Champagne Wishes & Caviar Dreams

Champagne Wishes 2009

2009-01-14T16:51:00.006+08:00

TOP 7 THINGS THAT WILL HAPPEN IN THE YEAR 2009

1. PhD 2009 – I will move back to Europe by September 2009.

2. Tiffany blue proposal by Christmas 2009. (alert Vera and book that dream castle for a June 2010 wedding!)

3. Travel – I will go to Cambodia and make both Katie’s weddings in the summer of 2009, wherever they chose to tie the knot. (Try to keep it close, guys, since its only 2 weeks apart!)

4. Extra-curricular activities – more than my happily active social life which thankfully is on the up and up since Nov 2008, I will start salsa lessons, continue belly dancing and taking up riding again.

5. I will forgive Singapore … and wish Rex and his chosen partner well.

6. The One - A certain blast from the past is on the cards, since I can cross off the list the following: my 16 year old crush (Driano), my college jock "dream" guy(Dr. Dish/Dense), my ideal man (Mr. Perfect), only ONE remains – Maverick. I haven’t seen him in nearly 10 years, but I will this year, and finally resolve this Chapter in the Life of Vix. Could it be that he’s the One and the timing has not been right until now?

7. Turn 30 in grand style.

Gin Gratitude

2009-01-14T16:40:00.008+08:00

TOP 7 THINGS I AM GRATEFUL FOR TO HAVE HAPPENED IN 2008

1. Friendship -Finding not 1 but 2 new BFF’s – Rina & Deirdre, welcome to my life. May you have a nice long stay! :P It goes without saying, I am grateful for the newly formed group friends – may our very new and exciting friendship continue to blossom and grow!

2. Healing - Australia – not just the much needed break, but the discovery of the Secret and my Secret Guru who have most certainly changed my life. Or at least helped me with my past hurt and pains in clearing the way for a healthier Me.

3. My brother -The health and happiness of my baby brother in realizing his dreams. (and having settled down in Ireland, a spare bedroom in Dublin’s fair city anytime I want!)

4. PhD 2009 - The finding of a new dream

5. Tia Maria – the light of my life. She may not be the golden retriever I long dreamed of, but she’s my favourite of all my dogs (sorry, Sheba and Lady, may you RIP). What is it I always say? Maybe you don’t get what you want, but you’ll always get what you need.

6. My promotion (but will the additional income here already!). Okay, okay, in the situation of the world today, I am grateful to not only still have a job, but to also have received my bonus!

7. Rediscovering the London Vixen – albeit a more mature version with the battle scars to prove it. However, thankfully, there’s more sweet than bitterness in my soul.

Pimm's Philosophy

2008-10-19T17:45:00.004+08:00

For my Philosopher:

"Schatje - I missed you today. I'm going on the first "real" date since OUR First Date, and I know it will not be the same. You've set the bar up so high - I'm so scared no one will ever come close again. I've thought about you all day - more than I thought about my outfit or what I'm going to say or do. I'm hardly excited about this guy, not in the way I was excited about you. I'm hardly thinking of where we're going or what we're going to say, or if there will be any sparks.

I know I should go with an open mind and open heart, and I endeavour to try ... but as far as First Dates go - you're the best I ever had. (actually, as far as EVERYTHING goes ....). Big kus!

Bacardi Butterflies

2008-09-24T16:32:00.005+08:00

As the world keeps spinning round

You hold me right here right now

I'm lucky I'm in love with my best friend

Lucky to have been where I have been

Lucky to be coming home again

I'm lucky we're in love every way

Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed

Lucky to be coming home someday

"Lucky"

-Colby Caillat & Jason Mraz-

I don’t remember the last time I felt like this.

Like I was walking on air. I’ve had this constant sappy grin on my face and this song is playing on repeat in my mind. I was just complaining to my daily confidant, D, how at the ripe old age of 29, I despaired of ever feeling this way again.

Excited…. butterflies my stomach doing a tribal war-dance. Fun, floaty … dreamy.

Hopeful.

