point of no return

JAMES & LIN

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EUGENE & OLIVIA

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JOSEPH & KERYN

~daytime delight~

~evening elegance~















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JAMES & JESSICA

...take the plunge, quite literally, on a sweltering summer's day. these were the most decent pics i got which didn't scream i'm sweating like a hog and my clothes are now permamently my drentched second skin! the glisten effect (you know, like matt or glossy options) came for free.

why...

is it 17 freezing degrees out?
does it feel like it's 17 freezing degrees in?
do i have so damn much work?
do i think i love the subject matter?
am i oh so uninspired to work on that so damn much work of which the subject matter i think i love?
am i so bleah-ed out of my brains?
do my self-enforced-discipline-by-way-of-externally-imposed-deadlines not seem to matter a tick anymore?

back again

...since forever!

things i got up to in between my internet hiatus (sneaked in snipets at work aside) include paul coelho's the alchemist, lynee truss' eats, shoots & leaves, atwood's the tent, garrison keillor's love me, keith's 22nd at squire's loft, the yummiest korean at goshen with kerry, pretending to do my piling up load of work, running silly errands - the root of which cannot yet be mentioned, arundhati roy's the god of small things, loving she will have her way: the songs of tim & neil finn, getting frustrated with the endless mess about the house, trying to (so far unsuccessfully) re-kickstart into study mode for the term with chips chocs cheese caffeine, first quarter of joanne harris' coastliners, almost all of carlos ruiz zafon's the shadow of the wind and other exciting things like that. oh. and nuts. caramelized pecans rolled in praline paste and fine cocoa powder to be exact. my faith in max brenner has been item-specifically-restored, though my pocket may mourn, thanks to someone who doesn't even like sweets of any sort. how the hell the-one-who-does-not-touch-sugar knew these were scrumptious is beyond me. oh well. more power to the bald man.

ps. photo overload to come. just you wait.

hen's night havoc

i'm not at liberty to spew a host of incriminating photos online, but i can't resist sharing the show of sisterly affection and sassy posing talent as demonstrated by the cheam awesome foursome. i know, i'm weeks behind, but you know the saying...

call me, mrs choo, when you're back.

photo meltdown 101 - daylesford dream

joy's happiness heh

spot the "spa" sign in the background?

see the blinding smile in the foreground?

the cheeky chef...

...and dinner is served

butter never looked so good...

...nor breakfast

under the apple tree

the fruit of wine divine say, can i eat this?

purple paradise

rustic touches

scenic snapshots

great landscapes

my dream cellar

nothing beats hot scones and cream for a smashin' mornin' tea

lost admist fields of lavander...

...and then some

chocolate bliss

featherless peacock brings on some action

hands and tongues off

fat albert and his 30 kilo choco belly

great trees, beautiful water

on the water's edge at evening's light

party of webbed feet

smooth sailers

sweetwater cottage

lucky ducks

coaching ducks on life's basic lessons...

Unlisted, naturally

The thing about a private number insistently flashing up on your mobile phone screen despite two prior rejections on your part is that it can bring about such a sense of anticipation, such expectation. Despite yourself. Despite hoping being the very thing you deliberately strive against. To answer, third time round, and be disappointed, naturally.

Or, conversely – as one must surely wish – the other way round. But at this point, naturally, naturalness will show you how even she, has her limits.

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Bad book

Homework, today, was to search for “a bad book” to bring in the coming week. That, and to think about ways in which to better it.

It really isn’t my fault I immediately thought of a coffee table hardback, a beautifully produced, tasteful pornography-picture book, every inch the glossy, page-turning wonder many a coffee table book is. A charming collection of artwork of the human anatomy, really, in vast and astonishing contortions, proportions, compromising situations. Yes, a book of that nature would indeed present itself to be a bad, bad book.

And the way in which to better it?

Some form of highly sophisticated accompanying sound effects at every turn of page.

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Eats, Shoots and Leaves

...has got to be one of the funniest books on punctuation I have read yet. With the amount of style guides and other such titillating literature I have been gnawing through with only the stars in the sky for company, Lynne Truss’ Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation has gotten me chuckling into the wee hours of my now-and-forevermore nerdy editor-to-be-fingers-crossed nights. The importance of commas, say, is incomparable. But I’ll let those “friendly little tadpoley number-nine dot-with-a-tail[s]” and friends convince you themselves:

A woman, without her man, is nothing.
A woman: without her, man is nothing.

