I won a Boybands of the '90s competition on Power 98 today. I'm not sure if I should be happy or ashamed.

And no, I don't listen to boybands anymore, but I did listen to them (well, not all of them, just Take That (who are back on tour!) and Savage Garden) ten years ago and hearing their songs still makes me feel happy.

I have just received my membership into the Quarter Century Club.

Once-in-a-lifetime, non-renewable, and valid for one year only.

If you don't get it, then perhaps the following will enlighten you:
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday, happy birthday,
Happy birthday to me!

I'm officially on leave the whole week, but had to go into the office today to clear something up and send it to our regional office. So I got into work at my usual time, only ten minutes later, expecting to be there for half a day at the very most. It took me a little longer than expected, and at 12 pm, I realised I still had about an hour more to go on that particular project. Then, a colleague pops round, back from his week out of the office, telling me that he needs some stuff from me (urgently, if I can do it) so that he can figure out how to approach one of our customers. So, I finished off what I came in to do, went off for lunch with the other birthday girl in the office, and then came back and spent over two hours churning out the information my colleague needed. I looked at the clock, realised it was 4.30 pm, and that taking that unrecorded half day wasn't that worthwhile after all. Furthermore, I have an hour-long conference call later in the week which no one else in the office can sit in on because my work is such that I have three separate roles in the office (and these three exclude my role as the sole back-up for someone else in the office), and no back-up for any of those roles.

So, I asked my boss for my day of leave back. He agreed. I left the office, got home in time to watch The Simpsons, eat dinner with my parents, and am so exhausted that I collapse into bed for a nap and wake up at 8.45 pm, and only manage to shake off my grogginess to resume revising at 9 pm with only 4 days to go.

Today's entry is also known as "How I Spent The Day Before My 25th Birthday."

This comic makes me go awwww and want to cry at the same time.

At dinner:
Mum (eating rocket salad): Is this how rocket is supposed to taste like?
Me: I wouldn't know. I'm not a rocket scientist.

Mum: Olympic wrestling is so sedate.
Me: What? You want them to go to the top rope and then do a flying elbow drop on their opponent? Or get a steel chair to whack the referee?
Mum: That's more exciting.

One more week to the exam... I'm a little freaked out. I think there's a high possibility that I might fail given that I don't have the motivation to study and I can't remember anything that I have managed to study thus far. Every weekend, I get cabin fever at being cooped up in my home for so long, without getting to see anyone or anything.

Today, it's slightly better because I managed to relieve some of that frustration at yesterday's dinner and dance, showing off to my colleagues exactly why it is that people think I'm a good dancer after not having put in that spectacular a performance on stage (well, it was only a minute's worth and it was more a performance and an act than a dance), strutting my stuff on the dance floor to Usher - Burn and Tata Young - Sexy Naughty Bitchy despite my being in 2.5 inch heels. At one point, a colleague tried to push me up on stage to dance with another colleague (a senior manager), but as I said earlier, while there are times I know that I'm a good dancer, I'm still not at the stage where I'll dance freely with colleagues. I'll dance naturally with friends and even strangers, but not colleagues, because no matter what they say, I'm still convinced that should I do something inappropriate, they'll always remember that and not the quality of my work or the amount of work I do.

We won the third place! Yay! After all that hard work and sacrifice, I'm so glad we managed to get something. I've got to tell you the rivalry between the different departments was so intense and political; at one point, it dwarfed any of the Raffles-other school rivalries that I've seen. So now, I just have one more obstacle left to having a good time - the CFA Level I exam next Sunday. I sure hope my luck holds out.

On Wednesday, I was rather down over not being able to nail the steps and looks needed for our particular segment of the performance in spite of being the one with most dance background. Part of it was that I'm just not that good at jazz dance, much preferring those that don't require so much posing and poise, and the other part was confidence. I've always had a problem with that and I envy those who can get up on stage - whether as part of a performance or just to ham things up - without ever caring what other people think (always consoling myself with the excuse that they're in a senior position so they can afford it, or that they're good and they know they are, whereas I'm just average and not good enough to be up to) and dearly wish I could be like them one day soon.

But yesterday night, in spite of the fear and the body-hugging costume I was wearing (because I wanted to look good, and damn, did I succeed ;o)), we managed to give it our all when the time came. I finally managed to nail the walk and the haughty look (with the help of my colleague who did a fantastic job in giving me incredibly sexy, smouldering smokey eyes) and we caught the eye of many people with our colourful accessories and precise movements.

