Juice

Scream

2012-02-02T17:42:00.000+08:00

Job Hunting.

It is so hard. It is the hardest thing I have ever done and will ever do. It is the third time I've done it since 2008. Twice with geographical restrictions, Thrice within the same industry, an industry plagued with problems. Once for a man who turned out to not give a damn, once that ended badly. At least this time, I feel like I am free to apply to any job anywhere but it doesn't seem to have opened too many avenues. It is your self-esteem getting raped by inferior individuals.
It hurts a little to know that he who shall not be named has not only changed jobs from awesome company to even more awesome company (in my fucking industry no less) but he also continues to stay in Singapore when he should have already moved to India with his equally abhorrent family like he claimed to want to before. I should feel bitter, I think I do, just a wee bit.

Sidebar: Last week, another friend called me up and deliberately went into great detail about how he had found out where that human compost pile worked and what he did. I tiredly said "I know, I know" till he got the message. This is despite my having told him repeatedly that I really really did not want to know anything about he who shall not be named not even if he is dead or alive.

Comparisons are odious. This is about me.

2012 is going to be fucking hard. Nobody is here for me to talk to. Nobody seems to relate. Nobody says it's going to be okay. Why, it's worse than being single because as misguided as the sentiment is, someone always seems to "Don't worry, you'll find someone great because you deserve nothing less". Why can't someone just swap out one word in that sentence? Yesterday someone emailed me "Jupiter, I hope you find a handsome and caring man in 2012". Sweet, I thought. Unlikely, but sweet.

Everyone just reaffirms your worst fears. The market is always bad and noone is ever hiring. The notion that you could soon be unemployed seems to bring out the worst in everyone you know - enemies, friends and worst of all, family. From being wished ill "you will never get a visa" to being outright cursed out, I have seen and heard it all. And my dears, it is hard to forgive, to not hold a grudge.

I would like to think that it does not break me. But maybe it does, little by little, maybe for a minute, a day, a week? Don't get me wrong. I am so grateful for everything I have and I do have an overall happy life.

But I am long overdue for a happy dance. I need some fucking tubthumping here.

lookin' out my back door

2012-02-01T21:52:00.004+08:00

Yesterday...
It takes a night of insomnia sometimes to shake things up. Or maybe this is all the pent up frustration from not being to properly discuss my problems with friends and family for the reality is some of them don't understand and some of them make excuses for your enemies in a misguided attempt to play devil's advocate and some of them just blame you for everything, even things you never told them.

I am sick physically and emotionally. Who knows how much of my irritation springs from the pain of heeling gums and bone from a wisdom tooth removal. While we are on the subject, what bizarre type of self-inflicted illness is the wisdom tooth exactly? A body that is incapable of healing its own bones or growing new ones will well into the second quartile of its lifespan without reason or warning sprout more bone in the shape of teeth that serve no purpose at all but just for the fun of it can instead turn vicious on your other regular teeth? What in fucking Darwinian hell?

Anywho, I got it done. Now I am two wisdom teeth short and thereby less likely to be handicapped unduly and unceremoniously by unwelcome toothache. Not completely, as the doctor informs me that even though the other two are perfectly formed non-mutated non-parallel growing choppers, they will need to come out sooner or later because if they stayed, they'd hurt those naked gums below. Jesus my mouth is at war with itself.

So as I write this, I am part delusional, part nauseous and ironically and inexplicably still in pain after having popped several painkillers. And I am cooking dinner way past dinner time because I had to work late today doing some braindead bullshit.

As I lay in bed last night, unable to sleep, I tried one of the several tactics I use to fall asleep - playing out my own elaborate chick flick romance. Sounds utterly ridiculous, I know, but some happy places are real and some can be make-believe and my chick flick fantasies are delightful and not cheesy at all. You'll just have to take my word for it. But last night, I couldn't make any man I knew the object. How utterly unfortunate - no Orangetree, no Batman, no Chris. No one met the lofty expectations of that amazing Prince Charming. And it's kinda difficult to imagine kissing the Invisible Man. And Creepy. And Valentine's Day is just around the corner. Fuck me.

I met Chris for the first time since his birthday two weeks ago and clearly to him it had seemed like a very long time. We had lunch; we went dutch. I confess I am losing or have lost all interest. Does that sound bad? It shouldn't. It's like Eddie Murphy says " What have you done for me lately? " and the answer comes up zilch. I am not sure I can take more of his whiney complaining or his elitism or misplaced curiosity bordering on ignorance (which is strange because he does strike as a sharp lad most of the time). I think the point here is that this "thing" has reached its expiry date. But he emails me 5 times a day and says my eyes are beautiful and it is somewhat difficult to shake away praise like that especially when you're as vain as I am. And no sooner do I smile wryly, than will he say something that makes me cringle. This is not going to be clean or swift.

But not all is bad in the land of the Jups...she did pass her CFA level 1 exam. And yes, she has signed up for level 2. Which is supposed to be several times harder. The exam is in the first week of June, which means I only have 4 months or so of prep time. That is not enough for Jups' horse-around-study-get-drunk-horse-around-study-study plan. Then again, being a nerd is one of those things I excel at like making guacamole or playing airhockey so it should be feasible, not to mention constructive like Vitamins for my CV.

So remember I told you my bonus wouldn't be great? Well I don't know if I will even get one at all anymore given that my bank announced that it had a piss-poor year. Fabulous. File this under more reasons to look for a new job fast.

Blue Suede Shoes

2012-01-18T17:26:00.003+08:00

Wow I had a crazy weekend! Shopping Update Ahead. Pictorial Diarrhoea. You have been warned.

On Friday, I went to Harvey Nichols and picked up a sexy pair of navy blue suede booties from "L'Autre Chose". Why? Because they were made in Italy. And suede. And navy blue. And because You can do anything but lay off of my Blue suede shoes...

(PS I already wore these on Tuesday night with my electric blue KM dress and nude fishnets for my second date with a cute German boy, but that is material for another post).

I also ** almost ** bought my first Manolo Blahniks - these classic silver leather d'orsays that were featured in my all-time favourite Sex and the City episode "A Woman's Right to Shoes". So why did I chicken out? well because even when generously (cough) discounted from 7900 HKD to 4800 HKD, beautiful shoes must be perfect and scuff-free and these werent. Heck even the box ought to scuff-free when you're paying that much. For now, let me just tell you I felt like I was walking on air. They were literally pain-free and I giggled stupidly and pranced around the store for a bit. Can you blame me?

I also went out that night with Chris and are you ready for this, his sister. After a cheap but lovely streetside dinner in Jordan which involved 5 liters of dirt-cheap beer, he was quite drunk (I wasn't). We went out to wydnham and I got hit on a fair bit. I am led to believe that the best way to get guys to hit on you is to actually go partying with another guy. The rest of this story shall be continued when I elaborate my aforementioned date story.

Saturday
I spent over 4 hours glued to the couch, clicking repetitively on Cityline HK - the worst online booking site in the entire milky way - in an effort to score tickets to the Hong Kong Sevens. And I did - 4 whole tickets for Elvish Pixie, meself, Jin and Pink, I think, if noone changes their mind by then. I can hardly wait for that binge-boozing and boy-pulling mess of an event! Let the debauchery begin.

That afternoon I did the unthinkable, I attempted another hike - a short one, barely 2 hours but felt good about actually moving muscles, burning calories and all that other sweaty nonsense. The girls were supportive, I lagged behind a bit, but it was familiar territory what with it being in Central, so I wasn't too worried about getting lost.

Sunday was a grim, wet and shitty day so Elvish Pixie and I decided to go shopping. Little did we know that we would end up spending a sizeable portion of our incomes /credit limits in one 6 hour shopping binge. On the plus side there are no regrets because we got some stunning high-end merch. On the not-so-plus side, we spent upwards of 5 digits in HKD. Yikes. A quarter-long diet of toast, potatoes and water is in order.

And my oh my what pretty things we managed to snag. It all started with the ever-elegant Diane Von Furstenburg, where I finally managed to buy myself a "Diane" reissued vintage print wrap dress. I've wanted these babies forevah! And now that I have one, I want many more. They are so soft, sumptuous and sexy! Elvish Pixie and I also scored gorgeous silk shirts - mine is a brick red charmeuse, hers a graphic printed hammered satin beauty. I also bought a whimsical two piece orange and white crepe de chine blouse with atypical pleats.

At Kate Spade, I snagged this wedge-heeled wonder - isn't just as elegant as it is unassuming? I can't wait for the summer to wear these. EP found equally adorable pink and orange strappy flat sandals that

would put some spring in summer steps.

At Club Monaco I picked up for my dad a wonderfully warm and practical down coat - perfect for the trips he makes to Poland and the Netherlands and such in the blistering European winters. And at DAKS, a quirky hipster-ish flat-bottom silk tie for booboo.

At Bally, the most-wondrous of clutches in beautiful patent leather -printed with granite/purple butterflies. Is it not the loveliest of things?

This is truly, my first ever proper expensive high-end clutch and I couldn't love it more.Well okay, I lie, I do own a nice bronze leather Rebecca Minkoff clutch but that's a contemporary designer and Bally is, well, Bally.

By the powers that be, my credit card statement closed a few days prior and all of these outlandish charges are safely parked in the bill that will be due March. That's plenty of time for the Jups to buy lotto tickets and/or explore an alternative career as a highclass escort.

young forever

2012-01-09T10:39:00.001+08:00

It occurs to me that I may have all too bearish in that last diatribe and I promised I wouldn't be bearish on my stock, didn't I? So I shouldn't be. Besides over the last week and weekend, I did manage to cross off several chores (including finding an affordable dry cleaner! Yayy!)

As well I neglected to tell you of the positive resolutions that I want to keep –

1. Reading – I want to go back to being the bookworm I used to be as a kid. I want to read at least 10 books (lofty goal eh?!) including or excluding those that I have not completed – 100 years of Solitude, Shantaram and the Dragon Tattoo series. I want to read Wilde and Shakespeare and Mark Twain as well as Murakami. I know Mark and Chris will support me on this grandiose venture.

2. I want to swim with Whale Sharks. For this I have to improve my swimming abilities. It is going to be legendary.

And there are others I can't seem to remember but they were good ones so let's file em away for after 1Q by which time I will have found my dream job!

I spent the last week moving all my funds around like a maniac, writing checks and getting cashiers' orders and pondering where to invest. It's hard to tell whether and which are markets are undervalued and which markets are in shit. It's a tough world out there. Maybe a better-late-than-never double down will work in my favour.

Here is the latest installment of the Chris story, and I recognize it's repetitive. He needs to stop being fucking adorable because I enjoy hating him and whinging about him. First of all the boy is treacherously devoid of inhibitions (which means that when I recount my dates with him to friends, they are quick to quip "OMG BOYFRIEND" and to that I cringe). So he says and does things that make you want to analyse that subtext and there probably isn't any. As Elvish Pixie put it, it's probably something to do with him being young and idealistic in a French way. I forgot where I was going with this. Ah yes. He'd been relentlessly texting and emailing to meet up with me even though we literally just met less than 12 hours ago. So yesterday I told him that I was sick and I had shit to deal with. To which he says that if I were sick, he'd love to come over and make me his grandma's recipe for honey lemon tea. Oh God, please stop being so fucking adorable will ya? After a disturbing and inappropriate run-in with a friend (questionable since I find him to be a overly-boastful twat?) last night, I called Chris and he rushed over. We ended up talking for hours about so many things. He told me that during his vacation in Thailand, he'd shagged someone else. He tried to play it down by telling me I am the only one for him in Hong Kong. I was strangely amused and relieved and I am not just saying that. How can you not be when someone says "It was just drunk bad sex" – that shit is priceless. I guess I was relieved to know that he wasn't some obsessive weirdo. Just honest and treacherously devoid of inhibitions. Second of all, the whole poor student vibe is both his Achilles heel and his biggest strength. It makes him completely unfeasible as a boyfriend and that takes the pressure off and it makes him completely adorable as a fling. I want to hate him for not getting a haircut but I've secretly always liked guys with long curly hair. I want to hate his at-times stupid clothes but he says "la mode est éphémère mais l'élégance est éternelle". I cringe when he smells funny but he claims it's because he ran up the escalators to get my place as fast as possible. And he has a fantastic body so should I be giving a fuck? This stock is a Hold.

In other predictable news, I haven't heard a peep from Batman since he sent me pictures from our new year's eve together. At the risk of sounding arrogant, we look So. Fucking. Good. Together. From my aubergine floor-length satin dress to his bespoke tuxedo and bow tie, from my straight hair to his naughty smile, this particular photo oozes sexy. He kept asking whether I would leave HK in February… I didn't want him to be concerned, that would make me overanalyze, hope even that there was a reason for it. Gah, why do I like him so? Why doesn't he realise that I am the woman of his dreams? Huh? Stock is an Underperform but long-term outlook is positive.

Okay enough boycraziness. More about my decadent weekend coming up.

the world is not enough

2012-01-05T00:23:00.000+08:00

Warning: ranty, incoherent mumbling ahead likely influenced by menstrual moodiness.

Dear Juice,

2012 has been eventful already.
New Year's Eve was spent well - we all dressed to the nines and had a lovely homecooked dinner at Elvish Pixie's place before heading to the Pawn for a bond-themed evening. I felt quite pretty in my aubergine coloured gown and razor straight hair, not slim but pretty and presentable. The next 2 days felt whirlwindish between running into Batman (remember him) at the party, partaking in hair of the dog all afternoon and night the following day and a date with Chris the next day. I went to my first day of work in 2012 feeling a bit high on adrenaline and a bit low on sleep. I won't dwell on the boys - they were both pleasant and sweet and generous with the compliments and I have come to expect not much more than that.

And it's back to business now. Work is busy as I cover for the boss and I think I may be slacking off a bit (just a wee bit) as I have a fantastic list of errands to run. You see, I am trying to sort out my finances in a big way - the last coupla months were spent being proverbially risk averse and can you blame me? The markets were fucking shitting over themselves one minute and rallying the next. I lost some money but who didn't? Still I should have doubled-down when I had the chance. I am going to be more active this year in managing my money (not that I wasn't before but it is becoming very clear to me that I need a backup plan if things go pearshaped in terms of my salaried status).

I feel tense. The start of this year is going to be difficult - I am scared. Jin's moving to Singapore and she says there are no jobs here. I don't have the option of moving to Singapore, I am not saying I have tried and failed. My, there is much to think about.

2012's resolutions are going to be very serious and very pointed and very non-negotiable. Failure is not a fucking option just as staying hungry isn't.

So here they are. Jups' resolutions for 2012...

1. Get A Job by end of 1Q12. Ideally in Hong Kong. This is self-explanatory and it simply must be done. Inshallah the market shows more positive signs. I know I can do this. I must do this.

2. Double savings using any and all means possible. Because no one else will do this for you. There are no fallbacks - no husbands, boyfriends, sugardaddies.

3. Get a diving license. Dive in Cebu, Similan maybe? Because despite getting infected with corals, being one with the sea is a moving experience. And it is time to go deeper.

4. Tell people how I really feel. Now this is a very unJups resolution and it isn't measurable in any way other than my feeling less insulted? It's no secret that I am hypersensitive, take almost everything people say to heart and get hurt by every harsh comment. I don't want to change that, I think I have tried to and maybe I am too old. I'd like to think that my being a genuine person who takes everything and everyone seriously (literally even) is a big part of who I am but being hurt shouldn't be and niether should taking shit comments and judgments lying down. This is mostly about really crap, patronising advice from people, even close friends, and it's also men and me not telling men how I feel when deep down I think they are complete shits. In both cases, I smile, I cover up, I nod my head while I silently dissent. I should not do that.

Only four this year and really, really, only two are critical - the first two - and only one has the ability to make or break my life. So from now on, Juice will subjected to all my job hunting trials and tribulations. Because in my experience, very few people (I can count them on one hand) have come through for me during my job hunting struggles the way Juice has. That is a sad admission but a truthful one - it is hard for a person with a secure job to understand the hopelessness that a person looking for a job feels.

For the time being, let's say the next two weeks, my immediate resolution is to clear everything on my to-do list - no pending shit from last year, no dry cleaning to be handed in, no nothing. All errands must be dealt with. Next stop: Emailing, networking, harassing.

Wish me luck.

You can't always get what you want

2011-12-30T13:06:00.002+08:00

Jo to the frikking Sun!

(Jo Sun is Cantonese for good morning).

Today's the last working day of 2011 and I want to desperately hold on to it. I want to hold on to the year if indeed it were possible. 2011 was the year of chasing butterflies; 2012 may well be that of escaping a preying cheetah. If 2011 was about stargazing, 2012 may well be about dodging comets and who knows, maybe even making less corny metaphors.

Everything is relative and even though I didn't get everything I wanted in 2011 but whose to say that you have to get everything you could ever want in 365 measly days? No sir, life is long and meandering and there better be a lot of fun ahead. But for now, let me revel in recapitulating what made 2011 oh-so-gratifying for me in a world that crumbled economically and fiscally.

Resolutions - I'm a believer. Lofty as they were in 2010, I did really well. Like the song told me to, I did go do. All the more reason I have to put in extra thought into 2012's resolutions. My mom told me that she didn't think much about my resolutions because they were all doable as long as they were affordable. This may be true but you can't buy motivation and you can't pay to get rid of procrastination and that is the beauty of making resolutions. You only get 365 days so you better get cracking. So let's recap.

1. Health, Fitness and Sports… Wakeboarding jumps? Check. Diving license? No check. Fitness? I think I am stronger. Did I lose weight? No check. I have run out of ways to describe how much peace, joy and self-fulfillment a boat, a rope and a board bring to me - it is almost too ironic and/or hypocritical for someone with a self-professed disdain for sports.

2. Travel (more)...Definitely check. Passport has stamps from Argentina, Brazil, China, India, Kenya, Vietnam, Spain and Philippines. The great thing about the world is there will always more unseen than seen, and that gives me so much to look forward to in 2012.

3. Mo Money, Less Problems... "at the very very minimum, get to 6 figure savings". Check. Maybe it's a sign of a more responsible attitude when your alternatives for spending a thousand dollars are buying a pair of shoes and a bet on the Aussie dollar.

4. Create an object from scratch. Check and Check. Not only did I create an abstract painting from scratch, but I also experimented more in the culinary area, mimicked recipes from Yotam Ottolenghi, Diana Kennedy, Nigel Slater, Heidi Swanson and created my own.

5. Get a fucking awesome job. Regrettably No Check. Postponed to 1H2012 and moved up, up, up in priority.

But 2011 was not just about keeping 70% of my resolutions while feeling shite about a shite job market and lack-of-boyfriend-ness. No, it was about living and loving each day without regret, for the most part. It was about embracing Hong Kong for all its ostentation and awesomeness even while complaining about how dear it is or how you can't find a good Mexican restaurant. It was about partying up a storm in Wyndham street and always having a great story to tell in the morning. It was about finding a little piece of heaven in Tai Tam every weekend I went wakeboarding; and about long-overdue satisfaction about being halfway-decent at a sport and being told so by my instructor.

2011 was not about having a rocking professional life. Au contraire, it was for all intents and purposes, a break from it. I did very little of value and I don't think I was as much to blame for the inaction as the anemic markets were. Maybe 2012 will be different. Call me crazy but turning 30 would be a lot more fabulous if a base salary upwards of 200k USD were involved.

2011 was not about men. This is equal parts regrettable and fantastic. Regrettable because somewhere out there is a man with a Jups-shaped hole in his heart, wandering aimlessly. while a Jups-shaped person does exist, unbeknownst to him. Regrettable because it would be peachy to share the awesome-coated-awesome that I am with someone and presumably get some handsome-coated-intelligent back in return. Fantastic because if I did have a boyfriend, I may have spent more time with him and less time doing all the awesome things with all my awesome friends that I ended up doing...speaking of which...

2011 was about finding wonderful, sympathetic, caring and like-minded friends who are as fabulous as they are homely, as self-conscious as they are beautiful and as independent as they are as social. While I am too proud to consider that my life would be miserable without them, I am doubtless certain that it was more fabulous with them and they were instrumental in me not missing the curious lack of a man in my life for longer than a night or two. Between them, the home-cooked dinners, red wine nights, parties, wakeboarding and weekend trips, 2011 was the escape from reality I wanted it to be without being too escapist for too long. They, more than anything, I think, make me want to stay in Hong Kong longer.

And so, I want to hold on to 2011 and its simplicity, glamour and heart, even as I plan my outfit for tomorrow's party at the Pawn. I don't feel superbly attractive - no, the holiday has wrecked my skin and tanned me into a shade of fade-into-the-woodwork-brown - and definitely not in relation to my taller, more slender girlfriends and I probably won't kiss a boy at the stroke of midnight but goddamnit I will wear my best dress and my best smile and have a good time as the last minutes of 2011 fade into reverberating bass, all the while hoping, wishing that 2012 is just more of a good thing.

I didn't get everything I wanted in 2011 but whose to say that you have to get everything you could ever want in 365 measly days? And what would you then do with the rest of your life if you did? I can't sum up my feelings about everything this year has been to me better than the ever-amazing Rolling Stones do...

You can't always get what you want,
But if you try sometimes well you just might find,
You get what you need

So here's to 2012. May youryear and mine be filled with laughter and love, good company and good health,healthy loving and understanding families, fantastic clothes and accessories,burgeoning bank balances, assets that increase in value and liabilitiesthat decline, travels to the most beautiful places on earth with beautifulfriends and loved ones, delicious foods and sublime wines, second, third, fourthand nth dates that are as charmed as the first and last but not the least,earth-shatteringly, teeth-clenchingly amazing orgasms. Happy New Year!

P.S. Stayed tuned for 1. a fantastic recap of my wonderful Christmas weekend in the Philippines and 2. Jups' list of resolutions for 2012.

Rumour has it

2011-12-18T10:54:00.002+08:00

I am famished and brutally tired but not particularly angry or unhappy about it. Frustration with the European way of doing things notwithstanding, this trip hasn't been so bad. I didn't get as sick as I used to even though my stomach and my face are swollen twice over thanks to ridiculous levels of sodium and olive oil in everything. Don't get me wrong, I do love me some jamon serrano or chorizo iberico and I love membrillo con queso and let's not forget that mornings are immensely more pleasant after drinking bitter, strong spanish coffee with creamy, fresh milk - it's the redundant oil in things that are hitherto healthy is what gets me. A plate of grilled vegetables comes dripping in oil and salted to the nines. Onion soup? here's a recipe for high blood pressure.
Nonetheless somehow this trip to Madrid has been a lot less grueling than previous ones. For one it dawned on me (as well as on my colleagues) that we've been here 3 years - 3 long, sometimes painful, sometimes gratifying years - Bunny's relationship and mine were casualties but the rest were safe. And for what it's worth, I am sure as hell smarter today than I was three years ago.

For two, it was reassuring to be told repeatedly that I wouldn't be laid off because just two days ago, a shit load of people were fired from the new york office. Rumours had been flying around and noone was confirming anything until after the fact. Actually, while I cannot guarantee that I won't totally lose my shit if I were laid off tomorrow, I am a little less scared of the possibility.

For three, some parts of the training seriously rocked - especially this one guest lecture, delivered in Spanish (and I didn't need a translator, hurrah for comprehension! not so much though for being able to speak without sounding like either a retard or a phone sex operator which incidentally happens to have cropped up as an amazing alternative career choice). So yes, this speaker was amazing and many of us struggled to fight back tears - it was that powerful. Granted he used anecdotal evidence and some of the stories may have been known to us but his style and his unfaltering optimism was not something to take lightly. At one point he said that we are only here to do two things - to love and to create. Now that is something, isn't it? Because if all we should be doing is those two things, then surely it renders futile efforts we put in other areas. For a fraction of a millisecond I didn't feel all too bitter about the fact that he who shall not be named now has a brand new superfantastic highpaying job in Singapore (never mind the claim that he was resolute about leaving Singapore for good this year and starting a family and living closer to his parents, no fuck em, convenient lies). And no, I am not stalking him or anything, it is my misfortune that we live in a world that is sometimes a bit too connected for our own wellbeing. Just last week, someone gave me immense displeasure by mentioning, for no reason, that I should consider job opportunities in Singapore because my wretched ex travels a lot and the likelihood of running into him was low. Thanks very much for that - you are about as useful as an icemaker in the tundra.

For four, I got some visibility with a senior guy in my division and he was cordial. Let's face it, it is a shitty environment to be looking for jobs (again) and one can but keep trying, insisting. He literally told me about the layoffs expected but I tried to stay positive without coming off as cavalier. Remember what Emily Dickinson said about hope? It sings.

For five, for those of you keeping track, shopping in Madrid turned out quite well and the undeservedly high european prices seemed a little less horrible against the sad exchange rate. Zara was great and I picked up some rather avant - garde pieces including an exaggerated peplum skirt. I also went to cortefeil and found a sleek suit from their high-end line Pedro del Hierro. I loved Uterque (sp?), the new really high-end line from (their shoes are gorgeous, definitely better than zara's own offering) though I didn't have the enthusiasm to buy anything after having already spent 300 euro in an hour. I am sad to report that Mango has gone to cheapsville by way of tacky - ugly clothes made of cheap materials in ugly colours and priced indecently. What a crying shame. At Barajas airport, I spent a good deal on ham, cheese, saffron and wine. Can't wait to share the loot with the girls.

In fact, I can't wait to go back to hong sweet kong.

fuckin' perfect

2011-12-07T17:01:00.001+08:00

One of the bigger hurdles of the year has now been overcome and I feel neither pride nor shame, niether glee nor regret. I do believe I gave that exam everything I had physically and mentally. When I really really think about it, I realise that I only stepped out of the house to socialize twice – once for Pink's birthday and once for brunch with Chris and I regret neither.

I was having a delightful and cheerful morning after a delightful and cheerful evening that involved picking up 2 dresses, buying 2 more and splurging on a pair of classic black patent leather wedges (they were from a little boutique but they felt just right despite the lofty price tag). I wore the new dress this morning and I do believe I look as close to perfect as I possibly could in work clothing. Today might have been a great day to run into Mr. Future Husband With Massive Brains, Wads of Cash, a Heart of Gold and a Head full of Unbaldable Dark Locks. (new word # 567). But if such things ever happened when and how I willed them to, I wouldn't bitching my heart out to an inanimate blog that doesn't talk back, would I? No and since my exorbitantly priced shoes broke my oft-broken heart when their heel tips came right off, I find myself feeling not so delightful and cheerful anymore.

No sooner had I finished the exam, than my mother recommenced her barrage of profiles of eligible bachelors my way. Vegetarian / 'Eggetarian' non-smoker non-drinker boys looking for nice girls with traditional values. These men and I would make as much of a perfect couple as would a fruit bat and a sperm whale. It gets depressing to say the least – checking out these clearly inappropriate profiles, and then against better judgment, agreeing to being set up only to find to much dismay that these boys write in crippingly bad English about their simple lives and simple habits and simple desires to settle down and have a family in Tamil Nadu. I am not even from Tamil Nadu, how am I supposed to relate to this? Why are their parents pursuing girls like me? Niether side is right or wrong but we are about as well-matched as mayonnaise and a chocolate sundae.

And then there is a Madrid trip next week that I dread. I don't hope to get anything out of this trip save for some business class miles and maybe a killer deal on some killer Rioja wine and chorizos. Several things are afoot at work – several bad things, things I am not allowed to talk about to anyone and it is very difficult to not be able to. Then again it's not like anyone would understand – no one I know can relate to this. I miss that feeling of self-worth I had in New York (despite all the hardships I went through) knowing that my work made a huge difference to the quality of work in my team. I miss the avenue to channel my perfectionism – maybe that is why I am challenging myself so much in the culinary space? It's not that I haven't asked for help; help just isn't forthcoming. It sometimes makes you question your, and pardon the pompous word choice, popularity. What do you do when all your connections, some of whom are your closest friends and who should rightfully know your intrinsic intelligence and worth, don't offer to help? I do wonder what it must be like to have a perfect life – a great job, a great apartment and a lovely partner to share all of that with. I wonder if these people feel self-righteous when they are on that pedestal and whether they judge your inadequacies worse than they would have had they been less perfect. I wonder if my efforts to help people out in any way I possibly will ever and I really mean ever come back to me in a good way. Not because every good deed deserves a reward because it does so once in a raging while.

The best I can do is to wait out the month of December. Some of my resolutions have been met – savings, wakeboarding jumps, some exciting trips. Some – new job, diving license, losing a shitload of weight -regrettably haven't.

January will be a new year and a new life. In the meantime, the beaches in Palawan beckon.

Made a wrong turn, Once or twice
Dug my way out, Blood and fire
Bad decisions, That's alright
Welcome to my silly life

Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss "no way, it's all good", It didn't slow me down
Mistaken, Always second guessing
Under estimated, Look, I'm still around

Last Night I Heard Everything In Slow Motion

2011-11-29T16:16:00.001+08:00

My mind drifts to Chris even though I know it shouldn't. He is such a happy distraction.

I love this stage in a relationship (if you can call it that)... when you are just getting to know the person. This is when you've somewhat gotten over his good looks (or you take them as a happy given) or lack thereof and you're looking for more/other reasons to like the person. And then you extrapolate the hand of God playing a part when he texts or emails you when you were literally just thinking of texting or emailing him. What is that?

I am finding that his non traditional background that makes him less of boyfriend material makes him much more crush-worthy. All this while I have secretly maintained that a perfect partner would be someone I can respect and learn from and by construction, this has thus far meant not respecting those well younger than myself. But that doesn't mean I can't learn from them. Or enjoy their company. Chris has very little to offer (so far) in terms of teaching me (except French) but he does amuse me.

And who knows, maybe he could be more? He is a tall drink of water and would certainly look hot in a suit. And he might get a job as early as January. But we don't want to build castles in the ai; for now, we will just build them in the sand at Repulse Bay.

We play music from his ipad this morning and I kid you not, it is the cutest of cute french music. I was transported to a Parisian cafe while making Vietnamese coffee for the two of us. And I am qualified to make that metaphor because I have been there. It was as cliched and stereotypical as you could possibly imagine a French guy's taste to be, none of the hip hop or pop that plays on NRJ radio mind you, and there was something surreal and hilarious about it.

