My Irony

“Being my baby was just a part you played.” Ray Lamontagne & the Pariah Boys

Hahahahahahahaha!

Let’s get that out of the way before we talk about irony.

I have some weird pet peeves, some of which I may never has discussed about before but I figure I’m a grown girl. I can afford to be open and honest about these things.

Firstly.
I NEVER go to a public toilet  unless I really really can’t help it. And even then, ONLY for number one.  Number two is only always at home on a familiar toilet seat with very little or no risk of foreign germies.

On Saturday I went for a buffet lunch with my friend at the Berjaya Times Square Hotel and RIGHT in the middle of the second course I got the churning of a LIFETIME and I was so unimpressed and utterly upset because it was just ruining my flow. It must have been due to the pork noodles I had had that morning or some bad cake the night before but that’s besides the point.

I had to politely excuse myself and head to the huge and beautiful washrooms at the hotel. That was one consolation. The only down turn – it was crawling with patrons. Another pet peeve. But when nature calls you gotta pick up else it goes on speaker phone. So I had to suck it up and get it over with, all the while holding my head in my hands because I could not believe I was doing a number two in a hotel washroom with patrons around and outside my bathroom stall.

The hostess must have known exactly where I was as I only emerged from the bathroom once most of the patrons had vacated the bathroom a good ten minutes later. Call me weird but I cannot stand the fact that strangers would have heard me do number two. There are just some things that need to be left to the imagination.

Second.
I have favorite parking bays at work. I pick these based on several reasons. They have to be close enough so  I don’t have to walk very far to work but far enough from the bottleneck so I don’t get caught in traffic on my way home. If I can parallel park even better, because some maniac drivers just don’t seem to be understand that when you’re reversing from an angle parking, they’re meant to slow down and let you do so. Also I’m wary of student drivers who may reverse at a sharper angle than they should and shoot off before anyone could notice.

That leaves a few treasured lots that are usually filled up by 7 am.

(turns out other maniac drivers have figured out what I have)

Of course that still leaves a lot of other parking bays all of which are completely taken by 8 am so coming in an hour early would afford me the luxury of choice and allow me to take a leisurely walk to work and not worry about circling the block for an hour and a half only to come back at the end of the day to a dusty, scratched car only to have to reverse out into a sea of stubborn, barking mad, hot sweaty, demon drivers.

Therefore I have timed it so that if I leave my house at a particular time, I would spend the minimum time waiting for traffic lights to turn green, taking me literally 8 minutes to get to work, ten if you include parking.

I was late this morning.

Because of pet peeve number one, I left the house seven minutes late and as a result, was caught at every traffic light and by the time I had arrived at work, all prime lots, even the funny one with the lamp post wedged in the middle, had been taken up.

Leaving me to park my brand new car, near a dusty construction site, under a tree filled to the brim with birds, at an angled parking bay.

I have run out of italics.

And words to say.

The Thong Story

After seven years, at long last, today I returned to the Lagoon.

And not just to watch BSB in concert.

We had fine weather for it, and by ten am we were decked out in beach shorts and sunglasses at the entrance congratulating ourselves on our good sense to be there early to beat the crowd and the long lines.

Now although I had an awesome time (throw in hot sun, cold water and rollercoasters and what else do you expect?), there will always be one highlight of the entire day.

On my trip to the Lagoon, I lost two things

1. My right contact lens while splashing about in the pool

2. My favourite sandals.

The first one was self-explanatory, wearing lenses in fast rushing water and I was just asking for it. The second, wasn’t so much of a loss, as it was a “theft”. When I had left behind my sandals to go on one of the rides, I returned to discover that after my shrieks and screams, my favourite thongs were no longer there.

Now they weren’t expensive but were very important to me for three reasons

1. I had had them for 6 years (nostalgia plays a big part in my life),
2. They were red and
3. Served dual function as my driving footwear.

So because they weren’t Gucci or Choos, it seemed like the most unlikely first target for theft so I assumed someone had accidentally worn them and ran off excitedly to the next ride.

I shrugged nonchalantly and hopped barefoot on the burning wooden planks from ride to ride, trying to let it go but could not get over it – they were my favourite sandals.