I keep telling myself I couldn’t possibly be in love. It can’t be. I don’t know Driano ... I don't know who he is now. But the imagery in my head is so vivid. Like D said, the bond that we had all those years ago was so strong … surely we can get it back? I don’t hate or resent him for what happened between us. We drifted, it happens to all of us. And yet, in a weird way, I feel like I know him still.

In his daily (DAILY, guys, DAILY!) correspondence with me, I feel the familiarity, the affection, the friendship. Not just that, I fancy him, so much. Like, right down to my gut. He’s travelling at the moment, so I’ve given him a few days before I would worry … I’m TRYING HARD to hold on to the positive feelings (though my more cautious friends are worried about my imagination going at 100miles an hour) – anyway, his last reply ended with, “I need to start dating again”.

I hope he means me.

There I said it. I’m not going to ENTERTAIN any negative vibes until I have to. This could be It … it feels right. I feel so lucky, that everything we’d gone through had circled back to this … and I can be grateful for it. And if we’re meant to be, the feeling is like coming home again.

Driano is no stranger to me. I know him. Jaysus, we grew up together. Driano has that on Rex. We’re both anglophile Malaysians – but whereas we have to speak proper Queen’s English with our British friends, with each other, Driano and I can revert back to the Manglish of our youth. Shared jokes and memories that only ones who grew up together can understand. More so than Rex, with this guy, I am completely, 100% me. I never thought it possible... it never ever even occured to me!

Driano used to live so close to me that not only could I walk to his house, but he used to pick me up on the way to the playground so I/we could walk my dog. Poor deceased Lady, he had such a good time with my posh pedigree pooch. I used to watch him play hockey with the boys, and then he’d walk me back home before it got too dark.

How sweet are those memories? This happened almost every evening whether or not we stayed late at school. Then after dinner, he'd call me (like clockwork, every other day) and we'd talk till we both got sleepy. How many times had I seen through a Friday night with him and talked all the way to dawn on Saturday? Sharing confidences, sharing our hopes and dreams … it was very special. I don't know how I convinced myself it was nothing in those days. What can I say ... I had 0 confidence then. I don't want to make the same mistake again, you know? I feel God has opened the door once again for me, giving me a second chance to have a crack at this ... and I can't let it just go like that!

For all my friends who are so worried about me and running herd trying to tie me down to earth, I thank you – but I have to enjoy this ride. Like D says, “If you don't have a little dream about these things, if you don't have that little bit of hope - you'd be in danger of dismissing something that could potentially be pretty wonderful.”

I just have to know, one way or another. I don't have it in me not to get excited, NOT to give this a chance ... its such a blessing, you know? And I'm HAPPY. I feel like I'm floating on air ... how many 29 year olds can say that?!!! I thought I was done with all this kind of fancy ... I thought I was jaded already.

Not so long ago, one of my oldest friends had looked at me sadly and said, “What happened to you? You used to be one of the most optimistic people I ever knew.”

It hit me right in the gut. And I too, wondered what happened to that girl ….

Regardless what happens next, Driano has given that back to me. He brought back the butterflies And there's a lot so be said for that.

Just that.

Dom Destiny?

2008-09-18T21:22:00.003+08:00

Is it really written in the stars?

"We are merely the star's tennis balls, struck and bandied which way may please them"

Duchess of Malfi, John Webster

Birthday baby ....

I’m not sure what the hell is going on in Vixen land. I just know its come to a turning point. I feel a huge corner has been taken, but where this road leads to, I have no idea. But Someone does!

I know the last thing everyone heard was me going ga-ga over a Frenchman (who turned out to be “a little bit engaged” BAH! Bloody French Bastard!) But it’s kind of difficult to remember all that disappointment in light of recent events...

A week before my birthday, I was starved for excitement; and Aoirish just happened to be there at the right time and right place. (How is it that the Spawn of Satan always knows when you're at your weakest?) What started off as an innocent, quiet dinner (you all should know by now that NOTHING with Aoirish is ever “innocent” or “quiet”) – ended up to be a wild night out at Zouk. (What ELSE is new?!)

I maintain to date I had no idea how much I was drinking. Aoirish, knowing my sensibilities would be diluted with the increasing alcohol intake, made sure my glass was never empty. It culminated in about 20 shots being sent over to our table. Aoirish swore to high heavens she had no idea where they came from, but there they were, and they had to be drunk. I also vaguely recall her saying, “Its only sugar, Vix, drink up!” Tequila shots, they weren’t, but until today, I have no idea what they were!

