Archive for January, 2013

I was walking to the train this morning and this song came on in my music player.

I looked up at the clouds and remembered my Sim who died when a washing machine fell out of the sky while she was gazing at the clouds on her front yard.

You know, it’s okay if it rains washing machines. It’s okay because when all is said and done, I could always reboot and start again.

So I gave myself a big smile and hurried in to work to the usual explosions and falling washing machines.

Now your grip’s too strong
You can’t catch love with a net or a gun
Gotta keep faith that your path will change
Gotta keep faith that your love will change

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first class queuing

Conversation with Champagne Truffle this afternoon

He: We’re on the priority waiting list.

Me: What does that mean? Is it going on or not?

He: Not sure. Means if they have a slot we’re next.

Me: Means we’re still not on the actual hearing list?

He: That’s right.


I came back from court today and my water bottle was filled up and placed right in the middle of my desk.

My drinking cup was nowhere to be found.


Oh well. It’s the weekend.

I will be the only not mad woman in the park.

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On Monday morning, while I was in my office with my trainee Asean Scholar going through some work, I reached out for my drinking cup for the first time during the day and found it missing.

Asean Scholar and I looked everywhere around my table but could not find it. The cover of my cup was still on my table, my teaspoon was still on my table but the cup was nowhere to be found.

How weird, said I. Just like how my stapler has gone missing after 10 years.


While we were all in The Buddha’s office to “take attendance” yesterday morning, he suddenly sniffed the air and announced that he smelt cat pee. Then he looked suspiciously at me.

Wait a minute, said I. I’ve been at work for an hour already and I don’t smell cat pee. I checked my shoes this morning and I didn’t step on grass! It’s not me!!

I didn’t say it was you, said he. I just said that I smelt cat pee.

The Buddha’s trainee, Champagne Truffle, stepped out of his room, sniffed and returned, confirming that there was a musky smell about.

Now that really set off my paranoia since cats marking in my shoes / clothes is something which has happened in the past before.

So I went back to my office, checked my shoes again, then sprayed myself liberally with linen spray for good measure.

But because my paranoia was triggered, I spent the rest of the morning asking people who dropped in on me whether or not they smelt cat pee on me.


Sometime during lunch, I went to the pantry and asked the Pantry Aunty whether she had seen my drinking cup.

She swore blue and black that she didn’t.

So I spent the rest of my lunch time wandering around to all of the places I could possibly happen by in the office with my drinking cup. My last stop was The Buddha’s room. When I entered his room, the smell of cat pee hit me in the face like a brick wall.

I stepped out, sniffed around, returned to my room, checked my shoes again, then sprayed myself with linen spray once more.


People drifted back into the office after lunch.

I still could not find my drinking cup anywhere and had taken to unscrewing the cover of my drinking bottle and swigging from it.

I was, by then, completely and utterly weird-ed out wondering about both the whereabouts of my drinking cup as well as the alleged smell of cat pee about.

Shortly after lunch, The Buddha swung by my room to get me for a meeting upstairs. He stood at my doorway and grinned at me cheekily. I doused myself with linen spray again and left with him.


After the meeting, I returned to my desk and there it was! My drinking cup! Right in the middle of my table and all scrubbed clean!

I looked at my girls. They looked back at me. Apparently the Pantry Aunty came by and dropped it off while I was in the meeting. Hmm.

I sat in my seat and eyeballed the cup suspiciously. Is it safe to drink from it?

Maybe you should rinse it out with Dettol, M2 suggested. Or Oral-B mouthwash, said M.

Or maybe you should just buy a new cup, said Asean Scholar.

I crossed myself, poured water into it, and drank out of it.


I promptly left work at 6pm (after spraying myself with linen spray and checking my shoes again) with School Marm to run some errands (during which I bought the most beautiful dress for Chinese New Year and hatched a ploy to convert my wedding cheongsam into something wearable for me in my current altered body shape).

