Occasionally, the nipples still stand

These days, I'm really enjoying the ability to luxuriate in the nice tingly chill of a 24 degree celsius air-conditioned room (i.e. mine). I am pretty sure many of you would find this a tad warm... but for the past year or more temperatures in my room have hovered between 25 - 26. I am, afterall, known amongst my friends as the-freak-who-wears-a-long-sleeved-sweater-to-cook-in-the-kitchen.

On my recent China trip, the family and I found ourselves in Tong Ren Tang - made famous when it's founding doctors managed to prolong the lives of the Emperor and his family. This is Traditional Chinese Medicine at its best.

I was initially skeptical (actually, I still am) about the doctor's diagnosis of my problem(s) - something about irregular periods (unfortunately, it comes like clockwork every month to torment me) - blood clots - something drying up - and if I don't "fix" it... infertility. Of course, this got mom all worried, right, *roll eyes* and she made sure the doctor prescribed medicine to "fix" me, despite my protestations that I didn't need it.

I have been taking my medicine though, not because I worry about becoming infertile, but because I think it will help me improve on my low blood pressure*. And if being able to tolerate, no, enjoy, a nice chill in the air is proof that it's working - then I am quite happy popping those nasty looking black pills every day.

*LMD's theory of low blood pressure is that it causes a person to feel cold because there is not enough blood being pumped around the body to keep it warm.

Genius-ly stupid

I was wondering why my blog is so boring when it hit me that I haven't been writing. Talk about Duh.

As my friend Skates put it so eloquently (and whose phrase I shall shamelessly plagiarize) - I am a genius when it comes to being stupid.

Goodbye

After a week of tramping around in dirty China toilets, I decided against bringing home my trusty pair of peenk phlower shoos.

.

.

.

I am now suffering inexplicable pangs of guilt for throwing you away. Almost two years of good use for only $19.90 - you were indeed a very good pair of shoos. I will miss you. :(

Peenk phlower shoos among pebble rocks

Relatively speaking, my Mandarin is excellent

My brother's Mandarin is so bad it's actually funny. For some strange reason, he decided to brush up on his Mandarin during the trip and kept bombarding me with questions like What's XXX in Chinese? What'd he say? What's that mean?

It so happened that the coach we were travelling in had several extra passengers in the form of buzzing flies. I guess they must have annoyed my brother enough for him to ask me What's "fly" in Chinese? to which I replied fei (1) and so he started chanting fei (1) fei (1) fei (1) before some ancient light bulb went off in his head and he said, Are you sure??

And then there was the visit to Fubo Hill which sparked his curiosity enough to ask me What's fubo? to which I replied bitter uncle. Then I got chided by mom for teaching him wrong thing. :(

But still, nothing beats him running to me insisting that the roadside vendors were selling dog meat sausages because while he could read the Chinese word for "dog", he could not recognise the accompanying Chinese word for "hot".

Obviously, being a genius runs in the family.

Off for some cheena immersion

Travelling again, this time to China with the family. Was quite surprised Dad agreed to come along (he hates travelling), and I suppose it will be a bittersweet reunion with his motherland - this will be the first time he's returned "home" after fleeing the Japanese invasion in the 1930s.

It's been years since we last went on a family holiday -- the last time being to London for my brother's (or was it mine?) convocation. I'm quite sure I won't be stumbling back to my room drunk this time round.

It's been a while since the family's been excited about something together, although I can't help worrying that Dad might find all the sight-seeing a tad too tiring. Maybe I will have to piggy-back him in the end.

Discovering my lesbian side

Over dinner with some of The Girlfriend's (lesbian) friends, conversation veered round to lesbian stereotypes. It all started when one of them noticed how sandals - in particular, Birkenstocks - were the preferred foot gear of the night. Extremely tongue-in-cheek, but here's the stereotypical* profile we came up with:

Preferred Car - Hyundai (Tucson, Getz), Rav 4
Preferred Footwear - Birkenstock (more on this later)
Preferred Wallet - Braun Buffel
Preferred Bag - Crumpler
Preferred Clothing - Cargo pants
Preferred Watch - Tag Heuer, G-Shock

I can't remember what other stereotypes we came up with, because The Girlfriend and I had launched into a mini-argument about how "lesbian" I am. Not that it really bothers me (the labels, that is) - but I still do not consider myself "lesbian", something The Girlfriend attributes to "denial".

Anyway, The Girlfriend was teasing me because I recently bought a pair of Birkenstocks.

See, you're turning lesbian.

No I'm not.

What's that you're wearing on your feet now?

I bought them because I thought they'd be comfortable!

Doesn't matter, you still bought them.

...

*Yes, we know these are just stereotypes, so please don't come running crying bloody murder if you're straight and happen to drive a Rav 4 or carry a Crumpler bag, ok?

I guess I must be doing something right

The Girlfriend: Honey, how would you like to be my slave?

LMD: ... Of course not!

The Girlfriend: ... But why not? It'll be so good to be my slave.