Later my more sober friend was to tell me not only did she see Aoirish go up to the bar, she also saw her SIGN FOR THE BILL. Bah! A leopard never changes its spots. A good lesson to remember. Especially a snake out of Ireland. It cannot be denied that she is fun, though. Dangerously so.

So, there I was, drunker than I had been in … well, since I was in Galway and stumbled into Connor’s eager arms, (lest we forget, which was also as a result of Aoirish refilling my glass at every opportunity) – when who did I stumble into this very night – but Driano.

You’ll recall me writing about him a long time back, when we found each other on Facebook. He’s based in the UK now, and was often in Holland. But we never did meet up, nor was I even all that bothered to … in the end. I was far more excited about my life in Holland than an unexpected blast from the past.

But now I had 9 months in Malaysia under my belt, and was no longer cheered by my amazing life. I was about to turn 29 (there, I said it!) in exactly a week, and was even MORE depressed by that thought. I hadn’t had a date in 9 months, and my vow of celibacy was going far too well. In fact … I hadn’t even kissed anyone in 9 months.

“Try on a daring mood when it comes to romance as the week gets going! Make the first move. Let a certain something out of the bag. Whether you're coupled up or single, the universe would love to see you acting bold now! Then, a conscious shift in your frame of mind is good for your heart around Thursday and Friday. “

Later I discovered that’s what my horoscope had said. Buoyed by Dutch courage, I was most certainly in a daring mood. Perhaps Driano was not as drunk as I was, but he was all over me too. When he held on to me (as I hung off him in that way drunken girls do), my mind raced over all the possibilities. Later, Aoirish told me, I was a woman on a mission. I had said to her, “I’m going to kiss him.”

…. And I did.

13 years later. What is it with my life? First revisiting my crush with Dr. Dish (someone DRIANO at introduced me to!), and now this. Driano, is the Defining Crush of my life. While Rex may have broken my heart, but Driano introduced me to Men. Is it just that there truly is no men left in KL for me, and I have to just go back to all the boys I’d already liked before?

“On the 9th and 10th, don't worry: there's a lot of romance in store for you. Don't be surprised if you find out the two of you have more in common than you thought -- including a huge crush on each other.”

Eerily, I’d been following my horoscope as it seems to be all about my life. This is something else I read on from that fateful encounter. And I can’t help but wonder … what if it is true? Driano could most certainly be the One. I’d been holding off getting excited because I didn’t hear from him, and he went back to the UK, and I thought that was that. Worse, he not only didn’t acknowledge what happened, he disappeared on me.

Then came my birthday, and he was one of the first few to send me a birthday message. An affectionate, familiar one. And in writing back, we have slowly started to communicate now. I don’t know the 30-year-old Driano. I don’t know what he’s done or who he’s become or how he’s grown up. So far, he seems to be a nicer, more eloquent, confident person than the insecure arrogant macho 16 year old I remembered (and was hopelessly obsessed about.) My feelings are for that 16 year old … but I can’t help but feel the butterflies once again.

It has been oh so long since I felt these butterflies.

He says he hopes to see me when he gets back at Christmas. I just have to wonder at the possibilities. … "Also, you have Jupiter in your true love sector, but Jupiter hasn't been working for you because it was in retrograde since early May. Now, on September 8, Jupiter will bolt forward, and you'll note a bewitching trend start up. For the first time in a long time, all conditions will be right to find true and lasting love. Trust that the universe has not forgotten you, dear Virgo. You are about to be the number one celestial favourite for finding and enjoying true love from now through December."

Soulmate Sherry

2008-08-17T20:21:00.004+08:00

Do you believe in Soulmates?

I read something interesting today. Your soulmate isn’t someone you can’t live without, rather someone you can make a life with. I keep getting asked more and more these days, #1 Do I believe in soulmates – where the answer was immediate – yes, and #2 Do I think I have met my soulmate?

I’m a bit more hesitant to answer the #2. In my heart, the answer is yes, absolutely. Unfortunately, this means the answer to Question #3 – Do you believe you can make a life without your soulmate has to be – I have to.