So here's hoping that the same thing happens with my exam. I'm so far behind in my studying but have taken most of the next week off to cram...

It should come as no surprise that I do not like men who are too forward. Well, maybe not all men who are forward, but rather, men who I consider to "show hand too early" as we say in local gambling lingo. I am as big a fan of the flirting game as any girl out there (which may come as a big surprise to my friends who've known me for years because there are still times when I metamorphise back into the shy, nervous, reserved girl I was for many many years when I was schooling) but I really only like to flirt with guys who have, to (once again) put it in Singlish, have some sort of standard, okay? Guys who tell me that I'm the sweetest girl they've ever met, or that they're thinking about me within a few days of meeting me, seriously freak the crap out of me. As I'm a nice girl, or perhaps, a girl who'd prefer to inconvenience herself rather than others (think Claire Richards in White Oleander), I do give people the benefit of the doubt... by laughing (rather weakly) or responding in a cordial, but not flirty, tone.

This is however rather more difficult to do over SMS. (Yes, I am a text flirt.) And if you are a guy and you ever make the cardinal error of texting a girl you've just met about how you think she could be the girl you've been waiting for your whole life (perhaps not in such explicit terms, but nevertheless, that is your intent), do not ever then follow up a few hours later with a text asking her if "Cat's got your tongue? Why no response?" And if, for whatever reason, that still doesn't elicit a response from her, for the love of all that is good and pure, do not call her half an hour after the last text because if the text messages haven't already freaked her out completely, then rest assured, that phone call will send her running to the airport, passport and hastily-packed bag in hand, anxious to flee the country because you, my friend, have just shown her that your stalker potential is incredibly high.

I've said it once... many times in fact, and I'll say it again: men in Singapore, be they local or foreign, do not know how to flirt. They're either too blur (local), too anxious (local) or too sleazy (foreign).

The Times reports:

More than a third of people [in Britain] believe that a woman is totally or partially responsible for being raped if she has behaved in a flirtatious manner, a survey [by Amnesty International] has found. Women’s rights groups said that they were astounded and saddened by the findings, which appear to reflect widespread misconceptions that women are sexually available and that some men simply cannot help themselves.

No one asks to be raped. If I choose to wear sexy clothing or flirt with someone or even just drink alcohol, it doesn't give you the license to do as you will with me. Nor does it give other people the right to judge me and say I deserved what I got given how I was dressed or how I was behaving.

I thought we were living in an enlightened society and it sickens me to see how Nearderthal we are in our treatment of rape and rape victims.

And I am fully in favour of the death penalty when it comes to serial rapists. A murderer may take away your life, but a rapist takes away your soul and your sense of self. No one deserves that no matter what the circumstances are.

Right on the money...

You Are 24 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

I realised that people reading my blog may be under the impression that I never read books. That's not true, though I'm certainly not the prolific reader I was when I was much younger. I have a bad habit of devouring books within three days of borrowing/purchasing them which is probably why I try not to read so much; it gets in the way of work and studying these days.

Anyway, over the last few months, I've read a couple of books, mostly detective/mystery novels by Mark Billingham (a stand-up comedian in addition to being a crime fiction writer) and Ian Rankin. I've also read The Apologist by Jay Rayner (restaurant critic for The Observer) and Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett. Mini (and I mean mini) reviews can be found below.

The Apologist
Marc Basset, a restaurant critic who specialises in exceedingly harsh critiques, finds that one of his reviews has resulted in a chef's suicide. Initially unmoved, he begins to feel a little guilty and apologises for the first time in his life to the chef's family, and is surprised at how good it feels to apologise. He begins to apologise to everyone he has ever hurt and becomes so good at it that he becomes appointed the UN Chief Apologist, the "conscience of the world."

Cute and original, though not as good as the hype would have you believe.

Monstrous Regiment
I didn't enjoy this as much as I usually enjoy Pterry's work. It's not in his usual style and focuses on entirely new characters and places. Still, there are some laugh out loud moments, though not as many as in previous books. Nevertheless, I like the message behind the book, that you can indeed go and make a difference in the world, if only you try.