That’s right boys, take note. Girls being the pedantic and cunning creatures that are may, some fine day when you’re not looking, write you a “Dear Jack” letter, saying:

Dear Jack,
I want a man who knows what love is all about. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. People who are not like you admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me for other men. I yearn for you. I have no feelings whatsoever when we’re apart. I can be forever happy – will you let me be yours?
Jill

…which really, through careful inspection and reading under special lighting, you discover in secret ink an altered-punctuation version of the letter which reads:

Dear Jack,
I want a man who knows what love is. All about you are generous, kind, thoughtful people, who are not like you. Admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me. For other men I yearn! For you I have no feelings whatsoever. When we’re apart I can be forever happy. Will you let me be? Yours,
Jill

I already know I’m a nit-picking, pedant of a stickler. Should I be worried that I’m turning into a boring weed of a nit-picking, pedant of a stickler-editor-to-be-fingers-crossed?

the strange case of unconsidered underwear

I’ve wondered, not too rarely from time to time when events of related-nature work to remind me, of the peculiar particulars which surround the mysteries of underwear. One can speak confidently and freely only from one’s own experiences, and of these I have two – the Malaysian underwear mystery, and the Australian underwear mystery. Let me snag you into the first. Mentally picture a densely filled bah zhang (or de-boned meat cocooned snugly in net, deli-style, if you prefer), and we be on our way.

I say snag deliberately, for what underwear (always a part of a set – thank heavens the rest are spared!) I have come across, is underwear which must necessarily become a hurdle of a hold-up, and catch onto the body like a drowning rat on driftwood. Tell me, what in the name of all things practical, possesses the makers of such underwear to make them in – sit down now – free size?! The stupidity of that I refuse to even discuss, so blatant is the error of their ways. My disbelief is only spurred further by their going against what is to me, the obvious benefit of making bigger rather than impossibly small. But of Malaysian folly I shall say no more.

Moving on to the Australians. I suppose one cannot expect too much out of convict descendents, but I do think this is pea-brained. Tell me if you think I’m being too harsh. In this case, both maker and user are daft. First, the dense makers make them in sizes 10, 12, 14… which in truth, are actually 6, 8, 10… which then, make the supposed 6, 8, 10s really 2, 4, 6. More power to the bah zhang. Of course, we mustn’t forget the morons who buy them. Can they not see that podgy is not beautiful? Or am I on a planet of aesthetics of my very own? So the makers are mentally wanting. If you were a faction smarter then them, buy the size 10 if in reality, you’re a dress size 6. And to think I suck at math. All I can make of it, is that these shoppers work on auto pilot, and their fragile egos cannot bear the thought of wearing something (supposedly) two sizes up. Their not-so-fragile bodily lumps and humps sure do make up for it.

The conclusion to both cases be that, were I to succumb to using such nonsensical harnesses of torture, is that I would be no better than a bah zhang on legs; the tightly wound string, the underwear; the pregnant oozing body of glutinous rice, me. Indeed, not a pretty sight.

NB: By no means am I condoning the use of frumpy, air-pocket granny undies here. Go lace, satin, ribbons all the way – just in the fitted, not squeeze-to-death version, thanks.

the cuff-clock clash

I have encountered a problem I know not how to correct. It appears to be, that cuffs – French, in particular, or mine at any rate – have taken a serious dislike to watches. For the life of me, I cannot seem to make them cooperate to any form of harmonious cohabitation on my poor left wrist. Subsequently, I’ve succumbed to a very bad and, I hope, brief arrangement of going without my watch. In defence of both, I don’t think the cuffs are any more fitted than normal, nor is my watch particularly chunky. Yes, I have tried using different watches, and no, it didn’t work.

Any help or advice I’d take gratefully.

something about james...

...and weddings.

five weeks ago, i went for james' and jessica's wedding. it was blazing. like mother of all suntans, sweat dripping of my hair, bride's makeup caked permanently into her pores, locked-sauna-with-key-thrown-away type hot.

today, i was at (a different) james' and lin's wedding. at least i was, after going through some armageddon winds, full-on hail (on a 27 degree day?!), mid-calf deep waters, and flooded roads so bad the speedometer danced within it's own 80 to 120 km/h rhythms.

i think (and i think i definitely speak for T as well when i say this), i'm quite over weddings.