And although my friends couldn’t understand why (my sandals weren’t in the best shape), they commiserated and did not throttle me when I told them to wait and went up twice more to make sure they had not been returned.

As much as my heart sank, all I could do was pray desperately, Lord they’re my favourite sandals, please help me find them.

And then I realised that maybe, this was God’s way of teaching me not to be so attached to my possessions. Being the season of Lent, I amended my prayer, So be it Lord, if it is Your will, help me find them, otherwise I will let it go.

One rollercaster and a teacup ride later, my friends decided to make a second and final pitstop at the Pirate Swing. Unwilling to subject myself to a second suicide attempt at this ride, I sat it out and waited for them as they queued up to go.

And six minutes later, to my utter surprise I watched, as a girl about two kilometers away from me, walked towards the Swing with my red sandals.

Even from 1.2 miles away, with ONE contact lens and myopia – I knew they were mine. And then I did what I never thought I would do in my life.

I confronted her.

“Excuse me, are those your sandals?” I said with the biggest smile and in the most polite tone ever used on an individual during a confrontation.

She looked at me, “Yes!” she said (with slight consternation).

I looked down at the familiar scuffed front of the left sandal where my dog had been severely disciplined for chewing on it, and I said, “Are you SURE?”

Her boyfriend looked at her and said something in a foreign language. I seized on this pause and the fact that she hadn’t slapped me yet and carried on, “Because I have a pair exactly like those and I lost them today.”

Another pause.

“Maybe, there was a mixup?” I asked gently.

And then she said, not unlike a scene from a Law & Order episode when the perp breaks down in a tearful confession, “Somebody took MY sandals and when I saw these, I thought they had left theirs so I wore them!”

I thought: OH THAT’S NICE, Somebody took your shoes so you decided to go all eye for an eye and just take somebody else’s?

But I said,  ”Erm, yes well it wasn’t me because I’ve been walking around barefoot all day,” and gestured wildly at my slow roasted feet, which were not the feet of a cunning shoe thief.

The poor darling was so sweet and said “I’m so sorry” and she gave the DARLING BELOVED SCUFFED RED THONGS back to her distraught owner.

And as I walked away, all I could think was that in a world that is wrought with tsunamis and wars and political refuge, I had just prayed to find my ancient sandals back.

And in a crowd of thousands at about thirty or more rides, God listened. And answered.

He took my friends back to the Death Ride Pirate Swing and at that exact moment, he helped me to spot my sandals on a girl walking miles away, through the blurred vision of one contactless eye. For that is the God we serve, who sees into our hearts and listens to our sighs and cries.

He said ask in all faith – even in small and seemingly meaningless decrepit belongings that have seen better days – and we will receive.

that is my Thong Story. My Faith Story.
And just one of many answered prayers.

I just hope that chick found her sandals back.

And to that initial shoe thief who insists on stealing sandals from wet theme park rides, please stop – that is so not cool.

Kambing

Listening to: Keane
“Is it any wonder that I feel afraid.”

I was going through some of the things from the box that I packed when I left the old place. There wasn’t much, I had only been there a year but the memories weighed a ton. I found gorgeous pictures, memorabilia from different vacationing spots, handwritten notes.

And this one, a note passed between me and colleague during a particularly boring Occupational Health and Safety briefing where the speaker seemed to have an aversion to low decibels.

Me: Why he yelling?
Her: Good guess, must be an occupational hazard.
Me: Partial deafness. That’s a hazard for us.
Her: He mustn’t be very good at identifying hazards.
Me: Then.. who’s the expert and what are we learning from him?
Her: That I know how to identify the difference between a hazard and a risk. He is a high level walking hazard. He is thus a risk to my sanity.
Me: And my ears.
Her: Whoever invented microphones were obviously born too late to have met him.

A few minutes later.

Me: Omg, I cannot tahan la.
Her: What is he talking about, wait, did he say kambing?
Me: I’m dreaming edy la. I woke up when he said kambing, I don’t even know what that was in context of!