Right now, I'm in the midst of reading Altered States by Matthew Collin, an in-depth account of dance culture during the late '80s and early '90s, the period during which the use of ecstasy became more prevalent in clubbing, its effects on the evolution of dance music and the people in the scene. It starts off very well, but right now, I'm reading about 1990/91 and the book has lost steam just a little. Right after this, I'll be looking to read Disco Biscuits, an anthology of short stories on Acid House culture, and Last Night A DJ Saved My Life, a history of the disc jockey. My interest in dance culture is something that's surprised me given that I'm not really all that into pop culture, but after watching 24 Hour Party People and Maestro, I guess I really want to find out more about the clubbing scene when it was at its peak, when it was all about the music (among other things, heh), when it began.

As per my usual birthday month tradition, I went out and splurged on little luxuries for myself. This year, in line with my recent dress-buying craze, I bought two vintage dresses from Dustbunny Vintage after making my way down to the shop's hard-to-find showroom at Chay Yan St. Note that as the dresses are not on display on their website, you will have to subscribe to their mailing list.

1) A black dress which fits me very well and looks incredible with the slim red belt Pia (the founder/owner of Dustbunny Vintage) suggested. Very Audrey Hepburn-esque.

2) An amazing white dress with black lace and bows designed by Bill Blass. It's one size too large for me but fortunately, there's a strappy option if I'm not able to find a tailor skilful enough to take in the top of the dress. As luck with have it, I still look amazingly sweet and elegant in it in spite of the size difference.
I realise I have two extremes when it comes to clothing. I either love vivid colours such as deep red or intense deep blue, or I like simple, classic combinations such as white and black. However, it's very rare to get me wearing something with polka dots or odd prints. Stripes are usually the furthest I go when it comes to prints.

There aren't that many good vintage shops in Singapore, as far as I know. If you're interested in vintage, you can talk to Pia, or you can check out these other stores (which I haven't tried yet): Granny's Day Out and Gee Wee Goes To New York.

The good news is that we are going to do a dance for our dinner & dance after all... the bad news is that our first rehearsal was on 16 November, with just over a week to the event itself. The worse news? My back's hurting again after the two hour rehearsal we had yesterday... and it still hurts even after eight hours of sleep. Oh dear.

I was searching through my e-mail for an old e-mail from a recruiter when I stumbled across several e-mails which T. and I had sent to each other back when we were still together. Much like the train wreck effect, I just had to open them. What I found did make me sad, much as it would anyone else in my position, I suspect. The missives were peppered with affectionate words and terms of endearment, things I rarely, if ever, use on others. And it ached that once again, I'm bereft of these.

And I knew, in an instant, that what I felt then, no matter how mismatched a couple we were, was real. It wasn't a naive, young infatuation although I must confess, I, too, am not sure how it is I fell that deeply that quickly for T., given how different we were.

I find myself now missing something. I miss having someone put his arm around me, making me feel so safe, so secure. I miss having the feel of his hand in mine, knowing in times of distress and weakness, that his hand would still be there to support me. I miss having someone who'd hug me and kiss me goodnight. I miss having someone who thinks of me and cares for me deeply. And here, let me stress, while I miss those sensations, I don't miss the person... well, not that much.

Yes, I acknowledge that I only had those for a short period of time and that I survived for quite some time without those before that... but it's difficult to suppress these longings that have been re-awakened after having been dormant for so long.

As I told my younger cousin many years ago, it hurts all the more being alone when you've been in love as opposed to if you've never had the (mis)fortune to love someone.

My oldest friend was proposed to over the weekend. We had been in the same schools for over 10 years, and have known each other for 16 years now. We're incredibly similar in strange ways; in fact, our disastrous dating history (till recently) had mirrored each other's in spite of our being in different countries for the past three years.

Congratulations, sweetie! I'm so happy for you!

Mr. Digweed, you disappointed me. So much so that by the end of the night, I'd given up my notion of trying to get a proper birthday message from you this year. I had so much fun in 2003 (twice in two months!) and 2004, and yesterday... I had fun too, yes. But I was standing on the ladies platform in front of the speakers (my first time ever, and even more impressive given that only two people are allowed up there at any one time) and with Zouk's fantastic sound system, I suspect only the truly awful sets would sound bad at that location. It's been a long time since I danced that long non-stop, but still, that set didn't get me all that high. In fact, I'm not even sure I got off the ground, so to speak.

Oh, and Mr. Casanova (tm T.)? I meant what I said - a dance is just a dance. If I dance with you once, doesn't mean I'll dance with you for the rest of the night. But thank you for not being like the other guy and at least asking permission - which is what got you the first dance in the first place.