I chuckled to myself. This is perfect....

P.S. (...just like the Oliver Tank song referenced above that is so breathtakingly mellifluous.)
P.P.S. He just called to check on me; sometimes I don't know if he's talking in French or English. It's all cute nonetheless.

...7 days...

2011-11-27T09:50:00.001+08:00

For the first time ever on the Juice ... a rolling seven day post... it's like liveblogging except it's less interesting and it's after the fact. Keep checking everyday for super awesome adventures in extreme nerdiness!

Day 1 of operation lockdown.
So it's been a fairly constructive day even though I underestimated the amount of revision work I needed to do thereby failing to meet my "minimum" requirements for the day. In fact, as I write this, I am still wide awake and refusing to go to bed till I finish at least the chapter whose size and boredom-inducing capabilities I so grossly misunderestimated.

The apartment is spotless and that really helps the studying. The weather is getting a bit nippy - nothing to worry about. I am still going wakeboarding tomorrow; I won't get to go for the next 4 weekends (1 weekend cramming for this exam, 2 spent traveling to Madrid and then Christmas weekend in gorgeous Palawan). I also have a date with Chris tomorrow - nothing fancy - just coffee after wakeboarding. Since it's just coffee, I can't be bothered with showering, changing etc. So let's hope he takes well to sandy, half-wet, make-up free Jups in extremely feminine boardshorts, sports bra and ratty teeshirt.

I am done for tonight. It's 1.40 am and I stuck it out because I had to finish one "study session" (my target was 2 but hey whatever!)

Day 2. Sunday

Up at 9. 15 am instead of 8.30 am. Not the end of the world. Read some of that Schweser Secret Sauce and then did a full 3 hour exam - I didn't do shabbily except for failing in economics and scrapping through in accounting. The latter is more important but I will work on Economics on Day 3.

Jin got sick and we ended up cancelling wakeboarding and that made me really sad. So I decided to meet Chris earlier. We met in Sheung Wan with the intent of scouring the area for cute cafes. Unfortunately we are both two absentminded lost souls and ended up in the Press Room. He looked cute and shabby and it was actually quite the welcome break from studies - kinda like watching a bollywood movie in that I could have left my brain at home. He is such a hippy - he wakes up to the sun because alarm clocks are so "brutal" (I agree, they are brutal but a necessary evil!) and books one-way tickets to places.

I left him at around 630 pm and returned to the books with a vengeance and stayed with them till 130 am.

Day 3. Monday

Up at 9 am and off to the Spanish embassy to collect my passport and visa. That's out of the way. Now to attack this fucking economics textbook - ironically, economics is one of my favourite subjects - a real treat to understand and read but this exam makes economics dry and irritatingly hard to digest - like a badly made sandwich.

Goals for today: Finish economics, one 3 hour paper and hit the gym.

Ended up meeting most of my goals and scored well on a test paper but not without failing two sections (not economics though). Chris met me for a drink around 1030 pm. He was apparently not dressed well, he claimed. Ironically, I thought he was - in cream shorts and brown belt matched with brown tshirt and soft light v-neck sweater and let's not forget cream and navy loafers. Could it get any cuter? I felt like I was dating a hipster right out of New York. And I knew for sure that I was when he showed me his 2 pairs of barely correcting spectacles. Haha.

We watched some French comedy and it was another cute evening - a perfect way to reward myself for a day's hard work.

Day 4. Tuesday

I struggle today after very little sleep. I am so burdened by these accounting notes. But today's goal is to finish 2 whole 3 hour test and it's already 4 pm so I wonder if that's even possible. My mind drifts to Chris even though I know I shouldn't. He is such a happy distraction. Commence sidebar....

Then, repeat sidebar during conversation with Casa.

0102 am. I've finished one 3 hour exam and done quite alright. Failed one fucking section again and it's a different one everytime, which is just infuriating. Also infuriating is the fact that I spent the whole day revising accounting and my score for that section was lower in today's test than yesterday. What the shit. Done for the day. Good night.

Day 5. Wednesday

I've been up since 7 and I shouldn't have been. The body refuses to sleep between stupid dreams of Chris and stupid dreams of fractions where words divide words?

Overall it was a shitty day and I only did one exam - should I simply surrender and accept that I am not the uber-nerd I once was and that I cannot do 2-3 exams per day, GMAT style.

I did however see Chris - seems like he can't go a day without seeing me? On the not-so-cute hand, I was helping him with his CV - why do I get stuck helping people all the time?

Day 6. Thursday

We had a delightful brunch together at the Brunch Club. It was comfortable and fun and we both looked nice, I thought. We kept looking straight into each others' eyes and it made me a little nervous. More on this later.

Right. I have half of today, Friday and Saturday... not much time. Time to bring it home.

Goals for today: One and half mock tests and some revision. Reward: Pink's birthday party tonight!

Day 6 Friday and Day 7 Saturday

Friday was not a good day - I did a test ...and I didn't do it well. It was depressing and disparaging but I chalked out a pretty hard core study/revision plan for Saturday. Saturday I felt invincible - more driven than the 300 Spartans. And I systematically crossed everything off my to-read list.

I went into the exam calm in the belief that I had done everything I possibly could and that that point on, failing the exam would be purely circumstantial.

And so I hope I pass.

hello

2011-11-26T09:07:00.001+08:00

Thank God it's Friday for it's been a hectic week although I can't really remember why. For one, I started going back to the gym two weeks ago and it actually feels good to do so. I am progressively running longer and faster and the sauna / steam rooms are doing me good. My subscription expires next month so I feel pretty guilty about having thrown some pretty good money down the toilet and want to make up for it by working out twice a day (or something) till the subscription runs out! I squeezed myself into my black skinny diesel jeans today (I mean that very literally) but it feels good.

So what else have I been upto?
Well two weeks ago I completely shut down Chris and ignored him after a series of text messages culminated in a late night phone call from him which pissed me off no end. Ironically the following Friday, I got drunk on the evil fluid that is white wine and texted him and we've patched up since. So last sunday, we watched a movie at my place and I cooked him dinner. Sweet, I know. He had his arms wrapped around me the entire time and I could hear his heart pounding like drum. Gee, I wonder if he likes me.

Before you jump the gun though, know that I don't think that he is piss-poor anymore. He eats out and parties practically every day. So if it does materialise, our third date has got to be at his expense. And no, that does not make me high maintenance.

I'm studying harder than ever and I am not sure my performance is up to par. Some tests are halfway decent and some tests are shamefully bad and none are exceptional. By the end of next week (which I am taking off from work to study study study), that has to change. It's not going to be easy couped in the apartment for 7 days. When was the last time I did that? My nails (both hands and toes) look shockingly ugly and I'd be fucking surprised if I had any nails at all when this is over.

Wish me luck.

Weird fishes/arpeggi

2011-11-15T20:59:00.001+08:00

I hate my workplace. I wish I could go on and on and tell you all and everything that makes me despise everyone at work from their disgusting clothes to the nepotism, from the hypocritical policies to the in-fucking (yeah that's right, everyone fucks everyone).

My performance review didn't go well and not because of anything that I did or didn't do.. no apparently it's the economy and the ether and anything else that is intangible and unaccountable. But riddle me this, if in the last two years when the bank performed superbly, I got my predetermined bonus (and even then my old boss fucked my evaluation up by forgetting to do t), I didn't get to participate in the upside and I had to be okay with that, why in fucking fucksville should I have to participate in the motherfucking downside? Yeah, I didn't think you had an answer for that.

I hope they all get a nice case of herpes for Christmas.

party rock anthem

2011-11-11T11:26:00.001+08:00

Wednesday was a very bad day that ended up getting salvaged in the evening. You see, a lot of things may have changed but one thing that hasn't changed is my pure hatred for stupidity and stupid people and unfortunately for me (fortunately for my wit), my office is swimming in bumbling morons whose irredeemable stupidity dictates that they should have been declared brain dead years ago.

And therefore I think that it is utterly cruel that I got drafted without my volition to be part of the Christmas party planning committee. Last year, I was thankfully not involved nor did I attend. Instead I attended the New York version when I visited in early December for work. That was a ton of fun.

This bunch on the other is a motley crew of morons who make up in being annoying what they lack in creativity. Observe.

Me: Can we discuss the drinking game? Which one do you play
Dumb slag who wears ridiculously short candy-pink skirts and nude slip-style dresses (and she works in HR for fucking cryin out loud): It's a drinking game
Me: Yes I know, what kind?
Dumb slag: Beer
Me: No what I mean is how do you PLAY the game? (thinking to myself, you fuckin' idiot, get with the program)
Dumb slag: You drink the beer.
Me: Okay (I give up.. stupidity 1, jupiter 0)

While we were on the subject of games, drinking or regular, I must have given the committee a handful of decent game ideas. Some of them may have required suspension of brain-deadness and hence were swiftly ejected from the premises. Others were not considered and still others may have been described by other members of the braindead trust after which I would point out that
I literally just described this game 3 minutes ago.

Another colleague suggested karaoke - a good suggestion in my most humble of opinions. Dumb slag twisted it to "Let's ask the senior management to sing for us because they enjoy it lass time." That's like if you went to doctor for a migraine and they give you a lobotomy (which coincidentally I need to have done before the next meeting).

At the end of the meeting, Dumb slag says, and I quote, "how about we go back and think about more ideas before our next meeting". Quit fucking with me! What the shit is this! We just wasted a good 30 minutes having some 15 suggestions get thrown out the window for no rhyme or reason!

In other work news that makes my blood boil, my boss's boss denied me a chance to go on a work trip to Dubai and Abu Dhabi. I've been in this role for over a year and not once have I been flown anywhere (training doesn't count). My boss seemed to sympathize and hearing a kind word from him was the proverbial silver lining in the dark shit-filled cloud.

The evening was joyfully redeemed by going to a rooftop movie screening (reminded me of that Happy Poet screening in NYC) of the Princess Bride - it is what I call a truly awesomely bad movie though not in the same rank as Snakes on a Plane. Before the movie, I went to the gym - yes, the gym. Also known as the stinky little miniwhorehouse/pickup joint that I haven't visited in eons because I am too self-conscious and because it is hard for me not to crank my face up in disgust when I see some slut in a sports bra and bikini bottoms lunge provocatively or climb the ladder machine suggestively. Umm..Who invented that turd?

Anyway my point is 30 minutes of running and a good session in the steam room with hair mask and face pack later, I felt good. Whiskey and cava made it gooder. Laughing my ass at the movie and then pigging out on sliders and fries, goodest even. After which point, I may or may not have made a drunken call to Chris but in my defense he'd been texting me all day asking to meet up and I'd been persistently declining. Anyway the call didn't go well (the way most things don't when you're drunk). I am meeting him tonight for a movie. Let's see how that goes. Ah the joys of dating a student.

p.s. it's getting harder to think up song titles. Ugh.

teenage dream

2011-11-08T17:22:00.001+08:00

Dear Juice, Wow I don't know what is keeping me from you. Is it my inability to finish what I start (blog posts, projects, hell even marriages)? Is it the fact that I am busy at work (which is not really true)? Is it my CFA prep? Is it my rabid social life? Or is it that I am usually being distracted by men who are not viable boyfriend - material? Is it the self-pity I feel when I think about my career and related shame-spirals?

Let's go with all of the above.

Rather unexpectedly, Chris (the french dude, not the Martin) asked me out proper last week and took me out to a proper French restaurant. In so many ways, Chris is the quintessential French dude. He is lanky and blond, dresses poorly and has a fucking thick French accent. But then again in many ways, he is not. He is not completely unaware of the outside world. I am not saying he knows things; I am saying he wants to. He is curious george and has lived outside of France. For me that is a good thing.

So what's the downside? He is either 25 or 24....maybe 24 going on 25? Maturity is somewhat of a tall order to expect even from a 35 year old so when it comes to a 25 year old, I may as well throw in the towel. He's also a student. At first I thought he was a part-time student but turns out he is a full time student doing a part time course which means he has ample free time and not-so-ample moolah. He also lives in some ridiculous ghetto on the dark side of Hong Kong. A broke 25 year old student who lives in a hole...yup that's my dreamboat... more like an inflatable life raft in the middle of the Atlantic with a newly punctured hole.

On the plus side though, he is generous with compliments (so important for a vain Leo like me) and attentive and easily impressed. And darlings, let's not forget the cheap thrill of snagging a younger bloke and a miniature model like me snagging a bloke who is 8 feet tall.

I declined to meet Chris last Saturday, last Sunday and this Wednesday. I will probably end up seeing him over the weekend though. Let's see. If not for anything else, this is big news just for the fact that I managed to keep a guy interested past the first date. Ha.

More on this later.

green eyes

2011-10-23T19:56:00.001+08:00

Hmm.. Sunday evening.. I'm sitting feeling ever so slightly weird after eating two morsels of Puranpoli which I accidentally microwaved for too long with a ziplock bag (which melted and stuck to the grub). I don't think I should have eaten that. Clearly I didn't learn anything from from last Sunday when I stupidly ate way-too-old frozen vegetables and gave myself cataclysmic runs.

Despite all my attempts to prevent this weekend from becoming any hedonistic man-ridden, binge-drinking vanity fair, it ended up being pretty much that.
Only this time, I gave myself Thursday and Friday off from alcohol. This was warranted after getting piss-drunk on wine at the W hotel where we celebrated Elvish Pixie's birthday the only way we know how. Here I met a man and made an impression (and I don't remember it). All I remember is him telling me he's going to Bombay and me sending him an email with tips. But no, he thought I was sexy. Blunt, but flattering. I went to work on Thursday with a head heavier than a sack of bricks.

My skin hates me; My body hates me. With the winter imminent, wakeboarding opportunities will be scarce. I haven't been to the gym in several months. Ughness is all around. Oh to be ten years younger.

In other news, I have a met a boy who is taken with me (I mean that in a lustful manner). You see, three weeks ago, I did something pretty scandalous (by my own standards). I went out, dressed to the nines, in what Jin has dubbed the sex dress (I disagree!). That night I met some very friendly, presumably broke French boys. Long story short (and for good reason, I want to spare you the raunchy details), after partying till the club threw us out, they convinced me to go to watch the sunrise with them and swim in the ocean with them. Of course this meant ditching the heels and the expensive dress and swimming in a borrowed polo tee shirt and not much else. Whew. And that's where my attentions were diverted from the Will (the boy who I met first) to let's call him Chris because he is blond, tall and a halfway-decent doppelganger for Chris Martin except with beautiful green eyes that matched exactly (and I am not exaggerating this) the colour of the sea we were swimming in. My, there is poetry in the most unexpected of situations. Needless to say we kissed. I was tired from a night of drinking and dancing. He propped me up with one hand and supported me while we swam out to sea. He had lifeguard training. (You can't make this shit up, I promise you). That was one spectacular, scenic and memorable morning.

Fast forward to this weekend. Chris had been texting since Wednesday and we finally met last night as well. He said he couldn't stop thinking about me and all sorts of other humbug that I am so used to hearing now that I have to strain so hard as to not burst out laughing. He switched from English to French to Spanish 1/3rds of the way through every other sentence. Said he loved that he could do that with me. Okay. And then he says, "I'll see you Wednesday?" Uhhhh "Maybe"...."No?"..."Where?"...."Oh I might work late on Wednesday".... (thinking to myself, you're full of shit). See, he may well be French and scruffy and tall and blond but he doesn't have much to say despite being trilingual and he studies and works and that makes him not-boyfriend-material. And let's face it, I am not into blonds. The real Chris Martin is probably the only blond I'd go for. And Chris Evans. And young Brad Pitt. Darn it!

Chris thwarted my dancing plans (boo) and drinking plans (yayy) so I am hangover free today. My skin looks like a dishrag. The good news is that I had stayed in all Saturday before partying and managed to get a decent amount of studying done.

Today I took a rather handsome blue-eyed Brazilian colleague (visiting) out to brunch with all my beautiful girlfriends (it is my pleasure in life to always be surrounded by beautiful and smart women). Later Elvish Pixie and I took him to get a foot reflexology massage. Boy did we manage to cheer the bloke up.

Tempted as I was, I didn't watch the rugby finals and returned home to my books once more. They didn't hold my interest for too long. So I don't know if I should have just watched the games and knocked back some beers. But then again, it did free my time so I could write this largely pointless post.

P.S. The song is a bit lofty but hey the title is relevant ..."Honey you are the sea upon which I float"
P.P.S. I was completely sober during my sortofskinnydipping misadventure. I swear.

house of cards

2011-10-15T12:15:00.000+08:00

Technicallyit’s autumn and October in Hong Kong… there are no leaves falling or turningred in this concrete jungle that I’ve called home for over a year now and it’scertainly not cool enough to break out the trenches.

I am soafraid. I can’t escape it anymore. Maybe afraid isn’t the right word becausewhatever is causing all these upheavals and downheavals (new word # 345) is notrelated to death and disease or frogs or lizards. No, it’s this overwhelmingsense of uncertainty that never seems to go away.

They alwayssay you should be careful what you wish for. They couldn’t be more right. Along long time ago, I was stuck in boring Singapore in a dead end job thatbored me to tears. I then wished for a job that would take me around the world,make me change locations, let me live in supercities like Sydneyor London (yes in those days, I didn’t care forthe US).I didn’t get that job then. But I did get into business school. And some threeyears later I got that job. It didn’t pay very much. But I also got aboyfriend, nay, fiancé and I didn’t want that job anymore. It was a veritablecrossroads, a catch-22 if you will and contrary to what people say about italways working out in the end, it did not.

So here I amin one heck of a supercity, living life on steroids. It has been utterlyamazing so far despite again, ending up in a dead end job. I don’t think I wantto leave. Unless leaving and moving to New York are in the same sentence. And even then, I amnot entirely convinced because my closest friends have either moved or gotten married or some such.

In a fewhours, I have an important meeting that might change the course of my life. Again.But it doesn’t seem like it will change for the better. No, in fact I amexpecting one of two pretty rotten choices – unemployment or a rotten job insome rotten city like Madridthat pays literally half of what I make right now.

To be perfectly honest, Ireally don’t know what I prefer. On the one hand, I owe it to myself and mybroken ego to take a fantastic risk, go for broke (no fucking pun intendedthere) and stay in Hong Kong with the soaring hope that come 1Q12, somethingwonderful will happen. And I’ll still get to keep all my lovely friends here. Onthe other, money is better than no money and job is better than no job. Thenagain, if the meeting goes pear-shaped, I am end up jobless anyway and my egohas all the time in the world to pick itself up from the gutter and reinventitself.

My attemptsat finding a job in New Yorkhave been in vain, as have been my attempts at contacting headhunters who areonly keen on placing D and MD level people. Life, my dears, is tough. Thecredit card bill this month is astronomical thanks to all the drinking andeating out. Maybe it’s time to cut back big time. I went to a warehouse saleyesterday that was choc full of gorgeous Alexander McQueen shoes that called tome and I didn’t answer back. Over 250$ even after discount – that might pay amonth’s worth of groceries for an unemployed girl, nay?

I keeptelling myself that I’ve been through much worse with fewer resources, the onlydifference being that before I had the support of a then-loving boyfriend andsomehow it seemed to make everything better. But that is not to say thatmountains cannot be moved by almost-30 single girls. I could easily move all mystuff into storage, move to a pint-sized apartment in the new territories for amere fraction of my current rent. I reckon my savings could sustain me for 3-6months. Maybe I could do some odd jobs as well. You know I almost gave Englishtuitions to Japanese housewives when I lived in Singapore? Who is to say that I can’tfind vocations like that here in Honkers?

I guess my point is that when thegoing gets tough…. The tough write lofty blog posts to psyche themselves intobelieving that nothing is impossible.

lonely lullaby

2011-10-05T00:01:00.000+08:00

A sportsac pochette filled with multicolored pens. Pens in hues of purple and pink and blue glitter and pencils and erasers. What could be so bloodcurdling about that? Well, let's see now…

Let's suppose that this sportsac pochette was a fake sportsac that you picked up in a random market in Kuala Lumpur when you were visiting said city with the love of your life at the time. Let's say the pochette was filled with old pens from your business school days. Why do they even work today, you ask? As if to mock you, as if to say that the common mass-produced ink outruns the life of your relationships.

Let's suppose that said pochette filled with pens with eternal writability came in a box that said ex-boyfriend mailed to you with tons of other miscellaneous garbage and by miscellaneous garbage I mean rusty pots and pans, a musty old duvet you have barely any recollection of, old soft toys, broken (yes broken) rolling pins and god knows what else that can fit into 2 boxes and thirty six kilos shipped by overnight mail.

And you ask yourself, why. Why would someone do such a thing. Why, instead of sending what you had asked for, would they send you stationery and unnecessary bedding and musty things that trigger your allergies…. Why would they be so disrespectful as to give you the task of dealing with 36 kilos of shite at your office with your boss's boss asking you "Jupiter, what are those boxes?" You curse yourself for giving this man your office address instead of your home address even though that was probably the right thing to do at the time. How could you have known that this would happen? All you wanted was your year book, your cookbook and your grandma's silver lamp, right?

Right. So you make the best of the situation. You divide and conquer. You decide on what needs to donated (clothes and duvets and shit), what can stay in the office (pens to make colorful spanish notes?), what needs to go home (books) and what needs to be binned. But of course i will take a few days to get rid of everything.

And in doing so, you forget about the wicked and wild, hedonistic and unequivocally bonkers weekend you've just had. Or for that matter, all the wicked and wild weekends you've had because nothing is quite as horrible as 2 dusty and musty boxes teleporting you 14 months back into the past when you were in that blissfully unaware New York apartment reading an email that would turn your whole life upside down. You lost a job and your heart and all you have to show for it 14 months later is a motherfucking fake Sportsac pochette filled with pink and purple pilot pens.

If you're reading this, he who shall not be named, I hope to all the powers that be that you rot in the deepest reaches of hell because it must have taken all the evil in your sad little heart to unabashedly pack a musty duvet and ship it all the way to Hong Kong using overnight mail to hurt me for no rhyme or reason. You are a shabby soul and a worthless human being and while in so many ways, I should be grateful that we are not together, I curse my luck for ever having loved you the way I did and the time I did it for.

p.s. I am okay. I am not sad. Just perplexed. Rotten luck can be a bit hard to come to terms with sometimes... sometimes...

letting go

2011-09-28T23:00:00.001+08:00

No surprises here - the cliched 4 days have passed and I haven't heard a peep from Batman. Holy typical Hong Kong dipshit Batman!
And no I refuse to console myself with the "he's probably busy" or the "he knows your dad is in town so he doesn't want to bother you". Poppycock, the reason is plain as day and I am almost 30 so I can accept it. Fuck him, or not.

Father of the Jupiter leaves tomorrow in the afternoon and I feel a bit bad. Not because I didn't do enough but because clearly there were moments when the moodiness was Batman's fault and dad bore the brunt of it. Kinda like in the spider man movie "the ones I love will always be the ones that pay". Nonetheless there were some bright spots - home made south indian dinners and lunches in nice restos, trips to Deep Water Bay and Stanley, the Peak, some shopping and what have you. He wants to come see me again and I reckon he should.

It's bed time. More later.

Update: Deleted all traces of his existence from my phone. I don't need the temptation. It sucks to be single.

papa dont preach

2011-09-26T17:14:00.001+08:00

Did I say my new year's resolution of executing jumps while wakeboarding was "loosely checked"? Oh I am sorry, what I meant to say was "awesomely-fabulously-more-than-3-feet-off-the-ground-checked so put that in your pipe and smoke it!" Honestly, yesterday was my best effort yet at the sport and I could "feel" every loud thump and thud as the board flew clear off the water and landed squarely in the center of the wake but only for a split second before the momentum whoosed me off to the toeside with yet another thud. It was frankly all sorts of awesome and yes, I am allowed to gloat. I was also pretty kicked about my new fuckoffpurple swimshirt and boyish boardshorts that I picked up on saturday but the weather is getting colder and it wasn't enough. I need to go wetsuit shopping.

But my dad wasn't all that impressed. Nah uh, the mad rad moves of the Jupiter did little to impress Father of the Jupiter who has been in town since Saturday morning (also known as the filthy morning where I took my skanky self to the airport with barely 3 hours of sleep). Moments after my first jump, I screamed.. "dad did you see that?" knowing full well that he was gazing at a mountain when I was so eagerly searching for that look of wonder in his eyes. He lied "yes". "No you did not! I saw you and you were looking at the mountain!" Flashback: memories of prancing around in new frocks and saying "daddy/grandpa look at my new dress" while dad/grandpa still reading the newspaper and without flinching saying "yes..it's beautiful."

I am quite certain that he did see the rest of my mad rad performance and I know this because he told me quite bluntly that Elvish Pixie had much better posture than I did and that he didn't understand why we fell all the time. "you shouldn't fall at all". I think that maybe he was just messing with me. Or maybe he just doesn't get what it's taken for me to get this far. But one thing's for sure – it makes me want to try harder. Time for some double wake jumps, grabs and powerslides baby.

Dad's elusive approval and his constant demands were not the not the only cause for grief. Nosiree. I was craving Batman big time. We exchanged some benign texts on Saturday evening; he knew my dad was around so he was checking on me to see what I was doing/where I was taking him. Which is so cute. I haven't heard from him since then. I really don't think there will be a second date (or 4^th per his own warped calculations!) but that is not gonna stop me from leching at him, fantasizing wantonly or willing my phone to buzz with a text from him. The heart wants what it wants.

Of course, where wakeboarding failed, cooking prevailed and dad was suitably content with my awesome cooking. I made a traditional south Indian dinner of keerai molagutal and tomato thair pachadi (translation: spinachy awesomeness and tomatoey yogurty awesomeness). Then I walked over to Jin's place and picked up the spoils of my online shopping from Anthropologie that I shipped to her when she went to NYC a coupla weeks ago. Two of the teeshirts are lovely – a stone one with a strange ascot like collar and a white one with ripples and burnt finish. The third – a lilac v-neck is just… well... for lack of a better word, vulgar and seems to say "here are my breasts". But pat on the back for the Jups for getting the size right 3 times out of 3. I also snagged a lovely straw fedora (or cloche – it got smooshed in the mail, so I can't tell!) and a statement necklace.

In other news, I spent a fuckload of money on cosmetics and lost some of them on the journey back. Hmmphhhh. Or so I am led to believe by the folks at sasa for I told them there was a chance they didn't pack everything in my bag and they claimed that they have cctv footage that says otherwise. I don't have time to spend on litigating over face cream. I barely have enough time to put on face cream.

So there you have it. Decent weekend spent dozing, eating, wakeboarding, shopping and sometimes daydreaming. What more could a girl want? (don't answer that).

your love

2011-09-24T13:49:00.003+08:00

Sigh.

I'm in that place again. There are few things in the world that can compare to the exhilaration, jitters and the euphoria of a great first date. You obsess about what to wear and how things will go and what the other person will think of you and whether there is potential for this to go somewhere... You talk about everything under the sun and likely exhaust material for future conversations...Maybe that's the problem and the reason why things go downhill - expectations are always set so high.

My date with batman started out completely bonkers.
He landed up at the venue without me while I was sitting in my apartment waiting for meeting instructions. We had a laugh about it. I jumped into a cab and 25 minutes later, I was in Kowloon at the 118th floor of the Ritz Carlton and he was sitting in the corner having his first drink. He looked amazing - deep blue jeans, a broad belt and a crisp tailored party shirt. I've never seen a shirt quite like that but it managed to be avant-garde without looking douchey or manga or gay.

After the first 30 minutes of more formal chatting about jobs and the world and what not, the conversation turned into a free-flowing series of anecdotes and stories and jobs and I must have laughed pretty much the entire night. He teased me a lot and somehow managed to come up with more than ten reasons why he thought I was stupid. Normally I'd have kicked a guy's nuts in for doing that but I was rather enjoying me treated as a bimbo and he was so humourous about it.

Me: (pouting) I am not stupid, batman. I am absent minded
Him: That's okay. I like you just the way you are. I mean.. I worry about what will happen when you meet my parents and all.. but you just stay quiet and let me do the talking. If you talk like this, they will worry about how our kids will turn out.
Me: It's okay, I think our kids will turn out really pretty. Don't you?
Him: Yeah they would.

We'd hold hands occassionally and I would remember Orangetree; no, this was not that kind of touch. Not yet anyway.

I forced him to take me dancing afterward and we went to Hyde. He claimed he couldn't dance without drinking, which I deemed just not acceptable. So he got drunk. We must have had about 5 shots each plus a cocktail at the bar. Then he danced, and how. Even when he was trying to be funny, he danced well and we had a blast. It was one of my most fun nights in Hong Kong and I went to bed at 4 am, woke up at 7 and rushed to the airport to collect my dad. For I am superwoman.... yes I am.

I keep playing back the things he said. I was giddy yesterday and I am giddier now. And yet I don't expect him to call back. As charming, polished and into-me as he is, he is young, hot and single in Hong frikking Kong and he probably has a lot more wild oats to sow. And like I said, things always go downhill from a perfect first date.

super bass

2011-09-23T14:19:00.001+08:00

Wheeeee! Not only is it frifri but it is also one where the Jups has a date. Yes after what seems like ages, eons even, I have a date. So it's not dinner, it's just drinks but it's a date in the traditional sense in that boy meets girl and boy asks girl out say... 6 months later. Well, some of us can't have it all.

So let's call this fellah Batman shall we? because in his own words, he is spontaneous, unpredictable and action-packed. Yup, his own words. Needless to say, I am thoroughly amused not to mention positively ditzy about the potential that this date has. I already know he is stunning to look at and dances like, well… let's just say rhythm is in his genes. He also gets full points for replying to smses at lightning speed and with copious exclamation marks. Did I mention he has immaculate dress sense? And that he is an amateur boxer? Do you know how hard it is to find men like that?

