Ahh, Christmas is among us and I have lost the spirit already. So, in order to regain my Christmas cheer, I jammed my iPod with all manner of festive tunes. I have to say that it's amazing what listening to Kenny and Dolly can do to lift one's spirits while dodging King's Road's pedestrian traffic at 7:30 a.m.

But one observation I do have is this: whilst listening to Mariah's rendition of "All I Want for Christmas", she states that she "doesn't want a lot for Christmas" and that she "don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas Tree". Knowing M as the sort of Unstable Mabel that she is re: relationships, that probably is sort of true. However, you can't convince me that if Mariah Carey gets jack shit for Christmas, she won't be pissed.

Cable Television Purgatory

It's Friday night.
It's 12:16 a.m.
I am still in my twenties, reasonably good looking and rather a joy to be around.

And I am watching Walker, Texas Ranger...guest starring Hulk Hogan.

I got nothing...

Pick-up Lines That Have Been Used on Me Before

This is an honest-to-god list of pick-up lines that have been used on me.

Only a couple have been sucessful.

Nice shoes. Wanna f#@k?

Hey, you look like Ricky Lake. After she got not fat. Want to make out?

Canadian? I love beavers!

Wanna lock crotches and swap gravy?

Hey, you look like that alcoholic lesbian with the big tits on Will and Grace. Wanna make out?

Him: Excuse me, can I get by please?
Me: And why in hell would I let you do that?
Him: Well, let me buy you a drink and I'll tell you why.
Me: OKAY!!

You're really short. Like my mom.

Me: Oh shit! I spilled drink on your handbag, Friend! Let me rub it off.
Friend: That's okay. I know that you like to rub bags *wink*.
Him: Yeah, I hope that she will be rubbing my bag after you leave.

How much?

It's a fact.

Two English Nationals interviewed out of four have never heard of Twinings Irish Breakfast Tea.

Does Tony Blair's foreign policy know no boundaries?

When presented with pictoral evidence pulled off Google's historical periodicals, one English National accused the said evidence of being "Photoshop'd" and remains skeptical of the tea's existence.

The other English National had no comment.

The People of Busan Find Me Interesting.

Recently, I gave an interview to a newspaper in the greater Busan Metropolitan area. This is because the people of Busan, obviously, want to know what I have to say and I don't blame them. Nevermind the fact I have never been to Busan and I am not entirely sure where it is exactly.

Being quizzed on current affairs several times before by very important publications [school newspapers, blogs and random Chinese students wanting an interview with a foreigner], I was still amazed at the polished professionalism of the reporter. His questions were articulate and pointed and he seemed to have a real nack for interpreting the "what the fuck" expression I usually wear in most situations in my new work environment. It's the same expression I cart when people keep referring to me as 'the coordinator' and tell me that I have to 'coordinate all the things'.

Riiiiiiiiight.

Nonetheless, I am sure to be popular and admired for my insight and immense intelligence...in Busan. Too bad I don't read Korean.

This is an email that I sent to my friend, D, regarding an environmental beach cleaning on the upcoming Saturday. This is the sort of shit that I grind out on a daily basis.

Hmm,

This does sound interesting, but I am not one to give up my Saturday unless it is guaranteed some bitching, food and clothes shopping.

I am a menace to the environment.

In an effort to help the ease global warming and such, I will recycle old phones, donate clothing, and use only the aircon when in dire need. I also am not a fan of bright lighting because it shows my greys, my dimpled thighs and my wrinkles. So those will stay off. That has to account for something.

I am intrigued by the photo competition, however. But, I am sure that more interesting rubbish is alive and well in my refridgerator.

Also, there might be some hot guys involved in this endeavour because hot guys tend to care about that stuff, because they likely think that there will be hot girls there...and it is nice to do something for the environment.

Realistically, this would involve me getting into a swimsuit if we are going on a junk and frisk about in the water afterwards. I am very white. Extremely pastey...AND I am desperate for a bikini wax. I am holding out for Oz. That's in almost two months.

And do we really want to swim in waters from which we have just scooped used tampons, condoms and biohazardous waste??????

What are your thoughts?

J.

In a city of millions, I sometimes get bored. In fact, I am bored right now.

I have even gone so far as to look up boredom on Wikipedia. This is what it said:

People often experience boredom in circumstances where they are forced to wait (often at airports, in prisons or at government offices) .