And Ms. Potential Posterchild for the Ministry of Health? I appreciate energetic dancing as much as anyone else. Hell, I indulge in it a lot myself, having honed my skills at the finest clubs in London. But - and this is a big but - when you club, I feel it's best to dance and not like as if you're attending an aerobics session. You looked as if you were combining moves from the Great Singapore Workout, what with your flailing arms and even at one point, jumping jacks.

On the plus side, it was definitely good to see the Dancing Doctor and Aldrin again. It's been a while since I last saw them both.

Yet another amusing conversation anecdote involving my dad:
Me: Asians don't have big round eyes.
Dad: Who says? (takes off glasses and looks at me, making his eyes as wide as possible)
Me: No! Your eyes are small and narrow, like all Chinese eyes!
Dad then looks at my mum with the same expression and flutters his eyelashes.

My mum and I collapse into helpless laughter with my mum managing to gasp out, "Pepe Le Pew!"

"SPGs! I hate them!" My friend growled as an ang moh man walked through the entrance of the pub we were at with an Oriental girl holding his hand.

If I were to go out with an ang moh, would you call me an SPG as well?

Unequivocally, he answered, "Yes. And that's because you're not giving local guys a chance."

But why? What if that's not the case and it's more that I'm sick and tired of local guys. You know full well that each and every guy I've gone out with since I graduated has been a local, and each time, I've gotten my heart broken for some shitty reason.

"And you think ang mohs wouldn't break your heart?"

No, just that at least with them, I know what to expect. And face it, local guys are incredibly unromantic. The last few guys I've gone out with? Not one of them even bothered to buy me anything. And I'm not that hard to buy for. A single red rose can make me happy. In fact, the last time I received flowers was for Christmas last year, and that was sent by my ex-boyfriend in London and he is an ang moh. We broke up so long ago, and still, he sends me flowers. And, might I add, I've bought all of my dates - the serious ones - at least something.

"Well, yeah... we locals do suck at romantic gestures, I'll admit that."

See? I mean, if I have to have my heart broken, I'd rather go out with them because they'll treat me right. When I'm with them, they'll treat me as someone who matters, as someone they care for, even if it's all just a sham because they're all smooth, slick bastards.

And what about if I go out and date an ang moh and then return to dating locals? Would that still make me an SPG?

"Actually, I'd never consider you an SPG. I know you. You're not the kind to go exclusively after white guys, and even if you date a whole string of them, it's not just because they're white."

Precisely.

We've run into a bit of trouble with our performance for the dinner and dance. We don't have a budget (as opposed to not having sufficient budget) so we weren't able to do a lot of things. What's the point of getting quotations from people if you don't have any figure when you don't even know if we'll be able to pay anything?

So, as you may have guessed, in spite of my initial protestations, I have been dragged into helping out with our performance. I almost got away with not doing much other than a non-singing, non-dancing role in our piece when the president of the organising committee (who I happened to dance with at the company party last year) cast his eye over the list of names and roles, looked it over a few times before asking where my name was. One of the other co-ordinators said, "Why? Can she dance?" His response? "Can she dance?! That's like asking, 'can she breathe?!?'" And that was that. One hour later, I had been co-opted into a dancing role.

Then, we found out that we didn't have any money, so we wouldn't be able to hire a choreographer. The inevitable happened. People asked if I could do it. No way. I may have learnt different kinds of dance, but asking me to choreograph a piece is like asking someone who knows how to play the piano whether he can compose. And as I flat out told them, without money, we can't do anything.

So off to the big boss they went to plead for a budget. His response, especially after hearing that the big boss of the floor below us was indeed forking out for the performance his guys were doing, was "don't commit, but don't hold back."

I doubt even the greatest minds of any generation could make sense of that. The response of my colleagues? One of them proclaimed, "Don't commit, but don't hold back. Those are the words of an idiot." I'm guessing he wasn't very impressed either.

So, here we are, stuck, because all the other departments are putting up performances. Meanwhile, the dinner and dance is less than two weeks away, and time draws ever shorter, making it even more expensive if we were to hire someone now.

Sakegura Night at Sake Bar was fantastic. While I tend to enjoy almost every event that provides a free flow of alcohol, this was especially good, 1) for the quality of the alcohol being served (in this case, premium grade sake) and 2) for the people I met.