Incidentally batman is the boy mentioned in this little story. And I confess I lied because I didn't meet him that night. I met him the same day I met smurf. Batman was dressed like a scary clown (okay, joker, i get the irony, whatever) in yellow/white makeup, which is truly horrendous on a man of his chocolate-brownness. So imagine my surprise a few months ago when this hot guy comes up to me, points and says "I know you" and I give him a "say what?" look, in response to which he pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of me, the rest of my girlfriends with him in full-on scary clown gear. Jin was standing next to me aghast that my picture was on some random stranger's phone. Clearly I had no idea what hotness was lurking under those fugly red and yellow pajamas he had on that day and I was pleasantly surprised.

So technically date#1 is rendezvous#4 for those of you keeping track. Quite fun no? Wish me luck.

greased lightning

2011-09-20T10:35:00.001+08:00

As it appears, the PIGS have given the markets a rather rabid case of swine flu....Fuck you Greece and Fuck you Italy. Fuck your stupid shithead gangbanging chauvinist politicians. Fuck your stupid masses protesting on the streets. Fuck all you stupid welfare states that have had a good run on unsustainable government expenditures when the rest of the world, yes even the poor emerging markets saved. Shame on you. Why, it's no surprise to me.
Through my numerous trips and stays through Europe, it became very clear that Europe was one giant village (yes I said it, great highways people but essentially connecting hicksville 1 to hicksville 2 and so forth) with not much to show for itself apart from some pretty phenomenal wines and cheeses. I may be oversimplifying things a bit but the lack of efficiency in simple things, the callousness of people in the services industry (umm, ask anyone how hard it is to find a plumber in France), the alarming dearth and where present, irregularity of, public transport, the scant opening hours of businesses (9 to 5? when do people with real jobs shop?) make you wonder where the GDP of these countries comes from. My sense is it's mostly government spending. And what incentive does anyone have to work when you get paid to have kids, you get paid generously when you're unemployed and when a fantastic college education costs 500 Euros a year?

And even all of that would have been sustainable for stupid tiny country like Greece, pretty as it well may be if it stuck to its own shitty currency which would have depreciated fantastically to reflect the value of its lazy demographic and stagnating growth. But because these stupid unsustainable village economies got into the Eurozone with the fantastically efficient, hardworking Germans (the poor sods), the world is in peril.

Today, Italy got downgraded this morning which is obviously gonna spell death for bonds everywhere which is gonna send high yield prices into the gutter which is gonna gangrape my portfolio. Which is why I am mad.

(Not to mention the S in PIGS is Spain which does not bode too well for my own career).

Seriously, stop fucking retiring at 35 and get some real fucking jobs, okay? Also, I think Greece should be kicked out of the eurozone and should declare insolvency once and for all and fucking restructure itself. Seriously this back-and-forth is like a dysfunctional relationship that isn't going anywhere but noone wants to be take the first step and say "honey, this is not working out". Or like some comatose guy on his deathbed who doesn't have a shot at living anyway if he did come out of it. Just pull the damn plug already.

Fuckuh yooo Ituh-lee, Fuckuh yooo greecuh!

(In the style of the Japanese whale/dolphin killers from South Park)

do you have a little time

2011-09-19T23:55:00.000+08:00

It's almost bed time but I am excited. Elvish Pixie, Jin, Hazel and I booked our tickets to Ho Chi Minh City for the end of October to celebrate Elvish Pixie's birthday. I don't think I travel nearly as much as all my lovely friends do for several reasons and so it's always a bit of a glorious feeling when I book tickets for some place. I've only ever spent a few hours in Hanoi and have never been to HCM so it should be fun. I expect it to be a gritty and dirty city but with great food and amazing art and what not. Maybe I can squeeze some cooking lessons? Would be good to learn to make rice paper rolls or pho or something.

I also spent the last 20 odd minutes re-reading wanderlust tagged posts and I was deeply thrilled. The older the post, the hazier my memory and the more enthralling the nostalgia. All in all, very satisfying.. and yet I am crushed to see that I haven't blogged about several amazing trips like the Cancun one or the myriad ones in Asia that I did while I lived in Singapore or the daytrips around France. It's all a bit unfortunate. Time to mend my ways and do my homework on time. And speaking of time, it's bed time. So good night.

P.S. I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you that quite unexpectedly a colleague of mine, May, who has pretty classical taste in shoes, gave me new never worn pair of black and wine pointy toed pumps. They are glorious.

P.P.S. I have ran into Smurf thrice - twice on friday and once today. It's rather annoying in a god-is-poking-fun-at-my-lack-of-love-life sort of way.

Update: Aforementioned shoes that were donated to me. Who can complain? Look at those beauties! They are like the ascott of shoes.

Traktor

2011-09-17T22:12:00.004+08:00

Why hello there! Do you like Juice's new look? It's still a bit rough around the edges, I'll admit. I never claimed to know shit about HTML or XML or what have you. In any case, I am well aware that the motherfucking sidebar isn't on the side but rather at the bottom as a footer and I.JUST.CAN.T.FIGURE.OUT.WHY.

If you have any idea how I can fix this, would you let me know? Also bouquets and brickbats are welcome - my colour preferences are admittedly psychedelic but hey they're fun too!

I've spent the whole day lazing at home and studying after a rough night of partying. Funnnnnn until morning breaks, I confess, when the slew of bad judgments flashes right before you eyes like some pathetic montage of your alcohol-induced stupidity. Oh well.

Dinner was lovely - Yotam Ottolenghi's soba noodles with aubergines and mango (except I substituted mangoes with fresh juicy sweet pineapple. Incidentally, since they are in season I also indulged myself with a glass of freshly juiced (yeah that's right!) chilled pineapple juice. It was like rain on a hot day.

I have to go squeeze a few more hours of reading before I can reward myself with my bed. In the meantime, please help me fix the template. Sidebars acting like footers is like wearing a shoe for a hat. Or a earring as a bra - pretty much senseless.

ARGH!

2011-09-12T12:43:00.001+08:00

open invitation to anyone who can help me either fix or redesign my blog template which as you can see is the webpage equivalent of my brain on a hungover satuday morning. I am shit at these things. please write me.

I've tried upgrading this mighty piece of shit a billion times and it doesn't work. I created a shadow blog and that works just fine but upgrading the template..it doesnt work... can't click on comments or anything. I dont know what to!!

tonight tonight

2011-09-12T12:37:00.001+08:00

It was quite a remarkable weekend and I may have found the solution to not feeling shitty about having to sit at home all day with a thumb my butt and my eyes squinting over my CFA notes because even though I did exactly that, I feel bright and cheerful and satiated.

Now at the risk of sounding like an alcoholic tramp (that's two vices, not one), part of the solution entails some severe drinking and partying on Friday night. This has two key benefits -

1. Gets the partying out of the way as well as the hangover which is so wretched that you will dare not venture anywhere near a bar on Saturday night. This particular Friday, I drank from around 6pm to I wanna say.... 4 am? Continuously.

2. In the off chance that you get intercepted by some keen members of the opposite sex, the attention will propel your easily-panderable-to ego (new word #985) and further enhance your mood the following morning, pounding hangover notwithstanding. This particular Friday, quite the anomaly I confess especially given that I was in casual after-work clothes not some slutty backless mini number, the blokes were particularly forthright and cavalier, brazenly stealing dances with me from under each others' noses. So sue me, I like a little competition especially when I am the prize? I met a fantastically good looking man that ticked off most of the boxes - nice accent, nice ass, hot body, cute face and immaculate dress sense. Too bad he's one sandwich short of a picnic cause he'd have made a pretty yummy picnic. Nice distraction in any case and a long overdue one at that.

CFA status update: Book 5 is halfway done. The other half and book 1 remain. Not bad considering how miserable my status was just weeks ago but I shall not brag too much because it's one thing to finish reading the books (the bare fucking minimum) and quite another to pass the test. But anyway, my point is I felt guilty enough to be glued to my books all weekend aside from the 2 odd hours of wakeboarding on Sunday night.

Which brings me the section of the post where I brag about how good I am getting at this lovely and most pleasant of sports. I mean just look at how pristine the surroundings are. No doubt the waters were choppy last night and the windy was blowing rough seaspray into my face at full speed (and it even drizzled at one point. sidenote: the tiny dents that drizzles make on moving swells and waves is just so beautiful) but none of that seems to matter when you start mastering the currents. My instructor tells us every day that if we can wakeboard in these insane waters, we can wakeboard anywhere (mind you most people wakeboard in backwaters and lakes not full-on seas with full-on currents). My jumps are getting better and this time, I worked in some pretty decent jumps from toeside and heelside and a few lipslides (a little bit of fun!). At one point, I did two jumps back to back, side to side and got so excited that I did a little victory huzzah (letting go one hand in a classic fist closed "yessss" move), lost my balance and fell. Totally worth it. Massive ropeburn on my left hand from trying to juggle rope and shoe laces while the boat chugged off? Not so much.

My instructor is very impressed with my progress and said "whoa, you getting really good now". That means a lot, a lot more than it would to any other odd person. Why, he's even teaching me (and Jin) how to exit the boats like the pros do (although, granted, we aren't doing this as elegantly as we ought to be).

As for the rest of sunday night, I came home and studied some more; I had to meet my half-of-book-5 target and I did just that. Despite the creepy weather last night that kept waking me up and culling my sleep time to barely 4 hours, I got to work on time, well dressed and perfectly coiffed. Too bad the weather is so shit that the wind completely fucked it up. Great weekend though. I have got one more weekend to be really really bad (on friday that is) and then dad's here the weekend after so no more drunken debauchery until October.

car wash

2011-09-05T14:55:00.001+08:00

Ah finally something to be proud of. This weekend I was extremely productive as far as my long overdue CFA prep goes. As you may or may not know the CFA curriculum is one of most boring things known to humankind, probably second only to watching paint peel but at least the latter costs no money.

The economics module was a bit too easy and I was on top of the world feeling invincible until someone told it was the easiest. Needless to say the last several months I have studied very very little and the dry, borderline suicide inducing accounting textbook is to blame for that. On very productive hangover-free weekends, I would read as mach as a page before settling down to watch 75 episodes of South Park. But after the Kenyan holiday, I realised that there are only 3 months left before I go ahead and make a embarrassment of myself and that too one with a US$ 1000 price tag.

So the next three months, the Jups will buckle down, eat loads of carbs, eschew all sorts of human civilities and make an ernest attempt to conquer this mindfuckinlyboring (new word #651) exam.

This weekend I wrapped up the accounting book (#3) on Saturday, finished the self-exam (that sounds dirty) and then proceeded to study 10 am to 530 pm on Sunday, powering through a third of book#4. I sat there in the same chair wearing a ratty top, a white mini skirt, unsuitable for public viewing, taking breaks only for ingestion and egestion.

Then I got dolled up (all out!) in a black rosette-adorned tank top, one of my favourite ridiculously puffy tulle-lined full skirts (with galloping horses printed on burlap/linen), cork high heels et al and went to see horrible bosses where I quite literally wet myself laughing. I think I deserved that little escape. I was home by 930 and felt like I wasn't done. Thanks to a second wind of geek, I powered through another 100 pages or so and now am halfway done with that book.

Today's a pretty idle day at work (as it should after last week which was decidedly hectic with the boss being away). So I am reading through the second half of the book and feeling proud like some nincompoop who expects credit for doing what he is supposed to (men can relate to that).

Thanks for watching; Stay tuned for more electric, bloodcurdling episodes of Jups - the geek diaries.

circle of life

2011-08-23T22:07:00.004+08:00

Written on the road (literally) while traveling from one city/town/forest/mountain to another.

Jambo from kenya...

Day 1. Nairobi is a slow and calm city. The weather for most of the day was cool and breezy, like early fall in new york. Our first day was wrought with delays - the flight was late by 2 hrs, our driver showed up late, checkin took ages, we got stuck in traffic everywhere and almost missed the sheldrick (which closes at 12). But by hook or by crook, we made it to all the places we wanted and we did so despite cold clammy rains that chose to precipitate in the afternoon. The rains were somewhat of a blessing in fact because the sellers of beaded paraphernalia were eager to get rid of their wares and so haggling was easy. Dinner was at abyssinia - a seemingly modest ethiopian restaurant nestled in the Westlands on its own property - and it was spectacular. Copious amounts of soft rolls of injera complemented by spiced shiro silse, lentils (missir k'ey), kale and spinach (gomen kitfo), homemade cheese (zimamojat), eggs in tomato sauce (Enkulal we't) and more. Each dish bursting in flavour, flavour that the ernest wait staff was eager for us to understand and appreciate with our bare hands, which, needless to say we were no stranger to. Our waiter also joked that the spicy shiro silse (a wet shiro - powdered chickpeas cooked with tomatoes, onions and peri peri chili) was consumed by them regularly because it prevented malaria. I somehow have no trouble believing that, mosquitoes may not appreciate the complex sauce as I do.
We were served much more food than we could have eaten and he was so keen to wrap everything up to go, too bad that we were unable to.

Day 2 and 3 - Amboseli and Mount Kilimanjaro
We are in the car heading to Amboseli and still raving about our fantastic dinner.

Amboseli is not your average safari. Nosiree. Flanked front and centre by "papa" snowcapped Kilimanjaro and "mama" Mawengi, the vast plains of Amboseli national park are home to teeming herds of rather plump zebra, Thomson's gazelle (tomes) and Grant's too, galloping wildebeest and the formidable, graceful African elephant. The sparseness of trees is baffling here but it allows for unobstructed vistas that will remain in memory for years. The sun rising, the clouds unveiling the Kilimanjaro, and the elephants grazing at the foot of the mountain... or giraffe walking gracefully in single file…It's not exactly something you see everyday and its not something any camera, no matter the calibre, can do justice to. And I am so not a lets-watch-the-sunrise-person.

We see impala, gazelle, water buffalo, giraffe, ostrich and several species of tall birds and two sleeping lionesses (or young lions, I can't tell). The calm elegance of the long strides of the giraffe is nothing short of poetry in motion. My videos are as if they move in slo-mo.
Bird sightings have been immensely successful and the family's keen knowledge of ornithology has led to very rare sightings like the massive kori bustard and the fantastic and strange secretary bird.

The evening game drive of our second day has proved to be way better than we expected. 2 lionesses parked on a solitary path one of which took a piss right before my eyes (there is room for humour in the strangest places), a dozen giraffes together, 8 zebra ponies playing catch with each other and racing parallel to the van and a young male tusker who wanted to play with us, then flapped his ears, did a playful jig, trumpeted and ran away. Yeap. Way better than expected.

Day 4 - mt kenya

Good morning africa. It's an early start today as we head to Mt. Kenya. The road from the park upto namanga is absolutely horrible, bumpy gravel makes for an uncomfortable ride. It's sunny today but Kilimanjaro remains hidden from view. This is one thing they don't tell you - that mama and papa are rarely ever visible from behind the thick veil of clouds. Nonetheless I was able to capture a rare postcard-worthy photo of scores of zebra grazing against the backdrop of Kilimanjaro. It is however on a point and shoot, so do bear with.

The journey to mt kenya was harrowing, traffic jams galore in nairobi and a 60kmph speed governor on our new and very well equipped safari vehicle dampened our speed and our spirits as we finally reached the glamourous mount kenya safari club only at 430. Most of the day was gone. We had to substitute lunch with high tea which was actually not a bad trade. Scones with cream and marmalade, cakes and sandwiches in "zebar" (a clever and quite literal play on zebra as zebra print was all over) facing the mountain with peacocks and marabou storks mere feet away. This place is heaven and decidedly decadent one at that. Booboo and I rent bikes and pedal around the scenic club with its ponds, stables and cottages. Dinner is sumptuous too and I taste for the first time a "tree tomato" - an even tangier, more sour cousin of the tomato (if indeed that were possible). Too bad we are only staying the one night (it's cold and our beds are warmed with hot water bags, very luxe).

Day 5 - Lake Nakuru
On the road now, I watch the flamboyant secretary bird taxi with its massive legs and take off like airplane - this is not your average bird flight. Sights like this, you can't capture on video for they happen too quickly. Elephants trumpeting at you or a herd of gazelle 10 feet away from you getting frightened without reason and bounding away, jumping 3 feet in the air one after the other like ballet dancers so graceful that I can't put it too well in words.

This morning we also crossed the equator, more than once. The safari club was set on the equator itself and the road to nakuru also crosses hemispheres. We had the cutest demo from a "professor" (who was also very cute, he said converge like KHON-verge) on how magnetic fields cause water currents to spin in different directions in the 2 hemispheres - clockwise in northern, counter clockwise in southern and none at all at the equator. So this year I've crossed hemispheres, been on the brazil argentina border and the kenya tanzania border. Not bad all !

The rift valley is decidedly picturesque, breezy and green - tall mountains, green plantations and fresh mountain air. The fruits here taste sweet and juicy - apple mangoes, avocados, passion fruit and the strange tree tomatoes.

Lake nakuru is massive and filled with teeming flocks of flamingoes, pelicans, several other waterfront birds, tree birds and rhinoes among the other usual grazing lot and carnivores. It is not unusual to see 2-300,000 flamingoes in one go but the tricky bit is they don't stand as close to the waterfront as the happy pelicans do. They all seem pretty oblivious to humans. Rhinoes are few, we saw five of them, all white, none black and this bummed me out a little. The rich variety of bird life is present but so hard to spot from a safari vehicle that I wonder if I can return one day to channel Dr. Salim Ali, set up one of those little camouflage coops and sit inside armed with a 2 foot long zoom lens and a notebook so I can mark off all 300+ (or is it 500) bird species. There are quite literally hundreds, thousands of ferocious looking waterbuffalo feeding on the lush green rain-soaked grass here. They too are unafraid of humans and remain close to the paths as do the cute baboons, speaking of which the baboon cliff offers a beautiful viewpoint (which would have been ten thousand times better had it not rained). For the same reason the birds refused to stay in one place. Nonetheless the sight of little families of pelicans swimming in groups dotting the entire lake like polka dots on my sweater is a cute one.

Day 6 and 7 - The Masai Mara
We had an early start - 630 am - for the very long journey. The mara set expectations very high because no sooner had we entered the park territory than we saw 3.5 cheetahs (a pregnant mom with 2 cubs), another cheetah, 4 lions, hartebeest and the rarely-seen elusive eland. This led us to believe that seeing big cats and rare beings was almost too easy and this is why were disappointed. Our actual game drives were disappointing and we didn't really see much - the mara conservancy where we were staying had not the profusion of wildlife we expected and we were once more upset that we hadn't gotten our original hotel of choice. So dad paid the driver extra to take us on an midmorning - afternoon game drive outside the conservancy and here we did get lucky in that we saw the blackbacked jackal and 7 lions (mostly lionesses and young unmaned males but with one sleepy maned male).

Nants ingonyama bagithi baba
Sithi uhhmm ingonyama

We did not see the leopard nor the black rhino so no, we did not see the so-called big five. Maybe we shouldn't get comparitive nor get upset about the stories other people tell about how they saw leopards attacking gazelle and what not. Mistaken identities also abound - cheetahs are mistaken for leopards, mongoose for meerkats and white rhinos for black and spotted hyenas for striped (some of which don't, in fact, inhabit the mara). I later realized that in some way we had "won" with sheer variety of species that we'd spotted. Being a family full of zoology and ornithology nerds helps.

We are on our way back to nairobi now and hoping to reach well ahead of our return flight as to fit in another ethiopian lunch and some last minute shopping.

We did fit lunch in and it was amazing. What was not so amazing was on our bumpy journey back to Narok, the windows of our van fell off (on both sides); it made for a few laughs regardless. Notice our new ghetto glass made of tape and cellophane?

Asante sana kenya for the wonderful memories!

paint it red

2011-08-11T14:05:00.001+08:00

Another year potters on and,

I shall turn twenty nine

I am certainly getting older but

Wiser? Maybe. Prettier? No, I am no red wine

All this wakeboarding has tanned me

Unevenly and unattractively dark

Wrinkles get deeper, more obvious

Even smiling leaves a mark

The birthday fast approaches,

My career, love life is such a mess

You know you're getting really old, when

Even the kids from Harry Potter are having sex

But I admit it's not all bad,

Even if it does not rock

I may be down, not out, and certainly not,

Bearish on my own stock.

Alright, its been weeks without a peep from me. I wasn't hiding under a rock – it was a combination of being busy some of time and being lazy most of the time. There have been many developments and most have been hardly worth talking about.

Except wakeboarding in which case, I am highly pleased to tell you that I am now able to jump around, jump up, jump up and get down! Jump! Jump! Okay, I'll stop. I am not that good but I think loosely speaking I could consider this new year's resolution checked. The going-heelside-coming-in-toeside jumps are coming along nicely but mind you they don't give you much height. The going-toeside-coming-in-heelside jumps are admittedly more difficult and I am doing small ones but a lot more height can be achieved. All in all, I am pleased and I still have 4 months to year-end so there's much time for improvement!

I also checked another resolution, that of creating an object of beauty from scratch. Silvara and I went to an art class where I tried my hand(s) for the very first time at holding real paintbrushes and real palettes and real acrylic colours and created a very bright, very radiant painting. Mom and dad were incredibly impressed and while my work doesn't hold so much as half a candle to Silvara's clean and lovely piece, I think it was good for a first effort with very little guidance, if at all any.

In other classic "leads Jups on" news, I had a job interview which went very well if you can ignore the tiny inconsequential detail which is that I was deemed too smart for the role. What a crying shame. And yet, hope sings (I guess?) and I anxiously wait for some job somewhere (that has my name on it, ) to materialise. And please God don't let it "elephant-asshole-examiner".

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

P.P.S. The next post shall be live from the fantastic locales of Kenya.

where them girls at

2011-07-15T16:43:00.001+08:00

Yesterday,

It's July the 14th and I look and feel like shit. I am struggling to avoid vomiting my brain out on my keyboard as I am hideously and gracelessly hungover.

My healthy diet of not eating refined foods, white flour and white rice and drinking only once during the week had been working, I could already see a kilo off me on the scales. But this week, I will have consumed alcohol everyday but Monday as I do have rather firm plans of drinking tonight as well as tomorrow.

Today

I was much too tired to go out last night so I went home after a somewhat late conference call. Came home and did the truckload of dishes that had been left behind from the cooking experiments of the night before (incidentally a success, in case you were wondering). I also drank on Tuesday with Mark and his friends... Mark, despite claiming to date someone, doesn't sound too convincing and I say this only because I get justifications behind his decisions without my asking. Yet I try not to think about him too much... he's a good guy though, immature, as they all are but a good guy.

Now where was I? Ah yes, I was saying that cerebrum-crippling hangovers aside, there is much, much reason to celebrate (even though it hurts to even smile right now).

Relax, I am not about to make some amazing announcements - I did not run into oh I don't know, Eric Bana and he did not, say, offer to marry me. I also did not get hired back by awesomecoolbank2 (where I'd like to return). No No... I guess sometimes no news is good news.. non-events are good events.. or something.

A week ago I had told myself that I would try to keep busy this week, socially that is, as July 12th would mark 2 years since I got engaged. I had anticipated some sadness, self-pity and an all encompassing feeling of sucktitude. I was premptively worried.

But nothing happened. I went to bed on the 12th after dropping Mark off at Wyndham where he presumably went to hit on some trashy bitches. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Would you like to come too? have a drink with me?" and I politely declined. I looked nice in a easygoing floral maxi dress and minimal makeup. I could sense his eyes following me during the dinner but I didn't try to overthink it (blogging about it doesn't count, don't be bitchy like that!).

I woke up on the 13th and checked my calendar at work. It was the 13th. I had gotten by the 12th without even thinking about him. And what's bizarre is I had talked about him on the 12th. To Adrian of all people, you see, I have been trying to be a good friend to Adrian while hes going through some relationship drama of his. And what better experiences to draw from than my own, I say. So yes, I had spoken about he who shall not be named to another ex boyfriend and had drinks a guy I had fancied and still gone to bed smiling and not really thinking about men or the suspicious lack thereof in my life.

And by golly, that warrants some fucking celebration, dammnit. Which is why I am not ashamed to say that I got merrily drunk with Jin and Elvish Pixie and Silvara but not before making some very hearty and yummalicious corn soup and hummus to go with some fresh soft pita. It was all very satisfying.

Next week, I shall head towards beautiful Bali...for surf and sand and spa. And culture and food and everything in between. And most of all, some R&R, some peace and maybe a whole lot of quiet.

But tonight I am very excited about having dinner with the girls; we are headed to a private kitchen "Liberty Private Works" for an intimate meal. I am expecting the world. And we will be bringing bubbles because, as I said, there is much reason to celebrate.

go your own way

2011-07-11T14:52:00.002+08:00

My colleague walks in to the office and within five notices my nails and remarks that I am "looking very pretty today". And I damn well should as I spent, give or take, 5 hours in and out of spas on a decidedly decadent and blissful sunday.

For a change, I had a facial done and it did not, I repeat, did not make me break out into blotchy splotchy hives. But not before having my back scrubbed and masked and wiped clean. The smells were enticing and soothing; the towels were hot and scented headily and heavily with lavender, which despite not being my favourite scent in the world, is admittedly disarming in that it seems to make me and my stresses melt. And after the lovely, kind therapist lady was done with her fine worksmanship, I was glowing like a firefly's bottom and that wasn't even the end of it. I took ten steps and walked into the Toni&Guy next door and had a hair mask treatment after which the stylist blowdried my hair straight (I use the word straight loosely as you may well expect that as soon as I walked out in the muggy HK humidity my hair started tweaking and twirling like stretched springs that have been let go .

I wore one of my favourite "can't be bothered" dresses - a teal jersey number i picked up in phuket for a song (as is the case with most things in thailand, thereby making it my favourite country in Asia) and my melissa jellies and I didn't care that my bra was showing or that the neckline was deep and I was nowhere near a Phuket beach. Nosiree it was quite literally my day off. And it's quite funny how I always end up looking my bestest when there's noone watching. I strolled off to an organic cafe and had a very tasty, sugarfree smoothie and strolled off to my nails place and got my nails done in this never-done-before mandarin orange shade. I daresay my toes look good enough to be on one of those nail ads - you know, on a white background with a sheer orange silk scarf that wraps around the girl's ankle like a breeze just blew it in its place.

It was past 6 when I walked back home. I bought groceries and made myself some yummy baingan bharta and cucumber raita. I've been off white grains and white breads for a little while now so I cooked some nutty whole grains to eat that with. And I thought of what a coincidence it was that I'd chosen the baingan bharta-raita combination - the exact duo I'd made for my dinner with Mark ages ago.

And mere seconds later, he called as if telepathy had something to do with it. He was apparently at the dvd rental looking for something. I told him I was going to watch Rio and minutes later, he was on my couch, eating ice-cream while I ate my dinner. We chatted a bit and he told me he was seeing someone. This didn't surprise me. I have to admit it felt good having a male friend in my life - I do miss it sometimes and I've realised that it might be behind my recent ill-advised calls on men and dating. I don't mean that in a "men help me judge men better" way, because they don't. I mean it in the "I miss men" sort of way. Which I know sounds a bit sad and if it does, bite me.

There was other drama this weekend - involving Persistent indian boy but I won't care to elaborate. There was a lot of imbecilic immaturity and wanton texting after which I calmly sent him an email that according to Jin, "sent him back to nursery". That chapter is closed and I am relieved. Come to think of it, the chapter on every guy in my life has been closed with the silly but cheerful exception of Orangetree who made a TA-DAA style re-entry a few days ago showing on chat and blackberry messenger and email all at once with smart corporate finance and solar power discussions interspersd with extremely naughty innuendo. While it is fun to have him back, I am not exactly about to start planning the wedding. And if I am, you can't prove it!

each tear

2011-07-09T02:31:00.001+08:00

I am as extroverted as they come. But there are things that even I feel uncomfortable discussing with friends, things that I'd rather, and I am aware of how ironic this sounds, post to juice simply because the lack of dialogue is somewhat refreshing. I also find it easier to discuss premonitions and epiphanies and deep-rooted albeit sometimes ill-founded fears here than anywhere else.

I had a productive meeting with my boss today. He was surprisingly sincere and eager to donate to my cause (the emancipation of the jups that is). My future's in limbo and I knew this was coming but he seemed optimistic that something could be worked out. The likelihood of finding something in asia (yes the entire fucking continent) is slim. New york city beckons again and there's a part of me that's very excited at the prospect of returning. London's also a possibility and while I do think London's is New York's less attractive, less interesting, more uptight and pretending-to-be-more-cultured sister, having 4 financial capitals on my CV is better than having 3. And then there is a miniscule possibility of trying Sao Paolo on for size. I think I'd like it there.

Then again, maybe none of that works out and maybe I am stuck without a job. Or worse that they ship me off to Spain to do some really shitty job that I don't want to do (which means I will inevitably quit).

So today I was faced with, for the first time, the possibility of leaving Hong Kong. I wasn't happy, to tell you the truth. I felt a bit jaded. Another move? I feel a vagabond, a really glamorous one, but a vagabond nonetheless. The first thought that crossed my mind was that I would miss wakeboarding - the one thing that made me feel really really good about myself. My second thought was I would miss my girlfriends here ... Jin and Elvish Pixie have been so good to me and it would totally suck to leave my friends behind. My third thought was "don't be silly, you love your friends in NYC too" but while this is true, the fact of the matter is heaps of my friends have left or are leaving New York, some are always traveling while others are getting married and settling down.

And then again, my life is full of curveballs so right when I felt that leaving Hong Kong would absolutely and permanently break my oft-broken heart, tonight happened. During the day, I got three vaccine shots in preparation of my Kenya trip. Granted i only needed the yellow fever one, I still went ahead and got the other 2. Hep A I'd been meaning to get since I was 20 so it's about fucking time. So I couldn't drink and I got mocked all night for that and getting rubbed, punched, held by my arms was painful and annoying and scary considering the doctor forbade it.

Had a dinner with an Italian friend visiting from Singapore and then drinks with Elvish Pixie and her boyfriend and their friends to bid adieu to said boyfriend who is leaving hK. My friend is not just any odd guy - he's my classmate from business school and he used to be good friends with he who shall not be named. He filled me on his only meeting with he who shall not be named who is apparently so busy that he cancels on friends, never turns up to group dinners, etc. I am not surprised. Apparently he was sorry for the way thing had ended with me but then again not really. I had started the day feeling optimistic that I could still turn my life and career around from the shitpile that he turned it into but being reminded of his shitty worthless existence made me feel like I had just taken a cold shower in dejection.

