The problem with...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Christmas...

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

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

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

(Me dropping my iPhone)

(Me wondering if the timer took the pic already)

(Me closing my eyes)

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

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

Premature ejaculation

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

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

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

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

Things I saw in Cambodia

Firstly, did you know Tin Tin had a mishap in Cambodia?

I never read this one:

The beauty:





Me in ruins (800+ year old ruins!):

The poverty.
Where a woman with a baby rows up to us and begs for money:


The fried stuff (crickets and spiders):


The evil:

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?

Moral dilemmas

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.

I was the first in line to vote for seeing ping pong 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.

Until I stepped in. There's someone in there who could be my sister. And my mother. Even my grandmother. *That one*, she could be my brother!

It's not just that which makes it less funny. It's not funny at all. Women shouldn't honk horns, draw "Welcome!" 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.

But... what other choice is there?

I'm in the Russian markets in Phnom Penh...
(My Ma: "Why do they call it Russian markets? I didn't see any Russians..."
Me: "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!").

Me: "I'd love to buy that for our niece, but it's probably made by a kid our niece's age."
My brother: "SO? Would you rather our niece prostitute herself? It's either work in a sweatshop or sell yourself for sex."

Me: "So what sort of power plant are you building? Nu-cu-lear?"
My brother: "Nope. Coal."
Me: "Wtf? What happened to green and global warming? Coal is filthy!"
My brother: "They can't afford it. It's coal or the people die. What do you want? Do you want them to die?"

My brother: "That's the prime minister's house. It took three years to build."
Me: "That's a freaking mansion!!! Wtf, there are people sleeping on the streets outside his house."
My brother: "Yup."

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.

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 - You sleazy bastard. Wtf is someone your age doing travelling alone in Thailand?

I perpetuated. It doesn't make me sleep easy.

Beauty really is skin deep.

Analytics

Here's what I've learnt from Google Analytics' "keyword source" tonight *grin*

a) There is hope for oriental guys wanting to date non-oriental gals:

b) "Council Estate Skanks" is the one to watch:

I seriously wonder...

... how much time girls spend on doing their faces and hair. I was recently given a ghd by T&D (thank you!). So I'm practising being a girl *lol*

Hair with Posh Spice pout:

Hair with Kawaii "V" sign:

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?!?

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 wonder if I'm lesbian with this hairdo.

Change

I still remember how excited I was moving into my first apartment 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 :)

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

Today, I left 3 sets of keys on the table, hugged the porter J goodbye, and walked away.

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 :)

Like B said, after 3+ years, it's an end of an era.
Hotel Beenikster is now closed.

"What is a kernel?"

Me: "I can give you another name for it. It's a shell... It's that *thing* that... (*argh*)... connects directly to the processor..."

(>_<)

FAIL.

Where to look? (NSFW)

Warning: This post has an explicit picture at the bottom and probably shouldn't be viewed at work :P

A long time ago, I posted (beware, link has pic of large glass dild0 :P) about girl-friendly sex shops in Rondon. The ones on a proper high street, with warm bright lights inside. I also wrote about having to go shopping for Babsy's hens gifts last year.

Recently, I've had to do some _more_ shopping, this time for Ms K's door games and T's hens night. This time, I visited the seedier shops in Soho, Rondon's redlight district. I seriously think I've been to about 80% of the sex shops in Soho. The other 20% are probably hidden from view and I haven't found them yet. The most suprising shops I found were the ones which looked like a proper, normal, bookshop upstairs, but were actually fully stocked sex dens downstairs.

Shopping for a candy bra and stripper shoes might seem like easy tasks to complete, but you'd be surprised. It's quite unnerving actually. Everytime I stepped through the discrete doorway at the back of the shop, or down the stairwell to the basement, I was guaranteed two things:
:: I would be the only female there and all eyeballs would swivel uncomfortably in my direction;
:: I would be absolutely *surrounded* by wall-to-wall hardcore pr0n DVDs. Wooo, "Council Estate Skanks" looks good :P

It's very hard to act natural and nonchalant when all I see are men with pr0n DVDs in their hands. I'm not a pr0n connoisseur, but from what I've watched, these aren't Mills&Boons romance stories :P

The thing that strikes me as strange (besides the perfumed "Chinese doll" designed to smell like a real woman displayed above me), is finding someone who's of grandpa age browsing the DVDs. I would've thought guys grow out of pr0n. Eventually.

