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Archive for May, 2012

A conversation in the backseat of the car

She: 弟弟, what is your favourite colour?

He: *grunts*

She: [louder] 弟弟, what is your favourite colour?

He: No!

She: Don’t say No! Say “I like Pink!”

He: *grunts*

She: [louder] I. LIKE. PINK!!!!!

He: I…like…pink…

She: Okay! I like pink also!! Yay!!!

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Text conversation between The Other Half and I this morning

He
There’s a dude working at the restaurant Mel’s Place who is named Simon. I feel so twilight zone.

Me
Hahahah! Where is Mel’s Place?

He
East Coast Road. What if he is married to Mel and we got teleported to an alternate dimension from the thunderstorm 2 nights ago? We shouldn’t be here!

Me
What are you doing at East Coast Road?

He
No no they sent my company an email to invite us to have corporate functions at Mel’s Place.

Me
Simon sent you an email from Mel’s Place? Now that’s weird!

He
Yeah, I know. I can hear the theme from the twilight zone and Alfred Hitchcock intoning the introduction.

Your karma is infectious. Not your fault but this is weird.

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Text conversation between The Other Half and I this morning

He
Seems that is also a Gabonese thing.

Me
I take it you mean Hainanese.

He
Yes. Stupid autocorrect. What would I know about the Gabonese? Why is Gabon in my dictionary and not hainan? Their GDP is probably less than the wealth of Hainan clan associations.

Me
Maybe your subconscious is trying to block it out.

He
Nope. Would never want to block you out. Our kids are part Gabonese too.

Hainanese.

They’re not black enough to be Gabonese.

I have added Hainan and Hainanese to my dictionary. I am going to banish Gabon and other minor African states.

Me
I love you. You make me laugh like hell.

*

And later in the office

Opponent: Hello, how are you?

Me: I am having a Hainanese problem.

Opponent: Oh no! Which side of your family is Hainanese?

Me: Both my parents are Hainanese.

Opponent: My mother is Hainanese. I understand your pain.

Me: So is it really just a Hainanese thing?

Opponent: Yes it is. I’m sorry.

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Text conversation between The Other Half and I this afternoon

Me
The dessert at the F-Hotel buffet: Grass Jelly with Attache
I looked at the bowl of jelly. Then I looked under the table for its attache.

He
Don’t be silly. Everyone knows the sago do all the heavy lifting. No self respecting grass jelly would be bent under the weight.

Me
And where does the almond jelly or the bread pudding figure in all of this?

He
They don’t, silly. Why would you think that they are sentient?

Me
Because it seems like the Sago is controlled by the Grass Jelly. I thought the Grass Jelly had an attache because it needed to pack a punch.

He
Nope. Not all jellies are smart. You should know that.

Me
I think we gotta stop eating grass jelly then…

He
No no! They need meaning to their lives. How else to forment endless hatred? You’re probably eating their lawyer types.

Me
And the F-Hotel peeps are smart enough to feed lawyer grass jelly to lawyer types for lunch?

He
No they’re not. They’re the only ones F-Hotel has in stock now. Wait till they serve you the counting green beans.

Me
*shudder*

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Text conversation between Rebecca and I on Monday night

Me: I just got hit on by a drunk ah pek on a bicycle while on my run…

She: Haha! I have ceased to be surprised by these strange things that happen to you.

Me: He was sitting at a rest shelter with a bottle of beer in the front basket of his bicycle. He had bloodshot eyes and was opening a packet of peanuts and he said to me 小姐妳要不要陪我.

She: Hahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!

Me: This is just ridiculous! It’s not like I’m particularly dressed up! I’m sweaty, my hair is a mess, I look worn out and I’m trying to walk 200metres to cool down to go home. Wth.

She: U do realize he’s drunk…..Maybe to him you looked like were wearing a tight-fitting dress.

Me: Yeeks. I don’t know why I meet these nutjobs while running…

She: It’s not just while running tht u meet them actually…

Me: I once got heckled by a taxi driver running also.

She: Maybe it’s the panting that gets to them?

Me: No idea man…Maybe I should run earlier. That might decrease my chances of meeting them. Maybe nutjobs only come out after 10.

She: Hahahaha I doubt it. U meet them everywhere and all the time, no?

Me: True also. Sigh…

She: I think you should get a pepper spray, just in case. Also it’s fun if you do get to use it!

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I sat at the piano tonight with my signature Chopin Nocturne and Clair de Lune, with my mute pedal depressed, remembering another time, another piano, another house, and an undeterminable slush of music, a stack of scores, notes, meaningless notes, running across pages and pages of watermarked yellowed pages. I tried hard to hold on to them, but the more I tried, the more they ran, until they turned a dizzying blur of grey and I, none the wiser, frustrated, worn.

But tonight is different. Tonight I sat, calm and poised. My heart is full, so full it spills over into the music, the tragedy of my Chopin sadder and more tragic precisely because I had been in that blur of grey and have emerged, like those elegant, perfect pearls of moonlight in a stream, glistening, every single note of the arpeggios in the same size and colour.

It is now approaching midnight. I reluctantly stop, wondering how long I can keep up with this before my neighbours start plotting my demise, promising to return before too long has passed.

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