Till today, no doubt, Rex has come closest to claiming my Soulmate Crown. Even after he hooked up wit the Singaporean, I got a midnight visit beseeching me to be in his life, as he thought of me as his soulmate and "no one will ever know him better in this lifetime." So what – he still left my room for hers at the end of that plea, completely ignoring the heartbreak still in my eyes. If this was my soulmate – all hope was gone for a happily ever after.

I’m not sure if its because he was my first love, my first serious boyfriend, my first …. everything, really, and I don’t know any better, or its because I still haven’t met Him.

I hope and pray everyday that it is the latter ....

When the Philosopher entered my life, all sunshine and fresh air, I was besotted. It wasn’t the sick kind of obsessive "love" I shared with Rex, it was just lovely, and sweet. I don’t know if it was because it was his first relationship, and thus, the boy was still fresh-faced and idealistic, or because the two of us really did make beautiful music together. I loved our relationship – I describe it as simply lovely, almost innocent, and pure …. And very very happy.

When Rex wasn’t with me, I drove myself mental wondering where he was and what he was up to and why he wasn’t calling me. When I was "forced" to go out – I spent all night on the phone, texting him, telling him I loved him, that I couldn’t wait to go back to be with him. It was sick. I couldn’t breathe if he wasn’t within arms reach. It drove all my friends to despair, but I couldn’t see how unhealthy it was at the time.

But Rex was no different. Being almost a recluse, he rarely went anywhere without me or his best friend. Once, an old school friend of theirs threw the biggest shindig of the season in his country estate. Entire buses had been hired to chauffeur the old boys to the venue. Despite Rex and his BFF getting their tuxedo’s done and dusted, Rex kept wailing to me how he didn’t want to go, how he’d rather have spent the weekend with me in his p.j’s.

I made him go, a part of me not wanting to go myself and meet all his posh public school educated friends. Me, who had never shied away from a challenge in all my life! I’ve dated a Duke’s son as as well as a Baron, and I couldn’t take on a bunch of poncy arsed tossers?

I don’t know who that girl was, but she wasn’t me.

True to form, he’d texted me all night, telling me how much he missed me. One of them asked me to sleep in his bed, so he knew exactly where I was and could picture it in his mind. And the final one, at 4am, saying he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was on his way home to me. He got in about 9, and as promised, I was in his bed, waiting, my heart bursting with love for him.

I thought it was a measure of how much he loved me. I was wrong.

I never wanted to be half a person, and needing another to complete me. Neither did Rex. We were both headstrong, fiercely independent individuals that turned to mush without each other. We couldn’t go through life like this, and he recognised it before I did.

I know I will never love like that again. And I am grateful for it. It took every last bit of my energy and emotion to be in that relationship. And getting over it was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life.

No, I want to settle down with a man like the Philosopher. Someone who lets me be free, and encourages me to be myself. Someone who walks beside me, not someone who’s tugging me along his path in life. Someone who makes me laugh, not cry. Rex always said what a beautiful smile I had, but with an absent look or a sharp word, he’d wipe it away in a flash. The waterworks wouldn’t stop throughout my whole relationship, but the Philosopher never made me cry once, except with joy.

I remember the first morning after well. I was to catch a train at noon for a weekend away in Brussels, and he needed to catch an early train to get to work on time. Still not really that into him all that much, I was fast asleep as he showered and dressed. Selfishly, I’d hoped he’d let me sleep in and catch the bus by himself but he beseeched me to wait with him for the bus. Not really caring how I looked, I pulled on the nearest available clothes and sleepily walked with him. As we passed by the hallway mirrors, I gasped in horror at my morning face, going "You know I’m capable of looking better than this!"

His answer simply was "You’re beautiful." Whether I’m dressed up or dressed down, in my p.j’s or my best MAC mask, the boy adored me and I never once doubted it.

I sat on his lap, as we awaited the bus. It was so obvious we were in post-coital bliss, and for the first time, I realised everyone was staring at us in smiles. The old, the young, even the dogs seemed to be grinning at our newfound love. When the bus finally came, it was full of these little old ladies, the only people who were awake so early on a Saturday morning. He kissed me sweetly in goodbye, but kept looking back to blow me kisses, not caring that he had an audience.

