up from Heathrow and chauffeur us straight to Global Gathering 3 hours away! 18 hours of dancing later, at a pit stop on the way home, I still remember D having a quiet word with me when we were alone.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />D:</span> "Can you please tell T that you like me and think I'm a cool guy???"</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />*grin* Aww bless! Don't worry D, you had me sold when you picked me up from the airport ;) Over the years, I've gotten to know D like an older brother. I'm glad for the time I've had to "quality check" D when we were living together ;)</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Like I told T on their Big Day, "I couldn't have lost my best friend to a better man".<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Congratulations guys! *MUAH*</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxp5WNqJPWI/AAAAAAAAC9A/9iea0lsJFLw/s1600-h/First-Dance.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxp5WNqJPWI/AAAAAAAAC9A/9iea0lsJFLw/s320/First-Dance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411771324769582434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxp5VtYWDFI/AAAAAAAAC84/c1lg9CvQ7Cc/s1600-h/t%26d.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxp5VtYWDFI/AAAAAAAAC84/c1lg9CvQ7Cc/s320/t%26d.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411771316104989778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">On a side note, if you're using eggs to play <a href="http://www.sallyso.com/chinese-wedding-traditions/chinese-wedding-door-games/">door games</a>, ALWAYS DOUBLE-CHECK the eggs have been hardboiled before use ;P Things became a lot less funny when the grooms man had to pull down his suit pants in the middle of a crowded corridor and try to remove egg stains hours before the wedding ceremony. </span><br /></div></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-74191496470315790032009-12-02T18:33:00.005+00:002009-12-02T18:52:05.268+00:00I seriously wonder...<span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" >... how much time girls spend on doing their faces and hair. I was recently given a <a href="http://www.ghdhair.com/">ghd</a> by T&D (thank you!). So I'm practising being a girl *lol*<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;">Hair with Posh Spice pout:<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxa2ZNYPILI/AAAAAAAAC8w/aQ9aCeNnll8/s1600-h/Photo+on+2009-12-02+at+18.31.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxa2ZNYPILI/AAAAAAAAC8w/aQ9aCeNnll8/s320/Photo+on+2009-12-02+at+18.31.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410712546536530098" border="0" /></a><br />Hair with Kawaii "V" sign:<br /> </div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxa0g6Q72OI/AAAAAAAAC8o/7cacwg3V-OM/s1600-h/Photo+on+2009-12-02+at+18.30.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sxa0g6Q72OI/AAAAAAAAC8o/7cacwg3V-OM/s320/Photo+on+2009-12-02+at+18.30.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410710479821330658" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><br />Straightening my hair wasn't the hard part, the ghd makes it sht easy. It was deciding which way to part my hair and then trying to keep annoying strands off my face which consumed me! As you can tell, I make a lousy girl :P It comes from growing up with two elder brothers and dressing in their hand-me-down "Life Be In It" tshirts and tennis shorts. How on earth do girls do this everyday?!?<br /><br />Even worse, I can't believe I'm 31 (yes, 31) and only experimenting with hair now...Well, at least I guess nobody's going to <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2008/02/hot-or-not.html">wonder</a> if I'm lesbian with this hairdo.<br /></span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-8915004777904995772009-12-01T13:23:00.005+00:002009-12-01T13:58:45.776+00:00Weddings (part 1)<span style="font-family:arial;">Behold! I think the bridesmaid <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2007/04/troo-wuuuuv.html">curse</a> is broken! I was bridesmaid twice in the space of a month, and nothing bad happened at the weddings :) Well, nothing I can remember anyways. Oh wait. I remember talking about sexually transmitted diseases at the reception dinner. That was some good red wine, Mrs P!!!