The Great Hallucinator

2 years ago, I met 2 au pairs from America in my german class. I was really glad to have found someone who could converse with me in English. My german then was still half-past six. Later I noticed with a tinge of irritation that in typical American fashion, the 2 teenage girls love to brag. They bragged about how huge their houses in Texas are and how their parents let them have the biggest room in the house.

After class one day we were having a lunch buffet at some chinese restaurant (it sucks, by the way) and we came upon the topic of what they wore the night before when they were out partying. One of them said: 'I had this white simple top on and I looked amazing. Whereas on Hoonie, it would look totally normal.' Err... where did that come from? I was just sitting there, eating my lunch, listening in on their conversation and minding my own business when I got lashed out at for no apparent reason!!! Oh yeah, boobs and fats do go together. Talk about blind self-confidence. Just look at the various crappy reality shows on MTV, like Date my Mum, Next, Exposure, Room Raiders etc. The kids are often gushing over how hot they are and how they resemble certain celebs. They simply love themselves, often urging on by their equally blind parents. I bet they have never had a good look at themselves in the mirror before. Okay, perhaps I am a little harsh here and I am stereo-typing. Surely not all Americans are like that. Just like not all Singaporeans are kiasu.

Anyways, one day our teacher kindly offered to lend us her exam material to practise at home. Unfortunately, she only had it in cassette form. Which posed a problem for me because I do not have a cassette player. She then very sweetly lended me her portable cassette player.

One of the au pairs turned to me and asked, 'How can you not have a cassette player?'
Me, looked at her incredulously, retorted, 'Who uses cassettes nowadays?'
She went all silent.

Oh yes, the big great American nation where they sell millions of iPods while some of its people are still stuck in stone age using cassettes and stuck in their big fat ego. I wouldn't be surprised at all if I were asked where Singapore is. Because to them, America is the world itself.

Here I am, dissing the Americans while moments later you would find me going ga-ga over some American actors and having no intentions whatsoever in letting up on chasing the most popular series in America. Story of my life: full of conflicts.

Milo

I like Milo. Milo was even in my dreams nights ago. No, not the nestle drink Milo which brings out the champion in you but the actor who is supposed to save the cheerleader, save the world. Yup, that Peter Petrelli in Heroes. I must have had an overdosage of special abilities when he came into my dreams. I was his chick (move over, Wentworth!) and he would give up his life just to protect me and I got to kiss him :))) Think Hayden Panettiere. Then the scene changed and I was his niece. Think Claire Bennet. In reality, I am Claire Bennet herself on Facebook's Which Heroes Character Are You. I HEAL.... Oh dear, I eat, drink, breathe, live Heroes these days.

I woke up from that dream and grinned sheepishly at the bizarreness of it. Which reminds me of another dream I had years ago. This time I was Andy Lau's chick which baffles me till this day because I am never a big fan of his. Anyhow, I got to make out with him in the dream. Lucky me huh? Then it got me thinking, do dreams hold any significance at all? Dreams can be so real at times that they can't be just there without a reason.

According to the father of psychology, Sigmund Freud: ....they (dreams) are not meaningless, not absurd, they do not imply that one portion of our stockpile of ideas sleeps while another begins to awaken. They are a completely valid psychological phenomenon, specifically the fulfillment of wishes; ....there is a psychological technique which makes it possible to interpret dreams, and that on the application of this technique, every dream will reveal itself as a psychological structure, full of significance, and one which may be assigned to a specific place in the psychic activities of the waking state. Further, I shall endeavour to elucidate the processes which underlie the strangeness and obscurity of dreams, and to deduce from these processes the nature of the psychic forces whose conflict or co-operation is responsible for our dreams.

Unfortunately in my case, Freud did not have any interpretations of dreams which feature celebrities. Guess there wasn't any overexposure of celebrities in that era. So I do what I do best, I googled. And this is what I found:

To see a celebrity in your dream, represents your beliefs and understanding about him or her. Something in your waking life has triggered these similar beliefs and feelings. It is not uncommon that your obsession with a certain celebrity may carry over onto your dream world. Celebrities are often seen as heroes and all that is mighty.

To see an actor or actress in your dream, represents your pursuit for pleasure. Your admiration of a particular celebrity may lead to a desire to have some of their physical or personality traits (good looks?). Consider also who this actor/actress is and what characteristics your associate him/her with (special abilities like flying, reading minds, paint the future?). These may be the same characteristics that you need to acknowledge or incorporate into yourself.