Feeling my heart melt, I too, turned into a shy teenager. I shyly waved in return, my brown-eyed gaze locked onto his big innocent blue one. And saw the faces of the old ladies looking at me with such pleasure, to witness the joy of the first blush of young love in the summertime.

The Philosopher may not have been my first love, but it seemed as if I was his. And by being with me, he gave me a second chance to enjoy it, and this time, only take away the good memories with me.

Frangelico Failure?

2008-08-08T22:09:00.003+08:00

So, it’s Week 5 of my French class with the Lurve God. (Swoon swoon) First of all, right off, he walks right up to my table (now, second row due to the fact I absconded my first row seat when I was absent last week) and puts down my homework on my table and told me I didn’t miss much last week. 2 reasons why I’m chuffed #1 – he knows my name!!!!, #2 – he noticed I was not around last week! (And perhaps missed me a little??)

In addition to him using my name again (he doesn’t use many names in class, but he uses MINE!!!) Okay, I understand that is it the teensiest bit pathetic that I’m ecstatic that a TEACHER remembered MY NAME. I can read too, guys!) – the touchy-feeliness has continued. But I have noticed now, as he gets comfortable in class, he is quite tactile with the other students as well.

So maybe I’m not so special after all? After all, he is FRENCH! The nation of natural-born flirts.

Fast forward to break time. Determined to make the most of the break, I attempted to follow him out for his cigarette break. He caught the tail end of my "smoking is bad for you" and gave me a cheeky wink. "I know". AND CONTINUED WALKING AWAY.

Sigh. But I’m not taking this personally as he went to the administration office as they came looking for him before. As I danced around outside the office waiting for him …. His mate, Jean came by and started chatting to me.

And chatted to me. And chatted to me some more. It lasted ALL THROUGH BREAK.

Zizou came by us and muttered something in French too quickly for me to catch, but Jean turned to me and said, "I think I just lost a friend."

NOW WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!!!!

Zizou goes outdoors for his cig (finally being released by the office administration) and keeps gesturing to me and pointing to his eye in the "I’m watching you" way.

WHAT IS THIS SUPPOSED TO MEAN????

Mission a complete and utter failure? It seemed as much when I returned to class after break, having had my ENTIRE break time monopolised by the less cute, though so eager Jean.

AND THEN!

Just as I was walking out of class at the tail end, Zizou asks me if I got the imperfect tense okay, and if there’s anything else he could do for me, etc, etc. I stopped to ask the first question that came to my head, and he GRABS MY HAND excitedly and goes, "Oh, thank you for reminding me, I’ve been SAVING this for you," Don’t get too excited, it was only some notes on the imperfect tense BUT all I could think was – THIS MAN IS HOLDING MY HAND!!!!!

Straight to brain freeze.

When I just stuttered a thank you, he went on about how "indeed, it was his sole pleasure in life, don’t mention it at all, he looks forward to seeing me…" (a lot of this was in French, but I’ve tried to translate what I could). Then I said, "Have a good weekend" and he said (SUGGESTIVELY, I thought!) "My weekend starts now…"

AND WASN’T THAT A PERFECT OPP TO ASK HIM – what he’s doing, where he hangs out and maybe we can do something together, hint hint, nudge nudge, wink wink?

I soooo failed at this. My tongue continued to be tied, and staring down and where he clasped my hand.

In that very HIGH SCHOOL WAY ….

And now, let me ASK you back, in this very high school way – WHAT DO YOU THINK? DO YOU THINK HE LIKES ME???

Or he’s just toying with me!!!! Bloody French bastard!

Vodka Vow

2008-07-24T00:19:00.003+08:00

Lead me not into temptation – I can find the way myself!

Well, it’s proven now…. Patience is certainly not one of my virtues! It has been 3 weeks now. 3 weeks since that French speaking (or should I say French teaching!) Love God walked into my life.

3 weeks full of signs and no resolution in sight. 3 weeks where I’ve been living on my nerves. Honestly, it’s like an addiction. I cannot remember the last time fancying someone took this much energy! Of course…. its not a mere crush, it’s a full-fledged obsession. I’ve got to have him!