<br /><br />Mrs P, I realised how old and sentimental I was getting when your vows brought a tear to my eye. I've never been weepy at weddings before. Mr P, you passed all the door games with flying colours (ok, ok, I'll admit the last one was a trap). You're definitely a Renaissance Man worthy of Mrs P's love ;) I'll be checking up on your vow to keep taking Mrs P to Michelin starred restaurants and letting her choose your main course *grin*<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Congratulations to you both,<br />I was honoured to be your bridesmaid for the day :)</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SxUgn7gMcWI/AAAAAAAAC8Y/cNx02-f1lzo/s1600/j%26s.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SxUgn7gMcWI/AAAAAAAAC8Y/cNx02-f1lzo/s320/j%26s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410266397715231074" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SxUgoQnqSuI/AAAAAAAAC8g/sZk1Ki7ov7c/s1600/me%26jamie.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SxUgoQnqSuI/AAAAAAAAC8g/sZk1Ki7ov7c/s320/me%26jamie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410266403383692002" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have a video of Mr P doing naughty things in a sexy orange-stuffed candy bra. Will sell to highest bidder ;)<br /></span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-87994210885753810412009-11-13T17:08:00.004+00:002009-11-13T17:38:38.840+00:00Change<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sv2UdxNZuGI/AAAAAAAAC7w/IojX-tDDaTM/s1600-h/leaves+i.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sv2UdxNZuGI/AAAAAAAAC7w/IojX-tDDaTM/s320/leaves+i.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403638367061129314" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">I still remember how excited I was moving into my <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2006/07/home-sweetish-home.html">first apartment</a> in Rondon. I was so happy, that I jumped on my bed and broke the slat (which I duct taped back together the other day)! I still remember shopping for one small pot and one small bowl (just enough for Mee Goreng) with B :)<br /><br />After 3 and a bit years, our crazy/psychotic/zen oriental landlord has sold the place. B and I handed in our notice, packed up, and days before leaving the country, we moved. For a minimalist, I had a lot of crap to pack up :P<br /><br />Today, I left 3 sets of keys on the table, hugged the porter J goodbye, and walked away.<br /><br />Strangely, I'm not sad about leaving the place. I always knew it wasn't permanent, and I never really made an effort to make it feel like my home. I'm more sad about leaving the area. The local pubs round the corner, the close proximity to the center of Rondon, Regents Park in my backyard, the weekend visits to Marylebone High Street, the evening drinks with friends who all lived around me... I think the best thing about living where I did, was that it was just so easy :) <br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Like B said, after 3+ years, it's an end of an era.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Hotel Beenikster is now closed.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sv2UeP-W6II/AAAAAAAAC74/B-XGNSOx95c/s1600-h/leaves+ii.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/Sv2UeP-W6II/AAAAAAAAC74/B-XGNSOx95c/s320/leaves+ii.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403638375319529602" border="0" /></a><br /></div>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-82654638266915551052009-11-11T00:01:00.006+00:002009-11-11T00:49:18.399+00:00*Shudder*<span style="font-family:arial;">I left my account up on Speed Dater for a few days. Just out of curiousity. After 4 days, I've deleted it. I got the heebee-geebees. Here's why. On first inspection of my profile, I seem to be doing quite well:<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SvoKAA1JiuI/AAAAAAAAC7o/DsrDFolwhW0/s1600-h/Screen+shot+2009-11-09+at+10.14.22+PM.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SvoKAA1JiuI/AAAAAAAAC7o/DsrDFolwhW0/s320/Screen+shot+2009-11-09+at+10.14.22+PM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402641698323532514" border="0" /></a></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />6 votes, average of 4.8 out of 5 (someone obviously didn't want me to get a fathead ;) ). I've been "officially" rated as a "Honey". Lots of messages from other members. All looks good.<br /><br />Like everything in life, everything *always* looks good on paper :P My ego was humbly deflated when I dug a little deeper. In reality, here are the people who rated me:<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SvoCijSMekI/AAAAAAAAC7Y/nJDu9HdcPX4/s1600-h/Screen+shot+2009-11-09+at+10.30.11+PM.