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oh yes. i'm still without internet, the short version of why being courtesy of the hate-hate optus-telstra relationship. still sparodically riding off T's - and no more at work, i think. the other day, i didn't hear my boss walked up behind me while i was blogging, for some reason or other (too engrossed?), and i jumped so hard i must have looked like i was stealing office supplies. i know my face was burning. humbug.

eat move drink move sleep move

moved on to fine tuning the place - though perhaps fine isn't the best word choice, what with a few more bulkychunky yet-to-be-esembled furniture pieces and boxes strewned randomly around the apartment.

there are, as i've discovered, a whole lot of things one can refer to when thinking about how you know you've done (more than?) your fair share of moving, but this takes the cake:

one of the two below, was fast asleep during this conversation. and yes, i mean the one who initiated it.

not that is matters but we talked about it.
about what?
rent a van.
huh? rent a van?
yah. no need to rent la, just use my car.
use your car?
yah.
er, ok.

i'll leave you to guess who's who.

i like to move it move it

i say that now only because i'm more done than not, and can't resist sneaking in a little entry at work to say as much, because part of the not includes not yet having internet access.

more updates soon - as soon as finer unpacking/organizing (vs general unpacking/organizing), waiting on furniture and whitegoods deliveries, going to that last wedding this month, having sis and mum come, dealing with sis and mum once they've come, finalizing the usual mess that is pre-term for uni, working etc allow, anyway.

mister barister

way to go, jus! now you're a smooth operator, officially.

starting young

little lauren playing doctor. it's in the blood, i suppose.

tell me

if my life was poetry in motion,
what words would i be?
what string of lines would you see?

so not summer

freakin' cold, rainstorms, winds... way unfair.
my puffy jackets are packed, and thongs and bathers out for a reason!
don't anyone dare try the melbourne four seasons in a day line on me. temper tantrums won't be taken responsibility for then.
i'm throwing a bratty fit now for the next sunny day out - whenever that is - and demanding an outting to the beach. who's game?

oh, hello!

lookie look who i found...
...some cutesy chickadee posing her skinnyass tush away (and for a cd tower box at that)!

jojo, enough with the come hilter pouts - let's go eat!

sardined

omg i'm back in action, if only temporarily - insisted mum send me my cable, and lugged this brick of a laptop over to T's to ride on the connection - and so. much. has happened. i don't know where to begin.

i don't think i can go on about details in fact. i'm still recovering. and bracing myself for everything else that's coming. but in a nutshell, and in no particular order, since they pretty much happened all at once:

work at chiro.

moving house. meaning packing. and cleaning. and then cleaning. and unpacking.

bridesmaidly duties with sue.

scouting for white goods and furniture on a budget.

work at collins.

cny eve dinner.

cny bbq lunch/pool cool off. cny dinner.

dress hunt. dresses really.

packing. packing. organizing.

shifting x-number of car loads of my no it's not junk!

torture anything male in wedding entourage. tea ceremony. wedding eve dinner.

keryn and joseph's wedding - can't get over just how much inevitablylastminute stuff there is too do - which was beautiful, photos when i have the energy and time.

juggling between three houses.

shifting more car loads of yes i really do need that too!

trying to remember where the hell you put stuff between the three houses, which you know you know. except for the time when you need them.

work at collins.

work at chiro.

still scouting for white goods and furniture.

doing all sorts of yukky shiftinghouseadministration.

did i mention i went for my cousin's wedding in jan when i got back, and have 3 in total, in feb? don't get me started on the number of weddings there are this year. (i have nothing against weddings - they're fun to get ridiculouslybusywith and dressedupfor, but wth i don't work to give out angpows dammit) and for those of you thinking it, no, this is not a sign. i know who you are - zip it.

mega photo dump to come, promise.

cable crap

as some of you already know, some friends amongst you are smarter than others. and some others, utter geniuses. and me, one of a kind special.

long story short, i came back without one half my power cable (didn't even realize i had brought it home - i know), and an extra camera cable (not mine).