There were 15 breweries there that night, with brewers flying in specially to present their sake and tell us - the connoisseurs and uninitiated public alike - all about the regions the sake were brewed in and their history. The first sake we tried was from Hokkaido. It tasted very nice - rather sweet - and the brewer was justifiably proud of his sake, proclaiming it the best in the country. Apparently, it gets very cold in Hokkaido (-20 degrees C) which provides an ideal climate for brewing sake in an igloo.

Other memorable ones included Kiss of Fire from Ishikawa and one from Okunomatsu Shuzo. The former turned out to be sweeter than its name suggested and was memorable mostly because the non-English-speaking Japanese serving it held the beautiful blue bottle like one would hold a wine bottle and told me, "Keeesss of Fire" in his strongly accented English. Very cute. The one from Ohsomatsu was a little sweet. To my disappointment, the sparkling sake, also from Ohsomatsu, had run out by the time we reached that table. The sparkling sake is made in limited quantities of 3000 bottles a year, with this year's supply being completely sold out. Also, the sake we tried costs around 1000 yen a bottle in Japan, the sparkling sake, on the other hand, costs 5000 Yen.

Interestingly enough, the brewery which turned out - somehow - to be associated with the National Tax Agency in Japan, had ten times the number of bottles any other brewery had on show. I'm not sure why, or whether it says anything about the perks for working for the government, but I found it amusing and bewildering at the same time.

Towards the end of the night, the crowd had thinned out considerably. As a result, it was easier to spot people and I ended up introducing myself to Edmund, the owner of Sake Bar, and talking with some of his loyal customers, K. and G.. It had begun to rain outside and the remaining customers in the bar all went out to help the staff in bringing the furniture back inside. I attempted to help, but Edmund and another staff member refused to let me help because I was "a lady." Heh.

After the furniture had been brought back in, we were thinking of heading off to get something to eat as we had been drinking a considerable amount (around 15 cups) on an empty stomach when K. and G. insisted we stay and eat at the bar as the char su was fantastic. Fortunately for us, the kitchen was indeed open, and Edmund brought out char su, kariage and zaru soba for us to eat. The food took a while to come out but it was worth the wait. The char su was wonderfully soft, the sauce nicely salty the way I like it (but not too salty) and the zaru soba was delicious.

Edmund's sister, L., had joined us for dinner as well, and we all ended up having an enjoyable conversation which involved teasing L. about her boyfriend, G. being fascinated with my name and me because he discovered I had indeed been named after a character in one of his favourite books, and all of us talking in faux London accents (i.e. not ever pronoucing the t's in words). Along the way, because I was the only other female - and quite possibly the only female customer in the bar - G. had badgered me into giving Edmund a total of two hugs and a kiss on the cheek, which I didn't mind giving because - face it - we all knew it was in the name of fun. Perhaps this later accounted for us having dinner on the house, which I didn't know was going to be free.

Edmund had graciously brought out another bottle of sake and of course, we continued to drink, but by the end of the night, I was feeling a little ill. K. and G. graciously offered to send me home although I protested that it wasn't on the way. They ended up sending me home anyway after we noted my friend's reluctance to do so even though it was on his way. Hmph. 25 minutes later, I had reached home, showered, brushed my teeth and crashed, unconscious, on my bed.

To learn more about sake, you can take a sake appreciation class conducted by Edmund at various community centres. You can also visit Sake World and the Japan Sake Brewers Association for more information.

Today has been a rather odd day.

First, the new IT support guy flirts with me over the telephone, telling me he thought my wallpaper (the photo in this post) was very beautiful, and so was my name... and that he was wondering whether I was as beautiful as they were. Yes, I was flattered but at the same time, a little uncomfortable because my personality at work is very much that - focused on work. But I also do think I tend to take things too seriously so I gave him the benefit of the thought. He was unable to resolve my problem remotely so he'll be dropping by tomorrow to fix it in person. I smell something fishy going on.

Then, I SMS what's going on to two male friends, A. and T.. These are their responses.
A.: Dud or stud?
Me: I don't know. It's over the phone.
A.: You better check.

T.: Chee hong bugger.
Me: I think that's the strongest language I've ever heard from you.
T.: I think the auntie gave me extra-strong coffee. Ask him how big his thumb drive is, and then tell him your boyfriend's is bigger.
Me: Ha ha ha!

Right after that, my colleague comes over and lo and behold, I've been dragged into performing for our annual dinner & dance. It's a small part, but I'll be dressed up in a period costume. The fitting's tomorrow.

