I can't remember....

We were about to roll out with our overstuffed bellies after a steamboat dinner when I told S just how forgettable I have recently become. Realising the mistake, I corrected myself, 'No, I mean unforgettable.

I only recalled my boo-boo much later. Oh dear! I can't even remember the word to explain my absent-mindedness. Need I say more?

The poor girl must have thought I was speaking in tongues. No wonder she was quite silent while I fumbled for the right word in my scatterbrained trance.

How embarrassing!

The Immaculate Collection

Our mini fridge doesn't come with a freezer. Due to space constraint, the basement is where the separate freezer currently resides. Thus one would see me running to the basement at any time of the day or night getting those frozen whatnots. In my frumpy, colour-faded homewear and glasses with matching unkempt hair no less.

And yes, that means I would always be literally running back to the pad as I have no wish of bumping into the neighbours in the alluring ensemble.

But I am not always lucky.

Talking about the neighbours. Either they have the most stylish loungewear to be worn at home, not unlike those you saw in Desperate Housewives, or they are diligent enough to make pretty every single day once they are out of the bed. Because I have never once seen them with a hair out of place or a bare face. No matter at which time of the day or night. Such arduous labour is indeed admirable.

But I am not alone. I found another pea in the pod:

Torn between a durian and rambutan

I recently developed a habit which I find most insufferable. Reading a book halfway and for some reasons not able to finish it. I could not fathom the rationale behind it because back in Singapore I never had that problem.

Okay, maybe once.

I attempted Peter Carey's Oscar and Lucinda but I guess I was probably too young and too ignorant, not to mention too impatient to fight my way through the long thick book that I gave up eventually. Till today, I still wonder about the plot and the characters development. I kick myself for not sticking it out till the end and be rewarded by its (as claimed by many) beautiful literacy style. Like how I did with Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie.

I might have grumbled to the friends just how long-winded Rushdie can be that it takes pages before he reaches a point and not forgetting his weighty political talk. Midnight's Children remains however an extraordinary piece of work because Rushdie is without a doubt a literary master. His wittiness and intellect and his knack for an array of puns, wordplay and rhyme is dazzling. His cleverly crafted lines left me mesmerized and yearning for more.

Naturally after such a masterpiece, it is almost impossible to find another book of the same caliber. Not that the current book, Absolute Friends by John LeCarre, is mediocre. While it is rather engaging, it lacks Rushdie's Midas touch of witty wordplay which I often devoured with relish. Sure, the comparison is unfair to LeCarre. But it's like having to choose between a durian and rambutan, the choice is very obvious. The durian, the king of fruits it is of course.

Hence, I am currently stuck. I am itching to get another Rushdie's book to quench my literary thrist. And many other books on my list as well.

But to avoid history repeating itself, I have to repress that temptation for now and bloody finish my current book first!

On second thought, having the humble rambutan once in a while is not such a bad idea at all.

A hazy shade of winter

I was hankering for a quick bite after merrymaking at the friend's on NYE. The dozens of scallops, pork fillet and whatnots earlier didn't help to curb those hunger pangs.

We decided to swing by Burger King to grab a burger. On our way there, we were hit by an unexpected heavy fog. The visibility was very very bad. We couldn't see a thing from the windscreen. NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!!

I was seriously freaking out. Terrible thought raced through my mind. What if we hit the curb? What if we hit some car in front of us? What if some idiot or some cat or dog dashed suddenly across the road?!

If it was me behind the steering wheel, I would have bloody stopped the car and gone into panic mode! On second thought, not such a great idea at all. A car coming from behind might have missed seeing us and banged into our car. Luckily for us, it was the man who was driving. He kept his cool and drove on very slowly. It also helped that the road was a long straight one.

In my fright, I failed to notice the faint white road markings which the man had been following. I breathed a little easier.

Eventually, we had to exit from the road and I cried out to the man, drive on and do not exit! My reason was the next road was full of curves and it's simply too dangerous to use that road in this condition. The man argued we would never get home if we did not exit then. Plus the fog might not be as heavy there.

Okay, what do I know? He should be more experienced than me in such situations. This is after all my first brush with the thick heavy fog.