Apparently serving a jail term equates waiting for a flight or visiting the DMV. I think that this is probably true if you are dealing with Air Canada or the Canadian Government. This made me laugh and forget, momentarily, that I was bored.

But I am over it now.

I only noticed this a few days ago, and though I am not completely sure, but I think I saw what might have been my first sighting of hot dog fingers -- but again, I cannot be certain.

To my prior knowledge, this condition was a phenomenon. I didn't realize that it actually existed until I noticed the newspaper-stand man handling large bundles of the SCMP with his freakishly large fingers on his left hand. I thought, "Hmp, that's the most bizarre thing I've seen in ages," and then I forgot about it. But I saw him again on the way home from work, and there they were again, passing out adverts.

So, I decided to do some reconaissance work once I got to my flat and Googled images of hot dog fingers. As suspected, there was mention of The Office episode where somebody lists this particular condition as a medical problem for which they require medical insurance and Dwight takes a near conniption at this request. This made me snicker because that is where I initially heard the term and it does sound kind of made-up. My Google finding only lead to confusion, however, as it appears that hot dog fingers are meant to be long and skinny, much like the European hot dog. What I saw today was more like a cheddar smoky that you get in North America. From a cart outside the local watering hole. With loads of cheese and sauerkraut and bacon bits. I heard that's where they are and what you put on them.

Yeah.

What I Did on My Way to and From The Gym Today...

1. Walked towards gym. Stopped at deli. Ate one turkey on whole grain sandwhich at deli.
2. Went across street to convenience store. Bought and drank one UHT chocolate milk "drink" box en route to gym.
3. Walked past gym and went to second deli. Bought bag of sour cream and onion chips. Sat down and ate said chips.
4. Went to gym. Participated in low-impact yoga class. Keeled over on ass during difficult pose. Again.
5. Walked towards home. Stopped at McDonald's. Entered McDonald's. Purchased double cheese and iced tea "drink". Continued move towards home with bag in hand.

A would-be perfect day which I hope to repeat tomorrow...minus the gym part.

Dating Hatrick: Series One: Single Fathers

Foreword

My Saturday Friend and I have mulled over many a-time my dating history as, for most, it is cause for endless entertainment. Clearly neither my friends nor I have interesting lives at nearly Thirty. After I really got to thinking about the past relationships, it occured to me that I have been a serial dater in that my dating scenarios mostly happen in threes. Dating Hatrick is a mini-series dedicated to such situations. Hang on, it's going to be a not-so-exciting ride (a single girl needs to get her kicks somehow in the City that Sex Forgot).

Series One: Single Fathers

As it turns out, there was a time in my life where I dated single fathers and single fathers only. I didn't seek them out. It just happened that way. Three in a row. Two of them, my family did not know about. The one with the adorable children, however, I thought my mother needed to know about. This was only because I blurted the news out after there was a family tragedy. The news did not seem so horrible then. I knew this tactic would work because I similarily divulged that I had a body piercing...along side the news that I was dropping out of university. It worked then, and as suspected, it had worked now. I do not, however, recommend trying this at home.

Ha! But it only gets better from there. One single father in question actually tried to hide his singlefatherhoodness from me! I knew he had a kid. He knew that I knew he had a kid. My friends knew that he had a kid and they also knew that I knew he had a kid. Yet, he still hid this minute detail from me. So, after, oh, two months of this cat-and-mouse relationship he finally 'confessed' that he had a child. I never saw him again.

The third father in question? Incredibly hot-assed guy. We still chat from time to time.

Why I Miss Working With The Hong Kongese

Apparently if you work in an office in Hong Kong, you are entitled to take naps at your desk. I know this because I have worked with the Hong Kongese for two years and have caught some of my best shuteye at my cubicle.

Siesta paraphernalia varies from person to person. I have seen some quite sophisticated set-ups; from pashminas as blankies, to Hello Kitty cushions for comfort, to timers being set to revive workers after lunch. That last one was my idea. At first I was mesmerized by this whole act. But then, I began to realize that it was a fabulous idea after I, too, learned the fine art of catching forty winks in 15 minutes. As it turned out, it revolutionized my entire work day.

The Hong Kongese are very hard-working people, so why shouldn't they nap? The rush hours far differ from those in the Western world as seven to nine p.m. is the average time to knock off. These people need their kip. The truly genius part of this whole situation is that when you take a lazy nine-to-fiver, add in a few zzz's between meetings and take your full hour lunch...you've got yourself one sweet-ass workday.

