I've always thought that as a lady,
one of the things you absolutely have to know,
and not only know,
but to be a master at,
is strutting down the streets in a pair of drop-dead gorgeous heels.

If you can't do that,
you're nothing but an ordinary girl.

There's just something in a pair of heels,
that evokes this helpless urge in you to turn your head for that first look
of the face behind that enigmatic "klock"
of heels against solid ground.
And it's a plus point if she's hot.

There's just something in a pair of heels,
that makes a lady go crazy
to wanna slip her feet into them
and withstand the torture that she knows is in store for her.

Ah....The price of vanity.

But it isn't just plain old vanity.
It's more than that.

It's the "I feel good~ nana nana nana na~ I'm feeling so good now~" kinda feel
that has this magical ability to turn a lady from an insecured,
ill-treated step daughter all covered in cinders and ashes,
into a beautiful princess all but oozing sexy confidence,
one that captivated a prince and had him worshiping her glass slipper
like the biggest fool ever born.

Now I really don't think he'd roamed his kingdom with the lone footwear
had it been flats or flip-flops.
I know I wldn't go ard searching for the owner of a pair of crocs,
if I were him.

For awhile now,
I have surrendered to the evil comforts of slippers and humble flats.
And I hadn't realised how badly I had deteriorated
until I met up with Jiao Lao Shi and provider Zee for ktv


and seen how the former pranced around in her forever high heels
as if she is shoe-less.

She is really 老师。
Not only can she run the stan chart marathon in her skyscraper heels,
eat like Michael Phelps - a tonne of holey tofu followed by a herd of cows,
she can also,
like Phelps,
win 8 Olympic gold medals
that is,
if they ever have an event called KTV

So the day after,
I gritted my teeth and prepared for war with my red devil-wears-prada heels.
With sheer determination I fought my way down the flight of stairs.
Fresh from the triumph over the waves of dizziness that crashed over me
as I hobbled down the stairs,
I made my way to the bus stop,
gripped the railings on the exceptionally crowded bus
like my life depended on it,
managed the 15 min walk to my office,
lasted the six grueling hours of work,
and mind you!
Work included dragging the stupid,
heavy mail bags to and fro like an idiot
as the rest of the aunties and especially
the two stupid boys abandoned me (But that's another story for another day).

As the day wore out,
so did the skin on my heels, my feet, and good old tenacity.
I was convinced that the particular pair of red heels
at my feet was designed for the devil himself.
I began to look yearningly at my batch mate, Ballball's shoes.

At Dhoby Gaut, I finally bid goodbye to the red devil with a grimace.
Afterall, it had kept me company from *hub, to **as, and finally to SP*.
It had walked many painful distance with me,
seen many places with me
including my first and only visit to Hooters (No, I wasn't workin there, dumbass)
and shared many experiences with me
like the first and only time Dear Dew and Mu actually ventured to MOS
only to be frightened away by the queue for instance.

So at Dhoby, I ruthlessly swopped my old pal for a new companion,


and continued my refresher course with heels.

I trekked from Central to Clinic at Cannery the wrong way,
and finally the correct but long way,
collected my Nike run pack,


modelled the clarke quay area with my comfy new companion,
cat-walked back to Central for dinner and deserts,


and finally concluded the long day with a long MRT ride back home
playing the balancing game while hanging on to the railings for dear life,
followed by the long, precarious walk home.

Just when I wanted to give myself a pat on the back
for my perseverence in this re-acquaintance program with heels,
just as the block of flats I call home
came within sight, within reach,
I lifted my right leg to cross the treacherous, deceptively low curb
the final obstacle that provider Zee had so easily stepped across,
as she continued yakking beside me,
I felt my world tilt just 15 degrees,
and very instinctively grabbed her as I let out a yelp.

Puzzled,
she looked down at my shoe-less right foot in shock
as I turned into an uncontrollable
whiny, laughing, messy mass.

You see,
I didn't intend for myself to look like a portrait of comical clumsiness
standing two feet on the curb,
the left nicely elevated, wrapped in pretty purple heels,
the right, right beside it, where it belongs,
but with ugly toenails exposed,
and the right shoe dejected lying sideways below the curb.