I felt lame asking for a candy bra when there were all these massive silicone pee pees right infront of me.

The sex shopping experience though, wasn't as bad as having to walk into a professional print shop (these guys did a great job) and ask the guys there to print out giant board posters of naked men for "Pin the Willy". Yes. I'm now the proud owner of two giant naked men. One who bares a resemblance to Borat. I use to be a proud owner of a giant pee pee too, but that went missing on the hens night.

MIA: Has anyone seen this hanging around Covent Garden?

Me: "Are you going to charge me for the p3nis?"
Printer: "No, you can have the p3nis for free."
Me: "Aww, that's so sweet! A free p3nis!" *grin*

The pervy things I do for my girlfriends.

PS: Want more reason for me *not* to use my lappy when inebriated? After 2 long island ice teas, copious amounts of red wine, then vodka, I took the above pic using Photo Booth, and proceeded to email it to a couple of my aunties with the subject, "c**k" (>_<) OOooh yeah, everything's a good idea when drunk...

Creepy little people

Lately, I've been hanging out at RnB clubs on Friday nights *cringe* Mainly because I want to spend time with my mates who happen to like RnB. So I put up with the bad-on-my-creaky-knees "dancing" for the company.

Straight out - I don't find oriental guys attractive. So walking into a club filled with them exasperates me. Just because there are certain stereotypes about oriental guys that just ring too true. I'm not saying all oriental guys are like this, but the ones I've seen in clubs lately are:
:: DORKY looking with their gelled-up Dragonball Z locks, and triad-style Rick Astley vests;
:: REALLY SHORT to the point where I can see over them when I'm wearing heels;
:: INCREDIBLY STUPID when it comes to the art of picking up women.

Scenario: Me having a good time dancing with my Hotty Friend. Along comes an oriental shorty who starts grinding in close vicinity. *Gee*, that's not creepy at all. We give him the cold shoulder, to no effect.

To be fair, I'm pretty cynical when it comes to guys picking up. A lot of guys in dance clubs have tried the lamer line, "Are you having a good night?" on me - to which I'm internally thinking, "Wtf do you think I'm here if I'm _not_ having a good night?"

So! Imagine what I'm thinking when all the oriental shorty can think of saying to us is, "What's wrong?"

Hotty Friend: "What's wrong? You don't speak Australian."
Me: "What's wrong?!? STOP. Get your hand off me. You're fcking too close."

You'd think this would be a sign for him to go away. However, he persists for a little longer until he's approached by his "wing-woman" and advised to leave the set.

Creepy little people... they exist in RnB clubs :P

Autobaaahn!

Wheeee!
It's very hard to take pictures inside a speeding car :P

Sometimes

...I wonder, "Wtf am I on?!?" Blogging about drowning bees? Aiyah. Talk about a slow blogging day :P

Which still proves my theory that *everything* seems like a great idea when drunk.

Too soft-hearted

It was a sweltering high of 24 degrees today... You think I'm kidding, but for real! It was a proper Engrish Summer day :) Clear skies, heat, and a nice reminder of how good England can feel when it behaves. It's a day when I didn't want to go underground, and spent an hour walking to my destination instead. When I got there, we plonked ourselves down by the side of the Thames and ordered something refreshingly COLD. For me a rose.

I watch as a bright yellow bee buzzes around my giant glass. Oh dear. I'm too sweaty and lethargic to swat it away.

Surely, it's not a bad way to go... An alcoholic's dream. Besides, it was asking for it. All the space in the world to fly around in, and it chose my glass. The buzzing stops as the bee inevitably sinks into my rose.

Aaah bugger.
I lazily pick up the glass and pour it out on the pavement.
The bee lives to see another sweltering, Engrish Summer day!

My friend looks at me like I'm crazy (fair enough, he bought my drink!).
I still believe in karma. I still believe that one day, I'm going to be stuck in a very dumb situation and I'm hoping I get mysteriously bailed out too. Let's just call this paying it forward.

Which Saturday? (Part ii)

The poll is closed:

What does this prove?
:: That I have a readership of 19 people :P
:: At least 4 of them are my friends ;)
:: The other 15 are likely to be at least a week late if they're meeting me.