On the shopping front, my colleague dragged me to Skin Food, a shop opened by her friend, located in Marina Square. The shop sells Skin Food, a brand of cutely packaged cosmetics from Korea, reminscent of Lush, except that these are pre-packaged (and not freshly-made like Lush) and definitely not as expensive. Their prices seem reasonable to me. I ended up buying a Seaweed Cleansing Gel (S$14.25 before GST) and a TU Balance Mask (S$5 before GST) because I had noticed that my combination skin had been oilier than usual lately. The make-up range had some very nice items, such as eyeshadow mousse, nail polish (cheap at S$4) and - get this - diet lip balm, which apparently contains "appetite suppressing fennel and grapefruit extract for aroma therapy diet effect". One of the sheet masks my colleague purchased promised to alleviate stress, relax the soul and "enhance immortality". Ah, Engrish. What would we do without it?

Seemingly coincidentally (as with most things in my life), after having had my first taste of sake last week, Sake Bar will be holding a sake sampling session this Wednesday. It does sound tempting, especially with the rather attractive price: S$10 for potentially 15 samples of sake.

Sakegura Night
Sake enthusiasts should make their way to Sake Bar on Wednesday. Representatives of 15 breweries from Japan's 11 prefectures will be offering samples of their finest sakes, all in one night, and for free to Sake Bar members. Tengumai, a famous brand, will be offering a specially brewed daiginjo sake (sake made with highly polished rice) for tasting. Don't miss out on this opportunity to meet face-to-face with the brewers and find out all about their sake.

Venue: The Sake Bar at 23 Neil Road
Time: 7 pm - 9 pm
Price: S$10 for non-members of Sake Bar.
Attire: Formal

E-mail info@sake.com.sg for tickets. Due to limited space, the event is strictly by reservation only.

Late Saturday night was spent with two people I hadn't seen in a long time, one of which is a very close friend of mine. We somehow ended up at Liquid Kitchen in Upper Thomson Road (next to Long House) despite there being another Liquid Kitchen very close to where I live. I'd always wanted to go there because whenever I pass by, it looks as if there're people inside (as opposed to when the Blue Cow was there) and also because I like the decor. Sadly, the decor at the Upper Thomson outlet looks exactly the same as the one in River Valley. Oh well.

Anyway, ten minutes after my arrival, I accidentally managed to persuade my friend to purchase a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label, a process which involved him asking if we should get a bottle of wine, and me saying mock-forcefully, "Why wine? Vodka!!" and then he thought about it for a bit and said, "Okay" before our other friend intervened and said that vodka's too limited (with regards to mixers), why not go for something more worthwhile, and besides the bar will keep it for you and you get unlimited mixers as long as there's still alcohol in the bottle. So, voila, a bottle of Black Label it was. I love my persuasive abilities... especially when I'm not trying!

It was nice catching up with my friends, especially when it got to a point where I saw the two of them (ARMED FORCES MEN, they are) start playing with the Stitch soft toy I'd bought for one of them. We talked about almost everything: sports (one disillusioned Man Utd fan, another disillusioned Liverpool fan and a jaded Tottenham fan), computer games, vacations, trance music and the table of celebreties who were seated next to us (some local actors). Collectively, we sniggered at a guy's T-shirt which proclaimed "My mommy says I'm special" and then, shortly after 1 am, we'd finished about 1/3 of the bottle and decided that we might as well go home, because none of us were going to do any heavy drinking (one had to drive, another had to meet his girlfriend and I had to study).

So back home I went, to study until 3 am again. And this morning, I woke up to discover that I don't remember 75% of what I looked at last night. Dang.

I spent four and a half hours studying last night from 10.15 pm to 3 am (with a short break after the third hour) when under ordinary circumstances, I would have been chionging my heart out to the banging music Seb Fontaine was dishing out at Zouk.

I haven't studied in that long a stretch since my final year exams. And my brain really feels as if it's atrophied. Nothing seems to be going in.

All work and no play makes me a dull girl.

CNN ran an article today on how the e-mails of Michael Brown, the former head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), reflected his attitude when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.

One e-mail in particular illustrates just how indecisive Brown was:

Two days after Katrina hit, Marty Bahamonde, one of the only FEMA employees in New Orleans, wrote to Brown that "the situation is past critical" and listed problems including many people near death and food and water running out at the Superdome.