so. with 48 minutes worth of battery time left (aka 29% - eek!), i bid you all au dieu until such a time as when i can rectify this grave mistake.

typical huh.

ps. anyone wanna save my sorry ass and help (please!!), please please do. i make my IOUs worthwhile, really.

night before

for the record (for ian's anyway) the answer is no.

there.

and that last thing you said? i'll remember that, for the record. mister MW. (i'd say what it is, but that's exactly what you'd like isn't it, you W types... why i know, is another thing altogether)

on a completely random note, and also for the record just 'cause i'm on a pattern here, i sure am glad to leave behind my mosquitoplagued skin and reacquaint myself with thatwhichalmostneverseesthesun skin.

signing off from kl, nights out with midoricranberry's here i come!

i'm off to sit by a window and try and will it to pour no end (the rolling thunder is being such a tease) one last time before i leave. toodles.

under my skin

there's this scene in a walk to remember - some will know the movie cuz you're incorrigible fuzzyromance junkies, some cuz you need to know what mushierthanprisongruel flicks you wanna stay away from - where mandy moore's character tells shane west's her secret (or not so secret) list of things to do in her lifetime.

this is not a post about wish lists, although it relates, although i have one (scrape wish; make it to do).

for jamie (moore), some were:
befriend somebody you don't like.
be in two places at once.
get a tattoo.

one night, some distant future into the movie after wishlist is forgotten, landon (west) takes jamie for a would-be random, very mysterious car ride to apparently the middle of nowhere. fastforward some hundred thousand miles, he takes her hand, starts running, and finally positions her into the middle of the deserted road. to her quizzical looks, he says, Okay, right now, you're straddling the state line, then motions to a sign behind him that says 'Welcome to Virginia'. You're in two places at once.

the script then reads:
Everybody's dancin' in the moonlight
They're both grinning like idiots. Too cute. Jamie laughs and hugs him. He picks her up and spins her around. (Awww.)
Dancin' in the moonlight Everybody's feelin' warm & bright...

[did i mention i love that song? some songs you love for its musciality, some for its sentimental value. this one, for me, has both.]

my point then - never mind that i am blatantly and shamelessly lured within the dewy trappings of romance - is that i want to be in two places at the same one time. and that it is only the very last shreds of will in me keeping me from throwing a hissy fit this instant. so you see, boys and girls, beware what it is you keep close to your heart, for if they do not coincide (geographically, in this case), you may well end up like me, and take my word for it - it's a messy, messy business.

open ended

your move.

short note from sick nit

contrary to plans of leaving for melbourne come sunday, i'm now here til wednesday morning. which, really, means tuesday. but i digress. in a nutshell, it's a whole lotta hassle for an extra three days. or two. in which case, even more a hassle. though i very much appreciate the extra time.

too bad i think i'll have to keep second-round-last-time-catch-ups in view. the body is weak where the heart is willing.

back to my bed and new poetry book...

hangin' with da glamour puss

a certain somebody who i will not name *koff* had me up to nonsense today. first we poser maximum at some high-class arabian restaurant to completely waste a two-person buffet (read: nibble on). verdict: very so-so. oh wait, the desserts were puke-textured puke-tasting puke-worthy bowls of... puke? (the "decent" ones were um, non-arabian chinesenewyeartype cookies cream caramel local fruit. which, not being arabian, makes its decency definitely in need of inverted commas). make that under so-so. that's not to say we didn't have fun (read: chatting in all our usual blonde glory; exchanging notes on unmentionables; temporarily stealing a lil 4 year old arabian girl from the next table and fatally corrupting her already vain self* into ultimate irreversible vanity).


and then, because that was simply not enough, this certain unnamed person led me like a trusting lamb into can-you-guess-where for two bloody bucks a pop. which in turn, led us to staying in this have-you-guessed-where-yet far longer than necessary, like this guess!-guess!-guess!-dammit even qualifies as a hangout. on second thought, seeing as that i was plied no end on how datins celebrities the famous and such only frequent this one particular joint, perhaps it is the-place-to-be-by-name-dropping-reputation.

one hint: all other such joints are free and decent no less. and decent is a fair hint, if you have any knowledge of malaysian norm (i'd say culture, but really) at all.

still without a doubt, had a ball, crime-partner!