Her: He seems to be involved in a lot of hazards, is he following the hazards or are they following him?
Me: Well seeing as how he’s really loud, probably the latter.
Her: Omg, he’s ending. I had begun to lose hope.
Me: At least there’s tea. Never despair!

I’m really going to miss my colleagues.
But all good things have to, sadly and inevitably, come to an end.
Time to move on.

Happy 200

Listening to: Stereophonics
“Don’t you know it’s gonna last?”

For my two hundredth post, you would think that I would choose to write about something awe inspiring and significant. Suffice to say, at 8.06 am on a Friday morning and on the brink of the Christmas season I don’t really have that kind of capacity in me. I will however say, that Christmas came early for me this year. As in, Santa decided to hand me one of the things on my Christmas List.

Well not hand, but for a very suitable price I would literally call it almost free.

Number 4 on that list, in particular.
Let me recapitulate.

“4/ A pair of beautiful, well fit, bright red heels (sexiness optional).
I will roam the malls and halls and streets and highways until I find the perfect pair – preferably before Christmas.”

And so it was and it was perfect on every count.
Beautiful. Well fit (lovely size sevens). The perfect shade of bright red (not maroon, not fuschia, not pink).
I didn’t have to roam the streets and highways but I did have to go to One Utama, the Curve and finally Pyramid before I found her (they have to be her, I can’t refer to those lovely pearls as it, disgraceful!)
And I did find her yesterday, which to my count, is exactly one week before Christmas.

I didn’t think Vincci sold such lovely shoes until I saw her yesterday at the Padini Concept Store, some child had picked it up and was playing with her and my mother snatched it out of his hand and practically ran to me with them while I was snarling at a particularly hideous pair.

You know the feeling when you see something that is exactly what you were looking for and is meant just for you? Well, I saw them and as though I were meeting a soulmate, my heart leapt, this is no lie. Scientifically it was probably a heart palpitation and something I should look into but who cares at this point? Anyhoo, I rushed to the nearest bored looking shop assistant and asked for a fitting.

At this point in my fantasies what happens is the shopgirl would come up to me and boredly exclaim, “Solly madam, biggest size is five,” and sneer at me as though I were some size thirteen giantess. To which I would prepare to launch into a long lecture, about how the average foot size for an Asian woman is usually from five to seven and even if it weren’t, a five would definitely NOT be considered the BIGGEST size unless we were in Liliput, before my mother dragged me away while shading her face in shame.

However no worries here, she came out holding a white box and unwrapped the soft paper from within and brought her out. As I swallowed my lecture and slumped down to slip them on, I knew even before putting them on that they would fit.

And they did. Like a dream.

You know what makes it even better.
They were 20% off, so I really only had to pay less than RM50.

Do you know I traversed through Nine West and Guess but found these pearls at Vincci and at such an affordable price? I was so overwhelmed by the entire situation I developed a pounding headache and proceeded to speak in a loud voice the entire way back.

Entirely worth it.

I’m glad I spent my 200th post talking about her. And since I do not have fully charged camera batteries at the moment, I can only write about them and I’m sure since I’ve already hyped her up, she might not look as good in person (yes, she’s a beautiful person with a soul) but I don’t care.

I have her. Number four on my Christmas list.
My perfect bright red heels.

As my mother said to me as I skipped into the elevator after my shopping yesterday, ‘It takes so little to make you happy.’ Actually, it wasn’t so little, I had the perfect number 4 in my head and she epitomized it. As any woman will tell you, it’s not just a pair of shoes. I can’t even begin to explain this concept of what makes a woman love her shoes. The right pair of heels not only accentuates your heels, it adjusts your posture, allowing you to walk and stand tall. This induces some feeling of confidence makes you look and feel attractive hence improving your self esteem. You walk into a room with grace and you feel as though you own it. And you men, you don’t look at the shoes, but you definitely look at the legs, and it helps to have a great pair to help us out. Plus, it’s just a bonus when it looks hot. As we all know, when you look good, you’ll feel good too. And it’s how you feel about yourself that matters, not any one else.

Anyway enough with the excuses. Sometimes there doesn’t need to be a reason, because when it feels that good, it’s just good.

So you think you get boring emails?