LMD: ... "Slave" and "good" don't go in the same sentence.

The Girlfriend: I'm sure you'll be a good slave!

You know, I can't decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing that The Girlfriend thinks so highly of my slave competencies.

I am a hero in my dreams

Dad likes to remind me he's getting on in years, and teases me about having to "piggy-back" him in time to come. I always nod my head in affirmation, although we both know he would never expect or even want me to piggy-back him in reality. My sub-conscious, however, won't let me forget my promises that easily.

In my dream, Dad was driving. I was feeling uncomfortable, because his vision isn't good enough to drive. Before I could voice my concern, however, the roads suddenly turned into rocky dug-up cement tracks. We were on the ground, crawling commando style on spotlessly clean white strips of cloth.

The sun was sweltering and I looked back over my shoulder to see how Dad was faring. He was hot and looked very very tired. Alarmed, I lifted his arm over my shoulder and carried him round the corner where I sat him down at a cafe and asked for water - which he promptly splashed over himself.

... and he laughed, when I told him about my dream.

This should be a forbidden movie

As a fan of Jet Li, it was mandated that I watch Forbidden Kingdom even though I didn't have a clue what the story was about. I had probably settled down for about all of 5 minutes before the first suspicious thought entered my mind. Er, what the hell? Why is there such a sorry looking fella in the movie? It didn't take too long to figure out the rest of the plot (so predictable, really), and I have to say I now know why Jackie Chan had not been keen on taking on the project.

First off, I have to say kungfu movies HAVE to be in Chinese. A true blue cheena girl at heart, I found the entire film cringeworthy. Actually, no, I take that back. The movie was alright (thanks to the single saving grace - Jet Li), I cringed only when the characters opened their mouths and spewed forth English. *gags in horror*

Secondly, I can't for the life of me imagine why they chose such a sorry looking fella to be the "hero". He reminds me of Keanu Reeves and his mono-face. Needless to say, I found him totally and utterly unconvincing in his role. *pukes in disgust*

Thirdly, I have to say I am NOT a fan of Jackie Chan. His (recent) movies exude a distinct corny/slapstick sense of humour that I can't appreciate. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, you can spot his jokes coming from a mile away - so at least I could brace myself for some bottom-feeding humour. *snorts in derision*

There are very few films that have made me want to walk out halfway, and I am sad sad sad to say that this is one of them.

Obviously not

It is apparent the word "obviously" does not exist in Lily's vocabulary, because even after I told her (in all seriousness), Obviously, The Box is Too Small for you, she insisted on having it her way.

She didn't believe me, obviously.

Strike Two!

Tried two new (to me) restaurants recently, both of which were disappointing.

1) Ramen Santouka at The Central - which I'd read about in one of Mr Miyagi's reviews. Now I like my ramen, and I love a good savoury soup base that packs a full flavour, so I was really really looking forward to the ramen at Ramen Santouka.

My friend and I both ordered their recommended Shio (Salty) soup base with the choice cheek cut chasu. When it arrived, however, I started to have second thoughts the moment I saw the thick layer of oil floating on top of the broth. I decided I shouldn't be so anal and stirred it in - thinking it would enhance the flavour, then took a sip of the wonderf... um, really very oily broth lor.

The pork slices looked inviting however, so I bit into one, and was hit with the full flavour of... salt. Granted, the pork slices were oh-so-tender, but good grief, I thought the days of using salt to preserve food were long over?! I only managed 2 out of the 5? 6? slices of pork and half the ramen before deciding I really couldn't eat anymore of the vile oily & salty stuff meal.

To top it off, the chinese tea was not free flow and I had to pay $4 for 2 glasses of hot tea - which I desperately needed to rinse out the oily & salty taste from my mouth.

2) La Braceria Pizza & Grill at Ban Guan Park - which Tym had read about some time ago. Our starters were pretty nondescript. My pumpkin soup was ok and so was her beef carpaccio, although I would have preferred it if it hadn't been swimming in olive oil and lemon juice.

For mains I had the proscuitto funghi pizza - and I marvelled at the elliptical shaped pizza before sinking my teeth into the moist juicy segment of gastronomic deligh... um, really very salty piece of ham lor. Maybe I'm biased because it seems I have a low tolerance for salt, so I removed some of the ham and tried it again, but this time it fell flat on it's face with hardly any taste. I don't know, are pizzas totally dependent on their toppings for taste?

Then I decided to try their profiteroles because I thought maybe, just maybe, they would taste like the profiteroles at Valentino's (my all-time favourite Italian restaurant). When they arrived, however, my hopes were crushed. The chocolate sauce was thin and watery, nothing at all like the thick-yet-light-moussey-texture of the mind-blowing chocolate sauce that distinguishes the profiteroles at Valentino's. But never mind, let's try the cream puff. So I bit into one and... there's something strange about this... it's not... sweet... why is the cream not sweet??

***

I need revenge good food and I need it soon.