*she was totally dolled up, got mummy to let go her hair so she could show us, had her weeny fingernails professionally manicured, need i say more?

why did you let me go?

has got to be one of the saddest questions i have ever heard.
so much left unsaid, but i think it be something nothing can help despite.
for what words suffice, really, to dictate the myriad and intricate sentiments which must exist and to which even their owner cannot properly express?

college kaki

the 4th year down and counting.

of feelings and such

i wonder from time to time why it is we're capable of mixed feelings. yes, i know the one playing a part in defining the other argument - it is happiness which makes sadness sad, for without happiness, how would we know to compare its opposite state and thus feel sad when we do yadda yadda. but that's not what i'm talking 'bout. i mean concurrently opposing feelings. bittersweet. pleasurepain. lovehate. in some way, the argument is the same. bitterness makes the sweet sweeter. pleasure makes the pain more real. you can only hate with such viciousness someone you love so much. i get it. we walk a fine line of paradox in life.

actually, i like paradoxes. ironies. simultaneous counters. i like it so much, in fact, i have to try hard not to be crassly obvious when using them in writing. that, and my creative writing lecturer had little or no appreciation for it. meaning, basically, i got marked down for it. several times too many (hoohum, creative license mah ass).

still, life would be a whole lot simpler if it were straightforward (and for those of you would-be but life is so beautiful the way it is, with all its complexities and challenges - do. not. start. ignorance is bliss. oblivion, better still).

if we weren't so pulled apart by incompatible feeling, things would be a hell of a lot more easy. i swear blondes have it better. and not because they have more fun or are more attractive.

is i is or is i not me?

a friend recently commented i've become a lot less feisty of late. thought about it, and i think: i still am, or can be anyway, as and when the right catalyst comes along. trouble is, time and responsibilty (for me, or for those who used to play catalyst) are real robbers of times past.

it is because it is past, that there exists the possibility of fond memory, bittersweet melancholy, treasured recollection. still, sometimes, i wish the world didn't operate the way it does.

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"The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful." Kundera, Unbearable Lightness

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i want to feel quietly happy. more. i liked how it felt before.

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my sis (the forced accomplice) and i are working on a major scan job. we've been scanning lots of bell bottoms, big glasses, bigger hair, and verrry cute kiddie pics (fine, she cute, me funny) like no tomorrow.

and this is only the beginning.

more on this to come...

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catching up is great, especially when you get to grill. right, a certain you-know-who-you-are? did i mention i'm appointing myself official sponge cum advisor of (un?)wanted er, advice?

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alex, eky, vernon, and all who may now be joyous:

for some strange reason or other, she who will not be named seems to have abandoned her camera. she's not even sure where it is, and the batteries are certainly not charged. it's gotten so severe that she feels deathly sick and disgustingly photo-free and keels over onto the floor, moaning that she feels sick. really, really sick. oh god, she thinks she's going to die! it's great.

maybe it's just the case of muggy local weather. in which case, alex, don't pop the champagne just yet.

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i think i want to write poetry again.
not that i ever stopped, really.
but i want to put myself into more of those experiences which make me write, the way i used to write, all over again.
those who know, know. and to them i ask - any takers?

feeble resolve

i haven't made a new year's resolution in years.

this year, i'm making one i don't even want to. already all of me realizes that i will without a doubt, regret deeply my effort at this half-hearted attempt (and i almost never ever regret). but i'm doing it because i must.

i must, and a little bit of me dies with it each passing day.

...

did i say pretty pleased? take it back.

what, too rollercoaster for your tastes? well then, leave. this is my blog.

pretty pleased

why? oh, you know my shmucky self.

paralysis

i hate it

when i've worked out my thoughts, know all the words, come to (painful) conclusions, made decisions (in view or despite)

and push comes to shove

and it all falls away

it all falls away

i hate it
and i hate me

new year blues and realizations

never thought i'd be saying this, all the more precisely because of current location, but i am bored. to. tears. that's the tip of the iceberg anyway.

makes me appreciate who and what i have there more. know for a fact, in fact, what i'd be doin if i were there right now. and who i'll be doin it with. (ooh. that sounds... nevermind)

here? i wished things were different. i know the whole change is inevitable spiel, people things circumstances evolve. guess the heart has to accept - if not be happy about - what the mind already knows.

the hard part is wanting to.