Brown's entire response was: "Thanks for the update. Anything specific I need to do or tweak?"

And yet another demonstrates his flippant attitude during the crisis:

On August 29, the day of the storm, Brown exchanged e-mails about his attire with Taylor, Melancon said. She told him, "You look fabulous," and Brown replied, "I got it at Nordstroms. ... Are you proud of me?"

An hour later, Brown added: "If you'll look at my lovely FEMA attire, you'll really vomit. I am a fashion god," according to the congressman.

I really don't usually comment on politics and government, but... seriously, WTF was Bush thinking when he appointed someone whose prior experience was with the International Arabian Horses Association as the head of a disaster response unit? And my gawd, just how f***ing useless do you have to be to be worrying about your appearance in a time of crisis?

For those of you who feel that it's better to hold back and save yourself from potential pain rather than take the bold step of plunging off the cliff that is every relationship, call to mind the immortal words of Billy Joel:

But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break
- And So It Goes

I'd rather go through the pain and heartache, than have him leave, believing I didn't care.

Had an incredible three hour dinner at Honjin (Chow House, 140 Robinson Road, #01-00, opposite SIA Building) yesterday night, thanks to the UOB one-for-one Ohtoro Buffet Dinner offer. I am now thoroughly sick of Japanese food. Heh. I'm not a connoisseur or anything, so can't gauge accurately the freshness and quality of the fish, but what I had tasted pretty darn good. All in all, we had:
- Sashimi: Swordfish, salmon (sake), tuna (maguro) and yellowtail
- Handroll: Soft-shell crab (kani)
- Noodles: Zaru saba, udon
- Tempura: Soft-shell crab (kani), prawn (ebi) and vegetables (kakiage)
- Mat roll: Tuna belly (ohtoro)
- Others: Egg custard (chawan mushi) and pregnant fish (shishamo)
- Dessert: Fruits and ice-cream

Our only complaint was that as the place was so packed, the service stuff tended to forget what we ordered. By the time we ordered our dessert of ice-cream, we had only received about 70% of our food. An earlier enquiry as to where the zaru saba has disappeared to received this comment: "The kitchen is very busy because there're so many people. [The zaru saba] may be on its way out now." "May be?" I said. "May be," the waitress confirmed.

After the majority of the dining crowd left, the service improved considerably, with one waiter asking if we had received our fruits yet, which we hadn't ordered and weren't intending to order, but apparently, these came free. The same waiter, in a bid to help us decide between ordering 300 ml of sake and the free flow for S$20+++ each, gave us a free flask of hot sake while another waiter brought us our long-awaited vegetable tempura and another waiter brought our order of ice-cream. An incredibly bizarre combination, I'll have to admit, and I've eaten some strange things in my life.

I had never tried sake before, but knew it was potent, having heard stories from my friends, which explained my reluctance to go for the free flow even though my dining partner seemed rather eager to try that out. And given the nature of the dinner (a buffet), I knew I had a lot to throw up, if the effects of sake really were as strong as I believed them to be. It turned out to be a far more pleasant experience than I expected. I'll definitely try some again, if I'm ever in a Japanese fine dining establishment. And this time, I'll drink it while eating sashimi, as the waiter explained.

Total damage at the end of the night: S$59 for a delicious buffet dinner for two inclusive of two green teas and various taxes (The UOB offer is until end of November. Otherwise, you can take the buffet dinner set for S$32+++. The difference between the Ohtoro set and the normal buffet is that the latter includes paper steamboat (nabe) which I didn't realise until the end of the night.)

Fortunately for me, after-dinner activities ensured that I burned off a substantial portion of the calories consumed during the day. The night didn't end the way I thought it would, and I wound up getting home close to 3 am happy, if rather spent.

So, I spent Halloween dressed up as a plain clothes CSI detective.

Yes, yes, I know, not very inventive. But I must stress that I put in a bit more effort than I did in 2003 when I was dressed up as an insurance salesman (i.e. typical office gear). After all, I had a badge and a pair of gloves (thanks to Bar None's snail mail invitation to their Halloween party) and best of all, a pair of glow-in-the-dark handcuffs. I'm not at liberty to reveal how I procured the cuffs. Still, compared to last year's effort, you could pretty much tell that I wasn't wearing anything different than what I usually wear.