And then I went to the aforementioned sendoff and things didn't go down too well for me there either. Why? I was in flats, as I am well entitled to be at the end of a long, hot day and evidently it was hilarious to all and sundry. All my friends ganged up and laughed at me. Yes, you read that damn fucking right. They condescended to me and made me feel like I was 5 years old. Hello shitty worthless existence - you could be the nicest person in the world (which I am not claiming I am) but if you're short, you're pretty much a human compost heap, inviting openly for everyone to shit on you.

All my life I have struggled with my stupid, unconventional looks. Throughout school and college I was mocked mercilessly. I don't have one single godforsaken feature on my entire body that would be considered conventionally beautiful and the worst of the whole lot is my height, something that I absolutely cannot fix. They have botox and nose jobs and lipo and hair colour but the one thing they cannot do is make you taller. So it really really fucking sucks raging donkeys' bollocks to be mocked for something you can do fuckall to change. What sucks even more is I don't walk around mocking people's physical features so I feel it's undeserved. If it's unacceptable to walk upto someone and say "Why don't you wear a bag over that ugly mug of yours?" then it should be unacceptable to say "Why don't you wear heels, you're so tiny" or some such drivel.

I came home and showered, as one must in this sweaty Hong Kong summer, and cried quite copiously and uncontrollably. I struggle, even as I write this, to understand why, 25 minutes later, tears are still streaming down. A part of me wants to dial a number, call someone and tell them how I feel but I know all too well, that none of them would understand. They don't know what it feels like. They'll probably tell me I am cute like a cherubic kid and I will only loathe myself more when I hear that because what could be sexier than a cherubic midget.

And I thought, maybe that's what I needed, a liberal dose of disappointment to help me along, "jade" me back to cold, cruel reality (even if that is not what my friends intended). That maybe moving out of Hong Kong will not be so hard after all. Maybe that's the point of moving - not sticking around long enough to be disappointed.

massive attack

2011-06-24T22:37:00.001+08:00

It's not very often that you will hear me complain about food. I will eat anything once (almost anything) and while Hong Kong's offering in terms of Mexican, Latin American and African food is lackluster and/or nonexistent, local fare from around Asia is usually both stupendous and affordable, copious amounts of carcinogenic MSG notwithstanding (I'll never understand why).

But today I had the sheer misfortune of dining at a very fancy, very expensive restaurant along with my team members and it was one of my most disappointing meals yet in Hong Kong, not counting of course the disastrous meal I had in Rat Alley that gangraped my innards.

It was one of those traditional so-called sit-down lunches (as if there's any other kind). A lot of the menu was very Chinese, unconscientious, unsustainable fare like the unholy shark fin soup (if you consume this, I pray that you be haunted at night by the souls of a hundred finless sharks). I should have seen my misery coming when the head of the table, i.e. the big cheese proclaimed that he would order for the table.

How utterly presumptuous, I say! I absolutely hate it when some self-indulgent ass thinks he or she can take the liberty of ordering for me. What if I had allergies, Einstein? Will you also proclaim responsibility for my withering anaphylactic death at your lunch table? I didn't think so.

I was partially relieved when he said he'd ordered Peking duck for the table (a delicious family style dish which is both expensive and extensive and thereby suitable for big groups). But well, the peking duck was crown jewel of meal that was interspersed with some rather ghastly things. And the entire experience was exacerbated by the fact that señor Big Cheese sat next to me and took it upon himself to serve me every dish (whether or not I wanted it) with his own saliva-covered chopsticks. Feel free to take a break now, vomit copiously and return to the rest of this story. The meal....
Tofu skins stuffed with something yummy – yummy
Jellyfish – First of all, what the fuck? I didn't know people ate jellyfish. Jups 0 Ignorance 1. Second of all it tasted like really old and overcooked squid. So it's not like I was missing out.

Shark fin soup – Let me just start off by saying that I really do hate being served something and not being told what it is. My gut felt it would be right to ask what it was considering I had seen shark fin soup on the menu minutes ago, announced my vehement opposition to the concept to everyone on the table. At this point 2/3rds of the table nodded in vehement agreement saying they would never order it. I talked about this beautiful (I meant moving) yet graphic exposé on shark finning at the FCC, made everyone curious. So imagine my big fucking surprise to see everyone tucking into it, including my boss who had moments ago said he NEVER orders it and didn't even blink when I told him that he was eating what he had moments ago deigned to eat.
I calmly told the big cheese
"I can't eat this, I am morally opposed to this"
"I never order it either but it's part of the meal. It's already here, you might as well eat it"
Thinking to myself "well genius, how about asking them to CHANGE that while placing the order"

I smiled and sent it back. I know the poor shark is dead but that doesn't change the fact that the concept mortifies and nauseates me.

Then came about 100 miligrams of beautiful fried green vegetables to be divided among 9 people. Well done restaurant. Well done everyone. Cull a shark for a measly fin but hey let's scrimp on the asparagus. You stupid turds.

And these awful prawns deep-fried in egg batter. I was expecting this to taste alright but these unwieldy blobs of clusterfucking prawns can only be described as having the taste and texture of toe fungus.

And it gets worse before getting better. The next dish was a platter of boiled greens, mushrooms and dried beef or ham (I really couldn't tell). They were all covered with a thick layer of a viscous, translucent liquid. I am guessing it was whale semen. As usual, I was served a generous amount without my asking. The greens were alright, barely. I took a bite of the meat and I was aghast; it was dry and vile like it deserved to be composted rather than consumed. I looked at my colleague who had timed her own nibble at the exact same instant and her expression seemed to say "What the fuck, I am eating meat covered in cum". As I was still very much alive, I decided to have another go and shoved a mushroom into my mouth. Oh lord, the horror. I struggled to swallow the turd and my discomfort was so evident that two of my colleagues whispered to each other, pointed and laughed. Fuckers.

Thank God for a steamed fish and peking duck which were decidedly outstanding in comparison to the garbage served prior.

Moral of the story: Shark fin soup is evil. Say no to shark fin soup and also to anything that looks like it's been stewed in walrus funk. I shall never recover.

the dog days are over

2011-06-20T22:46:00.001+08:00

Operation "Emancipation of the Jups" Update #1

The job hunt has officially commenced. Well technically it commenced when I emailed the hot guy from the New York office 2 weeks ago but as far as Honkers is concerned, the Jups has sowed the official seeds of her grand plans to land that superfantastic job that will pay her delicious amounts of money. No more shit-eating loserville bonuses. My 2013 bonus is going to be a grandiose 6-figures in U.S. dollars or I shall change my name to Mars.

Also official is Jups' plan of cutting back on alcohol in a major way. So yes, I got a bit drunk on Sunday night, mighty shameful I agree but today I resisted. I ran into two Italian friends and they prodded and coerced me to have a drink with them. And I did. Two words. Grapefruit juice. That's right baby, that's not the bitter taste of a low-calorie drink, that's the sweet smell of self-control. Huzzah.

This Wednesday, my lovely girlfriends and I are headed to the superfantastic W hotel for wine and cheese and that shall be my only alcohol intake for the week. And so help me God, if I break that promise you, Juice, you, the reader has full permission and authority to bitchslap me across the face so hard that I don't know shit from apple sauce.

Said limiting of alcoholism and eating out habits shall also help the Jups cull her credit card bill (which was effectively 8000 HKD this month and that too with hardly any shopping, so that proves how expensive alcoholism and eating out habits are in Hong Kong). The Jups also grabbed her finances by the proverbial balls and has built a rather rudimentary spreadsheet to track her net asset value. Wow I just said "net asset value". Dork alert. And speaking of leopards (whaa? because dorks sounds like dogs, dogs chase cats and leopards are just humongous cats that can eat you), financial prudence (whaa?) will come in very handy as the Jups has decided that in the face of family tensions, she will be sponsoring the Kenya safari trip. Happy frikking birthday to me.

Now, enough clowning around. Let's talk about something else serious. Like serious wakeboarding. Because by now you have figured out that not only do I love wakeboarding, but I also love talking about wakeboarding. And it's not just because I have finally found a sport that I don't suck at (frankly quite ridiculous high school dodgeball dodging skills aside).

It's the water. See I got to thinking and I had one of those crystallising moments where you realise something that is important and significant and meaningful to your life (noone else could give two fucks about said things).

Somehow in my life, everything positive is connected to water. Some of my bestest happiest moments and memories....

snorkelling in coral island....

my first kiss with he who shall not be named...

swimming in a deserted beach in phi phi...(I never published this story, was a bit nervous about it but I am about to now)

getting drenched in the waterfalls of Iguazu and Niagara

wakeboarding...

chilling in a hot tub on the 76th floor of the W hotel or even that orange "Karma"-scented bubblebath that cures the hangover blues on a Saturday morning...

Water strangely has the ability to wash everything off me so that when I am with it, I am just with myself. When I wakeboard, I can't think about work or fatness or boys, I can't think of anything at all. All I can really do is try and stay on or figure out the next trick I am going to attempt before I get whacked by a wave and go under.

Maybe Hong Kong is where I should be for a while. At least till I have perfected wakeboarding and learnt to dive? Maybe even wakeskate? Last weekend my instructor let me try a wakeskate.

What is a wakeskate? Good question my dears. Turns out it's a wooden plank. Yup, no shoes attached to this baby, it just floats around like driftwood (which it probably is). You are supposed to keep your heels touching the skate and somehow (magically) pull yourself up the rope while some invisible magnetic force makes sure the skate gets under your feet at the same time.

You can tell by my sarcasm that I did not really succeed at wakeskating. For now. I'll be damned if I don't get up on that skate next weekend.

Anywho I guess my whole point of getting into this water-story was that I don't need alcohol and fine dining to feel good (I rarely ever feel good during the aftermath, anyway) and I certainly don't need the men (latest experiments have persistently disappointed). All I really really need is a nice homecooked meal, friendly conversations with friends who care and 5 foot long fibreglass board and a motorboat.

And shoes. And that awesome 6-figure salary-paying job with a boss who isn't a moody *rhymes-with-bunt*.

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming so you better run

Run fast for your mother run fast for your father
Run for your children for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind you
Can't carry it with you if you want to survive

P.S. Excuse the hyperlinking. It's not self-promotion, it was triggered by the crippling difficulty I had in tracking specific posts down.

Pure Shores (redux)

2011-06-20T22:16:00.001+08:00

This was written on the 9th of January 2006.

So many things I want to say. But too much of something is bad enough. And the same applies to honesty on a public access page.

When times are rough, or bordering on rough, we go to our happy places. A happy place for me, is a memory or fantasy that calms the wrinkles on my furrowed angst-ridden forehead. I am glad to say I recently made a new addition to my list of happy places.

And so this will be a happy post. In great detail.

Ever since I knew a land called Phi-Phi existed, I wanted to go there. And I did so December of 2005. It was Zipadee-dooda, Allergic-to-Alliterations, Tee, Pants and me. This little fivesome was going to spend just one day in Phi-Phi. We wanted to make it good.

We set foot on Phi-Phi at noon or so. And then on, it rained like the Gods were crazy. So all the snorkelling-scubadiving-ferry-thingamajings-that-tourists-must-do (on every other island) could not be done. We had found ourselves a sweet little bungalow by the beach. Nice.

Freshened up. Had a delicious Thai lunch with smoothies no less.

Les boys decided to snooze. Les girls walked through the entire town scouring for those little treasures. And they convinced me to buy a bikini. True that I've wanted to try one. Also true that I have just the right amount of queeziness in me to go "I'm gonna look extremely disgusting in that 10-square-inches-worth-of-cloth outfit. No No!" But I did buy it.

Back to the bungalow, we shower and change with the "g-bangers" underneath. Be prepared is our motto. *wink* But the Thai Gods offer no mercy, for the sky is downcast and no sun shines through.

Not bogged down yet, we head to this blissfully awkward glass-walled massage spa. We line up or sprawl down to get kneaded with oils. And it feels great.

Its evening. And we still haven't done anything touristy in this little piece-of-heaven island. We decide to go kayakking. But this brainwave hits me.

I go up to this guy who mans the water-taxi and gesticulate and talk with great fervour. I convince to take us out to sea (at 7.30 p.m.) and then I convince him to give us a tour of the neighbouring little islands, lagoons, caves. I tell him I'd like to get off and take some pictures and maybe even swim a little. Although at this point I had no idea how much of this he really understood, I think its a good idea to go with this plan. Zip and Tee are convinced too. A-to-A and Pants stick to the kayakking plan. No worries.

Blast off. The waves are a-rocking. Its a little scary actually. Some pictures are taken but it is definitely getting darker and the cameras aren't complying. We are vrooming around Phi Phi Leh

First stop- Viking Cave.

(I don't really know what this cave is all about or why there is a cave associated with Vikings in South East Asia)

Next stop- Pi Leh Lagoon

Now, we're getting somewhere. Huge towering rock structures creating an imaginary door, passing through which suddenly the sea changes drastically. The violent black waters are suddenly still and green. Green in the dark. And beautifully calm. The motor's been turned off and the boat gaily bobs up and down in the quiet waters. The boatman tells us its pretty deep in these parts. The whole scene is pretty magnificient. I can only imagine how lovely it must be in daylight, but seeing at night is better than not seeing it at all. And now we turn around.

Next stop- Maya Bay

The night just gets better and better. This little beach is like a little strawberry if every other beach in the world is a watermelon. Its so little! It looks amazing. The rocks towering over almost all four directions like a circular wall with a gap in it. The boatman parks. And we get out.

"Is it safe to swim?"
*Boatman smiles and nods*

Hmm. There is a good chance that the three of us jump in for a swim and mr.boatman and accomplice take our bags and loaded wallets and clothes, leaving us cold and almost-naked in a deserted island. But we take that chance.

The full moon shines bright, I only remember it shining this bright when I lived in Koliwada and looked out some nights. What I see is breathtaking. Its only fitting that we dive in.

First time in a bikini. Should I? What the heck. Clothes and bags on the beach, we walk into the waters. Its ice cold. The sheer thrill of it, I can't convey in words. Few minutes in, I am floating on my back, staring at the moon, the stars framed by the towering rocks.

And Zip says "Can't say I have done this before.."

Right on. We are all virgins as far as swimming in a deserted beach under the moon is concerned.

trying

2011-06-15T22:23:00.000+08:00

So here I am sitting in the same apartment as before but writing on an old heavy Windows laptop that is as prone to crashing as I am to overeating. Still I am grateful to Jin for having the heart to lend me her spare - something that persistent Indian boy offered to do but as is always the case with men, didn't deliver.

It's been what, two weeks now? Laptopless. Sounds awful, and let me assure you it is. I can only hope that all this time away means that the repairfolk are actually doing something about my baby. Lord, windows sucks like a nymphomaniac. Their tagline ought to be "Everything's shittier on a Windows machine".

Last weekend may well have been the best weekend in Hong Kong to date and while I shall not go into too much detail I shall mention a few salient highlights: A birthday party onboard a nighttime junk where celebrations entailed free flowing pink Moet and watching the light show, bumping into a very hot guy I'd met and chatted with during Rugby 7s (tagline "The 7s - the gift that keeps on giving") when he was dressed as a clown (I had no idea what hotness lurked beneath all that hideous makeup), chilling at Hazel's all-sorts-of-awesome pool/hot tub which was on the 76th floor (Asia's tallest) and then having a really delicious home-cooked meal (with heaps of red wine, desserts and raunchy drunken conversations) with her and Jin, manicures and pedicures with Silvara and finally kicking some serious ass at wakeboarding.

How serious? Very serious. So serious that my instructor said "Now you got some style". Well I always "got style" but while wakeboarding? Now that's an achievement for the Jups. I quite literally wakeboarded the entire distance from Stanley to Tai Tam and was finally so comfortable that I happily let go and wakeboarded with one hand. That's right bitches. At one point I stood there, tired but holding on, turned away from the boat, and faced backwards at the tiny trail I was leaving behind. So tired that I slumped my back but held on. Now I know that's not a real trick but it requires balance, balance that will be much needed this Saturday when I attempt the "surface 360" - a trick where you let go one hand, spin your body around, spin your board around and voila, you're back on with both hands. Wish me luck.

So yes indeed it was a wonderful weekend.

The week hasn't been awful either, not like last week was. While I shan't waste my time right now telling you the umpteen ways in which my job, my boss, my bank suck, I will tell you that I dread going to work tomorrow. My boss returns from his vacation tomorrow. I already feel quite shitty for not doing what I promised myself I would do - prostitute my CV. I only got her ready and sent her to one guy and that is not prostitution! I feel even shittier knowing now that my boss has a rather low opinion of me. (I know, what the hell? can he not feel all my awesome?)

I mean, how do you sit and smile and work next to someone who you know loathes you and doesn't hold in the slightest regard? Do you sit there pandering, trying to convince him otherwise? Do you wait for him to change his stupid mind? Do you doubt yourself or do you dismiss his ignorance? Do you get even?

I've decided to get even using a two pronged approach to prong him in the ass. Prong one: Excel (the verb, not the program) the shit out of outstanding projects. Prong two: Find another job so he feels like shitpile for doubting my abilities.

None of this is easy. None of anything in my life ever seems to be. Sigh.

I keep running into the Smurf. I saw him last week again. He didn't see me. The powers that be must have a godawful sense of humour because that is just unfair. Seeing him in his bespoke shirts and suits, and his powerful, burly frame... Be steady my dear heart, at least you're well dressed,not that it matters. And then I see Orangetree online on chat. I struggle to resist and I give in. We chat a bit but it is late and I don't have the patience to wait 10 minutes between responses. He says he still wants me to visit Portugal in July (I can't) and kisses me a virtual goodbye. Be steady my dear heart.

Meanwhile, I have to find the courage to tell Persistent Boy that I can't date him, I don't fancy him and that I really tried to give him a chance (it's true, I did) but he and I are completely different beings like two peas in two wholly different pods. I even considered lying that I am seeing someone else, but why should I? I don't like being the bad guy but Silvara said I owe it to myself to make these decisions about where and how I choose to spend my time. My only grudge is that I didn't do it sooner. He's on holiday 2 weeks and I am somehow hoping that he forgets me.

It's already mid-June and I can't believe it. The days turn into weeks and months before I can say "whoa". On the one hand I want it to slow down but on the other, I have a Bali trip planned for July and Kenya for August. Oh and let's not forget that I turn another year older in August. How depressing, not turning older in itself but knowing that pretty soon I'll be 30 and I will not have attained any of my goals. Life is such a mangy rabid bitch sometimes.

It's late, this keyboard is about as ergonomic as a square tyre and I better get a few more minutes of shut-eye than usual so I can handle better the shitstorm that my boss will send my way tomorrow. Can't hardly wait.

Goodnight and remember, there's always chocolate ice-cream.

How does it make you feel?

2011-06-08T00:03:00.000+08:00

The severely drunken and yet mostly pleasant weekend has left me with a bitter hangover, exhaustion and aches all over. To say that I need a weekend to recover from this weekend would be an accurate judgment. Jin and I are planning to orchestrate a sweet escape next weekend, to get away from it all, the alcohol, the hedonism, the insomnia, the persistent aggressive men that we are not adequately attracted to.

Every week it's the same drill. On Monday I vow to take it easy. On tuesday I do something small. Wednesday onwards, it's all out dinners with friends, drinks and reluctant dates and before you know it's Monday again. Only this week, Monday was a public holiday so it feels like the week is shorter and already packing in some serious punch. Dinner with girls on Wednesday, another dinner with another set of girls on Thursday and a night junk/birthday party with yet another set of girls on Friday. Whoa Nelly.

Despite the fact that my laptop is still with the (capable) repairfolks, I did manage to almost finalise my CV and sent out an optimistic copy to a colleague in the New York. While he replied in the negative and claimed that I wasn't qualified for the job, he did so gently and promptly and that was somewhat heartening.

There's nothing quite like a hangover to heighten every annoyance, is there? wakeboarding, periods and an all-day cooking experiment were already enough to give my body a case of the acheys. I was still doing fine, what with all the lovely expensive wines we girls drank, no way that could give you hangovers. But then throw in some karaoke, cheap beers and sandwiches from burger king and then on the following really cheap white wine that's sweet and weird and suspiciously similar in colour to urine. Way to ruin an otherwise perfect long weekend.

And today everything annoys me. The fact that websites want you to choose passwords so complex that you can't remember them 20 seconds after choosing them (thereby making you do the reset all over again), the fact that i have a conf call at 530 pm but can't seem to track the dude I am having it with, the fact that the weather is muggy and musty and gross like a wet towel that never completely dries, you name it and it makes me go "ARGH"

I am exhausted. In a couple of hours, I look forward to spending a very quiet night in. Just me, some tortilla chips and a big honkin' tub of home-made guacamole. Yes.

I'm on a boat

2011-06-01T15:27:00.003+08:00

You couldn't tell that the well rested fresh-faced girl on the other side of this screen, wearing a brand new nude chiffon blouse with chanel-esque pearl studded collar, a corset-backed brown skirt and brown/nude patent peep-toe platform pumps has had a rather wild weekend. Maybe you would get a clue from her rather unruly curls that she slept on her couch with dripping wet hair smooshed against her throw pillows. Sacrilege.

I had a lot to drink this weekend.
And there were some pretty serious repercussions, the worst of which involved my precious laptop and a glass of red wine. Marriage made in hell, recipe for disaster. Here's something you should know if you, like me, have all the grace and poise of a sack of rotting potatoes. If you spill something spillable on something electronic, proceed to shut down the device and turn it upside down. This is easy if said device is a phone or a laptop, decidedly harder if its oh, I don't know, a television. Do not attempt to restart the device. Take it to someone who knows more than you about such devices.

Needless to say I only know all this because I pretty much did everything I just told you not to do and not done anything I told you to do. I have since trusted my beloved machine to the very capable (I hope) hands of a repair store that claims to have rescued several spillage-inflicted laptops. Why apple won't invent a waterproof laptop is beyond me. They will invent heaps of new-fangled input/output methods that have no backward compatibility whatsoever but hey, something as useful and intuitive as a waterproof outerbody or a keyboard that isn't as fragile as a naked newborn roo is beyond them. Yes I am pissed off and disgruntled. How can you tell?

But no, it wasn't all bad and in fact 95% of the weekend was all sorts of awesome and I really do mean all sorts of awesome from free champagne at a friend's country club to free champagne at the MCM launch party (a rather peculiar leather goods brand), from baby's first junk trip (more on this later) to dancing with a really cute boy (who knew how to dance, this is important stuff people!) , from discovering well made baja fish tacos to confirming once again that Californian wines still pretty much suck, from second date with very persistent Indian boy to finally ending the weekend passing out from sheer exhaustion on my soft-as-clouds couch.

I'm on a boat annnnd it's really fast annnddd I got my nautical themed pashmina afghaaaannnnn (if you don't know that song, well you should).

Yet another fun thing about living hong kong is the junk boat culture. You get a bunch of shiny happy people, rent a boat (small and cute, or those big massive ones with the fan-shaped orange sails) and get ready to rock and roll (and you know that makes a whole lot of sense in Hong Kong's choppy waters, boats rocking and all that).

Your junk party comes complete with appetisers and mains and a constrant stream of sangria and beer. Not to mention loud party music or 80s music or whatever you prefer. After an hour or so choppy waters, the boat docks and you can go wakeboarding, jump into the water, float around on inflatable couches complete with arm-rests and beer holders. What more could you possibly want? Well not much apart from the hope that the people you are with are not, to quote a friend, "complete cunts" that get drunk and ruin the party. Thankfully, no one on our junk was anywhere near unpleasant.

I even whipped out my new Brazilian bikini and even though I didn't have the wash-board stomach it righteously deserved, I tried in all ernest to pull it off. I did get a complement or two on the design itself. The weather was tolerable for the most part and I tried to have a mini-nap on the nose of the boat, only to be woken up by a friend who needed a tampon. Great. As I came to, I felt my entire body sinking, do you know the feeling? It's when you have had a stressful few weeks, months, cant-remember-how-long and you finally take a break and do something insane like I don't know, take a warm bubble bath or a mini nap in the middle of the afternoon and you can't get up? Your body weighs ten tons, your head twenty? Anyone know what I am talking about?

After I returned home, I washed up and passed out from exhaustion on the couch, but not before exchanging about ten texts and one phone call from rather persistent Indian boy. A full 10-11 hours of blissful near-comatose sleep. I should really really do this more often.

But in the meantime, Hazel, also known as the seriously awesome friend who came over and baked red velvet cupcakes AND a ginormous moist carrot cake for me when I was having a rather low day (for more, see last weekend where champagne OD led to much evil) and I will planning our combined birthday party junk boat shindig scheduled for early August. Oh, there will be shenanigans.

p.s. Mumm champagne isn't all that.
p.p.s. Twice this week, the person on the other end of the phone has recognized my voice. One claimed that I have "the sort of hoarse female voice that is recognisable from 400 miles away". Oh-kay.

back to black...

2011-05-28T13:09:00.001+08:00

Two weeks ago...

The last 2 weeks have been pretty crappy, stressful and forgettable with the sort of days that make you feel like you don't know where time went but you do know that you didn't spend said time in a constructive way. Between clogged toilets and crappy dates, life has been all too shitty lately.

I am not wakeboarding this weekend, nor did I the last and that makes me unhappy, especially considering the fact that Jups, sportsperson unspectacular, actually learnt her second wakeboarding trick - turning the board 180 degrees. I treat sports the way the American schooling system now treats dunces - you get credit for turning up. Getting up on the board - Good. Staying on the board - Yayy. Getting in and out of wakes - Double Yayy. Holy shit did you just the turn the 180 degrees? FUCK OFF NO WAY, CALL YOUR MOTHER NOW. Looks like my new year's resolution of jumping before year end might come true.

Two weeks ago I also discovered that my lovely Sri Lankan maid cheated me of 1050 HKD and fled the country. Fuck this shit. I spend several months denying the need for a maid, finally give in, get used to her for what 5 weeks? and poof she's gone. Okay, so a part of me is grateful that she didn't happily make off with my diamond jewelry (all within easy reach, I dont have a locker) or my laptop or something but that doesn't make this situation any less ironic and stressful. Not to mention how stupid it makes me feel for being trusting and kind. No good deed goes unpunished.

This weekend I found another maid on an expat forum. She charges a bit more but I could care less. Turns out she's a ridiculously cheerful young Filipino girl and so far she seems to be a neat freak - both those things are winners with me. On the flip side, it would appear that she is pregnant? I don't know how to feel about that but hey, the feminist in me believes that she chose to work and I cannot discriminate against her nor deprive her of her livelihood. Besides it's early and there is no risk of her dropping her kid in my apartment. Wow, I just scared myself shitless with that visual.

Work is getting increasingly crappier with several senior members of my department getting poached by bigger, green pastures including my ex-boss (you remember him, made me work like a slave but loved me too?). Not easy news to stomach because it reduces the probability of moving back to New York to near-zero. Also not easy to bear is that my current boss is a whiney, immature, insecure man-child who has not taken the news of his peers getting poached (while he languishes here) very well. Aforementioned bitterness has been liberally dumped on my ass, the quality of work shamelessly questioned. One grins. One bears it. One is enraged. One plots her escape. After all, one of the jups' guiding philosophies seems to be "Get mad, then get even".

The CV has been cracked open and will be open to copious criticism from Jin and Santa and Inshallah, armed with a new-and-improved CV and hopefully, some guts and gumption, the Jups should be ready. It sucks to be shortchanged and disrespected when you are being sincere. The silver lining of course is that said bitter bossmanchild is away for a good 3 weeks and this will give me plenty of time to think, strategise, network and .

More later...

Last week...

Do you want drama? Oh I will give you drama.

Last saturday night Jin and I landed ourselves on a double date. Yeah. Well, it was the third date for her and her boy, I was just company to his friend. All in all, it wasn’t terrible but wasn’t memorable either. Fun and moderately pleasant? On the bright side, the boys picked up the tab on rather copious amounts of champagne.

Sunday was supposed to be fabulous and 95% of it really was. I had scheduled to have brunch with some of the very many lovely women I have had the pleasure of meeting in Honkers. Make that Champagne Brunch at chic Japanese resto, Zuma, no less. There is something about tiny little morsels of fresh, fine food and unlimited flutes of bellinis, champagne and let’s not forget sake that really speaks to the inner glutton in me (at this point, I admit, my inner glutton isn’t inner at all, she is pretty much out there for all and sundry to see). We realized that the staggering price tag is actually pretty well deserved; after all buffets and open bars are a treat for those who have an appetite. For life. And let’s face it, what could possibly go wrong with 8 girls bringing their A-game to a fabulous brunch in a fabulous venue? Not much if you don’t count subsequent drunk rowdiness and/or hangovers.

It came to pass that we drank from 11 am to around 3pm as a group, after which the crowd thinned a bit and then a bit more until only three of us were left – myself, Elvish Pixie and another girl who works in fashion, let’s call her Marilyn (after the Monroe, not the Manson). Some more friends joined us, then they left, some others came too, the only constant was the flow of champagne, which lasted until say, 9 pm.

And here’s where the debauchery started. In chronological order, as well as in most cases, order of general sucktitude, these are the regrettable things that the Jups did:

Stole a champagne glass. Brought said glass home safely in her purse. Also brought back with her Monroe’s iphone and Dior sunglasses because even in her drunken state, the Jups is nothing if not observant, and a good friend.
Dropped a glass bottle on the escalator; it proceeded to smash into smithereens. Felt regret for being a bad citizen. Dropped bottle because she was also simultaneously doing this…
Drunk-dialled a guy with whom I had been on one date (okay two if you count casual drinks and shisha). Gave him home address for no apparent reason. Forgot why or conversation that led to and followed said giving of address.
Went home, texted him goodnight and passed out.
Awoke in 15 minutes to a phone call from Booboo. Told him to call later. Forgot if this was done nicely or rudely. Slept.
Awoke again and went downstairs to return Monroe’s things. Also gave her an umbrella. Bitched about a text that I had received moments ago and …
Replied to Mark who called immediately and insisted on coming over. Proceeded to get utterly confused as he spent 2 hours in the arms of a clearly very drunk girl whilst telling her how he cared for her and missed her and blahdeeblahconfusinggobbledeegook.
Called him as soon as he left and confessed in a relatively cute and unabashed way, my feelings for him which he did not reciprocate.

