Only 10?

Thanks alot Lady Divine. Now I have to put down ten things I really like, that make me happy. And to think I was feeling grinchy today... now you've gone and dangled positivity on front of me... Sigh.

Oh well, here goes. Ten things that make me happy:

1. Being right. It's a totally awesome feeling to have people gape at you, nodding in agreement in the acknowledgment that you know best. Powerful and addictive, man.
2. Food. All sorts. But then again, you know that, as does every waiter in town.
3. The stage. I can't explain why, though... you have to be into it just as much as I am to know what I'm talking about. Getting up onto an empty wooden platform and turning it into a magical world for the benefit of 600 others is a special feeling. And if you're an eternal escapist like me, then forgetting reality and giving your all into becoming someone completely different has an enchantment of its own.
4. Disposable income. Always a good thing, no? Money doesn't make my world go round, but it's kinda nice to know you can actually buy that really cool outfit or dream vacation coz you have a bit of moolah in your wallet to allow it.
5. Animals. They never cease to melt me and just one glance at a sleeping ball of fur can make even the most miserable day worthwhile. My cat hates it, however, because I never leave her alone.
6. Doc's kisses. No, I'm not into my GP, you sick, sick person. My BF, also known as the doc is a master at the art of smooching. Dude... I've kissed men before, but this one can outdo any romantic chick flick. At the risk of embarrasing the pants off him (ooh that wouldn't be too bad either), I will share with you that I am both pleased and sad that no other woman gets to experience those drug-like snogs of his. They are too good.
7. Freedom. The little bits of it that I have, that is. You should see me take off like a bird when I'm let off anywhere on my own. Travelling abroad on my own are the bestest times I've had... because I don't need to answer to the domestic inquisition or stick to curfews. I am in charge, and the heady sensations of independance, however fleeting, make me feel truly at peace.
8. Waking up and realizing it's a holiday. Gone are the days when I couldn't wait to go to office and have a ball. Nowadays only sundays are worth waking up to.
9. Hot chocolate over a good book/conversation and snuggle. 'Nuff said.
10. Romance. Yes. I am a sickeningly gooey sliver of melted marshmellow under a crocodile exterior. Little romantic gestures, gifts & surprises... bigger exciting gestures gifts & surprises... they all put a huge smile on me ol' mug. I know... pathetic.

Ok LD... you happy now?

Right. Now I'm supposed to re-tag 5 others, aren't I... ho hum... ok, here goes.

1. The Doc
2. thekillromeoproject
3. themissingsandwich
4. shehal
5. klutz

So there.

Glutton

Bleaurgh. I feel like I'm about to throw up. Wonder why....could it be the onset of food poisoning? Nah. Haven't eaten since last night. The ridiculously abusive hour-long car ride I just suffered at the hands of a colleague whose license should be revoked? I dunno... maybe... but then I've never felt this bad when I've gone in his vehicle before. That time of the month? Possible... but unlikely, given how it usually makes the people around me want to upchuck and not me.

Ah. No wonder. I eat too much. And now the fates have decided to punish my shameless gluttony.

For the past week I've been stuffing my face at a rate, visiting one fancy restaurant after another and having my way with food that have names I can't even pronounce. Perhaps I should tone it down a bit, no? Aiyo but it all tastes so good...

I did the Havelock Bungalow twice over in one week- once with Mummy and again with the BF. Licked my plate clean both times. Lunch at an Uncle's house saw me downing at least three servings of THE most extraordinary Thai food ever (courtesy of his Thai wife). I swear I polished off an entire serving dish full of steaming crab. Then I shovelled down a month's worth of eating at the Cinnamon Grand the next day when I treated mum to the Tabrobane for a Mother's Day lunch. I have never gone wide-eyed at a buffet like I have at the Tabrobane... my tastebuds went numb after a third helping of oysters and mussels in the midst of every other chef's special they had available. I ate so much I had to skip dinner because I was still full six hours later. Last night I went so heavy on Japanese cuisine that even the Japanese diners around me were staring. I am not proud to admit that I may have contributed in a large way to the reduction of marine life. That's what happens when a menu is so extensive that I HAVE to try everything on it.

And now here I sit one week since I started my eating orgy- bloated, gasseous and dying to barf. Serves me right.

I miss my waistline.