Dear Anisha,

Hahahah heyyy misssy -

Thanks for your email, I’ve been missing u and His Wentworthiness a lot lately – sadly I am STILL at episode 5 of Prison Break (I KNOW I KNOW I should hang myself with shame) but I can’t help myself, it’s a combination of many things really, I’m a bit lazy and well… that’s about it :p but I PROMISE I’ll get down to it.

We’ve had plenty of family staying over ’cause my cousin goes of to the army for 2 years today and they can’t come for their annual xmas thingie, and I’ve been living like bit of a nomad lately cuz ppl keep using my room and I have to wander from room to room with my towel and a change of clothes just in case said ppl decide to sleep late and lock the door and I can’t get in to use my stuff.. it’ s complex. But I took 5 days off work and had an awesome time nonetheless. In the midst of all the crowd while everybody was busy preparing lunch (and I was busy watching Ugly Betty and eating chocolate) we got a call that my brother had injured himself while playing futsal and had to be rushed to the hospital.

So then there was the flurry of departures into the car and it was raining so heavily and my mom came in her sauce-stained blouse because she was so worried that she didn’t change out of the top she was using to marinate the chicken and we rushed to the hospital in the rain and my dad parked the car so suddenly, he turned off the engine without putting the wipers down. Anyway. His trauma emergency doctor on call was someone named Osama and he said that my brother had fractured his collarbone in three places but his blood test was within normal but they needed to do a CAT scan bec he had passed out after the collision and they were afraid there was some internal bleeding. Anyway, everything turned out okay and they kept him overnight for observation but my poor grandmother spent her birthday in the hospital with him and we couldn’t collect that gorgeous mud cake we had booked, sigh sigh sigh…

Anyways this week was something else. Since I took Monday and Tuesday off, I came in on Wednesday and found out that there has been a series of strange happenings at work. As in a daily occurrence, like somebody has been playing pranks for fun but nobody knows who it is and some of it is becoming pretty serious.

We have many theories as to what may be happening. One – its probably a string of events that’s just occurring in a highly coincidental fashion. Two – it’s a ghost, and it’s not unlikely – the med school cadaver(s) are downstairs (scary enough I would say!). Three – that somebody is playing a mean mean prank and doesn’t know any better. And four (and probably scariest) – that it’s some sort of sabotage. I’m betting on One because nothing as interesting as a ghost ever happens to me so that’s that. Everybody is sort of wondering what else is in store.

Anyway that’s the grand recent happenings of my life -_- nothing as exciting as the wedding you attended but I thought I should give you sth too hahaha — and wow, props to you for playing your role as bridesmaid appropriately, I would have dropped all the trays, fallen over my sari, broken the mirror and cursed myself for seven years.

OH I watched Twilight and the guy who played Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter (Robert Pattinson) is in it and can I say, it was a total chick flick but HE WAS SO INSANELY hot, I want to date a vampire myself now. Hahaha, what else what else?

Yep that’s it – I plan to wrap up work by next Friday and then start Xmas shopping and cookie baking and tree decorating and sleeping in. Sigh sigh sigh. Countingcounting.

I miss you muchness, please do email me about all the weddings you’re supposed to be attending seeing as how it’s wedding season in your family and all but if you get yourself hitched without telling me I will come and murder you myself.

Lots of wentloving,
Feli

A Short Disaster

Listening to: Powderfinger
“My happiness slowly creeping by”

Saturday was a day I had marked on my calendar to help my friend move house. Since we were all meeting at uni before heading out to her place, I dressed in my dirtiest raggiest shorts and an old t-shirt with a bad joke on the front and wore my most worn out tongs and came into uni. The second I stepped out of the lift, I bumped into two of my friends who looked at me and literally gave me a shocked once over but then the moment was over.

Surprisingly, everyone else was dressed respectably in slacks and pants, some even wore skirts (and make up) which left me thinking, omg, at least I’m dressed appropriately for a dusty, tiring, long moving day.

Until I found out that the moving excuse was just a ruse my darling friends has cooked up to get me into uni so that they could take me out for an early birthday surprise.