The thing no one realises about heels is this.
Like a woman,
it takes getting used to.
It takes time, and effort to get to know,
to get to understand.
For heels,
if you wanna climb a curb,
u got to lift your feet higher than you usually do
unlike flats where your whole feet is at the same level.
You gotta be aware that the ball of your feet is already,
because of your footwear, naturally lifted.

SO YOU SHOULDN'T ATTEMPT TO LOWER THEM TO THE SAME LEVEL AS
THE FRONT OF YOUR FEET BEFORE YOU EVEN CROSS THE CURB
HOWEVER LOW THAT CURB MAY BE

Because then you would trip in front of the coffeeshop
that you walked a million times past
and where you know you'll walk a million times more
leaving your one ugly foot open to scare the living daylights out of all
especially when you're dressed exceptionally "funky" that day
(As told by your colleagues)

P.S It's funky, not fugly ok, Ms Hung!

I should have known better after 22 years of getting in and out of clumsy situations.
There will never be a graceful ending for adventures that I star in.

So the question is, to heel or not to heel?

Just as the saying goes,
don't wear an over-sized hat if you've got a small head.
Don't insist on turning yourself into that stiletto babe
you always turn for a second look
whenever you hear that sexy "klock" coming down your way,
when you are obviously just that overlooked girl next door.

It's far more embarrassing if you fall flat on your face
just as that hot stranger turns around for a look at you
as you come "klocking" or rather, "plopping" down his way.

But you see,
it isn't that I refuse to take my own advice,
but how can you expect me to when I have at least 5 pairs of heels in my collection?
A collection that I predict can only expand.
It's not like they will just miraculously disappear,
and it's a waste of money leavin them pretty things hidden away in the closet.

So mark my words,
I will befriend my heel-y pals and
I will one day turn into that sexy thing 'klocking' down your way
in sky-high heels.

One day.

Until then,
keep your eyes focused on my face
or my B-flat chest
and pretend you didn't see the flip flops at my feet.

Better still,
look the other way
when I collapse into a humiliating crumbled heap on the floor
with my stilettos having flew 500 miles away from me
while I struggle to find my way
to heel nirvana.

On Friday, 22nd August

1st half:


2nd half:
As we huddled around the round table,
with the blare of the tiu tiu tiu music forming a protective film around us,
hugging us as we chatted,
as we told stories,
even as we cat-fought.

It always is the case I suppose,
how a woman will always be forgiving towards her man,
how she can forever be able to find excuses for all the wrongs he put her through.

And just as similarly,
it will always be the good friend who has problems with the boyfriend.
How she always feels indignant on her behalf for the way the boyfriend treats her,
how she always shares a love-hate relationship with the beau.

Love him- for he makes the good friend happy
Hate him- for the way he treats her like a fool

And there we have it too,
around the same table,
the contrast between the women who have bravely entered into relationships before,
and those who are still stubbornly insisting on waiting for the right one,
however cliche that sounds.

The difference in expectations is staggering,
I must say.

As the harsher women pit themselves against their milder counterparts,
as the different beliefs clash,
as questions of,
"I don't understand how u can allow him to blah blah blah...."
and their corresponding replies of
"But it's like that what. No choice also, I'm ok de blah blah blah...."
bounced off one another like an exciting table tennis match,
the type of foolishness that I have always wondered how women could let themselves sink into
suddenly became clear in that split second.

Foolishness is really self-defined in this case.
What is foolish to me,
may simply be practical realism to another.
Similarly, what is to me rightful behavior,
can turn out to be merely prideful idealism to another.

From innocent little girls with open hearts,
we grow into young ladies with bright expectations of the future,
the future that is a perfect portrait as told by our mums,
as told in fairytales,
the perfect picture of cheery smiles and happily ever afters.
Then within the blink of an eye that came too soon,
caution took over as hot tears washed those stardust away.