What a gutless nincompoop assclown. I hope he falls facedown in a pile of rancid tofu mixed with piss from a horse that just ate through an asparagus field.

Trust the Jups to turn a nice champagne buzz into a lamentable shame spiral. But as I always say (actually never), it’s all about the recovery. I woke up at 530 on a Monday morning, kicked some serious client meeting ass and managed to do without looking entirely dreadful. I also apologized to boy mentioned in # 3. And was somewhat relieved that he probably wouldn’t ever call me again after what I did. I was wrong. He’s been rather persistent and despite all my efforts to not do so, I am going on another date with him this weekend. Groan. He’s younger than me and an epic braggart. When will these Hong Kong men get a fucking clue? All this “nouveau cool” nonsense isn’t exactly setting my pants on fire. Congratulations on your awesome job, perks and paycheck. Come back to me when you can buy a personality with it.

Of course all this self-destructive behaviour on my part is rather disappointing and especially after I vowed to cut back and focus on the things I really need to focus on, like the CFA and the job hunt. It doesn’t help that I have a junk trip on Sunday and the HK art fair on Saturday. Still I pledge to spend a good 3 -4 hours this weekend on working on what is hereby known as the “Emancipation of Jups” project.

In other news, among other beautiful things, I snagged (finally) a delicious grey-market Marc by Marc Jacobs Dress – a sumptuous orange and cream colourblock beauty in buttery soft silk. I intend to rock the shit out of this dress over the weekend.

p.s. I am jumping on the twitter bandwagon (why not), I think it will be useful for those microblogposts and though it is blatant selfpropaganda, I think it would a great way to get more people to read the Juice. Ya know, just in case, I have to quit banking and have to actually consider writing as a career. Yeah Right.

each tear

2011-05-07T00:48:00.005+08:00

It turns out that the itch needed to be scratched sooner than I had thought. It has been a very rough week due to several expected and unexpected unpleasantness. It was as if that person up in the sky decided just to fuck with me, (when I am just going about minding my own business) because the irony of some of the unfortunate events of this week was simply too painful for lowly soul.

On the 3^rd of May, I received a package from Singapore. The receptionist apologized because it had arrived in early April and been delivered to someone else in the bank. Never mind that my name is not really similar to anyone else’s, the other person hadn’t been in the office and the package had languished in her drawer (they didn’t leave it on her desk). Meanwhile another man was using her office and he never cared to check either. AnyIhaveshitluck, back to the package. It was from Singapore. My heart was pounding as I opened it, and not in a good way. It was from him. My old recipe book and a typed letter.
The letter said that he was sorry for taking this long to send my book (I had asked for in early January, but you know, some people are just that busy, he’s not the only one, I am suer Barack Obama has a pretty tight schedule too). He said he couldn’t find my drawing book but he did have a lot of my stuff from earlier (file this under “things I did not know”)n and that if I wanted them back, I should let him know.
This is either a grandiose joke or he is thick as an oak tree trunk because he might as well have just shoved all my books and things into a bigger box and sent it all off in one shot. What would I have said? No thank you, I don’t want my books and works? What am I supposed to do now – write ANOTHER letter with one word on it “Yes”?
The letter confused and flummoxed me, infuriated me even and in a brief nanosecond of weakness, I admit, I shed one lonely tear. For myself. And my things. And for love gone to waste. But I did not cry, no, I did not bawl my eyes out. I threw the package into my office drawer on the 3^rd of May.
You can only appreciate the severe, cringe-worthy irony of the timing of all this if you knew the relevance of the date that I received the package from hell. You see, the 4th of May is his birthday. This time last year, I was happily organizing his big 3-0 do complete with dinners and brunches at my favourite New York haunts and a trip to Jamaica, none of which materialized because as you may recall, he never showed up.
And I would have gotten away with not remembering any of that evil if it hadn’t been for this meddling package.
So on the 4^th of May, I invited Jin and Elvish Pixie to my apartment for wine, wine and the possibility of laughing, bitching, whinging and forgetting. And we did exactly that. We also waitlisted ourselves again for Bali. I went through the day smiling and I went to bed almost happy. Mission success, I thought.
On the 5^th of May, I made plans to meet Scout (intentionally to be confused with ex-blogger Scout because it is indeed her!). Scout and I have gotten thick as thieves in a very short span and interestingly enough neither of us knew that we were bloggers when we became world. They don't say it's a small world for nothing.
The same night, Mark asked me to join him for dinner and the Jups never blows off one friend for another so that was not to be. I asked him to meet me for drinks later. I even called him but he didn't answer. After a very fun night of drinking, singing shamelessly in what was clearly NOT a karaoke bar (and hindi songs no less), Scout and I started to walk back home. We ran into Mark and his mate on the way and general shittiness ensued. I shall spare you the details (in a way I wished he had spared me this whole experience) but the long and short of it is that basically he asked me not to go home, convinced me to go get another drink and then ditched me at the entrance of the bar, rather unceremoniously, to meet, I presume, some slutty slag in seedy ol' Wan Chai. The whole situation was bizarre and even Scout, who is far more the realist than I could ever be, was befuddled.
I am not impressed, how not impressed? So not impressed that within the next 15 minutes I erased him from my phone. As far as I am concerned, this self-indulgent twat can claim to be above all the temptation and read all the Murakami in the world but he'll still be the classic Hong Kong style douche-and-a-half expat. Oh the shame....
Today, the 6th of May, is my mom's birthday. At least not all days in May are unpleasant. It turns out that today is also Elvish Pixie's boyfriend's birthday and he was having his little do tonight. Between work and the party, I trotted off to IFC and picked up a pretty eyeshadow palette from Chanel and very sunshiny yellow stilettos from zara (my first ever pair from the store, might I add, since most of their shoes are ridiculously uncomfortable). The party was pleasant, the cake even more so and the company was lovely and conspicuously devoid of mood-ruining, buzz-killing douchebags. Thank God for small mercies.
At this point I am compelled to mention that this very week, Melbourne blogger Silvara moved to Hong Kong for a 3 month secondment and so the Jups has had the pleasure of meeting another cool person/cool blogger, and of course making a new friend...well not new... Wheee..(and one hopes she feels the same way).
So a very dramatic, gut wrenching and unnecessarily painful week that involved way too much nonsense and douchebaggery has finally come to an end in a relatively undramatic way. I am glad it's over. It's 1.01 am on Saturday. I haven't cried. Sometimes, it's really about the small, positively miniscule victories, isn't it?
P.S. Might I add that April 26th, not so long ago, was Orangetree's birthday. I emailed him and he didnt even reply. Maybe he's busy. Or he's forgotten me. In any case, I did my part.

born this way

2011-05-01T19:32:00.008+08:00

The weekend started on a rather vile note - dinner with colleagues in a Russian restaurant that confirmed my worst suspicions about both, that Russian food is not special at all and my colleagues are ridiculously large drinkers that are impossible to keep up with.

I can't remember chunks of friday night; I do remember that I was not allowed to refuse any of the frequent and ample shots of neat Stolichnaya. I woke up on saturday morning, still dressed in the dress from last night with a hangover so vicious, it could knock a self-respecting rhino out of action. And so it came to pass that I spent most of saturday sleeping, semi-sleeping on the couch, eating comfort food like yogurt and rice and muesli toast with nutella. By sunset, I was looking and feeling refreshed. And I had to be, I was going to see a play with Mark. I'd landed tickets from a friend and had asked him. Thankfully he said yes.

I wore a silk twill sarong skirt by Ralph Lauren and I think I looked pretty nice...I walked to the bar where he was waiting for me to have a drink before heading to the play. When our eyes met, he made an ooh-face. I'd like to think that he found me beautiful. This is the point when I stuck my tongue out like a righteous idiot (because I had spent some time during the day complaining to him about how painful my hangover had been and I had bitched to him on the phone mere seconds ago about why he was making me walk). I don't think I should do that anymore. Drinks were pleasant as always - so much laughing, joking and so many compliments about my intelligence, language skills, etc. He even noticed my handbag.

The play was wonderful and throughout, I felt he was even touchier-feelier than usual - at one point during the intermission he caressed the back of my arm. Yep, I am not making that up. Maybe this is how Italian men are but hey, he is not the first Italian guy I've hung out with so it's pretty weird. I was hoping he'd catch a bite with me after the play but turns out he'd shared a pizza with one of his mates before meeting me for a drink. What a tool. He walked me back to the escalator and then proceeded to meet another of his mates, presumably to prowl for booty. Woe is me.

I elected to spend today, Sunday, by myself. I got out of a brunch plan (not nice, I know) and decided I'd cook for myself. You see I have been doing that a lot lately and it's benefiting me in more ways than one. The Hong Kong lifestyle has sideswiped me with too much drinking, too much eating out having a less-than-desirable effect on my weight and the last 2 weeks of cutting back (yes, not including friday's binge, which in my defence, I had no control over) have been helping me out. My weight is steadying, and even dropping a teensy weensy bit and my skin is glowing. In other news, I also have a new hair cut, shorter, curlier, a somewhat adult version of shirley temple's curls. Not too shabby.

So where was I? Yes, I decided to stay in and cook. Of late, I have been experimenting quite a bit with recipes from Yotam Ottolenghi's Plenty but today I was craving comfort, comfort in the form of staunchly Keralite food, food that whisks me away to childhood and sweet naiive happiness. Seasonal kidney mangoes in Wellcome with their red-orange hues and their honey-sweet smell had been tempting me to try them out. I settled on making a kerala delicacy - Maambazha Pulissery. This sweet variation of Moru kootan (one of the staple recipes in my kitty of South Indian curries) has always been one of my favourites and yet I'd never bothered to recreate it in my kitchen until today.

The mangoes were unequivocally delicious and I somehow managed to control lustful gluttony and not eat all of them over the kitchen sink. The Pulissery turned out beautifully, it was probably one of my best efforts at South Indian fare. I unabashedly lapped half of what I made and the rest will serve me well for dinner in a few minutes.

With soulful music playing in the ground, I have spent the greater part of today reading Book 2 of the 2011 CFA notes - a gripping and interesting read it is not. Dry, unwitty and dull. And Book 2 is supposedly the easiest of the lot. God help me, I am fucked. Still I am determined to wrap this book up before the weekend is over and also start afresh on my CV. That is a tall order, I know.

In totally unrelated news, I made a very-big-ticket-purchase this week. A handbag I have had my eyes on since it first came out, before it even became a style icon in its own right. The sumptuous, practical and extremely stylish Chloe Paraty in a beautiful peach-meets-coral (or as they like to call it, Light Clay) leather. No exotics for me, thank you very much, regular weather is just fine. The medium is perfect on my frame (large would overwhelm me).

I am not ashamed to admit that this bag makes me really really happy because quite frankly, I don't have a whole lot going for me - I am underpaid relative to HK's ridiculously generous banking market and underutilised (my work hours are too cushy), I have very little in savings (okay that's my fault in part, but still people in my industry really don't have to fucking try to save, it's just part of the equation) and I like my own cooking so much that I am predisposed to being overweight (I would be considered cutely overweight in most parts of the world but in this part of the world, try "morbidly obese" on for size). Also, I still haven't found anyone to travel with, I still haven't started diving lessons. It's May and I am still nowhere near completing any of my new year's resolutions.

Okay, I am done whinging for now. Thank you for listening. Now if you'll excuse me, I will spend the rest of my evening smelling my new leather bag, eating rice with maambazha pulissery and completing my study of the glorious Book 2. This is Jups, signing out.

Mera naam chinchinchoo

2011-04-17T20:12:00.001+08:00

Blogger and Facebook don't work in glorious shanghai, a city with grand tall buildings, a beautiful bund separating old (puxi) and new (pudong) cities, cheap cabs but with cab drivers who don't speak a lick of English and boutiques with Hot-off-the-runway looks and price-tags loftier than any I have ever seen (in fact its the first city I've visited and not bought any clothes at! We're talking dresses upwards of 300$!)

This has been a very short trip. I landed yesterday at 1030 am and I'm already back at pudong airport now for an 830 pm flight typing my staple airport post. I was here to accompany Jin who was here for her friend's wedding (I know said friend but not well enough to be invited to the wedding).
Nonetheless I did end up seeing him and a bunch of other acquaintances from bschool at a sit-down Chinese dinner.
Sit-down Chinese meals were the order of the day - except lunch at Nanxiang shanghainese dim sum house - dinner at shanghai xi hao, lunch at house of elite and for poor Jin, the wedding banquet dinner as well. Luckily for us, the food was decidedly different at the first three and decidedly delicious.
The unfortunate triggering of a colossal sinus attack the night before I left for shanghai was a huge dampener on my spirits; the fact that this was one of those rare occasions when I flew without my trusty ammo of medicines ( I carry 1-2 tabs of pills for pain, menstrual pain, acidity/gas, diarrheoa and since very recently, sinusitis and insomnia), even more unfortunate.
I was (and still am in pain). Sans painkillers, I have taken 2-3 pills that normally work against menstrual cramps in the lame hope that pain is pain and what works on a stubborn abdomen should work on a stubborn head/face. Result? Better than nothing at all. In all likelihood, I will end up skipping work tomorrow and thereby looking like a complete flake but at least I will get my sick ass to a doc.
Karaoke in shanghai is a lot of fun and extremely cheap. I relished once again the compliements that my husky voice received when directed towards very specific songs. Drinking in posh bars, on the other hand is debilitatingly expensive. Try 140 rmb for a weak cocktail. I have ruled out this city as one that I can party like a rockstar in because if the ridiculous prices don't get you, the rampant smoking of cigarettes and cigars in badly ventilated and badly air-conditioned bars and clubs will. Between my sinus and the generally poor quality of air here, I feel drained.

I can't wait to return to hong kong. From one polluted city to another, only one is home.
P.S. Isn't the title ever so cheesy?
--Published thanks to blogger's brilliant email blogging medium--

loving you is easy

2011-04-14T15:46:00.005+08:00

Behold: The elegant "Spectator" peep-toed, bowtied pump from Miu Miu. Price: US$555 + taxes.

Behold-er: My deadringers from Brazil. (quality of blackberry camera/flash notwithstanding). Price: US$180

Bragging rights?

somewhere else

2011-04-12T17:02:00.005+08:00

What a chaotic time it's been here in Jupsville. This weekend I slowly relinquished control (in a way) by letting a nice Sri Lankan lady come and help me clean my apartment (and she will do so this Friday too when I am not home, talk about a giant leap for Jups!) Giving up control is hard; not because it doesn't feel good to let someone share the load, but because it's so difficult to bounce back when said someone flees the scene. I hate getting acclimatised to that level of comfort that dependence brings only to find it vanish one day. I guess I am not just talking about domestic help anymore. So yes it's been a chaotic and unduly complicated time but for most part, in a good way.

My darling brother arrived 2 Sundays ago and left last Sunday. This was the first time that Booboo visited me on his own, and in his early twenties. Translation: There was alcohol. And candid conversations. My brother and I have been getting closer as we grow older and he trusts my judgment on most things. Thankfully we still remain divergent on almost all matters from careers (banker, chemical engineer) and relationships to gastronomical choices (he's astutely vegetarian, I am astutely not) and filial issues (I never want to live in India, he doesn't want to leave it). On the gastronomic front however, there was some convergence as I did convince him to try amazing shanghainese xiao long baos which he unabashedly loved so much that we had three whole (and I mean very whole) meals at Din Tai Fung and Crystal Jade.

The past weeks have been incredibly social and resultantly a huge drag on finances. Starting with St. Paddy's over 3 weeks ago, I was drinking quite literally 6 days a week. My social life has been so rabid and my alcohol intake, so ridiculous, that I had to gutlessly text people smses like "It's Monday! Can we just do dinner instead?" So this week I have vowed to both stay sober and eat in everyday. I have never had a problem with eating in given my ample culinary skills and now it's even easier with Yotam Ottolenghi's beautiful book ("Plenty") giving me constant, euphoric inspiration.

I have found the perfect way to characterize my love life. Too much smoke, not enough fire. I have had loads of drama…like a plotless soap in which shit is always being stirred up but it takes ages (if at all) to get any kind of clear resolution. My feelings for the men in my life have more or else fizzled. After my epic culinary adventure (and you know it was epic because I never abuse that word) that involved handmade, hand-stuffed lemon and goats cheese ravioli and a this-is-what-heaven-is-all-about dark chocolate-nutella-frangelico cake (a cake so beautiful you'd want to marry it and have its chocolaty babies), I realized once again that I am as awesome as they come and he really needs to win me over. And if he hasn't made a move yet (it's been over 2 months) then "he just isn't that into me" and probably never will be. Eagle and I are kinda like an old married couple – we fight, we make up, we joke, we fight again. He gets really antsy if he doesn't hear from me or see me online for 24 hours. I am pretty sure that he likes me. I am also pretty sure that I don't really want much more from him. I ended up writing off Orangetree because I asked him to call me and he didn't. Said he was really busy. Oh well, moving on.

And then there was the briefest affaire de couer that ended before it even began. A rugby 7s encounter with a witty Indian banker who was dressed (and painted blue) as papa smurf. I got the impression he really liked me but oh well, he never called. I really wish that men would cut out the bullshit. I don't need it; no one does. Don't ask for my number; I won't take offense that you didn't but I will take offense if you take it and don't call. Sidebar: The rugby 7s is the second best thing about Hong Kong (the first is the midlevels escalator, duh) and it is basically a shit-ton of drinking from 9am onwards while one is dressed in slutty fancy dress and watching other drunks in fancy dress as well as occasionally watching extremely buff men run into each other like neanderthals and play that awesome sport known as rugby.

Lately my girlfriends have forwarded onto me books and articles that crystallise the "he's just not that into you" theory. You've heard about this right? That you, the woman, ought not ever to make the first move is apparently the holy grail of dating success. Mountains may move and oceans may part and the earth may turn square but you, my darling lady, shant ever pick up the phone. Apparently the men out there want confident, poweful women who will sit meekly in their powder rooms waiting for the phone to ring because anything more daring than that, like heaven-forbid, a text message like "how are you" will infuriate the Gods and bring on the black fucking plague. Such articles also advise us to never bring up exes (fair point) or order salads in a restaurant. Because you know, men want to see you eat real food. I love real food much more than the average girl but the last time I checked, men love the supermodel more than the average girl and last time I checked (not too long ago) those girls dont eat no fucking real food. Apples and icecubes are not real food. So really, this is whole lot of a hypocritical douchebaggy balderdash.

And no, I am not a bitter person but I am definitely bitter about reading articles that are basically telling me that I should overthink innocent text messages and/or friendly gestures and that I should forego an impulsive heart-over-head attitude (one that I was born with) for cold, ruthless mindgames. Frankly I don't know if I want to manipulate a man into wanting me that way.

So for now, I am falling off the radar. I am deleting the phone numbers I am wont to text. Giving up, if you will, although that sounds altogether too grim and too bitter. And I don't stay that way for long. All I know is that I have had one helluva joyride since September - new friends, old friends, parties, eating out, alcohol and boys. And all of that has been instrumental in ameliorating what would have been a pox of a breakup and transforming it into an annoying itch that I need to scratch every now and then. Just every now and then. (by the way what is it with me and the biblical references today?)

This weekend I am off to Shanghai with Jin. Yet another wedding but this time I am not invited so I am tagging along with her to see the city and experience some Chinese cuisine. Easter weekend is 4 days long here and I have no plans save for working on my CV and studying for the CFA level 1 exam that I geekily signed up for.

Playtime's over. It's time to buckle down, get serious and get my life in order. Expect nailbiting and heaps of bitching and moaning about how stupid, difficult and suicide-inducing accounting is.

But this life is so confusing

Feels like I'm always losing

Come in of knowing everything

But don't say a word, till they teach you the way

Words are found too close to the edge

That we don't dare sing

And this'll turn into something else, something else

But when it does, I'll be somewhere else, somewhere else

fight outta you

2011-03-14T20:11:00.001+08:00

from last thursday...

So I blog about one fantastic day and the good lords in heaven just.can't.take.it. It's thursday afternoon and I am sitting on couch, awkwardly erect thanks to something fantastic called referral pains. Say what?

Tuesday was Women's' day and believe it or not, I made plans to celebrate it with the Italian crew. She was kind enough to invite me and you know over the last few intimate evenings of dinners and movies with Mark, I established that I probably don't have as much to worry about as I thought I did. On the flip side, Mark and I are probably gonna be stuck in friend zone for a long time, if not forever. I don't think I am more than "in like" with him or any other guy right now. And he probably is the same way. And while we're on the subject, we have one really horrible thing in common - we have both been unceremoniously and obnoxiously dumped. His story pretty much trumped mine, so go figure.

So where was I? Yes, Women's Day. We went to get dinner in a small alleyway behind Lan Kwai Fong - Thai and Malaysian food, like I've never had that before. I went to bed clutching my stomach in agony and woke up with my back all fucked up (and the stomach still fucked up). Even the hiccups hurt. I went to work anyway (very bad idea), stayed until 5pm and left when I couldnt take the pain anymore.

Today's much worse...and the doctor tells me while there is still a chance that I threw my back out, the back pains are probably referred pains from my stomach going batshit insane.

So now I am at home recuperating.

At this point I should mention just how tipsy I got last Friday...so much so that I drunk-dialed Mark 4 times and Eagle 8 times and danced with Leafy like a maniac and fell on the pavement and hurt and sprained both feet (the straps of my shoes cut through my skin) and then bumped my face onto Leafy's shoulder so badly that I cut my lip, ripped a piece of gum off my accident-tooth and chipped two others. Went to the dentist today and everything's okay. Except that gums don't grow back so if I am really vain (and have the money for it), I might have to consider a gum graft to fix things up.

...

Blogger fucked up and I never got around to completing this post. It's Monday evening and I have just finished making the world's best guacamole.. more on this later. And fantastic noodles in homemade vegetable broth, so fragrant it makes angels sing.

P.S. The alley behind LKF is called "Rat Alley"... no kidding!

Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta

2011-03-02T18:06:00.002+08:00

Today was a truly fantastic day, and it was so for so many fantastic reasons.

I woke up this morning to a comment from a friend (a friend I made by way of her reading Juice) on a picure I uploaded of myself and bunny on facebook. She said I looked beautiful and my friend was pretty too. What a fantastic way to start the day! (so I am vain, sue me).
Mark invited me to his place last night to cook and eat with him and She. It was a really nice evening but it made me realize that Mark needs to work so much harder to make me fall head over heels in love with him. I realized that while Mark was so eager to get me to learn everything there is to know about his culture, he knew so little about mine. And I don't even need to be taught on Italian culture or cuisine because I am not an ignoramus. I cooked a mean risotto when I was 20. And because I realized this and I don't really have anything to lose here, I asked him straight out if he had something for She. He got upset, denied it completely and was very concerned that I thought he was giving off flirtatious vibes towards her. "how come you never believe me?" I said "I don't know" and changed the subject. It was all rather delicious.
He texted me 20 minutes later to tell me he'd made arrangements for a club I was going to on Friday night to play hindi music for me.
The weather is taking a turn for the better. At lunch I went and got my eyebrows done, they look a bit wonky (no such thing as 100% perfect eyebrows, so whatever). And then I stopped by that little grey market boutique I liked and picked up 4 dresses (2 DVFs, 1 Chloe and 1 Marc Jacobs, apparently) and a fantastic green top (alldressedup). Needless to say, I cannot wait to schedule miscellaneous brunches, lunches and dinners as excuses to parade my spoils.
In conversation, I was telling Eagle about how I don't want to date an Indian guy but I also don't want to date an ignoramus who doesn't know diddlysquat about my culture. I described an example of how years ago I had told he-who-shall-not-be-named to take a hike (while talking about each others' very distinct cuisines) and how he traveled to Kerala and texted me thrice a day describing each dish he had to win me over. It made me smile – I never doubted that that relationship gave me several happy memories but it was nice, regardless, to be reminded of it so inadvertently.
Rehashing the conversations of last night in my mind, about how the Italians were so quick to dismiss the Indian way of doing things, I got to thinking about my parents and how they were so hellbent on finding a man for me; misdirected and misguided (considering who their daughter is) as their efforts may be, their hearts are in the right place. When Mark told me how his parents were high school dropouts, I was suddenly grateful for having insanely intelligent, well-educated, world-traveled parents and grandparents (my grandpa has a postdoctorate for fuck's sake) with a liberal mindset and a deep regard for education and ambition. I wouldn't trade them for anything or anyone even if they drive up the fucking wall with this marriage crap.

So yes, today was a truly fantastic day for fantastic reasons.

the boy is mine

2011-02-28T17:41:00.002+08:00

There have been times in the last several months when I have stopped for a moment and exclaimed "wow, that was surreal, who is going to believe that story?" Whether consequential or not, there has been a lot of drama in my life (most of which has been filtered and watered down before getting repored on Juice, so do the math).

Drama. I love it. I hate it. I love to hate it. Especially when it is standing between me and someone who is clearly Jups'-boyfriend-material. I was really starting to like Mark and not in the way that I liked orangetree (dreamboat, Utopian idea, Bohemian rhapsody) or eagle (clearly NOT boyfriend material, hot body). The boy next door, he of the great late night conversations and he of the balloons, was showing real potential. Until he wasn't because she showed up.

She. Cue the somewhat-goodlooking flatmate. The jups is not easily threatened, especially not so by some 25-year-old dimwitted girl who seems nice and harmless and especially not by a flatmate since there is an unspoken code of decency when living with people of the opposite sex. Or so the Jups thought. Nosiree, flatmate clearly has some perverse notions because She is playing both sides.

I had the second best Valentine's Day to date this year because though Mark was away, She kindly invited me over to her Valentine's day celebration at his place. I was touched by her gesture and as we were talking about the dinner while shopping for groceries, I recieved an email from Mark and my stupid face lit up like a light bulb. She instantly knew and I didn't try to hide it. I asked her if she knew for a fact that he was single. He was. So I gushed some more.

Now there are some basic decencies that girlfriends afford one another and one of them is that when you tell your girlfriend you like a guy, all things being equal, she must be instantly supportive. She wasn't. She gushed "Mark is so waanderful, he is suchhhh a nice guy, so good-loooooking, of course you like him ....

... but anyway if he wants to be just friends with you, you should be friends with him".

A thousand what-the-fucks exploded in my brain.

Then there's the standing joke that Mark and She are married, blame the building staff for this (not that they know any better, right?). Anyway, the joke is so tired now that every time She refers to him as her husband, I want to eat my own tongue. Like on Saturday when I asked her what she was doing (she had asked to taste the food I was making for my date with Mark and I wanted to make sure she wouldnt crash the date) she said, she wanted to go ride. "Ride with her husband". (Granted it would have been much much worse had she had omitted the "with"). Here's what I don't get, if it's so ha-ha-funny and stupid that the building staff thinks you're married, why don't you correct the misconception? And more importantly, what ridiculous vibes are you giving out anyway for people to think that you are married? (dating, okay, but married?).

At this point, I would like to point out that she actually rang my doorbell when Mark and I were on our very intimate, very cosy dinner date last saturday. But that would mean that I'd have to get into that long-winded story and this is not the time for that story.

Several nights ago, I was at their apartment drinking with She and another girlfriend, and we talked about the balloon incident, I was eager to know what Mark had said about it (since he roped her in to blow balloons too). Never mind the fact that she didn't share anything Mark said about me (assuming he did), she went to describe how insanely hot he looked blowing balloons,while fresh out of the shower, shirtless and in a towel.

My soul died a little bit when she said that.

Yesterday I had the misfortune of sharing a walk with her on my way to the gym. Being cautious, I did not bring Mark up and kept the conversation casual. Did she do the same? Hell to the no. Not only did she not ask me how my date was, but she also went on describe numerous instances of drinks with Mark, motorbiking with Mark, going to the beach with Mark. That's how I found out that they'd gone partying on Thursday night after he returned from his trip to Shanghai. So let's get this straight, she relentlessly invites me (phone, email, facebook) to parties and beach outings and what-have-yous with the rest of the italian girls but thursday night drinks with the supposedly awesome neighbour are not on the menu because that would mean losing monopoly over Mark. Fuckety fuck.

I did not tell her that Mark texts me every now and then and that we have insanely cute chat sessions. She wouldn't understand. Of course you can tell me that readily available sex from the room next door trumps a late night chat, but I could only hope that he can do one of those things at once.

On the plus side, She's only here until April; on the flip side, she is stoked to be living rent-free (you heard me) in a fantastic mid-levels flat and predictably loves Hong Kong and wants to extend her stay.

I am not naiive; normally I would assign a near-100% probability to the likelihood of them going beyond just sleeping under the same roof. But the fact that she has a boyfriend in another part of the world (selfish twat still wants all the men for herself!) and that Mark seems like he is not a gigantic slut gives me an iota of hope...hope that he will toss her freeloading ass out in due course.

After all, he keeps a good house (sans domestic help) and she broke three wine glasses in one go (criminal!) and he complained to me about it. It is only a matter of time.

Samba de Janiero

2011-02-22T22:41:00.010+08:00

It's a rather grim tuesday. I am sick of the weather and Mark has just made it to my neverending list of men who disappoint. So what better time than now to reminisce about my wonderful trip to Brazil, a country where disappointment is unheard of (except when you see your credit card bill but hey it's just money).

Begin reminiscing...