And there I was traipsing around Sunway in my ugliest, most raggedy clothing. My mother (who can’t even take it if I don’t comb my hair) almost had a coronary when she heard about it while taking in my attire. The italics she used in every inflection leaves little to the imagination.

But for once, she wasn’t overreacting; you should have seen the pair of shorts I had initially intended on wearing (think patterned horrors). Thank goodness for some initial foresight that forced me to change into more socially acceptable ones, else I wouldn’t have been allowed into some of the places that day.

I always manage to do stuff like this.
Someone more classy and genteel would have somehow worn her cutest shorts and ended up looking like the heroine of the day. I am lucky if I managed to pull off looking human at all.
Oh well, at least nothing much has changed.

Happy (advanced) birthday to me.

Purring toes

Listening to: Ben Harper

No, I do not have the pictures to prove it right now but trust me, I had the best weekend ever.

Here’s the juice: My friend scored VIP tickets to attend “Hennessy Artistry presents Flo Rida” at Bukit Kiara Indoor Arena. Now the only reason I planned to attend was because I love Low, I think it is one of the most addictive party songs to come out in awhile (before the world was introduced to Lollipop), so I figured if anything it would be amazing just to hear, and dance to it, live. But turns out, it wasn’t just about hearing Low live that evening, it was everything.

Now I mostly dress up like a downright drag when I go out but thank God that night I decided to actually take some effort, as in, contacts, makeup, heels. It’s not that I’m lazy, okay scratch that I am plenty lazy, I usually just forget the contacts and heels and consider eyeliner to be dressing it up. But even as we were walking to the arena and my high heels began slowly torturing my ankles and killing my toes one at a time, I began whining to Barath that I can’t believe I left my thongs in the car and could we go back and get them.

Thankfully he ignored me and kept walking because the second I saw the red carpet, I knew if I had worn slippers, like I was going to some pasar malam, even I would have had the decency to blush. Seriously, I didn’t even know that the event was by exclusive invitation only, unlike the recent Summer Splash, where about fifty million people turned up claiming to have been invited as well. So we registered at the Hennessy VSOP booth, walked down the red carpet and had polaroid shots taken and then, about 5 photographers took individual snaps of us, I felt like I was on E! and gratefully grinned (and tried to be cool), happy that I wouldn’t, for once, be photographed as a four foot gnome on an ego trip.

We strolled into the VIP lounge and performance area and I have to say, though things rarely do nowadays, this place took my breath away, Hennessy did an awesome job. It was the urban club that looked like a transformed warehouse, it was divided into Hennessy Miami, Shanghai, KL and Paris each with different themed backdrops. Red lit bars and DJ consoles cordoned the club with a huge stage front and center, and there were a free flow of drinks that night, each representing the four Hennessy flavors. It is my humble opinion that Miami was the best, the mint leaves did the trick I think. There were happy beautiful people everywhere and I once again glanced down happily at my feet, although my toes didn’t look quite too happily back at me.

When I was appropriately inebriated about three hours later, Pop Shuvit opened the night – and they were amazing as usual. Followed by Machi, who were also quite good. Now mind you, I have been abraod for three years so I had no idea who they were before they began and Barath told me, Machi was a french rapper, I kid you not! So when a group of Taiwanese guys came onstage I knew he had, once again, been shitting me. They were good though, I have to admit.

Flo Rida, however, was amazing. I didn’t know much of his other songs and it was clear that was the case for a lot of the crowd because he kept teasing us with Low and people responded pretty loudly to it. When he did do Low however, it was just as good as you can imagine it.

We left a bit after Low, close to one am, because my agonized toes had begun to become verbal and when we saw a couple of people puking near the bars, it was time for adieu. We scored a couple of hotdogs from the makcik vendor outside and I happily slipped into my sandals, my toes purring in satisfaction.

I slept most of Sunday and my mom didn’t even nag me once about mopping the house, which is in my view, the best weekend ever. I only regret not being able to meet up with Jason, as timing was the only thing that wasn’t in our favor this week. That and me not having my own car. I don’t know which would have made the most difference. I’ll catch you at the end of the year, Jase, I promise.