I spent the better part of the night at a friend's party at his apartment and pretty much had fun drinking strawberry daiquiris and lychee martini shots and getting to meet his friends. Towards the end of the night though, I started getting a little grumpy; I had sobered up, needed my Zouk fix, and more to the point, had started to miss T. rather badly. I don't know where that urge came from because I've been okay for the last couple of weeks, but I really really missed him yesterday. So I made my way to Zouk to see him.

So I saw him, cuffed him (why not?) and danced along with him in front of the DJ console for a bit before spotting one of my colleagues who happened to be at Zouk as well. So I spent some time dancing with him on the platform, before a devil (accidentally) jammed me in the ribs with his pitchfork, and I decided to get off before he caused me further injury. Man, that hurt.

Aldrin finished his set close to 6 am (good, because long sets are usually incredible but bad, because it's damn hard to get a cab at that time), having played some of the tunes I like such as a breakbeats remix of Underworld - Born Slippy, Layo & Bushwacka - Love Story, Josh Wink - A Higher State of Consciousness and The Prodigy - Smack My Bitch Up. I'd been dancing my booty off, even managing to shake off a pain in my knee, and in spite of my long absence from Zouk (which has not gone unnoticed, apparently) and a back injury, it's good to know I still have what it takes to be the hardest dancing female, if not the hardest dancing person, on the dance floor any time I'm there.

Excerpts from an article which captures the worries and fears of most career women I know, including myself.

What's a Modern Girl to Do?
by Maureen Dowd (New York Times)

Men, he explained, prefer women who seem malleable and awed. He predicted that I would never find a mate because if there's one thing men fear, it's a woman who uses her critical faculties. Will she be critical of absolutely everything, even his manhood?

He had hit on a primal fear of single successful women: that the aroma of male power is an aphrodisiac for women, but the perfume of female power is a turnoff for men. It took women a few decades to realize that everything they were doing to advance themselves in the boardroom could be sabotaging their chances in the bedroom, that evolution was lagging behind equality.

I'm getting increasingly doubtful about any woman's ability to raise a family and still be successful in her career; however, I fervently reject being a stay-at-home housewife for fear of being dependent on my future husband's income, while carving out and maintaining a career is, as any person can tell you, very life-consuming and exhausting.

At this stage in my life, the most important thing is my career. I do not intend to let anyone distract me from my goal of reaching a senior position in the industry I'm working in, and that, quite simply, means that I don't have the time or the luxury to contemplate getting a mate I'll be spending the rest of my life with. And given that a friend of mine once said that you should plan to meet the one you want to marry three years before you want to get married (i.e. meet The One at 27 if you want to get married at 30), it sure does look as if I don't have that much time left if I intend to get married between 30 to 35 years old.

A study by psychology researchers at the University of Michigan, using college undergraduates, suggested that men going for long-term relationships would rather marry women in subordinate jobs than women who are supervisors. Men think that women with important jobs are more likely to cheat on them. There it is, right in the DNA: women get penalized by insecure men for being too independent.

Hewlett quantified, yet again, that men have an unfair advantage. "Nowadays," she said, "the rule of thumb seems to be that the more successful the woman, the less likely it is she will find a husband or bear a child. For men, the reverse is true."

Someone I met two years ago once remarked, after we had been talking for half an hour, that if I didn't change my independent and assertive ways, I would find myself bitter and regretful at the age of 30 because I was unable to find a man. He also said, by then, I would be too old to change, and too old to be attractive to other men. I don't for a minute believe a word of what he said, but it did strike me as odd that someone living in this day and age would say something like that.

A 2005 report by researchers at four British universities indicated that a high I.Q. hampers a woman's chance to marry, while it is a plus for men. The prospect for marriage increased by 35 percent for guys for each 16-point increase in I.Q.; for women, there is a 40 percent drop for each 16-point rise.

And again, what is this? I once asked my guy best friend why is it that some guys I go out with flake out after the first proper date, and he said that while they're attracted by the looks, they also realise that I'm an intelligent lady who doesn't ever stop thinking, which means that it'll take too much effort to hoodwink me and therefore, they bugger off, looking for an easier target.

I mean, are men really so fickle that they choose to penalise women for being smart, intelligent and independent? I, for one, would not be able to tolerate anyone not near my level of intellect, nor would I be able to handle someone who didn't have any passion or an opinion of his own. While I see the appeal that submissive women have for men, still, that just turns my stomach so much. And the notion of buying a bride? Vile and pathetic.