Wow. Just wow. Where do I begin? Sitting here at the airport feels shitty - it's not easy leaving a place where you feel like a princess 24/7. I think it's fitting that I do a post/blurb per city I visited because I have so much to say about this beautiful, sensual country.
Guaruja - all work and all play makes Jups smarter and tanner.
I know that not many people get the opportunity to fly all the way to Brazil for a training program. And since I had already planned a holiday for after the program, I was not too concerned about how I spent my time in Guaruja - a cute beach town 2 hours away from Sao Paolo with surprisingly nice beaches and warm, soft waves. My training schedule ended up being as perfect as perfect gets. After breakfast on the balcony facing the ocean, we started at 830 am and worked till 12 and then took a massive 2.5 hour lunch break during which we could choose to chill in the pool (floating around on giant foam boards), walk by the beach, get mani/pedis, etc etc and still have time to shower and change for the next session which lasted until midnight. No complaints, none whatsoever.

Rio de Janiero...the cariocas stole my heart...
Rio is everything you heard about it. Multiplied by ten thousand. It is a chic city. It is miles of beautiful white sand beaches . It is mountains that offer stunning views. It is filled with women with banging hot bodies and men so handsome they put the Gods to shame. It is caipirinhas so strong one drink can knock you out. It is exotic fruit smoothies like acai with bananas and strawberries and granola, that energize you out of the worst hangovers. It is Asa-Delta, hang gliding from Pedro Bonita and landing on Sao Conrado beach. It is catching the breathtaking sunrise on Leblon and the sun dissolving over the Bahia de Guanabara from Pao de Acucar. It is the rich of Gavea living right across from the favela of Rocinha. And Rio is so. much. more. As
ironic as it sounds, I felt extremely safe in what is generally considered a rather unsafe, crime-ridden city. Against advice, I did not "call for taxis", I took the metro, I walked around at night and I went to the beach late at night. Maybe I was just lucky, or maybe said reports are exaggerated and outdated. Either way, I have a billion interesting stories from the 4 days and 4 nights that I spent in the city of samba. I went to really local places, where Bunny and I would be the only strangely coloured foreigners who spoke enough Spanish to betray their Indian and Chinese faces. We ate bolinhos de bacalao (fried cod balls) at Bracarense and hot, deep friend pastels and chilled sugar cane juice on the street. The men here (HBMs - hot Brazilian men, as my friend calls them) can melt a girl's heart with their flattery, because unlike in the rest of the world where a hot man is arrogant, the HBMs are humble, generous with the compliments and boy can they play a mean game of "futvolei" in their sungas ( futvolei is a hybrid of football rules used on a beach volleyball fi
eld and sungas are the teeny tiny speedos they play in). Nice men, surfers from Barra de Tijuca and doctors, gave us rides back home at 7 am after a night of partying at Rio Scenarium in Lapa. Even the gay men were nice to us - a gay couple introduced us the Metro in Rio (clean, posh trains that are about as "scary" as a newborn puppy) and invited us to a carnaval rehearsal (which we had to decline in favour of samba dancing). I was given enough compliments to last a lifetime ( but hey I wouldn't mind more) - I was told I looked Brazilian (fairly believable considering my skin tone after the hours of sun and the long wavy hair) and obviously I was flattered. That I spoke spanish and pigeon portuguese with a perfect carioca accent was a ginormous plus. I sincerely believe that every woman should go to Rio at least once, if you're a woman who has had a bad breakup or a personal crisis or are just plain sick of being invisible and you want to feel like a princess, Rio is the city for you. Recounting my Rio stories to my Paulistana/o friends in Sao Paolo, I was informed that my experiences were so local that even they hadn't done what I had done. So it's official, the Jups has found her home away fromhome, her happy place in times of crisis. The Jups is carioca at heart.

Foz do Iguazu - don't go chasing waterfalls...
The Brazilians I know don't go to Foz do Iguazu. I've been told the country is quite classist and the rich don't really mix with the poor (contrary to the situation in Rio) and Iguazu is more of a lower class vacation option. So Foz is filled with international tourists - make that really really old tourists. So old and so European that Bunny and I,
for a fleeting moment, want to get off the plane and run back to Rio. But Foz is a must-see, must-do place. The mighty Iguazu river shared by Brazil and Argentina falls from great heights and over great breadths into panoramic waterfalls that span several thousand metres that make walking through the borders of both countries an exhilarating and touching experience, especially if you have the soul of a romantic like I do. I squealed with delight, jumped and clapped my hands and gasped "oh my god oh my god" several times. As to the much-repeated question, which side should you go for - the Brazilian or the Argentine side? Here's my answer: The Brazilian side offers wide panoramic views from far, a walk almost under the Garganto del Diablo (the stunning devils throat falls) that lets you get thoroughly soaked and an elevator ride a few metres above the falls for a breathtaking view. The Argentine side on the other hand lets you get up close and personal with the falls. Brazil's the foreplay and Argentina is the fantastically intimate finale. Crossing the border, you walk several h
undred metres into the forest, take the cutest choo-choo-like train to the devil's throat and watch and hear the thundering river "fall" right under your feet as a wet Argentine flag flies proudly.
You then walk the inferior and superior circuits and see several of the smaller falls; in other words you explore and experience every single mini-fall that forms part of that panoramic shot you took from the Brazilian side. You get drenched again as at one point you get to go under one such mini-fall. And then comes the boat-ride.
With Argentina staking majority claim over the breadth of both the falls and the river, there is no denying that the boatride offered in Argentina is miles better than the one protecting in Brazil. The walk to the boat in an experience in itself, you walk through the black rocks taking in lush-green views that you thought only existed on Pandora. With a tarpauline bag our belongings and dressed in bikinis and lifevests, we squealed and screamed as our little boat whizzed through the monstruous currents that obviously came into the boats soaking us from the side and then we were spellbound as the boat coolly parked itself right under the falls. You take in the height of the falls right over your head squinting against the sun shining right above. You're getting soaked by the violent but clean shower. You can not think - the thundering noise and the water pounding over your head won't let you. It's the cleanest, physically and mentally, that you can feel and that feeling alone makes the whole trip worthwhile. That, and the picture your friend took of you sans make up, looking like a million dollars in front of the most beautiful waterfalls you've ever seen.

P.S. We went to get a drink at a local bar and the bartender was hitting on me in wanton fashion. "So, you are a beautiful girl...with a beautiful body... I get off work at 12...I can meet you in your room"... pretty cavalier huh? I made a run for it the second he returned to the kitchen.

Sao Paolo - can I just move here already?
They say Brazil is an emerging market, a developing country. I know this country well, I think; after all, I look at the market on a daily basis. Then I get to Sao Paolo with its fantastic roads and towering plush condos and expensive restaurants and bars and how can i forget, exquisite fashion and all those presumptions go out the window. I spent all of 2 days in Sao Paolo - blame the 26 hour return flight and loss of time for this - but it was enough to know that this is a metropolis I could easily live in, currently limited language skills notwithstanding. My friends are already making a pretty strong case for me to move here and I have to say that I am tempted. It shouldn't even be that difficult considering what I do and where I work. Sidebar: Orangetree disagrees (yes he's still somewhat in the wide-angled picture) and says he doesn't really like the people. Mary and Russell love me to bits, they were extremely kind to me. I met Pele, an extremely good looking colleague that I have been working with for over a year (on phone/email only) and his mother (who was chaperoning him since he broke his leg in a pretty severe road accident). His mother liked me so much she offered me a chance to stay in their summer house in Buzios! Can you blame me for wanting to move here?

Shopping and the works.
You would think that with the company bearing the (business class) airfare from Hong Kong to Sao Paolo, this would be a pretty cheap trip for the Jups but if you did, you wouldn't know the Jups too well, would you? Hotels in Rio, especially in the nice neighbourhoods are not cheap and you don't get quality nor space. You pay hotel rates and get guesthouse-like facilities with the saving grace usually being the cleanliness, the friendly staff and a lovely breakfast spread with traditional american elements like eggs and breads and meats coupled with brazilians fruits, juices and sweet baked delights and let's not forget excellent coffee.
Let's talk about shopping because like everything else in Brazil, shopping is a uniquely local experience. This proud intrinsically focused country boasts of a unique fashion industry where everything from shoes to dresses to bikinis are "feito a mao", usually handmade on brazilian soil. So if for a second you can forget the price tag, you realise that you can not find these things anywhere else. And you know the Jups has been a sucker for originality and exclusivity. Lucky for me, January-February are sale months and there are loads of "liquidacao" signs that urge you to enter stores. Bear in mind that liquidacao does not mean liquidation-type prices...as I was disappointed to find out. In Rio, Bunny and I really adored "Farm" a colourful, vibrant carioca label. We also loved the store named "Jelly" that stocked delightful shoes by the famous plastic shoe brand "Melissa" of which Bunny ended up buying four pairs and I, two. Few days later, in Sao Paolo, while nursing a massive hangover I was determined to find and shop at Iguatemi (the nicest mall in the city). I am not really a mall person but sometimes it is the smarter, more efficient option several hours before dinner and flight back, isn't it? First stop: Salinas for Brazilian bikinis. Now I know what you're thinking and you'd be wrong. Yes, in Rio, you do end up seeing a lot of dental floss bikinis and tangas (many on unsightly butts too!) but there's more to brazilian bikinis with high end brands like Salinas churning out delicious designs in beautiful fabrics. I had a pretty sales girl (who spoke only portuguese, what better way to learn the language?) dedicated to pulling out all the stuff she thought would look good on my body and my brown skin ("morena", which makes people crazy here). Now I am no supermodel, far from it, but I daresay that the bikinis I ended up buying made me look pretty damn stunning (or "sensuel" as my pretty salesgirl kept saying). I very nearly spent 500 dollars (US$ not hong kong) but resisted and bought only 2 of the 3 suits I liked. Buying bikinis has never been such a pleasant experience and I gave my salesgirl a big hug and kiss and said "eres muito sympatica" (you're very nice) and in turn she said "oh mi querida". Now I regret not buying that last bikini.

I also checked out some of the brands my friends recommended like Cori but I couldn't bring myself to shell out 500$ for a dress (until then). Then I walked into Cris Barros - a local designer with rather avant garde runway-appropriate designs. Twenty dresses and a very helpful salesgirl later, I walked out with a flesh-toned jersey dress marked down from 1200 reais to 350 reais (about 200$, still, by no means, cheap).

Total damages on shopping alone? Somewhere around the 1500-2000$ mark, I am afraid to calculate exact figures. Net Result? 7 glorious pairs of shoes and 2 dresses.

L-R: Purple suede platform peeptoes, patent leather/leather platform peeptoes, python print leather pumps, my personal favourite - fabric peeptoe with clunky straw heel, vivienne westwood's lady dragon heart, multicoloured ballet flats and a tribute to chanel's jellies by melissa

To summarize (which is so hard), Brazil was two weeks of sheer delight, a treat to all senses and a new addition to my very small but very precious list of happy places. I love you Brazil, I miss you already and I swear I am coming back.

baby it's cold outside

2011-02-14T15:09:00.007+08:00

Even though Valentine’s day achieves gargantuan amounts of suckage and every year the Gods conspire for Valentine's to undercut even the most minimal of expectations, the Jups is 90 parts cynic and 10 parts unequivocally hopeless dreamer-romantic who believes in love and happy endings and fairy tales the way five year olds believe in Santa Claus. Of course that does not mean that I have any plans tonight (because I don't), the only date I had planned was the one with my dermatologist an hour ago.

But I think and go with me on this one, that I have a Valentine. Mark and I ended up seeing each other 4 times from Tuesday through Sunday and I am not talking about bumping into him on the elevator, no. On friday he invited me over to meet his friends on the pretext that none of them believed he could cook and he was performing "risotto - take 2" on a bigger scale. (Of course this makes me wonder why he went around broadcasting his dinner with me). This ended up being an utterly lovely evening; his friends were fun and friendly and we chatted until 2 am. He was slightly buzzed and his body language was a lot less formal (no groping of course) and he texted me as soon as I went back into my apartment.

Saturday was my epic housewarming party and everyone I knew in HK was invited. I was expecting anything from 20-40 people and by golly, I was prepared. With A-to-A's help, I cooked the entire day so there were heaps of food and about 6 litres of sangria in addition to other spirits. Before the party started, Mark called and dropped by to see if I needed last minute help

My parties are never BYOB but close friends always pitch in and most adults know it's polite to bring a bottle and that's why I titled my party as BYOBalloon. I wanted balloons for my party. I envisioned floating pink and champagne coloured balloons touching the ceiling...

Most of my friends showed up sans balloons. One got me bubbles (champagne) because he misread the email. Another got me a cute stuffed strawberry plushie because "it looked like a balloon", that was funny. And another got me two inflated condoms.

And then Mark and his flatmate showed up with twenty-odd balloons in every colour imaginable. They spent an hour blowing them up! As cheesy as it sounds, I can never get the image of that handsome, clean-shaven Italian boy dressed in a powder blue button down shirt and holding ten balloons in both hands out of my head. It was perfection. God help me, my heart melted into a puddle of goop. He stayed with me till the party ended, all my friends LOVED him, we stepped out for supper with friends, it was all perfect. Then we returned to our respective apartments.

Sunday was cold, rainy and grim and I wasn't in a good mood. The maid I had hired just for this particular morning to help clear the mess that my place was in royally bailed. I didn't hear from Mark and I was mildly peeved about that too and started suspecting that maybe he had the hots for his pretty flatmate instead (I hope not). Then he texted at 3pm, apparently he had just woken up. By 5, we were snuggled up on my couch, under my warm throw watching Oldboy - one of his favourite movies. I loved the movie. I loved the company. I loved holding on to his arm during the squeezy scenes. I loved how he'd adjust the throw so I didn't feel cold. It was perfect. We talked a bit after that but I had to run to watch Blue Valentine. It wasn't that great of a movie and when I told him, he instantly emailed me (email subject "movies for cosy weekends") a list of his favourite romantic movies (with a hint that he wanted to see them with me).

4 encounters in 6 days. No kiss yet, and strangely, I am fine with that - if these encounters are not romantic, I don't know what is. Today he wickedly reminds me that I still owe him dinner (through a funny chat status update that the whole world can see). Too bad he's out of the country during the week. I don't have a date for Valentine's day but God help me, I do have a Valentine.

Happy Valentine's Day - I hope you have a warm arm to hold on to or friends to drink with or a warm memory to make you smile on this chilly February day.

fireflies

2011-02-10T12:14:00.003+08:00

Tuesday night was a very special night and different in many ways. Last night was my first date with Cute Neighbour Boy, let's call him Mark and it was a first for me in many ways. First time dating a neighbour, first time dating an Italian and first time that a guy has cooked for me, in my kitchen on the first date. Ill let you soak all of that in for a minute, because it certainly took me a while to do so.

I landed in Hong Kong on Sunday afternoon from my amazing Brazil trip (yes there is a gigantic post of biblical size waiting in the wings, be patient) and within minutes of arriving at my apartment, I received a text from Mark and then another and then another; in short he asked me out, I agreed and then he dropped a bomb saying we would eat at my place since I had a dining table, and he didnt, and he would cook (fair trade). I was excited at this pretty original first date idea but then again I was also nervous because who goes on a first date inside their own apartment? isn't that asking for trouble? Also, isn't it stingy? I spent hours with Jin and Elvish Pixie analysing and over analysing the possibilities.

I went to his place at 730, wore a nice navy/pink dress (incidentally, it's a prada reject)...kinda summery, not too dressy, no cleavage, but short on length. He opened the door; his place was messy with boxes and stuff and he was on the phone so I waited. Then this girl came out into the living room and I was a bit shocked – turns out he has a flatmate until April. He then mimed (while still talking to his boss) "we are cooking at your place".. I instantly froze, I had not planned for this. But then again he seemed really chilled out so I tried to relax. He was in cropped pants and looked cute and approachable (as opposed to tall and hot, the way I remembered him from our first encounter).

I had already cleaned my apartment the night before so there was nothing to be ashamed of and let's face it, my kitchen is more well-equipped than those of some chefs, I'm sure.

Needless to say Mark was impressed with my apartment and my impressive collection of kitchen tools. We got started, chopping up onions and carrots, crushing garlic, boiling the broth – risotto with zucchini. He cooked with purpose and technique – risotto, one of my favourite Italian staples, is a dish that needs patience to be cooked perfectly and patient he was. He later told me it was his first time making risotto and I was suitably impressed. Not surprisingly, Mark had assumed that I was Brazilian and was truly shocked when I told him I was Indian (I do hope this supposed Brazilian identity was not the reason for the date, and that my being Indian doesn't lead him to change how he feels about me!)

The hard work and patience paid off – the risotto tasted lovely (and I am not easy to please gastronomically). We drank a bottle of good French red with yummy hard Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. We talked and talked and talked. We finished dinner with limoncello. And then we talked and talked and talked some more. Until 130 am. On a Tuesday, no less.

I don't mean to brag, because I am being completely truthful here – my accent in latin languages is exceptionally good, despite my limited knowledge/vocabulary; I knew this was true of French, Spanish and Portuguese but last night I added Italian to the list. Mark wrote down random words and tested my pronunciation and apparently I passed with flying colours. And then we got to talking about Bologna where he hails from and about the university and you know what I said "Yeah I know about it, that university is renowned for engineers and scientific minds. Marconi went there didnt he?" He was shocked and impressed that I knew this (then again most engineers know this, I think?) I feel very uneasy when guys get overly impressed with me, be it about my job, my apartment, my taste in things or my knowledge – I don't know, alarm bells go off. No one wants to date a superwoman, I think?

It was late and we both had to go to work. He kissed me on the cheek twice (as Europeans do) and then at the door we started talking again and I agreed that I would cook Indian food the next time. Another hug and two more pecks on the cheek later, he left.

I am not an expert on dating and I haven't had that many dates but all in all, it was a really pleasant evening (especially considering the million and one ways in which it could have gone wrong) and Mark seems like a really nice guy. It was not the most romantic night, he didn't really complement me nor did he kiss me but he cooked for me, in my kitchen and that's kind of a big deal.

Oh and did I mention he rides a sweet motorbike and loves going to the beach? Mark's stock is hereby rated a "hold" with the possibility of surprise on the upside.

mercy

2011-01-23T11:08:00.006+08:00

It's saturday night. I am at the airport lounge again, waiting to board my first of two flights totally about 30 long hours to get me to my first ever trip to the Southern Hemisphere and the bright, sunshiney land that is Brazil!

I have had quite the day today. It started with a relaxing pedicure in a summery shade called "Hunk of burnin' love", both the shade and the name are quite fitting with the theme huh? I took my laptop and worked on a report I had to send. I had to shop for lunch but I had my hands full so I came home with a mocha from the cafe downstairs, dropped my things and ran back down. On the way, a cute boy got into the elevator with me. Floor 29. Same floor. I wonder if he's the boy next door, that I've never met, the one with the dog. I wait and watch.

At this point, I am compelled to mention just how ridiculously shaggy I looked. I had worn baggy jeans (easier for pedicure), havaianas (in the winter, so my toes would dry), I had no make up on (not even moisturiser, come to think of it) and my hair was left pulled back tightly and tied in the bun that I ente
red the shower with. Confidence inducing, right?

Door opens. "Are you going left or right" (I am on the left)
He tells me he's on the right, he's just moved into the building. I obviously sing praises for the building immediately. We both opine that the building is so clean and quiet and peaceful. I held my hand out and introduced myself. I ask him where he's from.
"I am Italian, come on, can't you tell?"
(Uhhh... no, he looked Brazilian to me and his accent was not thick).
"I am having a party in two weeks, you should come!" I quip.

He says he's off traveling to Italy for 2 weeks. So am I, I say, but to Brazil. So we say our goodbyes and go into our respective apartments. Cute neighbour. Yayy! (But there's more)

Within half an hour, my ultra gorgeous dining table was delivered and I stopped short of squeeling with delight. I mean look at it. Don't you think those stark chrome bars set off the ornate hibiscus chairs beautifully? Yes, that's what I thought.

Now to find a fabulous vase/centrepiece type thing...

Anyway, I finished the rest of my packing, cleaned the entire apartment (I can't stand coming home to a dirty, stale apartment), did my laundry and showered and cleaned up. I got dressed up quite quickly for Jin's birthday do. But first, a pitstop at Wan Chai to pick up cupcakes for the birthday girl. Call and put the cupcakes on hold. Run into elevator.

Run downstairs and who do I see crossing the street with a bag full of groceries? Apparently cute neighbour boy is sick and eating in. I tell him I am off to see my friend, then I am off to the airport. "Oh you are flying tonight?" Duh. "Well, I'll see you in 2 weeks", I say. He starts fumbling through his pockets. "I don't have my mobile on me, but can you take my number and call me please?"
I text him "This is jupiter"
"beautiful name, safe flight jupiter"

Whoa. I love random unforeseen pleasantness like this. I am not an expert but it would appear that he is very single? Does this mean I have a date waiting for me when I am back? Coincidentally the weekend I am back I am throwing a ginormous housewarming party slash farewell party for my...wait for it... italian friend who is leaving the country. Now if that isn't a happy coincidence, I don't know what is.

And speaking of dates, I must admit I do have one waiting for me. This guy I met on a social networking website and have been exchanging emails with happens to have a fantastic love for movies of all languages, genres and budgets. So we are going to see a Bollywood movie when I am back. He's from a teeny tiny small and rich European country that I'd rather not name and apparently speaks hindi and likes sanskrit. I know. I assume stranger things have happened?

Do I find all this exciting? No doubt. Does it provide a healthy distraction from the Eagle problem? You betcha. Although I feel compelled to tell you that he's been texting me a lot (last night he was drunk and wanted to know if I was out) and today he texted to wish me safe travels. Elvish Pixie has advised me to ignore him and so far the strategy is working. Clearly, I mean, clearly, he likes me more than he'd like to admit.

Boys... can't live without them, can't legally shoot them in the face.

Update: My nine hour flight to Doha was utter misery. I had an upset stomach from gorging on miscellaneous foods (including champage), the bed was not 180 degrees flat (what the fuck? 170 degrees is annoying, and you just keep sliding down!), I was hurting, tossing and tumbling all night. Not a wink of sleep. I am hoping to drug myself to sleep for the next leg. See you on the other side, the sunny southern hemispherical side!

stereo love

2011-01-18T17:46:00.004+08:00

I thought I was doing reasonably well with my diet, I was feeling thinner and I could see some improvement on the scales too. Ah but the Jups wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t tumble down the stairs of temptation and curl up at the bottom in a pool called regret. Diets are not easy to keep up with when you have a social life because I refuse to be that one annoying person at the table who refuses to share or can’t find what she wants in the restaurant.
My Friday party was a splendid success and I ended up making even more dishes than originally planned (including the softest tenderest tandoori chicken I have ever made). The girls were thrilled and there was so much alcohol between the cava and sangria that we didn’t play boardgames at all. We instead played “I’ve never” and it was actually my first time (oh darn I should have said "I've never played "I've never" before!) I was the first to fold all ten fingers and was at minus 5 fingers by the end of the night. This does not mean that I have seen it all and done it all. It means my friends know too much about me and know how to screw me in very specific ways.
I had a house guest this weekend – Baggy, a friend from NYC so we obviously ended up eating out quite a bit. Somewhere between Shanghai and Sichuan, curry lamb and cupcakes, my digestive system summarily gave up, packed up and moved and this morning was extremely unpleasant. I went to work an hour late and refusing to learn a lesson in much-needed moderation, ate lunch with Baggy at Crystal Jade again. My organs are crying for mercy and my diet is most certainly f-ed in the a.
Meanwhile I gave up on romance and all that things beautiful and idealistic for the time being (never summarily, my darling, never). Eagle, the one who is literally right next to me, was a lemon after all. He made one joke too many and I lost my patience. I confronted him head on and asked him for an explanation and guess what, he has none. All of a sudden, I am a coworker and things would be awkward. Oh really, Einstein? That thought took awfully long to crystallise! I now have the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable and he can go eat tree bark for all I care.

This week I also heard from Orangetree (the one who is so, so far away) after two weeks. Obviously he had been busy with school (why o why!) but nonetheless, it was nice to talk to him. To make my life more painfully ironic than it already is, he said something heartbreakingly beautiful. He wants to find a short term role in Hong Kong and he wants my help to get it. "Anything to be close to you for 2 months". I can't find him the role he wants, it's not in my realm of expertise. I would be lying if I said I wasn't already asking around for leads. But I know I won't be able to get him anything that fits his level of experience. And yet, it means so much to me that he asked me to try.

To make matters worse, I dreamt of him this morning. For what it's worth, Orangetree is this wondrous, Utopian idea of what romance should be like. And so maybe in some perverse way, it is better that this romance never materializes, because there is just no way it could be this exhilarating in reality.

home life

2011-01-14T16:15:00.005+08:00

I feel a major creative streak coming on. I am very nearly done with decorating the apartment and current weather notwithstanding, it is as warm and welcoming as a lover's embrace. It does need some final finishing touches (there's only so much you can do in a rental). I am not ashamed to say that the apartment has pretty much turned into a non-stop obsessive creative project and has brought a lot of colour and positivity into my life. The compliments from friends, the oohs and the aahs and the knowledge that I have achieved a pretty decent pulled-together look with very little input from others are immensely satisfying. Not that it matters what others think. For all I care, someone else might think my walls look like a toddler threw up his favourite crayons on them but hey, maybe that's what I am going for.

Two days ago, I decal-ed the wall behind my bed with near-perfect execution. And I beam with pride at the end results for a number of reasons. Installing an intricate decal is not easy, especially when the decal in question is an elaborate chandelier design with tons of room for fatal mistakes (fatal, because you can't peel it and restick it). Now add to that another layer of complexity - a ceiling that is much higher than the one in your new york apartment which makes it physically impossible for someone as vertically limited as you to reach the ceiling-wall interface using just a bar-stool.

Initially I had asked Eagle to help but of course he didn't (umm, like hell I am asking my friends help in his job search!) so I asked my building management to loan a bad-ass ladder which though rickety was tall enough to get the job done. And you will appreciate this more when you see how fantastically straight and perpendicular the "chandelier's" chain is with respect to the wall and the ceilings.

The bedroom doesn't afford too much room (literally) for a creative outlet - only one real wall (rest are windows with ugly beige curtains that I have no inclination to replace) and even that one wall has a stupid small window 1/3rds away from the centre that effectively thwarts any attempt to hang any artwork. Hence the decal. Now to get creative with other things...

Like the lamp. Now, I have a very beautiful, classically shaped lamp made by the good folks at Ralph Lauren. And it came with the world's ugliest lampshade that looks like it was made out of recycled cardboard. So I had tried replacing it with a white lampshade from IKEA - that didn't work because at the time I wasn't aware of the thumb rule of lampshade widths and so it looks a bit fucked up. So here's what I am going to do - I am going to revamp the old RL shade itself. You just wait and see. With that and my beautiful green bamboo chair and fuschia pillow (handmade by the Jups), I think the bedroom should tie itself together.

I just got back from lunch during which I ordered (finally) a philips home theatre system - it's not as spectacular as the one I had before from Samsung but it is multi-system/region/voltage and that is a giant plus. It will have to do. Besides I am guessing neighbours here probably aren't as tolerant as they are in New York. Speaking of which, I am quite sure my upstairs neighbours are the Flintstones - only that can explain all the thuds I hear all the fucking time. Pebbles and Bam Bam are perpetually rolling things (from the sound of it, gas cylinders or old industrial trolleys?) or banging things or running around wearing what could only be bricks on their feet.

I host my first mini-party tonight. Girls only, boardgame night. The dining table isn't here yet so I figured it'd restrict the invite to friendly and non-clumsy women.

Menu: sangria, mozzarella gremolata, delived eggs and possibly grilled pepper stuffed with feta cheese. Time permitting (2 hours after work). But then again, I am superwoman.

P.S. Wow, the post ended up having almost nothing to do with the creative streak so without getting verbose let me just say what I was getting at. I am revamping the lamp shade, duplicating my chandelier in gold (don't know how) and exploring some art projects - patchwork pillows inspired by Etro, mixed media and acrylic painting. Okay there.

modern man

2011-01-12T16:41:00.007+08:00

I got my passport back from the Brazilian consulate and Bunny and I have started chalking out our Brazilian holiday. Unfortunately Bunny has fewer vacation days so we can't stay in Rio as long as I'd like to but I'd be damned if I didn't make it work. So far we have booked our tickets to and hotel in Rio and are now working on the Foz do Iguacu leg of our trip. For that I headed to the Argentine consulate today to get a visa so that I can see these humblingly immense falls from both sides of the water. Have you ever wondered why waterfalls are always on international borders? Victoria, Niagara, Iguazu... what gives?

I will finally end up spending 2 days in Sao Paolo, (instead of the 3 I had initially thought I would); Sao Paolo is great for shopping (shoes bikinis and dresses, here I come!) and all my friends live there so I am looking forward to some nights that involve caipirinhas, delicious meats, loads of dancing and great company. Needless to say I am pretty excited to finally set foot on a previously unchartered continent (unchartered for me, silly).

Another previously unchartered continent for me happens to be Africa (UAE doesn't count, does it?) and I had thought that I would cover that ground as early as March this year since my dear friend A-to-A is getting married there. But that is looking increasingly unlikely considering how ugly it looks to ask for downtime less than a month after returning from a Brazilian bender. And even if the leave wasn't really an issue, it would be pretty shitty to go all the way to South Africa alone, be single at a wedding and then have no one to travel with and be reminded constantly of being single and insecure in a country with very questionable (as I am told) safety. There is also the possibility of Daddy Cool getting married in South Africa towards the end of the year and that's going to be a whole lot easier to pull off if my b-school buddies end up going, of course that has no bearing on the decision to go now. Truth be told, I yearn for the opportunity to go to Mozambique, rather than SA.

For the last few days, I have been practicing what seems to be the world's easiest diet, in the hope that in a span of 2 weeks, I will be transformed into a bikini-ready Brazilian supermodel. Sure. What is the world's easiest diet? "No Carbs After 7pm". Now who knows if this works? I seriously doubt this would work if you had a tub of butter at 730pm, so the key (according to my very fit colleague) is to "eat normally". How am I doing this? Instead of rice, daal and yogurt, I eat daal and yogurt. Instead of rotis, veggies and yogurt, I eat veggies and yogurt. No results thus far but like I said it is easy so who knows, if not in 2 weeks, I am sure to see results in 2 months. Granted I strayed once with a pint of cider but who doesn't?