My Bucket List

I am entertaining a profound state of mind, thanks to a movie I watched with mother weeping by my side last night. Called 'The Bucket List', starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson- its the story of two terminally ill old men who write out a list of all the things they want to do before they kick the proverbial bucket (hence the name), and then go ahead and do them.

It got me thinking as all tear-jerking inspirational movies do. Someday I could be terminally ill. Then again, isn't life terminal anyway, given that it's going to end one way or another eventually? That considered, shouldn't we take a page (or in this case a frame) out of the movie and begin exploring our own bucket lists? We have just one life to live....why do we spend its entirety running the rat race and forgetting to actually live it?

And then I thought some more, because I had time on my hands and a considerable amount of boredom to go with it. What are the things I want to do in my lifetime before I go six feet under (or into the belly of a crocodile, with my luck)?

So here, with much fanfare, is MY bucket list:

• To build my dream home. It would be on a misty mountain top, overseeing a range of other misty mountain tops and hide a secret waterfall at the end of it's enormous and lush back garden. It would be made of rock and wood and feature a fireplace, country kitchen and the comfiest bed linen.
  

• To visit Disneyland again- this time with someone special, whose face I can watch in amusement while he shrieks in excitement at the many wonders the place has to offer, and whose hand I can hold tightly whilst watching the magical parade.
  

• To open up an animal shelter for every injured, orphaned and destitute creature I see. I shall not limit my patients to the conventional feline or hound... even rats will be welcome.
  

• To see Greece, Rome and Stonehenge. I'm a sucker for mysteries...
  

• To enjoy the sensations of an unconditional, exciting love completely devoid of doubts, obstacles and fears. Hopefully, I'm already halfway there.
  

• To act on Broadway or the West End. Tall order, but it's in he list because there's always possibilities.... and I know I'm good enough.
  

• To have a face-to-face conversation with Dr. Zahir Hawass. I fear it might be a one way conversation, though... I'd probably be dumbstruck right throughout the session. :)
  

• To make the world laugh.
  

• To find myself.

As time goes by, I can see this list getting longer and more elaborate. But for now, this is it... all the things I'd like to do before I die. Of course, this would mean me hoarding enough wealth to do half of it...

Lets see how it all pans out. I hope I'll have enough time granted by the big guy up there to complete them. Meanwhile, why don't you send me your bucket list?

A Charming Way to Eat

Felt greedy last evening and decided to treat mum to a dinner out (more for my benefit than her's...). I was fishing around for a restaurant I hadn't tried before and a friend suggested I check out the Havelock Place Bungalow, better known as the Havelock Bungalow amongst its patrons. I'd heard of the place before, but from the reviews I'd received and what I'd read I had thus far assumed it was another avante garde boutique hotel that was way out of my league both financially and socially.

Having an inkling of faith in my friend who insisted it wasn't that pricey a joint, I decided to give the place a look-see.

I have to admit, I was quite satisfied and what's better is that mum loved it. For starters, it didn't reek of pretentious artsy fartsy like so many other restaurants. Those places just make me wish I was a turban-toting foreign heiress with a long black cigar holder in my mouth, just to fit in. On the contrary, Havelock Bungalow was so cosy and pretty that you couldn't help but feel perfectly at home. This converted residence oozes snug appeal and privacy, with its warm wooden interiors, serene verandah restaurant and large leafy trees enveloping the entire place. The ambience was absolutely charming and this was heightened even more by the fact that it was practially empty when we went. Mum hates eating amidst noise and fake accents, and I'm happy to say this had neither. Only the tinkling sound of running water from the nearby pool and some soft jazz in the background to complete the beautifully quaint feel of the place.

The menu, albeit not extensive, was tasteful and impressive in it's own way. What thrilled me even more was that the prices were excellent when compared to the fare on offer! I'd honestly expected to have paid alot more, given the fancy names of the dishes and the time and care taken to prepare and serve them. Mum tried the brochette of seer & prawn with corander rice, whilst I took a chance on the maple roast pork with sweet potato, chillie butter and greens. We finished off with dessert - chocolate marquise with vanilla custard and toasted nuts for mum, and banana crepes doused in honey with vanilla ice-cream for me. Yummay.

Service was fast, polite and completely devoid of snobbery. The hostess was an extremely pleasant lady who kept checking in on us to make sure we were kept happy. It felt like we were dining at a favourite aunt's home; she was that down-to-earth and sincere in her eagerness to please.