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SvoCijSMekI/AAAAAAAAC7Y/nJDu9HdcPX4/s320/Screen+shot+2009-11-09+at+10.30.11+PM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402633495594695234" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Call me superficial if you must. Just tell me if you were in my shoes, you'd find this a compliment :P<br /><br />It's not just that, everytime I read the profile of someone who's messaged me, I'm sooo turned off. They can't spell, mainly because they can barely speak English. Some of them _are_ English! It's a joke when a guy claims to be <span style="font-style: italic;">"inteligent and hansome"</span> :P Some of them seem so dodgy. Some of them think they're god's gift. Some of them are just very large and very old. I find the very large and very old factors disturbing. It seems lecherous for someone 50+ to like me. It makes me think that these are the ones who go to Asia and bring back wives. I have no evidence, it's just a very awkward gut feeling.<br /><br />It's not that I don't date older men. Truth be told, I've dated someone approximately 11 years older than me. However, I met this guy IRL, we had an awesome time together, and we had a lot in common. We spent loads of time talking about everything and anything. This feels different. This feels like someone picking me as a mail order bride. I guess I look like a lot of fun in my profile pic, and as you can see, that's all that's on my profile. Nothing about what I'm like, or what I'm interested in. So what exactly does a 50-something year oldie, or even the fatty, think he has in common with a 30-something year old who looks like she goes clubbing a lot? It's just strange that I'm getting quite a bit of attention from the same demographic. Do I look like a "safe" bet?<br /><br />When my gut tells me it's wrong, I listen. *DELETE ACCOUNT*...<br /></span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26591136.post-40276448666416885232009-11-07T18:39:00.006+00:002009-11-11T00:52:26.823+00:00Oh dear<div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Quality:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SvXAEMeGvxI/AAAAAAAAC7I/F2MG7JDIeII/s1600-h/just+say+NO.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 135px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_h4PjvpzWKk0/SvXAEMeGvxI/AAAAAAAAC7I/F2MG7JDIeII/s320/just+say+NO.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401434506400284434" border="0" /></a> </div> <span style="font-family:arial;">To be fair, the picture's already a bit weird because I've blotted out his eyes so that if you ever bump into him in the whole-wide-UK, you'd never be able to point at him and go, <span style="font-style: italic;">"OH YOU'RE THE ODD <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2009/11/3-mins.html">HIGH-TALKER</a> AT SPEED DATING REENIE WAS TALKING ABOUT!"</span><br /><br />The point is, and I really don't want to be mean, however, regardless of who you are, if you're trying to pick up, DO NOT post a profile pic with a double chin! :)) Not attractive! Does that really need to be explicit?!?<br /><br />The other thing is, unless you're a hottie with a six-pack and oh, personality and a sense of adventure I guess, DO NOT use the line,<span style="font-style: italic;"> "How would you like to see what's missing from your life?" </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">on your profile! I'm sorry, but I don't need an extra chin.<br /><br />He was truly the only guy in the group that I struggled to chat with.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I think I've found the perfect career for myself - Teaching guys how to look good and pick up. Not that I've ever tried, but I can't believe how clueless some guys are. It's not like I'm great at picking up, but there are some really *obvious* things guys should already know. Take me out on a date for two hours, and I'll point out every creepy/weird/annoying thing that you do. For no extra cost, you can also listen to me <a href="http://orientalinrondon.blogspot.com/2007/10/chivalry.html">rant</a> about what's right to do on a date ;)<br /><br />Those who have so far ticked me down as a "date" match, are the Italian who couldn't speak English very well, the creepy guy who stroked my flower, and two very young guys. I don't think I'm ready to be a Cougar yet though, hahaha! :) </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(<span style="font-weight: bold;">Note to Mollow:</span> I'm proud of you, I've been hearing very good reports back about your bill-calling *grin*)<br /></span>reeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17457467791626833772noreply@blogger.com4