My dining table arrives next week and I can barely contain my excitement. So today, I decided to take a walk to Lane Crawford, a very hoity-toity designer merchandise store, in the hopes of finding a beautiful vase to christen my table with. No luck. Between the highly discounted 600 HKD boring stuff and the very very unaffordable 23,000 HKD vases, I was shit out of luck. I need a big teal or orange glass vase. Lane Crawford like all the high end stores in Hong Kong has no idea what a sale is supposed to be. Bed linens retail (after discount) for 12,000 HKD (not 1,200, I checked). Manolo Blahniks go on sale for over 5000 HKD.

Well on the plus side, at least I can't spend.

I would rather not write an update on the Eagle situation because surprise surprise, he's a lemon and I cannot dignify his existence with an entire post of overanalysis. Apparently even near-broke twerps who don't have a decent job can also be assholes. Who knew? I am not upset or heartbroken but it does grind my gears that I cannot go to the bathroom or get a drink of water without seeing his face every 2 hours. You should not shit where you eat, people, you really shouldn't.

This evening, I shall go buy myself flowers and arrange them in some crappy vase I have. Someday, I will find a beautiful man who will buy me flowers, heck someday I will find a beautiful vase but for now, this will do.

p.s. Can I just say, for the millionth time, how thankful I am to past tense me for writing as much as she did? I read a few posts from 3 years ago today and I made me smile. The delight that this virtual and unending time capsule of text brings me is priceless.

baby

2011-01-10T23:40:00.004+08:00

Sigh. I sincerely believe that I looked very pretty today. During the day, I wore a tartan Kate Spade skirt with a pink turtleneck. And I had an AWESOME hair day, which is so rare for someone with savage hair like me. I wore my almost-magenta suede boots. All in all, I think I looked like a million bucks. I think I wanted Eagle to notice me on his first day back. He didn't say anything. We talked a lot but nothing happened. He didn't even go get breakfast with me.

At night, I got dressed to the nines, checked dress, Jimmy Choo boots and my LV coat to top it all off. On a random Monday night, I know, but I guess it was so easy because it was one of those good-look-days - it's not even about the clothes.. my hair, my face, everything looked right.

Oh well. Noone said anything. Except the waitress who went mad about my boots.

Sigh. Whatever, I'll say it. I looked pretty all day today. Good night.

diamonds are a girl's best friend

2011-01-04T14:42:00.005+08:00

Expect another airport post that I forgot to publish yesterday but in the meantime...
I arrived in honkers yesterday morning, hurriedly dropped my bags at home, showered, changed and ran to work. Ironically it was a very relaxed day at work and I spent a lot of time chatting on google with Eagle. (Side note: Aforementioned post has ample updates on the Eagle situation, which has turned in equal measure birdbrained and yet, attractive).

I have been monitoring the property market in Bombay for a while now and I finally ruled out in its entirety the possibility of owning a decent sized apartment in a decent Bombay neighbourhood. Unless the property market free falls, which mark my words, it will in the near future. I can't afford it and I am not being an elitist or anything, I am sincerely wondering how, if an NRI making a six figures in dollars can't stomach owning in Bombay, locals can. A mortgage that runs into crores of rupees is no mean mortgage, it's a huge risk, not to mention a giant overhang on all small and big financial decisions.

So anyway, to get over the sorrow I bought something else. A fantastic pair of diamond earrings - 4.5 carats of shiny fabulousness. Whee. Biggest purchase I have ever made (too bad diamonds don't go on Last Call/Final Sale, huh?). Of course I went over my credit limit twice over. As I always say, there is a first time for everything.

They are quite breathtaking - about an inch and a half in diameter, they are a hybrid between a stud and a hoop, starting from the front of the ear and curving to the back, in white and yellow gold, in brilliant and baguette cuts, they work with ethnic and modern fashion. They are the ketchup of diamond earrings in that they go with everything, only they cost about a billion times more (okay not a billion). I also had my eye on a very cute diamond necklace but that's been postponed till the next trip. I had to choose between the necklace and the earrings and I picked the earrings. Also my credit card got blocked after that transaction.

So yesterday, I scrambled about to get my credit card unblocked by making an out of schedule payment during the course of which I locked myself out of HSBC's a-phd-is-easier-than-this internet banking system and sent a check while there were zero funds in my current account. It was all a big mess but I think it's sorted now. I should be able to use my card tomorrow. I am effectively oodles poorer and oodles richer at the same time. So fine, resolution #3 has suffered a temporary setback. Now if only diamond prices would go up so that my net worth increases. While we are on the subject, I should mention that some time this year, I intend to re-set my fabulous engagement ring (which being a testament to my failed love life but is by no means any less beautiful post breakup). And no, I didn't return it and if you think I should, you should put that opinion in a pipe and smoke it. Besides, I can't return a ring by email and no, that's not the only reason.

And while we are, in turn, on the subject of failures, losers, etc, I did something brave and long overdue. I wrote him a letter. And I don't mean email. I mean letter, snail mail. Why? You can hit "reply" on snail mail. I wrote it by hand at first but then changed it to print. I requested him to return my recipe book and my drawing book - two things money can't buy me back. It didn't make me sad to write to him and I was relieved about that. I can only hope that he didn't toss them out with the trash and that he still has a modicum of decency left to make an effort to mail my books back. So yes, I took a step towards my resolution #4 (create something new) by asking for something old back, that I will, Inshallah, use to create something wonderful.

New diamonds and old diamonds, new paintings and old sketches. It's going to be a wonderful year.

Go Do

2010-12-21T15:36:00.004+08:00

It should not surprise you at all that I think 2010 was one giant donkey-bollock of a year. Considering that I spent a large part of 2009 and intermittent periods of 2010 believing that by the end of the year I would be leading a very different and a very married life, I am entitled to copious amounts of disgruntlement over 2010 being such a gutterball. But one must let bygones be bygones and assholes be assholes (who will, god willing, spontaneously combust, but this is not the post for wishing other people ill, no matter how vile their existence is).

This is a post about aspiring to new things and rising above the mundane. This is about what I want 2011 to be like. The Jups of 2011 is going to be a better version of 2010 Jups (and I know that sounds incredulous, because frankly, I don’t need any improving, ha ha).

So here’s how I am going to better myself. With a drumroll ..dun dun dun…I present the new year’s resolutions of the Jups…

Health, Fitness and Sports… There is no denying the fact that I need to lose weight. So this year I resolve to go to the gym regularly and eat in moderation and shed some of that unlovable puppy fat. I will most definitely be buying a wetsuit and going wakeboarding more often and get better at it. By this time next year, I resolve to be able to do jumps. I also want to, if possible, learn kitesurfing. Another big to-do on my to-do list is diving. I have loved the waters a long time and I am going to get my diving license. If by this time next year, I have dived in Palawan or Micronesia, my life would be a little more complete. So there you go. Lose weight, Get Fit, Wakeboard and Dive.

Travel (more). The Jups was shackled by the lack of planning, unpredictability and allround shittiness on the part of he who shall not be named. Now that that is a thing of the past, the Jups will make travel plans and make good on them. She will attend her friends’ weddings and she will plan trips even if she is a teensy weensy bit afraid of traveling to farflung places all by herself. Brazil, South Africa and the Philippines are on her list of countries to visit this year. And a girls weekend in some sexy place in Europe (maybe Monaco or the South of France or some such...), followed by a visit to a dear friend in Paris (and/or a dear lover in Lisbon depending on how nice OT continues to be to her).

Mo Money, Less Problems. Considering my lavish lifestyle, I am not doing too poorly (ha! Pun!) in the personal finance department. But relative to peers, I am not doing great, I don’t have substantial savings nor do I have an apartment to my name. All I have is a few Gs and a few pretty little things (which granted are very pretty but you can't pay rent with them). Oh and a tiny little beach facing property in India with no house on it, but it's not worth much. So this year, I resolve to, at the very very minimum, get to 6 figure savings. Insane? Yes. Impossible? No. If I do, I will reward myself justly with a superfantastic bag. D'oh.

Create. In the next 12 months, I will create at least one object of beauty from scratch - maybe a painting, maybe a cushion, something that I can pride myself over. I have a painting project in mind but unfortunately to execute it I need my sketchbook which I left in the apartment of he who shall not be named...If you're reading this please send my sketchbook back to me!

Get a fucking awesome job. Things are not looking too promising for the long term so the Jups has to think a few months ahead and start whoring out the CV in the coming months and hopefully land herself a grand job. This is probably the hardest resolution to keep but I'll be lenient and say that if #3 is taken care of, then at least I have some security to walk away if things turn to shit....

Well, let's get to it then. Wish me luck. I hope Christmas is festive enough and that 2011 ends up being fulfilling and as sinfully amazing as a multiple orgasm. Kisses.

To quote the fabulous song from the title,

Go sing, too loud
Make your voice break- Sing it out
Go scream, do shout
Make an earthquake...

Go drum, too proud
Make your hands ache - Play it out
Go march through crowds
Make your day break...

no love

2010-12-17T23:04:00.003+08:00

Hong Kong is no doubt a vibrant and wondrous city and most people are loathe to accept any criticism about this fine city so in many ways the pride among hongkongers (is that a word) is comparable to that of the new yorkers. But I've lived in NY and I am living here now and I am trying to be as objective as I possibly can and as fair as I can possible be in making or not making comparisons and judgements. But a few issues stand out glaringly, two rather ugly and destructive ones in particular - I am talking about racism and sexism.

I consider myself a new-age-y feminist, not the bra burning kind, in the sense that I don't dismiss the female form and I never try to dress or act in a more masculine way to be treated in a way equal to a man. I can't say if this is working for me yet, ask me again in twenty years and if I am a business head at some superfantastic investment bank (and I am still rocking a sleek dress), then you have your answer. I also believe strongly in chivalry and I guess this is probably "wrong" or "hypocritical" or whatever the fuck but I like it. I like the doors to be held open, I like to be waited on, I fucking like it, okay? Chivalry is a sign of civilised behaviour, just like saying "excuse me" or not littering or being kind to service staff. (Incidentally like chivalry, the others are also conspicuously absent in Hong Kong).

Hong Kong serves up a heady cocktail of racism and sexism which means that being brown and a woman is a foolproof recipe for being treated like shit. Doesn't matter what you wear, how much you earn or how much you're willing to spend (no, I am not saying that your credit limit should be a basis for the way you're treated but let's face it, at least money is colorblind). In this jungle of uncivilised ignorance, white trumps brown and man trumps woman.

I don't claim to be the most well-traveled person on earth but I have certainly traveled a bit and I have certainly eaten at some fantastic restaurants, restaurants with impeccable service. And I can assure you that in no restaurant in no other city that I have eaten in have I seen the man/men I am eating with be served before myself or the women I am with. Except in Hong Kong. So imagine my utter disgust when I go to a restaurant for lunch with three of my male colleagues (who incidentally are white) and they get served drinks before I do, soup before I do, mains before I do and even fucking espresso before I do. Coincidence? Racist sexism is no fucking fluke.

This morning I got all suited up for a day of client meetings (and it's a Friday), so I daresay I am looking much nicer and businesslike than I usually would on a friday. I had braved the shitty weather and a violently cold night (sans heater) and I am somewhat grateful that my sinus is at a controlled level and that I am not going to miss a meeting because of it. I walk to work fully armed in woolcoat and all because I am not risking pneumonia in this wet shitty cold. I go to the pantry to make myself a coffee (in an attempt to denounce those toffee nut lattes, in an attempt to lose weight and be bikini ready for Brazil). And this benign situation is where my second story of collective racism and sexism begins. Operation Attack the Brown Girl.

We have a very nice and friendly (my ass) lady who is sort of the office woman-friday/do-it-all who is seemingly nice to everyone and does odd jobs and cleans and what not. Anywho, the lady offers to wash my coffee mug (I find this really unnecessary but oh well). I stick the milk in the microwave, a pod in the nespresso machine and wait. In the meantime this smug good looking dude comes to get his espresso refilled. Side note: the office girls gush at this bloke because he's quite the looker (not to me) and incidentally he is married so that adds to his douchey smugness. Whatever. So this nutjob cuts ahead while I am waiting (because you know, people just wait by the coffee machine and try to make conversation with it, not because they're trying to make their morning cuppa). He sticks another pod in (so there are two pods in the machine). He hits the button and things go predictably pearshaped. So guess what they all do? Blame the girl. Don't blame the impatient ass who stuck the second pod in while I was waiting for my coffee. Before I know it this stupid cow is trying to yank the extra pod, refusing my offers to help her out and screaming to all and sundry in Cantonese whilst pointing at me that it was my fucking fault. I assume thats what she was saying since I don't fucking speak Cantonese but I sure as hell don't like people yelling near me while pointing at me. You do speak English so fucking speak English and say what you have to, to my face. Meanwhile the douchebag stands there taking no responsibility. Fan-fucking-tastic. So I stand there like I have a thumb up my butt while this woman tries to fix the machine. Ten minutes later, she gets the second pod out. I thought to myself, fuck this shit, and said "Look I am really sorry". What else could I say? Sergeant dipshit then mumbles under his breath, inaudible to anyone else, "actually it was my fault". No shit sherlock. Thanks for being gracious, asshole.

My colleague who witnessed the whole thing later told me it was no big deal. I protested that if it wasn't, there was no need to point and shout like I was some murderer standing to be identified in a line-up (well I didn't say that last part). Jin tells me what at stores she never gets waited on when she's shopping with her white friends. Incidentally Jin makes more money than the other girls so guess what, all this racism/sexism is really hurting the racists/sexists. As Jin said, a woman is a woman's worst enemy. She couldn't be more right and lamentably, it shouldn't have to be that way.

all i want for christmas is you

2010-12-14T17:57:00.004+08:00

It’s been a fine morning so far. I went to bed last night at 12 after unpacking most of my stuff. I am happy to report that all the made-in-china china that I dragged from New York to Hong Kong is intact and did not get damaged during transit. The same cannot be said about my beautiful red suitcase which has sustained several scratches. If this is how it looks after its first flight, I don’t know how a ten-year warranty will help.
I woke up by 3 am, and couldn’t sleep but remained in bed a couple more hours, dreaming about OT and relishing the feeling of being in my own bed, my own sheets and my own comforter. Did a bit of arranging and hanging my clothes and then defrosted a bagel (thank God the cream cheese in the fridge hadn’t spoilt), mixed chopped red peppers with the cream cheese for my own version of veggie cream cheese and ate it while watching an episode of Modern Family. I then took a nice long bath flavoured with my favorite de-stressing suds from Lush, while reading “Too Big to Fail”, an unputdownable book that Claus recommended. First bath in new apartment, check. Few things are as effective in loosening me up as a relaxing bath with a book. In fact, I really wanted to buy myself a bath tub caddy – this neat little tray that sits over the tub and has a contraption to hold up a book…I think it was made for me. Well, now you know what I want for Christmas.

Well no, what I really want for Christmas is my darling Orangetree, who said naughty flirty things on chat today. Why does that boy say cute things to melt my heart? Why does he love rainstorms like I do? Why God Why? Why do you create the man of my dreams and shuffle him to the farthest corner of the earth from where I am? Huh? Why? If you’re reading this God, I want you to move the mountains and part the seas so that this boy can plonk his hot little behind on a plane to Hong Kong, right fucking now. And quite frankly, it shouldn't even be that hard, you can probably just a create a business project that he simply has to embark on. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Work is alright today, I have stuff to do but it’s nowhere near as busy as it was in new york and for that I am thankful. It’s insanely humid in Hong Kong and it’s driving me up the fucking wall that women here in their strange and misguided attempts to look fashionable are walking around in fur vests, fur boots and woolen hats. It’s twenty-five fucking degrees. Celsius, not Fahrenheit. What the fuck? That’s hot! At the very least, it’s warm. And did I mention it’s sweat-running-down-my-back-humid? I was nearly ready to run to the gym to take a shower during lunch.

I am picking up my dining chairs tomorrow. I missed the opportunity of a lifetime today – someone was selling Philippe Starck Ghost chairs (I’ve been lusting after these for 2 years) and they sold out before I could get to them. Ugh. So I am going with my original plan. You will see the results soon.

p.s. It is tomorrow. OT and I had a long, deep conversation which he abruptly left to go help his mom or something. He did not send me a virtual kiss. I am bummed out. This is not a good side of me.

Animal

2010-12-13T01:37:00.005+08:00

As the new Neon Trees song (that I am loving right now) goes, here we go again...

The last 2 weeks have whizzed by and my days were unpleasant at best, excrutriating at worst and no fault on anyone's part but work's. Work was the reason I came here, so I can't exactly bitch about this trip not being the vacation I wanted it to be. I admit, for a few tiny minutes, I was extremely pleased with all the perks, especially the hotel (36th floor, view of central park, the sunrise looked magnificent). Yet, I wish I hadn't had to work until midnight all nights including the entire weekend (in fact on friday I was at work till 3 am).

But for what it's worth, I did end up meeting all my darling friends and in some cases, more than once. And I fed myself some delectable things that I miss dearly in Hong Kong, from the beyond awesome cilantro-avocado-cream-cheese on toasted spinach bagel from murray hill, to mexican barbacoa lamb, from stacked barbecue ribs from Hillstone (you'll never eat ribs anywhere else, ever) a homemade roasted chicken stuffed with pine nuts, minced meat and rice. Saturday culminated with me stuffing my face in a more-ginormous-than-usual Chipotle steak burrito and communal style Ethiopan food and the ubiquitous ny-style pizza slice. And loads of alcohol. Needless to say, my stomach is a warzone right now. Totally worth it.

I crammed some utilitarian shopping in thanks to next day delivery - this includes a signal converter for my TV, water filters and other snoooooooreeeeeeeee. Well, no, I am lying. I had ordered myself a golden leather bag from Kate Spade several weeks ago so that was one cute purchase. And a much-needed replacement down jacket from dkny (my old one has died a thousand deaths) Yesterday was my only day off and I maximised the time I had... a trip to CB2 for some colourful home accents, a trip to Macys for tights, cosmetics and a well-deserved and long-overdue Samsonite suitcase (my suitcases are usually dirtcheap and I go through several of them, have them repaired in sequence and the cycle goes on). Couldn't make it to any of my favourite American stores, especially Keihls (whose eye cream is the only thing between me and utter wretchedness) and J Crew. Frustrating but I probably need to stomach another 2 grand and just buy my own ticket and come here for a vacay.

And speaking of vacays, I think I have a few interesting trips lined up. Regrettably, I am no longer going to Cancun in early January (groan, moan, no guacamole for me), however I am going to Brazil (la la la la) in late January for work! I am taking another week off and spending it as vacay time with my lovely girlfriends who live there. I am really really hoping that I can see the Iguazu falls, I have heard they are phenomenal. March is going to be interesting too, as I *might* fly to South Africa for a friend's wedding and/or go skiing in Italy. Cut to June/July, and I'll probably be in Europe for a girls-only long weekend. If things are still hot between Orangetree and I, I'll go see him in his little country too. I am spending the upcoming christmas in bombay, attending a friend's wedding, sans OT and Noo (both of whom were initially supposed to attend).

And if none of that works out, I'll get into an empire state of mind and buy a ticket to this city that still, I am happy to report, holds my heartstrings.

p.s. created a new label "airport blogging", just because.
p.p.s coming soon, a tour of the wonderful and technicolour apartment of the jups

Bheegi si, Bhaagi si

2010-12-02T12:21:00.003+08:00

I heard this song today and I think it's adorable and quite fitting considering what happened today.

So much can change in one day. So much. For the worse, I have experienced. Like that evening, I was watching Modern Family and checking my email and in those mangled lines of text, I watched my world crumble.

But this is about something pleasant but not nearly as grandiose and life-changing (I think this might be the first time someone referred to a breakup as grandiose).

I landed on Saturday afternoon but before I had boarded my flight, OT had already emailed me asking about my journey. Silly guy confused my dates and thought I was getting here on Friday. Well, I wasn’t. On Saturday he had made plans to help some friends move furniture or some such nonsense, but he said he wanted to see me anyway so he came running to my hotel. He was adorable and kept telling me how much he had missed me. I was pleasantly surprised to hear him say that. I hated that he had to leave and meet his friends (and as I later found out, got drunk, had a wicked hangover and food poisoning again). But we did go for a long walk around the neighbourhood, walking towards times square, and got $4.75 burgers at the shake shack. Classy, I know. It still felt very datelike, considering we held hands the entire way and we only found one chair in the beginning, so he asked me to sit on his lap (and I didn’t, I don’t want him to know that I weigh 20,000 kilos).

On Sunday, I was fairly certain that I would see him. Except I didn’t. He had a wicked hangover and didn’t get into manhattan until dusk, and then he went and poisoned himself again. Apparently he was sick all night. And I didn’t see him on Monday either. Nor on Tuesday, even though he asked me out to tea and then got snowed under with work. I had tons to do too but I was pretty mad that he couldn’t make time for me. And then today, he said something that really pissed me the hell off. He leaves NY tomorrow morning and he claimed that I should compromise and I lost it on him. The boy saw reason and apologized and met me for a late lunch. I paid (and I know that isn’t romantic but everything else was and). Everything else - like us holding hands, like him touching my face every time I said something that he found adorable, like making plans for our next rendezvous and trying to figure out which continent it would be in, and who would visit whom first, like holding hands and walking in the rain under one umbrella (his broke!).

He has a really dorky sense of humour (jokes include toilet humour and sexual innuendo), like most of the men I am attracted to (please note that I am not attracted to guys with a dorky sense of humour, I am attracted despite it). He is way too tall for me, and he dresses like, well, in a manner that I don’t approve of. He knows so little about India and Indian culture that it is borderline ignorant. Nah, fuck it, it is ignorant. On the other hand though, he is tall and insanely good looking. And even though in all likelihood, he might be a player, he says things that make me feel like I am the prettiest girl in the world. And that's pretty awesome.

I never had the romantic evening I wanted and I didn't wear either of the two dresses I had picked. And he didn't pay for lunch. But yes, I had a pretty magical afternoon. He gives me butterflies. And I don't know when I will see him again. Life is pretty fucking ironic, huh?

Airplanes

2010-11-27T08:49:00.004+08:00

I am at cathay pacific's crappy (excuse the pun) rock-garden inspired drab business class lounge where the toilets are tiny and don't flush. Ewww.

I am showered, clean and refreshed and I hope that their breakfast on board is a bit more varied than the canteen-style rubbish they are offering at the lounge. In my experience, the lounge food is usually better than inflight so I don't know where that leaves me. I have been a little presumptuous and dressed in jeans instead of sweats thinking they would give me jammies on board but it seems unlikely. And while I being snobbish, I would also like to add that their colour palette is extremely out of whack. Red outfits with yellow piping over yellow and red printed shirts do not co-ordinate at all with the overriding teal colour of the airline which does not match with the dirty blue seats. This airline is hereby declared summarily colourblind. On the plus side, they just served me a fantastic mocktail on board - it's so... asian-y. Mmm.

Orangetree absentmindedly emailed me a while ago asking how my trip was, when I am still at the airport. That's all I've heard from him. He hasn't formally asked me out yet on what will be our second date/third meeting. Did I ever tell you how we met? I guess I didn't. Well, we met at a birthday party (in a bar) - we have common friends. From the second we met, he couldn't stop talking to me. He has eyes only for me and I hadn't experienced that in a while. I was a in short (and very beautiful, if I may say so myself) rose-garden print, bright red draped dress, accessorised by dark eyes and very red Chanel lips. He was wearing jeans and a teeshirt with, you guessed it, an orange tree print. We had a lot to talk about and he was quite taken by my eyes. Pretty soon, he stuffed his blackberry into my hand without saying a word. He flew off to Spain the next day and about 3 weeks later, 3 days after my birthday, he asked me out. And now here we are.

I have packed 2 of the dresses I bought in Hong Kong - the long grey Betty Draper style dress with the full skirt and the Karen Millen electric blue dress. The former shall be the designated second date dress and the latter (thought initially intended for new year's eve) shall now be designated possibly-maybe-I-certainly-hope-so third date dress.

And now the pilot has announced the route that my flight will take, he says it will fly over Taipei, Japan and Alaska. And that reminds me of something I have been meaning to tell you for a while now. About another boy.

Eagle is a boy I work with and he confuses and befuddles me. He is tall, broad shouldered, has an incredible body (husssh) and a dorky smile. All in all, he's cute, and funny. He is also a few years younger than me (how many I don't know, but I think 3?). He works in my office and I don't know how but we have in a short span of time, become very close and yet somehow remains distant. No, let me rephrase that. He treats me like a very very close friends, and well, I like hanging out with him but I don't know if I miss him terribly when he is not around. To be honest, he hasn't given me an opportunity to miss him. I see him everyday at work and sometimes he asks me out to drinks on saturday... or movies... or something. He has also asked to go wakeboarding with me but I never invite him. I hate mixing sports and boys, I just can't. In my limited experience in sports, men have been an unadulterated downer - they are too smug and they discourage weaklings and I don't like that sort of rubbish spirit.

Anyway, Eagle, the good looking American is somewhat of an intern in the bank and he's desperately seeking to move out and into a better role and a better bank. And I am somewhat of a counsellor in this regard. I have asked friends for leads, I listen patiently to his gripes and I provide a better perspective. So in all likelihood, he is probably friends with me because I am the sensible voice of reason. But then again, right after he finds out where I live (I invited him to a party that I ended up canceling), he messages me that evening to say he is "in the neighborhood" and wants to get a drink.

Unlike orangetree, he never compliments me (you know OT is generous with the words), he berates himself (OT is arrogant) and he constantly talks about other women (OT - well I don't know because I haven't "hung out" with him). Eagle, as all white boys, in Hong Kong has women throwing their panties at him and so maybe he hangs out with me because I don't? Eagle until last night, would end our meetings (notice I didn't say dates?) with a fistbump. Yes, he'd bump my fist into his. A greeting that's about as romantic as sewage. I called him out recently on his aversion to physical contact (I don't get it. You would fuck a girl you barely met in a club, but you won't hug/air-kiss a friend and coworker?). Last night, we had our habitual "one drink" and he walked me home and gave me a hug. I said "well this is new". And he reached out and gave me another, even tighter one. Well.

The way I (and several of my friends) see it, Eagle treats me as a friend. While I have made platonic male friends over the past few years (and they remain close to me), either I or the other person or both have been taken. Ganador is a classic example - we get along great, I had a boyfriend, I introduced him to his girlfriend and generally speaking, there is no awkward chemistry so we are friends and will be. But Eagle, it just seems different. He is always so eager to hang out with me and while I don't want to sometimes, I never have the heart to say no. And I don't regret going out with him (except the first time, we went for a movie and the whole evening was a real downer). Of course, given he earns significantly less than I do (as if I make loads), we always split the check and by that I mean, once he took me on a long walk (you heard me, he actually took me to the park) and then to a bubble tea stand and I paid for my own 1$ tea. U.G.H.

So the point I am trying to get at is that these 2 weeks away from him may perhaps help me understand what exactly it is between the two of us. At times our interactions remind me of how Adrian and I started out. Alright, that's done.

teenage dream

2010-11-23T17:54:00.002+08:00

I really can’t share this with people as much as I'd like. Most of my friends think I am being hopeless and pathetic and obsessive. I know all of them en masse think that this will never turn into something real. And to that I say, so what?

My little heart is skipping beats again (hence Katy Perry's teenage dream fits this post perfectly). When I found out about my tentative trip to New York, I immediately emailed Orangetree…

“Just found out I'm in new york some time next week. will you be there? Say yes. :) ”
“Yes!”
“Can’t wait”

There was no news from him after that, so I went through a trough again. My strange relationship (if it can even be called that) has been full of ups and downs. Our busy lives and the astronomical distance between us mean that we rarely ever see each other online but when we do, the flirtation is pleasantly surprising and keeps me smiling for at least a day. He sometimes takes days to reply to an email which bums me out but he always apologizes for the delay. And sometimes, he sends me emails out of the blistering blue at 3 am New York time, saying something insanely smile-inducing like how he thinks that my natural hair is way sexier than the red wig I had on for Halloween (and that somehow at 3 am he had to let me know that?). On this particular occasion I told him that I had already bought the dress I would wear on my second date. “Whenever that will be”, I added. He replied saying “In Lisbon”. Now I know I am crazy but can I just take one minute to think about just how awesome that would be? Preposterous, yes but out-of-this-world-unbelievably-romantic, too. And then he disappeared again, entertaining his clients and flying around.

This morning I wake up and there’s an email from him. He’d been sick and still working through it. It’s an apology in disguise and one I never asked for and I’ll take it. He wants to know when I arrive. Yeap, call me crazy but in some parallel universe, another Jups is already backing in another New York and dating another Orangetree. Meanwhile, in this universe, she hopes he is planning which restaurant he’s going to take her to next week…Baby steps.

15 step

2010-11-22T15:07:00.003+08:00

Wow. It’s been a while. Obviously there’s a lot going on and several draft posts have been created and not published because that’s how preoccupied I’ve been.

First things first. I want to put some thing out there for anyone who is planning an international move between two disparate regions in terms of electronic and electrical conventions. Why? Because sometimes even the customer service desk of the company you purchased your expensive electronic item from may not know shit from apple sauce – I am talking about you, SAMSUNG TELEVISION MAKERS, you people are incompetent nincompoops (granted you make awesome TVs) and need to replace the monkeys manning your support desk with people who know something.

So let’s say you are moving to/from a 100V-120V country from/to a 220-240V type country. Here’s what you need to check and know.