To see a particular actor or actress in your dream, look at the role they are playing. Even though you may not know them on a personal level, how you perceive them or the characters they play can provide understanding in how it relates to you (be a hero myself?).

Hmmm... It's clear to see through these interpretations, Freud was right after all. My dream is trying to tell me what my wish-fulfillment is: I want to be a hero. Move over Sylar, I want their abilities for myself.

My Rant

I did Roti John and Sweet Potato Soup today. No pictures to show for them because I do not have the habit of taking pictures of my food, despite friends' constant requests of them on my blog. Indeed a picture speaks a thousand words. But perhaps I am a stick in the mud. Right now I am contended with just waxing my lyrical in words over here.

Anyway, back to food. What's a Singaporean without his/her food? Yes I did Roti John and Sweet Potato Soup. Not that they are such a challenge to make. The receipes are really simple. If I can churn this out, anyone can. I am in need of a change. I am simply sick of all the usual stuffs I whip up day in day out. It doesn't help that my german classes are now in the evenings, starting from 6pm. Which means dinner has to be ready for Mr R before I rush to the lessons. Nothing beats the easy fried noodles/rice which he can warm up himself when he reaches home. Either my creativity is going through a dry spell or it is that limited because there is only so much usual/spicy fried noodles/rice, mee/nasi goreng, dry mee siam, hokkien mee (I cheat lah, I use Prima Taste) etc. one can put up with before one goes retching upon hearing the words 'Fried Rice/Noodles'. Not that he demands his dinner has to be on the table when he gets home. Don't he ever dare! Being a bummer aside, I am afterall in the role of a housewife now. I have to bloody do my job in keeping the household in order and make sure that warm (an absolute must for me!) and edible food is on the table, don't I?

Perhaps I am just bored. Hence I look for an outlet to vent my boredom. And cooking is in fact quite effective in that aspect. Not to mention the self-satisfaction when a dish turns out well. Err, okay, my only critic is Mr R himself. And taste is often very subjective. And especially an ang moh one. Oh well..

I was asked many a times why I wish to work. Besides killing time, improving my spoken german and earning some moolah for myself, I want to feel needed in this Society again. It sucks to wake up every morning in your bed without having a purpose to look forward to. There is a sense of redundancy all the time. Even though I am in a family unit where Society considers me playing a major and important role in it, either by procreating or forming an economically productive household, I do not feel that important. Not in the very least. Why? Just because I am not making important/major deals or decisions at work like before? No, I don't think so. Having a job means I will be back in the social network again. Which also means I have a life of my own, rather than one that revolves just around Mr R. The institution of marriage does not restrain personal growth now, does it?

What's more, no man is an island. No matter how much I deemed myself to be quite an anti-social, at times I do require certain amount of social interaction (other than Mr R's), be it friends, classmates or even neighbours to keep myself sane. At my convenience, of course.

Then there are those advices which I received. One good one is I should have a baby to keep me busy and also because, they stressed again and again, I am not getting any younger. Digressing a bit, I seem to be receiving endless advices these days even when I DID NOT ask for them. Some people are just so fond of giving their 2 cents that they forget people just want to talk about their problems without needing a solution sometimes? Whatever happens to 'learn to listen'?

Okay, back to planting seeds. I have no objections to having a baby though I do not know when. And I am not gonna rush myself in getting huge and heavy, with puffy legs and no bikinis for 9 months just because I want to keep myself busy. Such wrong reason to bring a child to this world! Thanks but no thanks.

For now, I will just rot in my boredom. Short term solution: go shopping on Saturday to burn a big hole in Mr R's pocket. Retail therapy always works.

Vere Iz Da Storn?

I almost laughed my ass off my chair while watching the movie, Snatch, years ago. A wicked film with its dry english humour and witty lines. Doubtless one of those comedies which I can watch over and over again and still get me cracking up without fail.

Here are some of my favourite lines:
*Warning: It's gonna bore you silly if you are not a Snatch fan*

Turkish: Fuck me, hold tight. What's that?
Tommy: It's me belt, Turkish.
Turkish: No, Tommy. There's a gun in your trousers. What's a gun doing in your trousers?
Tommy: It's for protection.
Turkish: Proctection from what? 'Zee German'?

Turkish: What's happening with them sausages, Charlie?
Sausage Charlie: Five minutes, Turkish.
Turkish: It was two minutes five minutes ago.

Policeman: So, what you doin here?
Turkish: I'm taking the dog for a walk. What's the problem?
Policeman: What's in the car?
Turkish: Seats and a steering wheel.

