I had the most feeling feeling week ever. In The Minah’s dictionary, feeling feeling is akin, if not synonymous with delusion, self deception, hallucination…well, I can plonk the whole thesaurus section in here but I have work the next day. This time, I’ll persevere for this entry to end.
Last Saturday, Din din came over to my place for a nightcap and the usual movie when the folks are out of town. We watched Apocalypto, and ended up tussling in bed with no-can’t-I-hate-gore-no-thanks-is-he-gonna die-??!!-Let me sleep-!!!-but you forced me to watch this-oh-my-FUCK-they’re-all-gonna-die-BABE-WAKE-UP!-please-just-give-me-the-ending-SHUT-UP-AND-JUST-WATCH!!!!
And DD never completed the movie marathon. After half an hour of careful selection, she conveniently snoozed on my bed whilst I proceeded to watch Pretty Woman alone. The entire movie, no interruption, for the first bloody time. I have issues with movies like this. Together with fairytales and porn. But I’ll leave them for another entry when I’m on a 28th day Venus come hither and enlarge my boobs rant.
Blimey, this week is full of Pretty Woman activities. Let’s see:
1. There was dinner with friends at the NUS Guild House with the bapoks while the Asian Cup was going on. Someone ordered escargos and I was struggling with the pincer-like-thong thingamajig. It almost flew…
I said almost.
2. There was that shopping spree. No, I wish someone could offer me his credit card and make the whole store suck up to me. But I went somewhere where I felt slightly more inclined to part with my money. No other fine, dignified, risk free and fashionable place other than Johore Bahru. That’s right folks. When you are broke, but you want to shop and at the same time pretend for that little while you have double the amount you own, Jusco at Terbau is where its at. They have brands that’ll blow your brains out. Think about it – TOPSHOP, WAREHOUSE, MANGO, ZARA. You’ll be the talk of the town. Maybe not.
So I’ll see you there. All you need is a pile of bribery money, car and yes, life insurance. Naturally.
3.
The play became an Italian opera. Where's luck when you need it? I’ve been having few hours of sleep daily, nodding to sleep after lunch at work and he expected us to watch a 3hr bleeding opera with no dinner in my stomach! But say say say, it was pretty woman moment no? Only I wasn’t wearing a beautiful long dress, with satin elbow gloves and Charles and Keith shoes. (Thanks for the unglam idea BR) But well. The night was good. Hey Figaro was awesome, if you love corny lame stuff like moi.
We went to Wine bar afterwards. As usual, I have an issue to raise.
They call themselves the Wine Bar right? But when the house wine came, it tasted like it came straight off a scrapped sweaty armpit. You don’t call yourself Wine Bar when you serve armpit sweat and try to pass it off as wine! Even an uncouth, very un-class minah (from the ghetto) like me know its crap!
Urrgh. Friday nights are also called media nights there. It’s for the fancy, endless pretentious schmoozing and “oh my gawd, you look fantastic dahlin dahlin dahlin” moment. And I’m just one of them. Being fake is fun, sometimes. Entering another role can be quite a relief. You have no idea how much of a burden it is being me. All the world’s misery on my shoulders, the angst, the weight of centuries worth of philosophical woes and existential dilemma. You have NO idea.
4. For the benefit of...I can say it now (losers) out there who have not watched the movie, you will NOW know that the movie scenes revolved around the suite. I had a hotel room moment as well! The Bapoks were at Hyatt last Saturday. DD’s sis and beau got us a room to celebrate Butty Boy’s birthday. We were suppose to head out, but ended up rolling around in bed. And wait wait! We had a bar scene too at Mezzanine. Again, I wasn’t in a dress, there was no piano OR sex or anything like that. Bummer. At
5. And yesterday, at the kind invitation of our client, my colleagues and I were at the Singapore Turf Club for upper
We decided to bet. Two dollar place forecast bets. The gentlemen at our table were frowning in concentration at their booklets, discussing horses and their breed, jockey weight, the weather, the turf before carefully making a selection. Our selections were based on 1) cute jockeys 2) cute horses with cute tails 3) cute horse names 4) the color of the horse’s socks (at least that’s what it looked like) 5) favorite numbers.
Bad choice. In the end, after copious amounts of food, tea (and alcohol for yours truly), we ended up chatting with the unassuming uncles who turned out to be multi-millionaires, horse owners, horse buyers, businessmen etc etc. While we betted 2 bucks for a race, they were going by the thousands per race. We even get to choose numbers for them – just for the hell of it and why not? It’s all luck.
I lost a grand total of 12 bucks. We had great food, good laugh from the uncles and an amazing view from the grandstand. The day turned out unexpectedly good. It wasn’t a day like the one in pretty woman, with plumey hats and picnic baskets. Besides we’d have looked ridiculous with the crazy weather, but it was close. The only thing missing is a Richard Gere character. And good sex. Perhaps I should do a hooker scene to round off the pretty woman week. And maybe, just maybe, a pick-me-up scene turn fairy tale will come true.
But who are we exactly kidding? We are imbued with this crap from young and grow up thinking a prince charming will sweep you off your feet. Men end up as chauvinist pigs OR a whimpering wuss. Fine balance is a joke, unless he’s gay. Women end up useless, wantonly desiring that crystalline tower scene that will never, ever come true.
Something tells me I just did a Venus rant.
And maybe, just maybe, it is about time I finally did.
Edit: Wha'eva!