Meanwhile, I have to start work, I have a big week ahead of me as I’m sure most of you do. But for once, I didn’t get out of bed reluctantly, I’m trying to be positive again which isn’t easy, but I’m trying to make it work. And catch Dark Knight while I’m at it.

What Fifi Did – Two

Listening to: Sarah McLachlan
         “It’s one missed step one slip before you know it.”

In case you needed an update – Anisha and I made our way to Melbourne on the Tuesday after our finals were over.

Melbourne –  was awesome.

A metropolitan fusion of culture and bright city lights; people in business suits rushing across streets during the lunch break to fit in a massage, jumping unto trams, listening to the unending roar of trains as it pulls into stations and people of every walk of life bustle in and out carrying a free copy of the newspaper tucked under their armpits, tightening the belts of their trenchcoats and sliding their sunnies back on to shade their eyes from the unforgiving glare of the sun.

Tall buildings dot every corner and Seven-Elevens every 200 metres – trust me, there is neither in Adelaide. I had my first Slurpee in three years today.

I made great new friends, who made the experience all the more memorable. I was going to wait to upload photos before I wrote this post but I figured I might as well write it while the scent, taste and sounds of Melbourne was still raw in my eye’s mind.

I sipped hot thick Italian chocolate at Max Brenner, made a killing at MNG, listened to funky techno didgeridoo as I walked down Little Bourke Street, treked downhill in boots at 2 am for three blocks only to find that Baroq House was closed, sipped Kiwichee at Atrium Bar on the 35th floor of the Sofitel building, camwhored in front of Federation Square with Anisha, devoured lamb kebabs at Mecca Bah, had amazing sea food at Claypot, hung out till 5 am in pajamas after a great night out with our housemates, sipped mochas in quaint old cafe bars, was served vegetarian yum cha by a very Asian KGB-like figure in Chinatown, battled the flies all throughout the trip and dropped a cool $70 on Krispy Kreme doughnuts and Famous Amos cookies with Anisha

We lived with Nish’s friends for 3 days and they were, in a single word, amazing.

Anand, Mansi - if you guys ever read this – you guys rock.
Vivi and Curtis – it has been an absolute pleasure meeting you guys.

Melbourne was something I have been saving up for and working towards for ages – I thank God for such an awesome ass experience. And yet, trams and Max Brenner and all, I am truly happy to be back in Adelaide. Good old Addy with its 70% senior citizens, sunshine attitude and relaxed ease – there is nothing like Adelaide.

Tomorrow night, Idol finals air at 730 p.m. Tonight, I&I dinner at Pondok Bali. Meanwhile, its 30something degrees and I feel like I’m burning from the inside out, but at least – there aren’t any flies.

Freebies

Listening to: Craig David (yes, yes)
Currently Reading: Forever Odd – Dean Koontz

To start off, I have a question for you. Read it out loud if it helps.

Courtesy of one of posters at the Royal Adelaide Show that yours truly attended for the first time in ever. Yes, yes.

The Show is the equivalent of the local carnival that comes to town which everybody swears they will not go to this time but inevitably find themselves at, again and again, paying exorbitant prices to eat candy floss, get repeatedly hit in the face by huge soft toys hoisted over men’s shoulders and failing miserably at one of those stall games that you are certain you can win this year but which invariably guarantees the stall keepers laughing at your expense – once again.

 But - my oh so lovely friends grudgingly decided to pay the entrance fee in order to accompany the very naive moi and go through the motions of dizzily staring at sky high carnival rides, critically stare at but secretly contemplate buying showbags, endure the weird man at the bus who kept turning around to stare at us (or rather Keeks) straight in the face while we were talking (I felt like yelling hoi man,you do know we can see you through the magical power of sight ), eat tasteless hotdogs and have an all round banging (but freezing) good time.

We even managed to catch the last bit of the motorshow stunts. The testosterone levels at the Oval was so tangible you could have cut it just by waving a pair of panties through the air. You could literally sense that every man in that stadium wanted to be that guy on the motorcycle, twirling around dangerously while his bike flew aimlessly across a MAC truck. Yes, testosterone doesn’t always induce intelligence but it’s useful I suppose.