"Do you remember"

Me: "... your first time?"
All: "Yes."
Me: "How old were you?"
Him 1: "17"
Him 2: "16"
Him 3: "13"
Me: "WTF, 13?!? How did you know where to put it?"
Him 3: "What do you mean? I still don't know where to put it"

I can understand for girls, it's easy. I *can't* understand for guys. It's dangly, it's out there, it flip flops around, sometimes, from what I see, you guys don't even have control of it. Behave, we're in public! ("Won't someone think of the children?" ;) ) If I pwn'd something like that, I wouldn't know what the hell to do with it.

How on earth do you live with something which just points when it wants to?!?

Tonight's funny thing is, the surprised looks when I wore this:

Yes. HEELS.

I don't think the girls with the surprised looks realised that I only wore heels because I thought that's what they were going to be wearing... Personally, I don't think the guys I met tonight cared 2p what was on my feet ;)

Twitter

It use to be cool. Until I started getting Twitterspam. I don't know what's more insulting:

That I'm getting loads of pr0n0 requests - which would be fine if they were a little less skanky...

OR that these skanks think that I'm a "DORKY GUY".

*hurrumph*

Hot geeks

I was talking to S the other day, and she mentioned that she's not into geeks. They're just not hot enough *grin*

WELL... On my quest to find something to do with my time the other day, I stumbled across this MAKE video:

Besides the fact that these guys are hilarious, Joe Grand (on the left) is pretty cute :)

There's always David Heinemeier Hansson too. The Google-O'Reilly Hacker of the Year for 2005 :) Also Wired's Hottest Hacker on earth *grin*

To be honest, I find the geeky guys more interesting than the other types of stereotype guys. Smarter than the average bear, and always up for some fun. I think a lot of their attitude comes from their unwillingness to leave childhood behind *grin* Always with the latest toys, gadgets, video games, comics... Hrm, ok, maybe I have a thing for geeks because I like playing with their possessions :P See, I don't just go for looks, I go for material things too ;)

Wi-fi&Coffee sniffer

If that was a profession, I'd be r0ckstar at it.

Mm, one good thing about having soo much time on my hands is that I can now tell you where to go in central Rondon for:
:: Good coffee
:: Wi-fi, portugese tarts and coffee
:: Almond croissant, Belgian hazelnut spread and wi-fi
:: Cocktails and wi-fi
:: More good coffee
:: Wi-fi and a nice park bench
:: Extra-hot burritos (num numm numm) and coffee
:: Cakes and coffee
:: Wi-fi and tea
:: Wi-fi and falafel

I can even tell you where to stand at Broadway Markets so you can get a Wi-fi signal. This is what happens when you own an iPhone that doesn't have 3G ;)

Or more accurately, this is what happens when you're addicted to email and can't resist knowing if people love you enough to email within the hour or two you've been away from your pooter *ahem*

Special mention to The Espresso Room :) Greeeat coffee, and Ben, the guy who runs it geeked out over explaining how he made my coffee. It's been a long while since I spoke to anyone that passionate about what they do... It's a nice change :) Hrm, he's probably also the only one who didn't balk at my, "You need to invest in a slave-munkey to do your dirty work" idea... There you go -
:: Good coffee and sense of humour.

"The One Day..."

It's The One Day that I decide not to put my contacts in.
It's the same day that I walk straight onto a film location and only notice the giant camera infront of me when it's a couple of meters away. I shrug, go for my caffeine hit and walk back to my gym.

Right outside my gym, everyone is crowding around looking at the filming going on.

Me: "Anyone famous?"
Gym Receptionist: "Apparently, Colin Farrell!"
Me: *starstruck gasp* "Where?!? Where?!?"
GR: "Just on the street, behind that car."

I spot a man in a blue suit walking up the street. I do my best squint. I peer. It could be Colin Farrell... Or it could just be a blurry extra in a blurry blue suit :P

It's the same day that I was late for the gym and didn't pack my camera in the bag like I usual do these days.

Gaaaah...

I'll file this away with other like-postings in my mind:
:: The One Day I didn't shave my armpits and then went arms-in-the-air-dancing.
:: The One Day I didn't bother to check myself before leaving the house and then bumped into a good-looking guy.
:: The One Day I decided to skip on "pruning hedges" and... HAH! Not telling, get back to work ;)