Don't we all love to reminisce about the good old days,
to talk about the past,
what we love about it,
and what we would love to change?
And don't we all just love to laugh at the young ones,
as they fumble with their lives,
as we gleefully watch them tread or in some cases,
STAMPEDE their way in their lives into the same big black hole
that we ourselves have once fallen into before?

I do.

To champagne, margaritas, chicken wings,
to loud, hearty laughters,
and women in their 20s

Cheers~

Ohana means family~

The other day my friend Zee the provider lent me Xiao Zhu's concert DVD,
and I found a particular segment especially touching.
So touched was I that I could not help turning into a watery mess each time I watched it.

It was an inspiring show of ultimate filial piety.
His father passed away some time ago,
and ever since,
he has always kept an empty seat beside his mother in all of his concerts,
firmly believing in the presence of his father being there,
despite his physical absence.
During this concert,
it was his mother who fell seriously ill.
In his frustration,
he lost his temper at (I suppose) the divine being
that HE was being extremely cruel to him
by always threatening to take away people who are dearest to him
whenever he stages a concert

Life is an extremely fragile thing.
And family,
it takes a special kind of affinity to be one.

Although mine is a lil wacky,
it is whole.

So, in celebration of this completeness,
I took them out to sample some good food lately.

The day after National Day we went to try out their set lunch for 4,
all thanks to Thomas Ng advertising it,
then starring in "a perfect cut" which left my mum with a serious crush over him.
That was about $185 worth of crush.
Food's not bad,
especially the coconut seafood soup,
which appealed to me aesthetically.
Best is what I call the quality of the spare ribs.
The set comes with desert that's supposedly
Hashima (background pic)

The last time I went to peony jade with the star-bers left me wanting for more.
So I took my family, plus grandma there yesterday afternoon.

Unfortunately, my pathetic paycheck could only afford their lunch buffet,
which amounted to close to $40/ pax after all the irritating pluses.
Boo boo to the replacement of my wasabi prawn with oats prawn.
I miss my WASABI PRAWNSSSSS!!!!
Kudos to the soft shell crab with pork floss-Still as good as I remember.
Other worth mentioning is the shark's fin soup which REALLY has flakes
yes, I mean it, thick thick FLAKES of fin.
My brother fell in love with the black peppered beef
and stir fried venison.
The other dishes are good too.
You noe how it is tt restaurants often make their buffet food substandard.
Peony Jade on the other hand,
is worthy of the many awards they have stacked on their walls.
Even buffet food is just as carefully prepared.
The fact that I haf no time to snap pics of food should be testimony enough.
Given how satisfied everyone is with the meal,
I foresee me bringin them back for more,
hence, delicious pics soon.
*After my pay comes in that is.
One day, when my paycheck gets fatter,
I'll bring them back for a real treat from their ala carte menu*

So more human pics to make up for the lack of food pics.



So there, my family.
A bimbo mum,
a himbo dad who cracks jokes that only he himself finds funny,
and a leech of a brother.
A little abnormal, but happy unit.

*And we can DEFINITELY be happier if ti gong pohpi tt my parents strike behpio then maybe I can claim some "reimbursements"*

You can probably tell, the elders are not that young anymore.
As we walked to the restaurant, you can see grandmother lagging at the back.
The brat of a brother slowed his steps and fell into line beside her.
As much a rascal as he is, he has heart :)

Daddy is the man of the family.
Although most of the time,
the one you see shouting the commands
and sending all of us into a panicked scatter is my mum.
He is still the quiet one,
still mumbling his words inaudibly,
and we still hafta "huh" him at least twice
before we caught the unfunny jokes that he tells.
Sometimes, most of the time,
his jokes are really not worth the extra effort to "huh".
Lately, his hunchback has been getting worst.
My daddy isn't getting any younger,
yet he still works just as hard,
doing his best,
carrying the heavy load around the warehouse.

My mum still is the blur bimbo that she always has been.
Just last week,
she put on her new wig and shades
and insisted that I take a photo of her

"So Korean Tai Tai!!!" she gushed as she admires her photo,
"Send me send me!!" she pleaded like a giggly little girl.
But lately, she doesn't seem to remember things as well as before.
And she certainly isn't as alert as she used to be.