I think the vow of celibacy has totally backfired on me. I have to feed the beast. And she’s mad as hell!

Here’s a summary of the last 3 weeks -3 very long and painful 3 weeks!

Week 1. He kept looking at me. He kept touching me. The touchy feeli-less may well have been very student teacher appropriate, but for his good looks and my raging (haven’t-got-some-in-far-too-long) hormones fuelled imagination.

I kept looking back.

Unfortunately, that’s all that happened. But really, do you rest your whole arm on someone’s to write on their notes? He didn’t to the girl next to me. And when I refused to say my age (C’est un secret!) he nodded in understanding and winked at me! Be still my beating heart.

During the course of the lesson, he said how he lived all alone. A man on his own. And when he tried to give examples for the lesson, he described an ordinary day for a man living on his own. How when he reaches home (alone) … he takes off his shirt (flash, tanned, flat stomach) and balls it up and throws it away.

And proceeds to do the same with his trousers.

Since, you know – he was alone and all.

My mouth was dry, and I believe my jaw hit the floor. So much sexual tension, I tell you! I certainly hope shagging a student is not against the rules. This has GOT to happen.

Fast forward to Week 2. I'll quickly scoot past the bit where he encased my chair (with me in it!) while trying to "aid" the girl next to me. I was a puddle on the floor by this time. I knew exactly what it would be like to be caught up in those giant arms of his ....

When it came to our break, he shoved his cigarettes in my face. Stupid, STUPID me, just automatically shook my head, stupidly murmuring "I don’t smoke." He looked crestfallen. I was surprised. He gestured (he speaks French, I speak English … there’s a lot of gesturing! If he met me in a darkened nightclub, I would be speaking in the finest body language ever. However, it was daylight, and we were bound by the rules of propriety. Not to mention decency.) in a "Are you sure?" kind of way. I couldn’t give him my come-on 2 vices talk (alcohol and boys.) in French, so I just had to kind of … gesture a "No, thanks,"

And off he went on his lonesome self.

I can be sooo stupid sometimes. The Philosopher and I had language problems, but nothing compared to this!!!

At the end of the class – he had hung on to my pen, so I asked for it back, citing that it was my favourite pen. (I can say that perfectly in French, and was very proud). He leapt off his chair (I guess not just 20 year olds have that kind of energy) and excitedly kept chattering with me about the pen. How it was "c’est une brand superbe" and OMG, we have so much in common, yadda yadda yadda.

Mont Blanc, it certainly wasn’t. (Pilot)

Unfortunately, that was the extent of my French. So gulping back all the flirtatious lines I would have had in a second, had we be able to speak in English (Frustratingly, my natural talent was hugely crippled!) I could just look at him dumbly and utter simply … "Er, yes … and could I please have it back?"

Maybe he felt I rejected him? Later on, I bumped into him on the way to my car. Desperate for a last ditch attempt to make things right …. I opened my mouth … and ended up asking him some stupid admin question.

In English.

And just as formally, he spoke back to me. And that was that.

Sigh.

I was full of hope today (start of Week 3). Today was the day, I told myself. Either I get a date, or get asked my phone number or MAKE SOME PROGRESS.

When we were talking about an example that had to do with ironing of clothes, he gestured to his thigh, and smoothened down his trousers. My eyes were, still there, trained to the spot he bloody well pointed out as he continued. He’s a "boy", so he doesn’t iron (living alone and all), hence his trousers are crumpled. But look at my (point to smooth, clean lines on my jeans, thankfully, my dark blue denim ones that make my thighs look so much smaller and contained that they actually are). He didn’t actually touch my thigh … but … well; it all felt very real to me!

Damn him all to hell and back, now I can’t stop thinking about his hand, ON my thigh!

Later on, when queried about an assignment I wasn’t too sure of, he confirmed. "Yes, you have to write a story. A love story." Yeah, baby you and me! ;)

Further on, he was explaining something to me that was at a more advanced level to my class. And he goes, "well, just between you and me" … bla bla bla. His explanation was lost on me as I concentrated on exactly what it is that could be between "vous et moi".