All in all, 4 out of 5 for Havelock Bungalow. I'll definitely be going again- this time on a romantic date (hopefully)- because that's what the place is ideally suited for. I've been told they have an equally wonderful stay-in hotel experience on offer too, with seven plush rooms and all other boutique hotel facilities.

If you haven't tried the place out, then I whole-heartedly recommend it to you. Take your mother... she'll love it.

The Drama Continues

“She’s leaving! She’s leaving!!” screeches a colleague of mine, eyes glittering at the news that a certain someone I blogged about two posts ago had apparently handed in her resignation. Within seconds, two other colleagues were delivering me the same news with smiles bigger than the Cheshire cat’s. “My god… it must have been your mail”, theorizes one, referring to the group mail I’d sent out some days back about professionalism in the office environment.

“Doubt it”, says I. “I haven’t mentioned her name or accused anyone directly. That mail could have been meant for anyone or everyone… and really, why would one resign over something like that?”

They didn’t care to listen, because they were too busy high-fiving each other and excitedly gossiping about a happier life at office post-resignation of said individual. I was being hailed as something of a hero for finally putting into words the frustrations that so many have felt, and that was a bigger deal than my attempt to sort this damn office’s problems out.

Then came Monday, when yet another colleague, this time with a long disappointed face, confided to a group of us that she might not actually be leaving and that perhaps her resignation had been revoked. Collective sighs could be heard all around, until someone decided to be a smart alec.

“Hey Dramaqueen, can’t you write another letter about her? Send out some other direct reports, will you. Aiyo please?” A few heads nodded in agreement.

No. I could not. Look… my group mail, for all intents and purposes was pointing out faults I saw in this office as a whole, and criticism was directed at more than just this one person, although she figured in a large part of it. I’d already had my say about what I thought was going wrong, and that’s as far as I wanted to take it. I’m not about to make this a personal-bias war and get petty and ridiculous about it. Unprofessionalism at work aside, she could be a reasonable person outside the confines of the office. I had already addressed her questionable work style in the most diplomatic way I thought possible without having to take it to such a personal level.

That night I remembered a comment on my previous blog mentioning that she’d put up an FB status message about ‘laughing at an under-cutting bitch’. This morning’s status claimed that she ‘hated her view at work’. Assuming she means me, I realized it wasn’t my group mail that had sent her off her rocker (if she wasn’t off it before), but instead it was this blog. Someone out there knew who I was and passed it on to her, and now she’s riled up like a cat on a hot tin roof.

As Rhett Butler so fabulously put it - frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.

If she’s read my blog, then I’m glad she did. It saves me the task of having to say all I felt to her face, which would have been unprofessional of me. This office is silly enough without me having to add to the drama by loudly poking personal insults at anyone. A blog being a blog, is a personal thing where inner viewpoints are typed down under pseudonym and names aren’t named for the reasons of respect for people’s privacy and identity. If readers recognize me or the characters I write about, I cannot help nor regret it. What you choose to do or feel about my e-diary is your problem and not mine… it will never stop me expressing myself.

Should she read this post too, then I do have a message for her-

Sweetheart, you know who you are. So does everyone else, although I haven’t named you. That could only mean one thing… that what I write is the truth and a reflection of what everyone, including yourself, knows. Isn’t it odd that they don’t assume it’s anyone else? You can hate me, cuss me or sue me, I don’t really care. This is what I feel about the way you work, and now you know.

For your information, an ‘under-cutter’ or ‘backstabber’ is someone who does sneaky things behind your back to get your job. It is bourne out of competition. I am neither doing anything behind your back nor am I even remotedly interested in your job. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and moved on to a different line of work altogether, so don’t get your proverbial panties in a twist. Had I wanted to ‘backstab’ you, I’d have named you all over the place. I haven’t. I could have taken my annoyance with you to the higher authorities and lodged in complaints like so many others are preparing to do. I haven’t.

I have, however, written out my evil thoughts about you in this blog in order to release my frustrations with working alongside you and having to bear your attitude problem and your basket-case mannerisms. If you don’t like it, then my work is done. Perhaps we can leave each other alone then, and just keep the work flowing PROFESSIONALLY next time. And perhaps… just perhaps… you’ll listen to what’s going on around you and be a little nicer to people and not just limit the sugary voice to when your sucking up or asking for favours.