Such a shame I don't work with them anymore...

Things I Never Thought I'd Hear Myself Say

I can't wait to get that Brazillian wax.

Westlife: Pop Sensation or Suit-Wielding Brainwashing Crooners Steeped in Mediocrity??

The Venerable Vicky Pollard was quite right to be upset when she swapped her baby for a 'rubbish' Westlife CD.

This year's Miss World beauty pageant entertainment was none other than the extrodinarily wrinkled boy band themselves performing none other than Bette Midler's The Rose. Tres originale. This leaves one with the question, are they really so rubbish that they cannot write their own songs?

Though they are wildly popular, the perception of the pride of Ireland varies from region to region. In the Motherland, common folk have never really considered Westlife to be the all time best pop sensation. In fact, I imagine a lot of you are scratiching your heads in wonderment as you read this thinking 'Waa? Who? Westjet? Don't dem dere lads fly planes, er something?' Yes, yes they do.

It seems that their popularity knows no boundaries especially in places like the United Kingdom and Australia. Could it be their drippy originals? Or, it could be the very public breakup between Kerry and Bryan McFadden, and Bryan and Delta Goodrem's hookup. That's what caught my eye. That's how I got to know who Westlife actually was...well, that and trying Kerry's "chips and curry diet". That was rubbish too.

Entertainers or Brainwashers who rehash elevator favourites? The jury is still out on this one. But my genuine concern for what these dapper dudes were doing to the younger generation came to light when I had a group of students convinced that Mandy was a Westlife original. Monsters! This, and last night's rendition of The Rose, sparked my interest as to whether or not they rely on their own music or performing safe covers that have already received musical accolades. Some of their works include Uptown Girl, If Tomorrow Never Comes, Seasons in the Sun and My Girl. Just reading that list warms the cockles of my heart. Who wouldn't love these guys?

Rest assured, though. Westlife will not be doing any Milli Vanilli or William Hung anytime soon.

Reasons Why I Converted To Blogism

This is why I converted to Blogism; the TV lineup on a Sunday which goes as such:

06:30 Whose Line Is It Anyway?
07:00 World's Most Amazing Videos
08:00 Billboard U.S. Countdown
09:00 Hogans Heroes
09:30 Get Smart
10:00 The Bold & The Beautiful
12:00 Desperate Housewives
13:00 One Tree Hill
14:00 Boston Legal
15:00 The Office
15:30 Two And A Half Men
16:00 Kevin Hill
17:00 Business Week Asia
17:30 Travel Asia
18:00 Ncis
19:00 Desperate Housewives
20:00 Oprah Prime Time
21:00 Miss World
23:00 Hollywood Shootout
23:30 Oprah Prime Time


Now, this is one channel is my cable 'package'. Anything else I have is in a foreign language or twenty-seven seasons behind North America. Great.

While I do admit that this is a pretty good lineup that clearly caters to the expat contingent and is mostly based on popular demand, I cannot fathom why anyone would ever want to watch two hours straight of The Bold and The Beautiful. I know this because I know when I return to the Motherland once a year, I don't board the plane saying, "Yesss, two months of The Bold and The Beautiful...yessssss!!" But I have to say that it is a seriously fucked up story. Sleep around much, Brooke? Dye job much, Sally? Made up names much, Ridge? You get the point.

This is why I have defected to the Land of Blog...so I don't obsess over things like that.

A Thank You Note to the Tax Department

Dear Tax Department,

Just a note to say 'thanks' for not sending me a tax bill this year. Before, I waited with bated breath for that little green envelope, yet I have felt nothing but dissappointment day after day after day when I trudged back to my flat empty handed. So, I have resolved myself to the fact that I must be exempt from paying taxes. What a pleasant surprise! And rightly so.

Instead of scrimmaging for some serious cash in January, I have begun planning a henonistic holiday in Australia because I know that you lot would want it that way. I have also mapped out an extensive two-week long shopping spree at a major international city due to this oversight. It's going to be great.

So, to you all at the Tax Department, thank you. Keep up the good work. You are doing a superlative job.

Warm regards,

MB

In light of the sandwich lady's retirement, I gave in and bought a very horrible chicken wrap from her today. I am unsure if it was a sympathy purchase or if it was because I was genuinely starving. Regardless, she will be gone after Friday, so no more pressure to buy her wares. I am, however, fearful of a more tenacious and demanding replacement who will chase me around the lunch room. I better start preparing my lunches. Who knows what wrath one purchase from the new replacement may unleash.