Well, true to his words, the fog was not as dense on the next road. Phew! What a relief!

The rest of the journey was rather uneventful except we hit-and-run some remains of firecrackers on the road.

Wow, what an unforgettable way to start the new year, eh?

Once I stepped into the pad, my hunger pangs returned. Great.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

With the snow chaos all over the news in the last days, I was dreaming of a white Christmas in this land of sausage and beer. Especially when we woke up one morning to a white blanket of fresh snow everywhere and feathery falling snow flakes. I was thrilled.

Are we finally going to have a white silent Christmas this year? What is Christmas without snow right!!!

But nope. Like in the past years, I was hoping against hope. The blanket of clean serene snow has since melted away as silently as it has arrived. The magic is broken.

On the bright side, we have a huge white fir tree this year. The fir does look magically imposing with the lights turned on.

The one thing left to complete the festive mood: Presents!!!

Happy Christmas!!

How do you like your coke?

I have never been a big fan of coke. (Yes, the carbonate soft drink coca cola, not the other coke.) When given a choice, I'd rather have an ice tea, green tea, or water anytime. But when fancy does strike, I'll still get that occasional coke in the hope that the thirst would be quenched. Thing is, it doesn't work all the time, does it?

When serving me the coke, one must however observe my two big no-nos:

Do not serve the coke straight from the can. I totally hate that as the coke would be so gassy that most often than not, I couldn't finish a quarter of the can. And that is so wasteful, innit? So well, the only way out is to ask for a glass lor.

Do not serve the coke neat in a glass. Which is how they love to do it here in Germany and apparently the Germans including the man have no complaints about that. As for me, the coke is insufferably sweet without the ice. And I suspect the term ice cold coke somehow got lost in translation in this country.

One might argue that you can have more coke without the ice. Well really, who wants more coke when you could drown down a nicely chilled and not overly-sweet coke? So I say hell with more coke! Gimme a coke with plenty of ice anytime man! That's how I like my coke!

And so weeks ago, I was badly in need of a fix of caffeine high in my bloodstream. We were hooking up with the friends one evening at our favourite greek restuarant in a quiet litle nook. I jumped at the chance and got myself a coke with extra ice.

Several big gulps and thereafter with the cold caffeine cruising down my bloodstream, was I already tripping in my own happy high? By the time my fish came, I was into my second glass and beaming merrily at the friends and giggling silly at anything lame.

More than 3 years in Germany, what took me so long to ask for extra ice?

Or has the caffeine done its damages already?

Dying an early death?

I guess I've probably flunked most guidelines on blogging where its main objective is to help increase traffic to a blog.

Instead of updating frequently, I post only 2 or 3 times per month. And then of course I had to go block my blog recently. That is a definite big no-no in the blogosphere. Unfortunately the break actually freed up my time. I could finish up my half-read book, and idle on my couch in front of the TV. Sometimes it's just great to do nothing at all. That really helps to loosen me up.

Sure, I do feel guilty knowing that a handful of the loyal readers aka the friends would be disappointed in finding the closed blog. But I soon discover my worries are unfounded because I doubt anyone ever noticed the blog was even closed. All I got was the usual cold stony ringing silence. So much for the traffic to the blog.

Someone then wrote, if you are going to blog about yourself, you better have an uncanny knack for wit, humour or cynicism or your life got to be damn interesting or exciting. Because no one wants to read about the colour of underwear you wore last night, the fried rice you ate for lunch or that 98th travelling you did recently.

Err, my life is neither interesting nor exciting since I do not have glamorous friends to hang out or party with. A knack for wit or humour is beyond me...

Eh, everyone still there?

And according to a professional blogger, it is important that you include your blog's content in an RSS feed to increase readership and distribution. Well, firstly I had no idea what RSS was all about until I wikipedia-ed it seconds ago. So no, the blog is definitely not on RSS.

For reasons even unknown to myself, I somehow have this perverse obssession to keep the blog as invisible as possible. I don't do fellowship with other bloggers. I don't belong to a blog community. I hardly comment on other blogs. I forbid friends to link the blog. Not many are in the know of the blog.

And the last I checked, only less than 100 hits have ever graced the blog.