Then came the fireworks. Which was really amazing – I can’t remember the last time I watched fireworks properly, like I always catch glimpses of the things, but never one from start to finish, and as far as fireworks go, these ones were pretty.

And of course, to spoil the entire effect, I had to go and remember that the soaring fireworks reminded me of ascending neurons from our genetics lecture, temporarily rewarding me with stares from my friends – to which I say, fair enough.

We stood around the carnie grounds wondering which of us would be brave enough to go on some incredibly high swirly twirly thing and could we actually pay to go on them when this incredibly dodgy guy came up to us and handed me 4 gleaming pieces of paper. I looked at him with a, do you think I’m gonna fall for that, look and he insisted, “Take it.”

To which I did, dumbfoundedly, without so much as a thank you, and he walked out. What did he give us?

Those my friends are 4 VIP Complimentary Passes to any theme park ride. We took several embarassing pics to commemorate our good luck and then proceeded to wander around like idiots looking for rides to which we could best use our free tickets to.

Only to find out we couldn’t use it on any ride. Oh yeah, it did allow us to go on one ride, but it wasn’t the amazing Solero shot-like ride or the uber cool Gravitron – ultimately it was the one that involved us having to sit on a shaky looking train and travel around a “haunted” “castle” to have “ghosts” and “monsters” with suspiciously large beer bellies grab at your legs while they scream frantically.

Note all my open inverted commas, because really, the words come with their own brand of reality.

So we did the next best thing and pawned them of to another group of four guys We spread the “luck” and got the hell outta there while they happilly hurried of to the Gravitron.

 On the way back my bus tickets didn’t work and that required me having to put on my Oliver Twist face “please sir, my ticket isn’t working” and that got me a free bus ride home.

Hung out with the girls, watched a Spanish movie on SBS which had a good storyline in and of itself but the lead actress had the distracting habit of removing her clothes in almost two thirds of the scenes.

And so went the Show 2007.

Good stuff, dubious tickets nonwithstanding. 

Encore

Listening to: All American Rejects Currently Reading: The Tea Rose – Jennifer Connelly

“Security is knowing you will always be part of the gang.” – Peanuts

From chocolate cake to tiramisu, bitching about Halle Berry (and her damned perfect ass), to fighting over who’s got the naughtiest face and secret recordings; from Peanuts to new wallets, chocolates and gift hampers to photographs and memories…Happy Birthday Noonie

Being marooned on an island  is alright when there are people like you to *poke incessantly* , to share good music with interspersed with insane laughter, frequent Friends quotes, exchanging gossip and laughter, support and all around good times.

To a very Stupendous Dude, happy 21st!!

stupendousdude with
thenamegang
 

And just as a by the way, a few quotes from some of my all time favourite people:

Phoebe: Hey. Why isn’t it Spidermen? You know, like Goldman, Silverman.
Chandler: Because, it… it’s not his last name.
Phoebe: It isn’t?
Chandler: No. It’s not like Phil Spidermen. He’s a spider man. You know, like Goldman is a last name but there’s no gold man.
Phoebe: Oh, oh okay…
Phoebe: There should be a gold man!

 [Re: "If you had to give up sex or food, which would you pick?"] Monica: Sex!
Chandler: Seriously. Answer faster.
Monica: I’m sorry, sweetie. When she said “sex” I wasn’t thinking of sex with you.
Chandler: It’s like a big hug.
Phoebe: Ross, how about you? Sex or food?
Ross: Sex!
Phoebe: What about sex or dinosaurs?
Ross: My God, it’s like Sophie’s Choice.
Phoebe: Joey, if you had to give up sex or food, which would you pick?
Joey: I don’t know it’s too hard.
Rachel: Come on, you have to answer.
Joey: Okay… sex. No, food. No, uh… I want both! I want girls on bread!

Joey: Hey Ross. If homo sapiens were in fact “homo sapiens”, could that be why they’re extinct? 
Ross: Joey, homo sapiens are people.
Joey: Hey! I’m not judging here. 

Ross: This is so exciting, I haven’t seen my monkey in almost a year. Chandler: What, you never look down in the shower?
[pause]
Chandler: Oh, please. I’m not allowed to make one joke in the monkey-is-penis genre? 