A Comprehensive List of Things That Piss Me off

1. Unsolicited advice...especially when I am in the midst of a project which requires all of my concentration, and the better part of my lunch hour. I find it rather irksome when someone offers up the "well what I do is..." bit as they are enjoying their homecooked leftovers. While most do appreciate the consideration, please, just don't bother.

2. Stating the obvious. By writing this, and giving an example, I feel that I am stating the obvious. But how annoying. I feel genuinely sorry for those who feel the need to do this. Perhaps I have done it myself as some conversational 'filler' in an akward situation. Nonetheless, it's irritaiting and completely unnecessary. Some examples are: "Oh, you've cut your hair" or "Wow, I see you are wearing pink" or an email sent to someone's inbox in which they reply "So, you got my email address". Obviously.

3. Group Activities which foster workplace 'morale'. No, thank you. I do not want to play sports, barbeque, have a swingers night, eat at an ethnic restaurant or insert inane time-wasting group activity here ______________. I want to go home and forget for at least 12 hours that I have ever set foot in this place and that I ever had this misfortune of meeting you lot and drift off to sleep with the slightest hope that maybe, someday, I can marry rich or get hit by a tram so that I can finally get a moment's peace. Mind, my coworkers are lovely, but still.

4. People who talk incessantly about work. Yes, quite rich coming from me. However, one can only endure so much shop talk. Perhaps my own workplace issues make me slighly resentful of those who can yammer on and on at length about their nine to five. But I take great comfort in the fact that these are the people who own several cats and/or eat Malox for breakfast.

5. People Who Make Comments About Food. Obviously if someone has taken time to prepare it, or has spent money on it, they like it enough to eat it.

5. People who can pull off the colour tan. Because I enjoy it, but cannot ever wear it. So those who can, upset me.

Reason No. 04 Why I am Still Single

...see previous post.

There are those people in the world who can get up in the morning, manage to look polished, professional and presentable, have productive days at work, run a household, prepare the occasional meal, maybe raise a small brood and all the while, stay thin. These people, I am convinced, must have full-time PAs.

Contrarily, it wouldn't matter what time I got out of bed because I still always look disheveled and I am always running through the front door at sharp 8 -- sans breakfast. I am quickly learning that I do not really like my line of work, therefore hindering any possible productivity.

In the personal avenues of my life, I pay people to do things for me simply because I don't seem to have time. I pay someone to tell me what to do at the gym. I pay someone to do my nails. I usually eat out most meals, so essentially, I pay someone to cook for me. And my household? I actually wait to put my putrid leftovers in the bin till the night before the housekeeper comes just so I don't have to do it myself. I pay her too.

If I could pay for someone to shave my legs, do my job, or maybe even chew my food for me, then life would be sweet...and I might have time for breakfast.

Reason No. 76 Why I am Still Single

...when tall, dark and handsome strangers approach me with comments like, "my friend here likes you" I feel inclined to say things like, "yes, everyone does". Then, I walk away.

Ladies and Gentlemen ...the $1 beer hangover.

Thank you.

I am afraid that I have burned a bridge with the sandwich lady at work because she hasn't harassed me to buy her wares in the past couple of days. Admittedly, I did take a bit of a tone with her and have been eating cafeteria lunches since Monday after she asked me if I wanted a cookie, a wrap, a salad, chips and a flapjack. Clearly the loaded lunch tray in my hands wasn't indication enough that I already had a meal.

So, today I confirmed my suspicions that she's been blatantly ignoring me as she was going through the her same routine with the others -- but not with me. She even interrupted my co-worker, mid conversation, to comment on the fact that she 'noticed' that she eats a lot of spicy foods and that her company does a great spicy bean salad. The coworker, equally as perturbed as I have been in the past weeks, said, "Thank you, but I am eating now and don't need anything else". Say nothing about the fact that she actively watches our daily eating patterns.

Now I am torn because although I do have the upper hand in this little battle, I have huge crush on her tandoori chicken sandwiches. I may have to give in...