I think I might have single-handedly killed my own blog. *grin*

My Halloween rocks!

The man, all dressed up in his black robes, has left to rock the halloween party while here I am wallowing in my self-pity.

The fever, of all weeks, chose the week leading up to All Saint's Day to visit. Well, I can't really blame the virus and bacteria as how could they possibly know I've been looking forward to the party since weeks?

Minutes ago NW likened Halloween to our Chinese Ghost Month. Thanks to her, I am now keenly aware that I am all alone in the pad.

Or am I? *look over shoulder*

The doorbell shrieked just then. Repressing my thudding heart, I answered the door to have a trick-or-treat thrown at me. I mumbled briefly to the boys I had to see if I had any treats for them and found the kids all gone when I came back. They were probably too freaked out by my oily and unkempt hair and ran away. No need to even put on my war paint to do scary.

Anyways, I resolve to not answer my door anymore tonight to save myself the embarassement and the kids, a fright.

Like a conspiracy, the TV is dishing out party tunes and anything halloween to rile me. Oh well...

The last days were spent drifting in and out of a feverish trance. When I finally woke, the cobwebs in the head casted a haze over everything in sight.

TV was boring. Being online for too long gave me a throbbing headache. I couldn't register the dancing words on the book. With nothing else to do, a movie marathon transpired.

But the cheery bright sunshine was too dazzling for my newly-acquired vampire eyes. Thank goodness for the german blinds which are able to block out each single ray of sunlight.

In the darkness of my living room-cinema, dishy young Al Pacino was ruthless villain Michael Corleone and Robert De Niro the streetsmart and cool as a cucumber Vito Corleone. Part II is definitely my fav among the trilogy simply because De Niro rules in it! Albeit scrawny, his portrayal of the Don was vivid and beautiful. His mannerism spoke of his cold-bloodness, his family values and his rise to power. He was Vito Corleone and not De Niro.

Then Robert Downey Jr was incredibly hawt and sexy with or without his iron suit. Let's hope he stays clean and gets casted in more films so that we will not be deprived of his mastery.

Now, cobwebs are being spun and and the head throbs...

I don't want to be a corrector

Having lived in Germany for more than 3 years now has not led to a fluency in the language. Which is not exactly that bad especially since I am not a rocket scientist in the linguistic department. Nonetheless, carrying out a proper conversation these days does not leave me cowering in shame like before.

Of course I cannot deny I have the flair for committing frequent grammar mistakes and for not able to find the right vocab to express myself aptly. My German vocabs remain sadly limited owing to that sloth monster who has decided to stay for good since that winter in1972.

Hence, my imperfect German leads me to uncover something which is rather interesting.

In times of sticky language-predicaments, most friends, instead of correcting or helping me, would choose either to ignore my hiccups, remain silent, change the subject or simply look away. Or when I asked for the meaning of a word which I have never heard before, I would receive no reply. Don't even ask me how awkward the air was.

Sometimes I didn't even realise I have made a mistake until these subtle reactions appeared. And I was literally left to my own devices to scramble out of the embarrassing hole.

I am bewildered.

The reason of such responses I did not understand at first. I put myself in their shoes and the only conclusion I could make was they were just too embarrassed themselves to put me in a spot by correcting my language. But then again, most Germans are no strangers to voicing their opinions loud and clear. Sometimes, I suspect they even enjoy doing that. Hence, such reactions are what I least expect.

Once, during our german lesson, someone remarked that nobody ever tried to rectify her mistakes. My teacher's opinion that these people are simply too lazy and find it a hassle to correct us, has a lot of truth in it. It is indeed a fuss to keep correcting someone left, right and center during a conversation. In the end, even the correctee (is there such a word?) would be frustrated too, let alone the corrector. The fun of the chit-chat would subsequently be robbed.

Sure, it is not a written rule that friends, colleagues or aquaintances alike should be the corrector. Though it would certainly be helpful and important for intermediates like me. How else would we learn, right?

Therefore, it was a breath of fresh air when a friend actually corrected my german during dinner one evening. Several times, in fact. She even asked if it's fine for me. I was like, 'Oh yes, please! I would be most grateful!'

The entire evening I considered her with new, thankful eyes.