Age is certainly catching up on them.
Yet most often than not,
we are sadly too engrossed in our own busy lives to notice that.
It is true that we only live once,
and there's this saying that we should always live our lives to the fullest,
live high when we're young,
collect interesting stories so we can relive their glory when we're old and wrinkly
or like some irritating others do,
brag about them to others whenever the chance arises.

And in our selfishness,
we forget,
that our parents too,
only live once.

And the scariest thing is,
You never know just when that "once"
would be up.

Greetings from the babe,
who is obviously not the blog owner here.

I am neither brave enough,
nor rich enough,
to go under the knife,
thank you very much.

Unless it's Christian Troy....
*Sighs~ *hot*hot*hot*

So the silly me thought that I was lucky to win two tickets to the national day parade.
And then Look what happened.
It just has to start pouring -_-!!

And while the bunch of us were suffering in the rain
struggling with the takglam ponchos,
(I have no idea wat dew is so happy about...)

the other 1/2 of LK were comfortably nestled in Manyzer Hung's office.


Lookin at the brewerkz and chicken wings just makes my blood boil.
Hello, we only had some stupid buns can!!!
And u noe how passionate I am about food.

So to take revenge,
and to commemorate the 1st yr anniversary of my 5yr bet,
we headed down to chomps and popped some choya

We are all secret alcohol connoiseurs.
I'm covering my face cos I noe it's damn red,
and I'm lazy to have to photoshop it to avoid lookin like some drunk idiot.

In all the merrymaking and choya drinking,
we never forgot limei and her signature pose.
So this is for you MEI!!!

Hand big enough not?

To 4 more years of singlehood
*cue: fireworks
More craziness
(in the middle of the road....b4 we even touched any alcohol)
And more doses of my lovely ladies
Cheers to Singapore,
to our silver-winning table tennis team,
and to us.

Fireworks festival next!!
Woohoo!!

A long overdue NDP post
that I thought was apt to put up today
since it's the day of the table tennis match that every singaporean
is talking abt.
Hahahaha~

On a very ordinary day a few ordinary days ago,
a very ordinary me opened my very ordinary email account
just to do a very ordinary routine check.

To my surprise,
I received a NOT-THAT-ORDINARY mail.

It just says,
in a very ordinary way,

hey babe,

havent seen u update ur blog for ages. everything alright? email me.

xoxo,
angie

And just like that,
she made my very ordinary day,
extraordinary.

Thank you Angeline Tan Lay Ting.
I felt the warmth all the way from across the big blue ocean,
all the way from where you are in Australia :)

You see,
I genuinely enjoy writing.
I actually do take pride in what I blog about.
In my humble opinion, there are too many blogs in cyberspace
filled with boring crap written with lousy, uninteresting English,
not to mention going into irritatingly meaningless details,
it really doesn't need another one.

I guess the bitchy me just hadn't fully realised
that blogging isn't just about the language,
or the content.

I used to wonder how people could be so vain,
to stuff their blogs so full of pictures that are not even pretty or handsome
to begin with,
or to blog about everything and anything that happens to them
even though they noe,
(I mean, how can they NOT KNOW )
that reading their written English is an unbearable torment.

Blogs actually serve a deeper purpose,
a much more meaningful one,
one that gives even the boring-est person alive,
the right to that piece of cyberspace,
yes, even the right to produce "cyber-pollution",
"cyber-contamination"

simply because it gives the people who care about you
a chance to peek into your life,
a way of knowing how you are doing,
and a way of holding on to that friendship
in their own time,
in their own special ways.

And she says:
I got a little paranoid and worried for a while,
thinking adverse stuff happened to u and I didnt know
coz ur blog is really the only way i know that u are alive.
so yup i decided to email u,
just in case, you know.
i found it weird that u totally didnt blog for so long.
im nt a big fan of wordy blogs
(yes, im a visual person, the better looking the better i like it)
but i actually enjoy reading urs
(nt that u dont have nice photos)
coz i thought it is witty and funny and it cracks me up after a tough day sometimes.

ey, am i doing a good job at persuading u to blog again?

You did an excellent job at it in fact.