1. Your lighting will work. Connect your plug to an adaptor (not a voltage converter, just an adaptor) and replace your existing bulb with any odd bulb from the local supermarket. Got it? This is extremely straightforward but stand away from the bulb in case it bursts or some such.
2. Your random electricals like hairdryers and irons. A 220-240V device from say Asia will work in say, the US but not at full strength. It will be a wimpy low-power version of its former self. A 110-120V device if plugged into a 220V outlet will result in smoke, sparks, fireworks, etc. For these devices you will need a voltage converter/transformer.
3. Electronics – You may or may not need a voltage converter. Check the back. Apple continues to be seriously awesome in this regard. If you need one, make sure it’s “continuous use” and has some ungodly power rating (wattage). Look at label, multiply voltage x current in amps to get minimum wattage and go higher from there.
4. Electronics – There are two systems – NTSC and PAL, regardless of whether you use HDMI or TVs, DVD players from 110V regions do not support the signals in 220V regions (I am talking of signals not electric power) but the devices from 220V are multi-system. Why? Because these companies are fucked up like that. So unless you can find a signal converter DO NOT BOTHER carting your fucking 1000$ New York TV over to Hong Kong like I did. If you do end up doing what I did, you’re going to need another converter to convert the signals back and forth.
5. Usually a TV and a DVD player from the same region will be compatible with each other and I am not just talking about DVD regions (1/2/3)…signals are relevant. Question: are signals relevant in HD? Answer: YES.

Furniture is definitely more upmarket and more expensive in Hong Kong. Technically you could say that furniture of this quality would cost more in the states and you would be right in thinking so but the fact remains that besides IKEA there are no choices whatsoever for affordable furniture that looks good and please, I am quite sick of IKEA. The same is true for modern furniture – tastes tend towards antiquated looks and deep dark finishes and while I don’t mind a beautiful antique or two in the apartment (I am considering investing in one actually), I am not about to decorate my entire apartment like a dingy Chinese harem from the 14th century.

More later. Did i mention I am in New York later this week... Yipeee!

subterranean homesick alien

2010-11-21T23:56:00.002+08:00

I am just not getting any time to blog. And I might be flying off to New York some time next week for work. At first I was excited but I am not really looking forward to living in a hotel again...But no I am grateful and I do miss New York so this is good. On the other hand, Orangetree has not displayed as much enthusiasm as I would have liked him to. I am going to bed now. More later, I promise, if not now, then from the airport.

break your heart

2010-10-18T00:10:00.004+08:00

So I went wakeboarding again on Saturday - this was my third time and my oh my what a blast it was. I am very happy to report that I am not horrendous at wakeboarding. Of all the vrooms, I only failed to get up twice and the rest of the time I was up on the board and well, riding it for either short spurts where I tried to be a bit too experimental and or extended minutes of being cautious.

The waters were calm when we started out at 4 and Jin went on first. But by the time I got into, there were some big swells and soon enough the waters were choppy choppy choppy. The last time, the water had been really choppy so I hadn't done too well but this time, I was getting better at standing up at least so I felt less discouraged by the currents. Well until I fell anyway.

And I took some pretty nasty falls this time. One mighty gust of wind hit me in the face and board at the same time - I don't know if that makes any sense. Another fall, and one foot was off the board. Yet another big swell tripped me and whipped my board right off both feet and made it land about 20 feet away. Ohkay! And of course, twice I landed with board behind me, which as I have mentioned before is very irritating.

This morning I woke up so sore it wasn't funny. I ditched the hiking plan with Jin and slept in until noon and then headed out to brunch with Bear (she's another great gal that Jin introduced me to). Afterwards, I couldn't resist the massive sale signs outside the several boutiques in Soho. Mind you half the stuff isn't really on sale (unless you count the usual 10/20% that they offer).

Anywho, I made a big ticket purchase - this wondrous electric blue and purple cocktail dress from Karen Millen.

It's really quite fabulous, I adore the subtle ruffle around the hip and it was made for my body (even the length is perfect), if I may say so myself. Said dress has now designated my new-year's-eve-date-dress. I don't actually have a date for new year's eve but Inshallah I will know soon if I do. I also picked up a very deconstructed viridian (oh I am so glad I get to use that word!) and white dress from BCBG that is perfect for casual friday or even thursday.

In the meantime, Orangetree's stock has been downgraded from Buy to Hold. And I am feeling mighty proud right now for making a fancy finance-related joke that is not only appropriate but also opportune considering his correspondence last week. And children, I am afraid that is all we have time for tonight. Tomorrow is another day, and unfortunately, a Monday too, so Jups needs to get her beauty sleep and sweet dreams where she is rocking the fuck out of that dress on aforementioned dreamy new year's eve. Good night.

p.s. no it's not really viridian... it's a royal blue...goddamnit.

cloud number 9

2010-10-08T16:11:00.000+08:00

A bad week. Part 2. Please read part 1 first. Or don’t.

My family has left me to ponder the possibility of creating a matrimonial profile on the interweb. What a loathsome idea. “No” is not an acceptable answer so I am going to have to slither in and out of this like a stealthy little snake. More on that later.

In a totally different universe, work has been a bit strange. Or should I say, lack thereof? I am quite grateful that I am finally working normal hours (9-6) with a decent hour for lunch. I get to go to the gym after work (or during lunch if I choose to). On the other hand, I don’t nearly have enough to keep me occupied the entire day and I don’t know if that is about to change in the coming months. I am usually out of the loop with things and getting approval for even the most minor expenses is harrowing and embarrassing. So I have been a little confused. Should I feel bad about being unproductive? Should I be disgruntled and dare I say it, start looking for jobs yet another time?

Or, and go with me on this, should I take the hint from the powers that be that this is basically a massive paid vacation in a wicked city where I will inhabit a wickedly awesome apartment and have a wicked naughty post-disengaged life? These are life’s important questions.

I decided I am going with the latter. Tough choice, I know. My decision was aided by the fact that I actually managed to snag awesome apartment #2. Yipee! Yesterday I went to the apartment, which had since been vacated to measure the place and plan my furniture purchases. Imagine my sheer delight to find that place was larger than the tenant’s crowded furniture choices made it seem. My living area is a massive 11 feet by 22 feet! Holy unfathomable square footage batman! I cannot wait to move into my little slice of heaven. If it weren’t for the utter lack of closet space, this apartment would have been perfect so I better buy those to make it so.

So yesterday evening was a happy evening. I headed out to b-school drinks (vodka soda vodka soda) and then stepped out with Jin and some friends for dinner at an Italian resto. The dinner was horrendous but well, the company was quite the opposite. There was a slamming German cutie and he was just darling. Nothing happened of course but we all ended up partaying until 230 in the am. Did I mention it was Thursday? I get home, quite drunk and wishing on the way home, that Orangetree be online. He was. So I decided to message him. We ended up having a chat that was short and sweet (he was between meetings) but by no means uneventful. He gave me a virtual kiss. Cataclysmic news, isn’t it? Before you get your cynical panties in a bunch, let me finish. Encouraged by this grandiose display of affection I said…

“I kinda miss you”…. (There. I put it out there. He could block me and forget I even existed…)

Him: “I miss your lovely laugh”
Him: “smile”
Him: “eyes”

I woke up the next day, checked the chat again to make sure I hadn’t dreamt it. And that I had not put my foot in my mouth in drunken stupor. False and False. I went into my iTunes and played a cheesy ballad…

And there ain't no place that I'd rather be
And we can't go back but you're here with me
Yeah, the weather is really fine - up on cloud number nine

No one has ever said that to me about my laugh before. I did not expect that. Despite the unnatural odds, I kinda want this to happen. Kinda.

somewhere else

2010-10-08T15:25:00.002+08:00

It’s Friday and I’m in a fantabulous mood and so you get two posts for the price of 1. Let there be mayhem!

A bad week…part 1.

So remember when I said Orangetree was the equivalent of a George Clooney cameo in the movie of my life? Well, now it’s turned into an intermittent cameo role by an expensive movie star in a sitcom. He shows up once in a while, and everybody’s smiling whether he’s coming or going.

It was not a very happy week for me. The monster known as Arranged marriage reared its ugly fucking head once more. I remember the relief I felt when I realized a couple of years ago that I would never have to deal with that shit concept again. Well whaddayaknow? I am single again and so by construction, I am on the market. A market I have no business being on. You know I have made my feelings on AM amply clear.

So now let’s look at the AM system from the perspective of the less-than-desirable single woman (LTDSW). How do we define LTDSW? Well most women would have say looks, height or horoscope-related issues but LTDSW is a little more messed up than that. She could be previously engaged like yours truly (hereafter referred to as “disengaged”), or she could have had a boyfriend (oh lord, the shame!) or she could be suspiciously single at a very old age (like say 28?) or divorced (the horror of horrors).

Clearly I am guilty of more than one offence here and I have to give my family all credit due for being so incredibly supportive this entire time, so much so that I can’t really be pissed off at them now. So they are now looking for my future husband in the matrimonial section of random Tamil/Malayalam almanacs and magazines and let’s not forget the websites. With no success. I wasn’t terrible with my specifications. Appropriate age, Makes sufficient dough (preferably more than me). Lives in a world financial capital (crucial). I.e. If he lives in bumfucknowhere in middle America I am not fucking interested.

So my family has been scouring the ads for suitable boys and to no avail. But last week, a “family friend” (they’re no friends of mine, clearly) mentioned a single 30-year old guy and my parents jumped. Quite literally, I am guessing because they jumped on the computer, got his entire profile, printed it (I am guessing) and read it out to me on the phone.

I was so not interested. I don’t want to get into the details (okay, I am lying, I do)…he lives in a small town and he is a homeowner and that’s great for him, but homeowners don’t move easily and I am not about to quit my job and move to a place where the only feasible career is being a housewife. And the last time I checked, the housewife career path is pretty long-drawn and you don’t get healthcare coverage. Not to mention, he makes significantly less than I do. Try around 40%.

But Jups, money is not important, right? Strictly speaking, I don’t have a problem if the guy makes much less than I do. But he probably would, especially since I am younger. And let’s say he was emancipated and didn’t care, I still believe that he would treat money in a less disposable fashion than I do. And speaking of fashion, how would he feel if I squandered say, an amount equal to 30% of my rent check on a pair of Jimmy Choos? (Incidentally I have been eyeing a pair of thousand dollar Choos…but that’s for another discussion). My point is if he doesn’t make enough money, I need to know that he won’t cramp my style. Pun intended. There is no way of knowing that in this case, and it would be totally weird if I asked a question like that upfront.

There were other issues too, but I don’t want to sound like a cruel bitch more than I already do. Basically any qualities he hypothetically had were nullified by his location. But my folks did not take no for an answer. They counter-attacked and how. Essentially, they said that I had no right to be choosy now (because of what had happened). LTDSWs cannot be choosers, you get the drift. Let’s get one thing straight. This “thing” did not happen to me. Someone did something wrong, and I get the short straw?

And I was old. Oh and I am old. All the boys my age are married. Oh and 28 is really old. All the good boys are married. And did I mention, I am old. This retaliation happened during the course of 2 phone calls one of which was taken in the office. Bad idea. “Umm.. mom, you made me cry in the office. I am hanging up now”

Whether I like it or not, my folks are going ahead with this. Next step – we want a picture of you. Oh lord. I resignedly started scouring through my vast trove of photos to find one decent image. And this is when it becomes even clearer that the Jups and Arranged Marriage are about as compatible as bejeweled flats and toe fungus. I had much trouble finding a picture. Here are some of the reasons why most of my pictures failed the test …the demure Indian girl test.

Jups shows cleavage (very difficult to avoid in my case, the good lord made me curvy)
Jups is wearing a very short dress, a strapless dress, etc.
Jups is out in some beautiful place, has asked a passerby/friend to take a picture, it’s a gorgeous picture but she is wearing sunglasses (D’oh!)
Jups has a glass of booze in her hand (so.many.pictures).
Jups has a bottle of booze in her hand
Jups has green eyes
Jups has blue eyes
Random cute guy-friend has arm around Jups (so.many.pictures).

I grew weary but finally found one cute picture…the dress was low cut but the jacket covered it up, just about. No coloured lenses. Fresh make-up, not over the top, big earrings and happy smile. But wait…what’s this? A humongous bloody steak (hey, you either eat medium rare, or you don’t eat steak). Oh sweet baby Jesus. Reason number 7,893 why Jups and arranged marriage are as perfect a coupling as chocolate icecream and raw fish.
I cropped that shit out. A part of the plate is still visible but hey, that pinkish red liquid could be anything. Try raspberry consommé? Yeah that works.

After all that jazz, my mom finally overruled that picture because it was badly lit and instead went with some cute-as-a-button picture of me with the Niagara falls in the background. This is not going to end well.

she-wolf

2010-10-01T14:14:00.004+08:00

There has been an overhang of existential angst of late and what better way to momentarily distract oneself from it than retail therapy I say?

Jin's friend Elvish Pixie is Irish and a real hoot and what makes her even more Jups-approved is that she has some great shopping secrets that she shared with me. You see New York has its spring sample sales and Hong Kong... well Hong Kong has year round sample stores. Yes my dears, stores that sell high-end designer apparel deeply discounted... from the somewhat-expensive-yet-worth-the-tag BCBG and Karen Millen and Just Cavalli to the I-can-so-not-afford-this-at-this-stage-in-life Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton and Roberto Cavalli...

Umm so yes...this elegant dress from BCBG's current fall collection is mine...all

mine...and the only difference between me and this skinny model is that my ass makes this work.

Spoils also included an edgy Comme des Garcons jacket in charcoal grey, a white and turquoise mini dress by Roberto Cavalli and a summery blue silk dress by Prada. But the icing on the proverbial cake was a one-of-a-kind-find...a resplendent (and you know I hate using that word!) black graphic printed swingcoat by Louis Fucking Vuitton. Yes sir, that coat is perfect for layering over a perfect dress with the perfect shoes for a perfect dinner date with the perfectly handsome gentleman in the fall.

And I am only missing one of the things in that sentence to make that fantasy come true. Pity that's not on sale.

P.S. And while we're on the subject, Orangetree totally blew me off yesterday. Fucking Hell.

Say Hey (I love you)...

2010-09-28T23:30:00.003+08:00

I will not obsess about him.

I will not overanalyze the cute things he says.

I will not watch, wait and wonder when he will reply to my email. And sms.

I will not gush like a school girl when he says "hey beautiful!"

I will not expect him to visit me in Hong Kong. Even though he said he would. Twice.

I will not ask God if it's a sign that he has the same long term goals as I. I will not tell him.

I will not ask myself why a guy like that would fall for a girl like me.

I will not extrapolate into the future.

I will not pray that he calls me.

I will not think of him every time I see my new grey dress that I am sure he will love. Or when his first name comes up in a newspaper. Or the countries he's from.

I will not think of him before going to bed.

I will not plan which restaurant we will have dinner in when he's in Hong Kong.

And I absolutely will not fall in love.

I'm going to bed. Goddamnit.

Get Low

2010-09-27T22:39:00.009+08:00

I am in a lot of pain today. I went wakeboarding for the first time yesterday and it was a phenomenal experience. For the uninitiated, I achieve grand levels of suckage in sports. I suck at almost every sport known to mankind with the exception of air hockey (umm.. it counts? sort of?) and swimming (I am a bad swimmer but it counts because knowing how to swim is better than not knowing). It has been this way since I was born, when I was an underweight child, a perfect teenager and a slightly overweight adult – so I guess weight has nothing to do with it. I just suck at sports. And when I say sports, it encompasses everything from games to field sports to gym workouts. Yes, I even suck at gym classes that any odd person could pull. When I am on the treadmill my expression is usually that of immense pain and disgust (and my mouth is open).

You will appreciate this factoid more when I tell you how my weekend went. On Saturday I dragged my lazy ass out of bed to go to a reggaeton class at the gym. If you know reggaeton, you know that that dance form is all about the ass, which is why I wanted to go. I figured it would be a good workout because let’s face it –unless you’re J.Lo, the big ass thing is really not all that cute (and her ass isn’t all that big, it’s just relative).

Turns out it wasn’t a reggaeton class but a jazz funk class and I used to be darned good at that in a previous life. But when the instructor asked the class who was there for the first time, I raised my hand. Turns out I haven’t forgotten and I still got the rhythm. I did surprisingly well and the instructor asked me to dance upfront. Usually the instructor in these classes demonstrate certain moves which are for advanced participants and they’re obviously harder, like they’ll ask you to pick up a heavier weight or jump a little higher, etc. I am usually at the other end of the spectrum doing the “lighter-intensity” moves. So imagine my sheer delight when the instructor kept pointing to me and asking me to do the more advanced dance steps. She signaled to another girl and myself and said “She’s been dancing a long time (she knew her) and she (i.e. me) has clearly danced a lot before”. Woohoo! The Jups still got it!

On Sunday, I joined Jin and headed out of the busy bustling part of the island and out to a place called Tai Tam, a wonderful, scenic and quiet place that you wouldn’t believe existed just 20 minutes away. I guess I would have been happy to just sit there and stare at the jade green waters and the surrounding mountaintops – it was beautiful. But I wasn’t there to do that. No siree. I was there to wakeboard. For the first time.

I was always intimidated by wakeboarding. I had several friends in Singapore who wakeboarded on a regular basis and uploaded pictures on facebook and it looked fucking scary. Your feet are anchored to a huge board, your legs are 3 feet apart and you’re being pulled through the water by a motor boat at some scary speed. If you let go, you fall into the water with your feet still stuck to a board. I couldn’t, for the life of me, imagine doing that. I figured you needed the stamina of a horse to pull it off. While I have the stamina of a housefly.

Jin and her friend had been doing this awhile. Needless to say I was intimidated. On the bright side though, not having any men around helped my confidence. Men have a really shitty habit of kicking you (and by you I mean me) when you're down, at least where sports is concerned. Everytime I have made an effort to pick up a sport, try something out, I have always given up due to sheer embarassment from the patronising and the insults and the jokes.

But this time was different. The girls repeated the same thing over and over - don't try to stand up...you'll know when you're ready. I strapped on the board and surrendered myself into the bottomless sea. Hmm okay.. I was floating like a baby...knees bent and head and feet at the surface, rest of the body underwater. I held the handle of the rope with both hands, in between my feet, thinking to myself, how the fuck is this gonna work? The boat is just gonna drag my ass around till I give up and let go.

No, Jups, focus. Remember what they said. Knees bent, arms straight and don't try to stand up. Don't try to stand up.

Vrooom!

I must have risen up by a foot... Splash! Plonk! Into the water...

"Bend the board one way...give it direction"

Vroom!

Board pivots in the right direction. Right handed = left-footed. Okay this is right. I was mobile. Squatting on the board but moving. Splash! Plonk! Into the water...

With every attempt, I was a little better... but not standing yet. Ideally you want to land in the water, butt first so you're floating in a baby-like pose but on occassion you might fall stomach first with the board under and behind you. This happened once and it was endlessly irritating. It's hard to turn around - you're like an overturned tortoise...in reverse. So the boat came back, I grabbed the rope and pivoted around it and then turned over. Whew.

Attempt 6 was a non-attempt...Vroom! Splash! Plonk! "Sorry!!!!"

Vroom!

Board pivots. Knees bent...focus... arms straight focus....now stand.... stand... whaddayaknow... I was wakeboarding. For about 10 seconds. Splash! Plonk! I had my mouth open (in sheer delight, not disgust) the entire time.

After that, it was better... I did a few stints where I was able to stand up but not for long, the driver kept accelerating too quickly. Or maybe I was tired.

My second session was largely unsuccessful, by then I had swallowed so much fucking salt water, my throat was on fire. I wasn't tired but I felt sick from all the salt. And I had to pee. I resisted, believe you me, I did. I was ready to quit; maybe it was beginner's luck. "Two more tries and we go home". Okay Jups, they're letting you try, don't give up. Focus.

The driver/instructor pulled into calmer waters. Vroom... It happened and how! Let me tell you that that feeling, when you're gliding over the waves with the wind in your face, is something else. When the driver knew I was in my groove, he gave the boat a beautiful curve and I zoomed right behind. It was poetry and I think it lasted 3 or 4 minutes. Which seems like little but time seems to slow down when you're on that board. All you need is one errant wave and you know you're done for. I let go of the rope and let out a triumphant eeks and plunged into the water. When I was finally done, the instructor asked me to unstrap the board while I was still in the water. Now this is a crazy feeling because all of a sudden this huge weight is off you and your legs feel weightless...and then you realize you can't feel the bottom of this swimming pool... and that is kinda freaky. But it's all good.

And so like I said, I am in a lot of pain. I am hurting in places I didn't know I could hurt. But I am inspired nonetheless. I went to the gym and ran for 25 minutes (it's all I could manage). I really want to become a fitter, sexier version of me.

And of course, I am going wakeboarding again on friday.

bin tere

2010-09-26T23:07:00.002+08:00

Existential crises have got to happen on Sunday night, don't they? When else would they happen? The thrill of the weekend is wearing down, you have to iron your shirts for the week and you're chatting with a man you had one spectacular date with and he asks you when you're coming back and you don't really have an answer. Well you know the answer, you just can't tell him. Because if you do, you know it's over. Whatever "it" is.

And so you just keep ironing. And you realise that you didn't heed the label on your Escada dress and washed it instead of dry cleaning it and ended up ruining the dress. Well done.

Now go to bed.

welcome home

2010-09-24T22:30:00.009+08:00

Hong Kong is a fabulous city, make no mistake about it people. Like any fabulous supercity, Hong Kong is a blend of the utterly cheap and the mindbogglingly expensive. And on the side of the latter is real estate. Property is insanely expensive. New York times 1.5 at the very least.

I have been house-hunting, or should I say home-hunting? That's what it should be called because the about 3 seconds after you walk into an apartment, you know it's the right one. Home. Well, okay I lie. Sometimes, 10 seconds in, you notice that the kitchen has a hot plate instead of a stove top. FAIL. But I guess what I'm trying to say, apartment hunting is about that warm fuzzy feeling. You walk in and you see your things fitting in, your art on the empty walls, your shoes in the entryway, your cheesecake in the oven and your spices all over the counter.

The first day of apartment hunting wasn't very successful - I saw 4 apartments but nothing spectacular. One of the neighbourhoods, Old Peak Road, won me over with the breeze and the view of the mountain. The building was fabulous and the apartment was massive but not without issues, one of which was a light brown inbuilt mantle that looked like it was from 70s. I did not see my contemporary taste fitting in with that strange mixed up mantle. Also this place had just one bathroom and it was a little old-fashioned. Hmmpphhh. Crying shame, because the building and the view were perfect.

On the first day, two of the apartments had what my agent considered "character". In all fairness, they did. Both were walkups in the heart of soho with two bedrooms, two very strange bathrooms and are you ready for this ? a rooftop terrace complete with patio furniture and a bbq pit. But they were old and while it's totally wicked to be able to host fantastic parties, the rest of the year would be pretty drab. Did I mention the hot plates? I told my agent, character is great but I'd rather go for an elevator and a pool.

The second day - we saw four apartments. All with pools. And they got progressively more fabulous. The first was a three bedroom, two bathroom beauty on the 13th floor of a 2 year old building. In other words, spanking new. Two shiny chandeliers in the living room that made my little heart scream! On the downside, both bathrooms were cramped....and the view was, well, looking right into another building. Pass.

The second apartment was also in a luxury building, this time with an indoor pool and in a really prime location right by the supermarkets, bus stops and the famous midlevels escalator. This apartment however was tenanted. By a couple with a kid. They had tons of stuff, all over the place, including a crib. Not messy but just all over. And let me tell you it is really hard to picture the blank canvas when it's been painted all over. I won't say I disliked it, no, I did like it but supposedly this apartment was also way out of my budget. So well, I didn't have any hopes.

The third apartment was a clear winner. 40th Floor. Balcony. 1250 sq feet. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a huge kitchen, wide entryway. It didn't a view, it had THE view. Victoria Harbour, FROM EVERY WINDOW (including the kitchen!). It was love at first sight. The pool sucked (outdoor, tiny), there was no oven in the kitchen nor medicine cabinets in the bathrooms, and it was not at all convenient and would imply a huge chunk of money spent on cab fares but I was in love and it didn't matter. Apartment #2 was way more practical but a huge balcony on the 40th floor? The Jups is not used to this. The Jups needs to smoke a cigar or eat her breakfast omlette on that 40th floor balcony. Or something.

I made my offer and of course it was rejected, the landlord wanted 2000HKD more. Sure, it doesn't sound like much but it's really the principle of it. These apartments are not cheap and the landlord would rather keep it unoccupied than rent to let's face it, the best tenant in the world (clean, single girl working in a bank, come on people). In the meantime, I tried to actually walk the journey from work to apartment 3 and it wasn't all that pleasant. Instead of renegotiating, I turned down the counter offer and asked my agent to refocus on aparment #2.

And then again, I went back and forth. I got my hopes up and decided to take one more look at apartment #3. It stole my heart all over again and I took the plunge again. Rejected again.

So this afternoon, I went with a clear head to apartment #2. I was pleasantly surprised. The apartment was massive (why I had imagined the living room to be tiny and cramped was beyond me). Sunlight poured in from all corners of the big bay windows. That's where my sofa goes. I need a dining table for that corner. There's a sleek new oven in the kitchen. And a store room. I can buy a Chinese lacquer cabinet for my stemware. I need a new guest bed. I erased the tenant's furniture and subconsciously registered the lack of art and picture frames on the wall...The master bedroom had only two walls of glass windows; I can turn this wide stilt into a thinking space. And I will definitely need more wardrobes!

Yes, this is where I'll live. If they'll have me, that is....fingers crossed.

club can't handle me

2010-09-19T20:36:00.006+08:00

Another week goes by in the Kong. Things have been crazy but in a very good way. I had a date on wednesday. You're thinking, what? already? how did the Jups land a date within 7 days of being in a city. Well it wasn't meant to. A guy asked me to drinks to discuss work and business school so it was meant to be a formal chat. Well, what ended up happening is that drinks turned into dinner and drinks that lasted 3 hours and then he grabbed the check, I figured that was it but then we went to another bar for more drinks, and then 3 more bars for more drinks. All in all, a fantastically long night for a Wednesday. Going to work the next day was not cakewalk.

Thursday night was not meant to be boring either. My friend had tickets to an Indian Ocean concert. I've heard of them but never really heard them. They were spectacular and it was definitely an evening well spent.

On Friday night, I had a long dinner at the Wagyu Lounge (again) with Jin and her girlfriends (who are extremely nice and fun) and then we had a night about town, partying hard. Whihc was really hard considering that I chose to break in these murderous black heels. Ladies, the "platform" is supposed to make it easier but make no mistake, these heels are really really hard to walk in. Also note that elastic banded ankle straps mean that they will never come off, so if the shoe gives, you'll break your face. (I did fall once but not that badly) But they are fucking hot. Hong Kong has a bitchin night life and what makes it super-awesome is lack of pretense. Clubs don't look at what you're wearing (I've seen men in shorts and flip flops) and if you don't like one, there's one next door and if you don't like that one, well, you get the drift.

Saturday was spent bumming around and napping in anticipation of the wicked night that lay ahead...I found it fitting to inaugurate a bare back black top that I acquired on my last (for now) bluefly.com visit. The night started in Red Soho (which seems to be a popular spot here) and then we went club hopping all night. The night ended with utter gluttony on my part. I went to get a pizza slice and ended up chatting with this Londoner Indian guy who seemed quite taken with me... and of course I proceeded to devour half of his pizza (and he claims he never shares his pizza). And then I went to a wondrous place called the Flying Pan which, as a way of capturing my dear heart, serves breakfast 24 hours a day. And the food is absolutely yummy! I had eggs benedict with avocadoes and salsa - Fucking Brilliant!

That was way too much food for someone who needs to lose at least 3 kilos to look sexy. ARGH. I guess I need to go to the gym tomorrow. Which reminds me, tomorrow's Monday.

P.S. Orangetree isn't off the radar yet. The cogs are in motion, albeit slowly but that's no reason to give up hope. Sigh, the thought of him keeps me smiling a good 30 minutes. Boys....

Shake it

2010-09-13T22:10:00.004+08:00

It's a Monday night...I just finished feeding myself (sauteed eggplant slices with good old yogurt rice). Work is alright, I am still quite green behind the ears as far as this sales stuff is concerned but thankfully I am not being rushed into anything. Guy thinks I work too fast anyway. I have been told that there will be some business travel involved and it excites me; I mean, I shouldn't get my hopes up but Tokyo, Sydney and Abu Dhabi seem to be on the cards...

As is Singapore. With a far greater probability to boot. Which sucks donkey balls.

I joined a gym today. A really fancy expensive gym. The most expensive gym in Hong Kong. I don't know what came over me... some of the people I know here go to this gym and lord knows I need to shed some weight. In fact, I am not fitting into some clothes and my face has had an epic breakout of zits (or two) and it's probably due to the fact that my body (and brain) are full of toxins? Who the hell knows. All I know is that a little bit of yoga and a whole lotta treadmill cannot be bad for you. Everyone loves a sexier Jups. (Seriously you should see my face right now, it's a fucking warzone).

Saturday was really fun. I took my leopard printed satin top and skinny (ahem?) jeans for a spin. Leafy was going to take me out with his friends - drinking and partying were on the agenda. Considering I was off alcohol for the longest, you should know that the Jups has now turned into this lousy little lightweight who can get wasted before you can say "on the house". And "on the house" seemed to be the catchphrase of the night because I think I had 2? 3? drinks on the house.. in fact I didn't take my wallet out the entire night. And of course, I got , as Lourdes would say, bombed out of my mind. Leafy had to take me in a cab and take me all the way upstairs to my apartment. That was not pretty.

Nor was the earth-shattering hangover I woke up with. After guzzling several glasses of water, I sliced cucumbers and stuck them all over my face...Then I fed myself at least two kilos of chilled yogurt rice (and green chillies) to quell my stomach. All that and a few hilarious episodes of South Park, I was finally feeling normal and it was past 7pm. An ex-colleague who now lives in HK called me, so I decided to have dinner with him. That didn't turn out to be all that pleasant for this guy is a whiney sort that bitches and moans about everything. He's doing really well for himself and yet he will obsess about the glass being half-empty. Fucking irritating. Not to mention my discussion of singlehood (he's single too) and dating ended up with me wanting to kill myself. Whatever, I don't need this.

Anyway... that was technically my first Monday in Hong Kong (we can't consider last Monday because I didnt go to work). Oh and Orangetree never wrote or called back. Life sucks donkey balls sometimes.

P.S. Guy keeps telling me I will have no dearth of suitors in Hong Kong. I take a little comfort in that. Let's see if it actually ends up being true.