Of black boots, mooncakes and wellies-smelling weirdo

I was racking my brains all week on what boots to get for this fall. With the change of seasons, everyone is scampering off for that hottest pair of boots in town.

I am seriously overwhelmed with the array of choices available. My vision is bombarded with a myriad of boots: ankle boots, booties, country, vintage, biker, overknees, UGG...

I stood in front of my shoe racks and pondered. As my eyes scanned over each pair of shoes, my little eye spied something which I have never worn before.

A pair of black boots.

They were from the Lion.

Flashback: Just before I left for Germany for good, the Lion pampered me with gifts from her HK trip. 2 lamb-wool sweaters to keep me warm because she often chides me for not able to tahan cold. And not forgetting of course the pair of said boots.

I love the sweaters but couldn't say the same for the boots. The boots are round-toed and not flattering. I looked stumpy with them on. I could tell the Bestie shared my sentiments but she kept her mouth shut. Because we both know very well this was an out-of-the-ordinary gesture from the Lion. She never ever shops for presents for friends. That's the Bestie's task, not the Lion's.

Thus it's very heartwarming to know she purposely took time off from work and search for stuffs which she thought I might need in the cold winter months. So tell me am I not lucky to have her as a friend, albeit her short-temper? *wink*

Back to the said boots. I pulled them out of the dusty corner and decided to give them another go. To my surprise, they look rather high-street chic when paired with leggings which are all the rage right now.

It was the Mid-Autumn Festival yesterday and the boots finally saw the light of day.

In fact I was just fretting days before I wouldn't get to eat my favourite mooncakes this year when I had a pleasant surprise. Not only did I get to eat my mooncakes, the mooncakes this time round were from the 6-star hotel, Ritz Carlton, no less!

They were delicious and not overly sweet. The absence of the yolk was not a deterrence at all. What's more there were no signs of oil spots. I almost thought the mooncakes were cholesterol-free! Even the man helped himself to a second slice. And he used to claim he was not a huge fan.

The girlfriend's sweetie once thought the mooncake was a cake assortment and actually gobbled up a whole mooncake in one seating. No prize for guessing how put off he was afterwards that he swore off them from then on. He is so hilarious! Wahahahahahaha...

BUT.

As attested, the Ritz's mooncakes has the uncanny power to convert even the greatest mooncake loather to a devoted fan. That is just how good they are.

Now. I am going to be shameless and not beat around the bush:

Will the beloved friends back home be getting some Ritz Carlton mooncakes for me next year? No need yolk.Just plain traditional lotus bean paste will do. Let me know if you need my address. Thank you very much in advance! LOL

After the mooncake o.d., I woke up this morning, starving. Again, I stuffed my face with what else but food. Leftover fried bee hoon washed down with gulps of coffee. I then decided to be a good girl and went about doing some of my chores.

During my task of peh tau geh (removing the brown parts from bean sprouts), I watched the re-run of a popular German variety show, Wetten, dass?. The concept of the show is people can offer to perform difficult or often very odd stunts and top celebrities would bet whether these people could carry out these stunts successfully.

Today a man claimed that he was able to identify a person by smelling her wellies. But firstly she had to work out on the stepper for half hour. The man was blind-folded and brought to another corner of the stage where there were more than 10 seated women, all wearing red wellies, having worked out on the stepper for 30 mins earlier on. The host went randomly to one woman and removed one of her wellies and brought it over to the waiting man.

The bet began. The nutcase stuffed his big nose into the welly and took numerous deep breath from it. This lasted several loooong minutes!

You should see the disgust on the celebrities' faces. Priceless.

But true to his word, he identified the right candidates 4 out of 5 times.

Really, I cannot figure it out how he came to discover he has such an enviously talent? Did he sit around all day long and smell all the wellies within 10km radius from his home? Or did crack his brains all day on what he could do in order to get on Wetten, dass? Hasn't he better things to do at home, like read a book, surf the net or watch TV?

But alas, his bizarre attempts were in vain. The grand prize, an Audi, eluded him. You see, the winner is chosen by public votes. Now, who would want to vote for a nutcase who goes around smelling people's wellies?

Not me, for sure!

And not the Germans too, apparently. Phew.