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself." -Oscar Wilde-

Vive le Vin

2008-07-20T01:36:00.003+08:00

Parlez-vous Francais?

It’s funny that the last thing I wrote about was being a teenager. I thought I felt like a teenager because I was with one. Now I realise, my oft quoted "you’re only as old as you feel" is true! Now, I’m nearing 30 (how near, I will not say) but as long as I pass off for 25 – I like to think, anyway! (sometimes 21 when the person complimenting me is being charming) I will only admit to that much! I will not give in and feel the old woman when there’s plenty of beans in me yet! (the jumping lima beans kind)

The man in question (at long last, a man and not a boy!) is 34…. But let me start at the beginning. The last time I had a crush - (oh, gawd, who could forget Mr. "Do you know how big my feet are") it ended in such a ridiculous manner. So you can understand why I’ve been rather hesitant about writing about anything that starts out with such girlish hope and naivete when experience shows that it usually ends in disaster.

That’s why the Philosopher or Jailbait or Rex, even…. They never made these pages until it was all over. No happily ever afters as yet, so its back to Square One for me. There have been a few men since I came back to Malaysia (well, 3 to be exact, 3 in 7 months!) – that I’d at least been attracted to, but nothing really came out of it. Interesting enough stories, but they were over with so quickly, I hadn’t had a chance to post.

But Zizou has lasted 3 weeks now, so one must hope … I know for a fact I will see him for a further 7 weeks, even if nothing comes out of it. But what of these 3 first weeks full of SIGNS? There’s a bloody game of tug-of-war going on, and I’m not sure yet who’s going to come out the winner.

Of course, if I win – well, then … we could both be winners;) (yes, my vow of celibacy went right out the window when I first clapped eyes on him. Anyway, I’ve paid my dues! 7 months now and counting!).

Lets start at the very beginning now, shall we? I’d finally decided to do something with my life. Just sitting around and moaning about not being in Europe and having work worries on top of everything was just getting too damned old! I’m not someone who sits around and complains about my lot in life (well, not for too long, at any rate!) without doing something about it!

Well, granted, the action came about 6 months later, but at least the long-awaited unfurling of my wings has reminded how much fun flying can be! I’ve found a new circle of friends whose company I very much enjoy, and we do things I’d only ever thought about doing! They have certainly reinstated my joie de vivre …. and I thank them for it. Life is indeed for the living!

I’ve restarted my French classes. After umming and er-ring for ages … I finally decided I was going to take the bull by the horns and master this language once and for all. I know if I’m to go where I plan to go, I need to parle le francais tres bien!

So there I was, on my first day … (being reminded me very much of my first day of - well, school or anywhere! And worse, a girl’s school!) There were mostly women (big surprise!) and all looking nervously at one another, sizing each other up. Who’d be Queen Bee? Who’d be the class monitor? Prefect? Geek? The most popular boy in class?

Que the testosterone!

The men walked in together, all in a row. It really was like a meat parade. Not that any of them were all that good looking, but they were all young and not bad looking! And all male! I looked my fair share as well, but I wasn’t at all hopeful. I’d taken French for years now, and none of my teachers had been the kind that conjures up visions of a paramour Francais. (Moet, they weren’t.)

And then he walks in.

Tall (check), dark (check), and omg, handsome – triple check! He was dressed all in white like a Davidoff model on a beach shoot (I’d say Calvin Klein black and white beach shot, but my thoughts weren’t the PG13 kind). White linen shirt and trousers to match … and beautifully tanned feet in sandals. Oh la la!

He looked like Zidane. But with hair … and a tan. He was almost as brown as any Malaysian you may see walking down the street. Delightfully so. I couldn’t take my eyes off the Zidane type piercing stare.

I thought, no way. NFW, will God be so kind and gift this to me.

And who walks into my classroom? With a name as romantic and as French as he looked?

OMFG!

Summertime Sangria

2008-07-05T19:42:00.006+08:00

Scheveningen Beach 2007.