When The Other Half got home, he inspected my shoes for me again to establish that the smell of cat pee was not coming from my shoes. Being the ever so dutiful husband, he even checked the compression stockings I had on.

I sprayed Febreeze into my shoes before I went to bed last night.


Leaving the house this morning, I checked my shoes again. It only smelt of Febreeze and old leather.

Then I wore a different pair to work, for good measure.


I am now sitting in my desk, drinking water out of my cup (still suspiciously), and I swear there is no smell of cat pee about.

But! My stapler is still missing (after 10 years), and I still can’t find Joie Chaton’s collar which has mysteriously disappeared 3 weeks ago.


See? The world is conspiring to turn me into a paranoid delusional.

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the side salad full of love


…is made out of 1 cup of mixed bean shoots lovingly sowed by JoMelChaton in a aluminium roasting tray and lovingly tended by The Other Half for the last three weeks or so, one part of Raspberry vinaigrette with one part of Citrus-infused extra virgin olive oil both lovingly picked out as Christmas presents to JoMelChaton from The Best Friend, with a sprinking of grated parmesan cheese 🙂

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With Your Honour's leave, I have an assistant with me...

With Your Honour’s leave, I have an assistant with me…

I’m sorta finally back in general circulation after a bout of submissions writing and general pandemonium.


Now to play catch up.

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I dreamt that my sister came back for her wedding with 2 huge balloons given to her by a friend.

[Except that as far as I know, my sister is not getting married and we both don’t like balloons much.]

I accidentally burst one of them while my mother burst the other. My sister threw a bridezilla fit and stormed off.

I then spent the rest of the day blowing balloons to appease her with one of those foot pumps. But I could never get them up to the size of the balloons she had, try as I might.

Then my alarm went off and I woke up with a sore foot and tight calf muscles on my right side ie my dodgy foot.

What the hell.

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comfort food


I love tomato soup. There’s something about that warm salty tanginess that makes me feel instantly better about life.

I’d never had tomato soup till I was 12 years old. That year, my mother’s elder brother fell critically ill from colon cancer [who eventually passed away a year later] and my mother went over to his place in the east coast to care for him everyday. I was therefore left pretty much to my own devices after school. Although I was supposed to be studying for my PSLE, I ended up spending a lot of those afternoons wandering around Holland Village, reading out almost the whole fiction collection at the Queenstown Library, playing preludes after preludes, sonatas after sonatas, and eating all kinds of nonsense for lunch, like Campbell’s Cream of Tomato Soup. Everything but mug for the most important exams in my 6 years of primary school education.

My mother never bought tomato soup because my father doesn’t like sour stuff. But left on my own, I drank tins of the stuff, then sat at the piano or read or roamed the streets and dreamed, which explained my eventual  disappointing [for my parents at least] results for my PSLE. I think my mother still thinks that I was mixing with bad company in those afternoons. It got to a point where she demanded that I called her by a certain time from home to report attendance. Not that there was much she could do about it since she was all the way in the east and I was all the way in the west and it would have taken her a 1.5-hour bus ride to get back to me. I never had the heart to tell her that I was my own bad company; I was my very own bad idea friend. In those afternoons, I brooded a lifelong tendency towards solitude and introspection, which resulted in life being so much harder for me as a teenager / young adult. Even till now, my anti-social-ness remains legendary. I remain my own best lunch buddy.

In my poor uni days, I used to make a version of tomato soup [learnt from the afternoons I skipped lectures to watch Oliver’s Twist because I had no friends in school and felt a great sense of despair when faced with group situations in school] involving tomatoes, orange juice and thickened with potatoes. But since I passed 30 and went through childbirth, the potatoes became a tad too much for me since my metabolism went off somewhere to die.

I now make a version which is lighter and creamier but without any cream. I make up a pot on alternate weekends and freeze portions to microwave for lunch at work through the week. It goes like this:


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