Because I live in This Part of The World, I am now accustomed to the fact that a there is a high percentage of people who do not know the English language. I find this amusing, not because I am a patronizing colonial, but because the misuse of my mother tongue can be just plain fucking hilarious. I realised this when I was walking to work one morning and saw a kindly-looking grandmother (her granddaughter in tow) wielding a T-shirt which read "Let My Dick Buy You a Drink". Now, assuming she didn't have a hubby called Dick, or that she, herself, didn't have an appendage of her own, I can safely say that the poor soul hadn't an inkling of what it meant as she had worn the shirt every morning for a week. A nice native speaker would have tried to explain it's ambiguity to her and perhaps encourage her to sport the usual Hello Kitty-type wear that the locals seem to adore -- but it was just too funny to bother.

I wonder if anyone has actually approached her in hopes of taking her up on the offer?

Today the VP bought us ice cream. Although it was a nice gesture, it made me uneasy because I had just seen the episode of The Office (American version) where the Senior Manager buys his staff ice cream sandwiches because he had just relinquised their healthcare plans. They weren't the nice ice cream sandwiches, either, but those generic-looking ones with the plain white wrapping that is indicative of bulk packaging for low-cost purposes (which is no problem because this is how buy my deoderant and tampons). I am not too worried because we had legitimate chocolate Drumsticks. That, and nobody can pilfer my health insurance because I don't actually have any until December...

Hopefully I don't get hit by a tram between now and then.

They Suck, They Really Do.

Asshole.

Of all the nights in the week that I am dead tired and manage to slip into a comatose state, for some reason or another I couldn't sleep tonight. So, I got up to turn up the aircon and get a drink in hopes that I could drift off to sleep. And there on my IM list, which I leave on all night and check whenever I pass by, was the phantom ex.

After nine months. Since January. Of zero contact. Of any sort. Whatsoever. He initiates conversation and uses my name to do so "How's life, Metrobabe?". The best I could muster up was 'heya' (so totally not anything I would ever say) and entertain light conversation that consisted of inane banter such as "how is work" and "I heard that you moved" to all of which I replied as flippantly as possible and asked him nothing -- simply because I don't want to know ever that he is doing great and work is great and his ex-who-is-now-likely-his-fiancee- again (and saying that, likely never was his ex while we were together) is doing great too. Fuck.

Now he is just sitting there online, mocking me with his silence. That's fine. Satisfactory, even, because evidently his guilt is what drove him to unblock and chat after all this time. Feeble, weak and pitiful. And it fills my heart with glee.

Sweet, sweet retribution has been made. Ha!

I have been to the grocery store exactly three times since I have returned from my summer holiday, today included. Considering that my return was one month ago, one would think that I am either a spendthrift domestic genius or that I have been slowly starving myself into thinness. I can safely say that neither are the case.

And if I were to be asked what it is that I do eat in the run of a day/week/month, I honestly can't answer because I don't know. I just don't. Yet, I am obviously getting calories from somewhere because I am erring on the side of obesity (re: last post). So $50 and some steak and floor cleaner later, I have decided that I need to start becoming a spendthrift domestic genius because I think that I am just one curry, take-out pizza and pound away from legitimate obesity.

Apparently being twenty pounds overweight is cause for being classified as 'obese' and not 'overweight' in some parts of the world. Luckily for me, I volunteered to live in that particular part of the world. Otherwise I might be rattling about thinking that I am something akin to Twiggy rather than the obvious Anna Nicole Smith (circa rock bottom) lookalike that I evidently am.

Fuck it. I am off to eat buttered chicken and drink Tiger beer.

Well, this time next week I will have endured a twenty hour flight sans deoderant (ew), returned to the old ball and chain (work) and be forced to live out an entire year in the City of Unfortunate Underwear once again. Great.

Since being home for over a month, I have:

• bought 25 new pairs of outlandish undies that I likely won't wear
• attended 2 baby showers and a Christening
• attended 1 funeral
• skived 2 weddings
• gained 12 pounds
• had 1 fight with my mother (world record, but the week isn't over yet)
• had 0 sexual contacts from anyone of the opposite sex...or same sex for that matter

I have also done a lot of outdoor activity with my friends and by that I mean sitting outside during the evenings gossipping about everyone and everything we can. I have developed quite the aptitude for local gossip. Not bad for a girl who lives five thousand miles away for eleven months of the year. I should feel bad, but I don't because I am certain that the increasing width of my backside has caused many a cackle for the locals.

I just scoped the e-dating site. I mean scoured. I think that either the men in Belgium and France are all excessively hot or they are having a laugh by posting their profiles to get mainstream girls comme moi hopes' up. Bastards. I'm moving to Belgium to find out.