Or perhaps you could start up a blog and bitch about me in return? Trust me on this… it feels great.

Itching, but Not Scratching

Boredom brings me to yet another ponderous moment of philosophy.
Just started working on a logo with the tagline 'Dream it, Dare it, Do it', which got me thinking about life as we know it and its many complexities. There are very few people I personally know who are daring to live out their dreams - most of us just choose the easy or conventional routes and spend a lifetime wondering 'what if'.

Dream, dare and do.... a pretty powerful mantra we could all repeat in our heads, given that it holds quite some relevance to the way we lead our lives.

As a species, we are ruled by fears and trepidations bourne out of a chronology of social norms. If someone else hasn't tried it before, then we sure as hell won't. How often have you actually taken the steps to fly that plane in your fanatasies or take over hollywood? True, the chances of success could be slimmer than an anorexic flatworm, but have you even tried?

There are lots of things I've dreamt of... plenty that I know I can do... but if only I had the guts and conviction to DARE them. I could have been many things I'd dreamt of being in this lifetime, had I followed through on any of them... an actress on broadway, a wildlife veterinarian, a professional ballroom dancer, a travel show host, the Queen of England...

But I never got my act together, and that's a shame. Except for ruling Ol' Blighty, I could have very well cashed in on any of the other choices of career because I have a trainable ability in each art. But I didn't, more out of a fear of failure than anything else. I did what so many of us do- went into my easy comfort zone and knitted myself a nice little coccoon .

Not that I'm complaining. The comfort zone's cool... I'm doing something I love and enjoying the life I have, not to mention dabbling at little bits of my dreams at a smaller, local level. But the potential of what coulda been is so much bigger. It's a shame...

Its about time we stopped wondering about the negative consequences and giving a hoot about what other people might think. Maybe it's time we took that extra step to turn our dreams into reality.

Maybe someday I'll dare it...

Who knows....

Woosahhh...

This is fun. I'm perfecting the art of pissing off people who piss me off, just by NOT being pissed off. Makes sense?

I think I dealt with a similar issue when I posted last year on how to deal with bitches. For once, I'm practicing what I preach, and it actually works. Perhaps I should move to the States, write a book on it and then get on Oprah, to be crowned the next generation's yogic guru of stress-free living. But before I do, I want to put down my theories on this here blog.

We have the most awfully snickety biatch in the office who thrives on gassing her way around and shrieking at the world like a retarded harpie everytime she feels stressed. She's prone to giving everyone severe attitude and at the same time fucking up almost every job she touches. Many have complained about her disgusting behaviour but to our dismay she's still around, assuming more power than she has officially been given. This irritates the rest of the staff to the point where threats of resignation have been heard from many of my colleagues.

I decided that I wouldn't be one of them. I'm too used to being a bitch to let someone else come along and usurp my lady-dog throne.

But my strategy wasn't to fight fire with fire. Nay, good sirs and madams. I decided to go in the exact opposite direction and be thrilled and thoroughly amused with her histrionics, thereby befuddling her into a quivering mass of paranoia.

Oh it is fun.

Each time she screeches I softly whistle a tune. Each time she puts on her long-practiced pained face and whines on the woes of life I smile relaxedly. Each time she glares and glowers like a shortsighted owl I send her air kisses. Every move she makes with regards to my work, I put down on minutes and send it out to everyone else in the workgroup, her included. This is more to cover my ass in case she decides to twist up little tales like she has with so many others in office. The harsher her words, the sweeter my responses.

I have been warned that she is the master of sabotage, should she take a disliking to you. That prompted me to complete my work without her knowledge or involvement, so much so that by the time she eagerly arrives on the scene in anticipation of creating drama, the work is already done. Last night I felt slightly rebellious and sent out a group email to the entire office about the importance of being human and approachable in a work environment. It covered matters like respecting your teammates and behaving professionally. I named no names nor pointed accusing fingers- it was more a written seminar on personality-development in the office - but I got my point across. Everyone knew who I was ever-so-subtley referring to.

My tactics have now resulted in her royal bitchiness not even speaking to me anymore, and answering my questions with a special withering look reserved just for me.

And that suits me just fine.

I think I shall contiue this practice, because watching her face turn bright shades of purple in frustration is too good a show.

I'm such a bitch. Tee hee hee.