Joey: Pheebs, you wanna help?
Phoebe: Oh I wish I could, but I really don’t want to.

Monica: Joey, what would you do if you were omnipotent?
Joey:I’d probably kill myself.
Monica: Excuse me?
Joey: Hey, if “Little Joey”‘s dead, then I got no reason to live. 
Ross: Uh, Joey… Omnipotent.
Joey: You are? Ross, I’m sorry. 

 [a ritual to get rid of bad-boyfriend karma]
Phoebe: Okay, now we need the sage branches and the sacramental wine.
Monica: All I have is oregano and a Fresca.
Phoebe: That’s okay.
[Adds them]
Phoebe: All right, now we need the semen of a righteous man.
Rachel: OK, Pheebs, you know what? If we had that, we wouldn’t be doing the ritual in the first place. 

Ross: First divorce: wife’s hidden sexuality, not my fault. Second divorce: said the wrong name at the altar, kind of my fault. Third divorce: they shouldn’t let you get married when you’re that drunk and have stuff drawn all over your face, Nevada’s fault. 

Rachel: See? Unisex.
Joey: Maybe you need sex. I just had it a few days ago.
Rachel: No, Joey, U-N-I-sex.
Joey: I wouldn’t say no to that. 

Joey: Rach, you gotta find out if he’s in the same place you are. Otherwise, it’s just a moo point.
Rachel: A moo point?
Joey: Yeah. It’s like a cow’s opinion. It just doesn’t matter. It’s moo. Rachel: Have I been living with him too long or did that all just make sense?

 [Upon hearing Ross "practicing" the bagpipe for their wedding in honour of Chandler's Scottish roots]
Monica: Why must your family be Scottish?
Chandler: Why must your family be Ross? 

Joey: Oh, yeah. Go for it man, jump off the high dive, stare down the barrel of the gun, pee into the wind.
Chandler: Yeah, Joe, I assure you if I’m staring down the barrel of a gun, I’m gonna be pretty much peeing every which way. 

(upon revealing the secret that Chandler had once accidentally kissed a guy)
Chandler: You wanna tell secrets? Okay. In college, Ross used to wear leg warmers.
Ross: All right. Chandler entered a Vanilla Ice look-a-like contest…and won.
Chandler: Ross came in fourth and cried.
Ross: Chandler got drunk one night and slept with the woman who cleaned our dorm.
Chandler: That was you.
Ross: Whatever dude. You kissed a guy. 

 And one of my favourite Phoebe quotes: I may play the fool at times but I’m a little more than just a pretty blonde girl with an ass that won’t quit. 

Monica: Are you sure you peed on the stick right?
Rachel: How many ways are there to do that?

 [talking about Ralph Lauren]
Joey: I hate his underwear. one time I brought a pair marked XS and let me tell you there’s no room for anything excess in there.

Phoebe: I remember the day I got my first paycheck. There was a cave-in in one of the mines, and eight people were killed. “
Monica: Wow, you – you worked in a mine? “
Phoebe: No, I worked in a Dairy Queen. Why? 

Phoebe: Ok, I got an idea. If it’s a girl, Phoebe, naturally. And, if it’s a boy… Phoebo.
Ross: Uhh… Sure, but let’s not limit ourselves to just one name. Rachel: Ok, I got one. If it’s a girl… Sandrine. It’s French.
Ross: That’s a great name… for an industrial solvent.
Rachel: Ok, you got a better one?
Ross: Yeah, check this out. If it’s a boy – Darwin.
Rachel: Yes, Ross, I do want a son who’ll be regularly beaten in the schoolyard.
Phoebe: By Sandrine

Monica:I think I’d be great in a war. I’d, like, get all the medals. Chandler: Before or after you’re executed by your own troops? 

Ross: I love marriage!
Phoebe: Seriously? You? Divorce-O?
Ross: If you’re going to call me names, I would prefer Ross, the Divorce Force. It’s just cooler.

And last but not least:
Chandler: I’m not so good with the advice, could I interest you in a sarcastic comment?