[while robbing the bookies]
Sol: Are you all right there Vincent?
Vinny: I would be if you stopped using my name.

Vinny: What the fuck do you mean, replicas?
Sol: They look the shit, don't they? And nobody is gonna argue. And I've got some extra loud blanks, just in case.
Vinny: In... Oh, in case we have to deafen them to death?

Avi: Should I call you Bullet? Tooth?
Bullet Tooth Tony: You can call me Susan if it makes you happy.

Avi: Eighty-six carats.
Rosebud: Where?
Avi: London.
Rosebud: London?
Avi: London.
Avi's Colleague: London?
Avi: Yes, London. You know: fish, chips, cup 'o tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins... LONDON.

Bullet Tooth Tony: A bookie's got blagged last night.
Avi: Blagged? Speak English to me, Tony. I thought this country spawned the fucking language, and so far nobody seems to speak it.

Customs official: Anything to declare?
Avi: Yeah. Don't go to England.

Vinny: Why are we stopped here? What's wrong with that spot?
Tyrone: It's too tight.
Vinny: Too tight? You could land a jumbo fucking jet in that.

[Tyrone just backed into Franky Four Fingers' van]
Tyrone: I didn't see it there.
Vinny: It's a four ton truck, Tyrone. Its not as if it's a bag of fucking peanuts, is it?
Tyrone: It was a funny angle.
[All three turn and look back at the truck]
Vinny: It's behind you Tyrone. Whenever you reverse, things come from behind you.

Sol: He's a natural, ain't you Tyrone?
Tyrone: 'course I am... [reverses into parked van]
Vinny: A natural fucking idiot.

Sink or swim

More than a month has flew by since my last swimming lesson. Yes, yes, I couldn't swim for nuts in my last 30 plus years. Aqua-phobia, I told everyone. It's all in your head, said my swimming teacher. And right he is.

After battling weeks of procastination and sluggishness inside me the whole of yesterday, I am now proud to declare I finally made it to the swimming pool last evening. Despite my initial apprehension, it all came back to me once I hit the water. I was elated. They say once you learn to swim, you will never forget it. How true. Okay, so what if I practised in the children pool.

Later on, Mr R suggested I try the olympic-sized pool on the other side. Even though I was kinda intimidated by the length of it, I was glad he made the suggestion. It means he thinks I can do it. Well, not without having a few intervals to catch my breath while swimming my first lap in my life. Still a long way to go before I can wade in and out of the water effortlessly. Or like that old lady next to me who lapped to and fro consistently without needing to pause to catch her breath. Even better, her hair and cosmetic-plastered face were dry while my face was plastered with my wet hair. You have to give it to the old bird.

So I was saying I am far from becoming a wading fish. But at least I succeeded in making that important first step. And what follows is not that daunting and frightening as I imagined but in fact 'swimmable'. The rest is history, I hope to hear them say in good time. Now I am pure felicity.

New Year resolutions

The common new year resolutions include: eat healthier, work out more, lose those pounds gained over the years, quit smoking/drinking/gambling and the list goes on. Really, why even bother? The so-called resolutions would all be forgotten in a few weeks and no one would even recall they were once determined in fulfilling those commitments as they slip back into their old mundane routine after those parties. Such a waste of time and brain juice.

Why not resolute in indulgence of our every whim and desire instead? Wouldn't that have made everyone happier rather than working out on that step machine or starving ourselves? Why suffer? According to the teachings of Buddhism, we come to this earth to suffer. And human beings do have a penchant for suffering, I notice. However since we are all going to suffer again in hell (Don't be delusional, no one is going anywhere near heaven. We are all sinners, remember?), why be so hard on ourselves in this present lifetime? Let's resolute to join the dark side of the seven deadly sins and I shall see you in hell with 'Gluttony' stamped on my forehead.

Now there are more overweight people in America than average-weight people. So overweight people are now average. Which means you've met your New Year's resolution. - Jay Leno

Fat of the ring

I realised with horror this morning (afternoon actually) that I had difficulty removing my ring from my finger. It is a habit of mine to remove my ring each time I do the dishes. My finger has grown fat!! Being the practical man that he is, Mr R put it down as materials contract in the cold. I put it down as nonsense! Why does my ring, of all days, decide to go contracting on me today? Must be the whole plate of chicken biryani I stuffed my face with last evening. The portion was in fact good for two persons. But my will power is often at its all time low when it comes to good food. Good asian food especially in this part of the world is relatively hard to come by. Thus I was most reluctant to leave any single grain of the biryani unattacked. The best biryani I have ever had since almost a year now.