"Do you remember,

Or should I rewind,

To that summer when you caught my eye,

I played it cool,

The weather was hot,

You had the beauty and the beach on lock"

There’s this song that’s been getting a lot of airplay on our radio stations that has just stuck in my head. For some reason – and not just the fact it was summer (despite it being summer all year long here in Malaysia), the words reminded me of my last summer, when it was all about fun, frolicking in the sun and teenage love. (despite the fact I was nearly a decade past all that.)

But there was also something strangely familiar about the voices. I’d been trying to get the name of the artists or even the song, but I always seemed to miss the big announcement. Then yesterday, like a blast from the past, I finally caught the D.J saying, "That’s New Kids On the Block, with their hit, Summertime."

If you thought my Il Divo phase was mental, you should’ve met the 12 year old teenybopper that I was. My walls were floor to ceiling plastered with the grinning faces of the "5 bad boys from the Beantown land." I went through all kinds of phases – I adored the squeaky clean Donnie Wahlberg (before the mutilated himself with tattoos and piercings and getting himself arrested for arson.) Then came the dazzling Jordan Knight (I couldn’t see the effeminate persona, I was just awed by that lethal grin, those "luminous eyes" and dance moves.) But in the later years, it was the quiet, always in the shadows, shy and reserved Jonathan Knight I fantasised being swept of my feet with.

Ah, the New Kids on the Block. How apt. I couldn’t stop smiling.

"With your flip flops, half shirt, short shorts, mini skirt,

Walkin’ on the beach, so pretty,

She wasn’t lookin’ for a man,

When you saw me in the sand,

But you fell for the boy from the city"

I was like, "hey, girl, can I get your number"

I remember what you told me too,

"Don’t call after ten"

But you know that I did,

‘Cause I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ’bout you"

Our start was nowhere near that clear cut. I was asked to this party by his "friend", the Surfer Dude, and when I was there, I was half on a date (well, more like a quarter as the date was being shared with 3 other women!). The Philosopher joined me and my new friends just as we were plotting our escape among the largely very young, very drunk and mostly high Dutch speaking crowd.

The Philosopher, like the rest, spoke flawless English but unlike the rest, was happy to keep on conversing with us in English. He seemed to be very interested in our backgrounds, and our corners of the world. He chatted in French to my Canadian and French friends, then was intelligent about Malaysia’s history, culture and even cuisine. He uttered some Malay words that I was gobsmacked that he’d even HEAR about, let alone know what they meant. ("Do you know sambal petai"" left me speechless. Where in the world does petai grow other than Malaysia? I could've even begin to explain it in English, let alone like it!)

We were huddled by the campfire – the cold North Sea air chilled you to the bone, even in the summertime. The Philosopher took a swig from his wine bottle and offered it without a thought to me. I have to admit, I was looking at his pink, still wet cupid’s bow and thinking phwoarrr! Would I like a taste of that! (That’s when I knew he liked me …. And then later when we said goodbye, when he kept hugging me and kissing me on the top of my head.)

But he let me go without asking my number, or having any way of getting in touch with me. Confused, I walked away, after the third longing hug and kiss. I was mumbling to myself when the little French guy I was with stopped in his tracks and went "Wait, you like him?" I didn’t see why I should deny it so I nodded. At that, he turned and sped off back to the party. I had no idea what he was up to, but my phone rang seconds later, and a familiar voice burst out joyfully:

"Can I see you when you’re in Amsterdam this weekend?"

I think about you in the summertime,

And all the good times we had, baby,

Been a few years and I can’t deny,

The thought of you still makes me crazy,

I think about you in the summertime,

I’m sittin’ here in the sun with you on my mind.

You’re my, my summertime.

Happy "Anniversary", my Schatje.

Bollinger Babe

2008-06-19T00:07:00.004+08:00

The PTA, Mrs. Robinson,

Won't okay the way you do your thing

Ding ding ding.

And you'll get yours, Mrs. Robinson,
Foolin' with that young stuff like you do

Boo hoo hoo, woo woo woo.

-Frank Sinatra's take on Simon & Garfunkel's "Mrs Robinson"-

Apparently there’s a (new) name for "us". CJ used to delight in calling me "Mrs. Robinson" the whole time Jailbait and I were and item, but the term "cougar" is a new one to me. Now, I’m a dog person, but if I were to identify with a cat, I’d like it to be something more glamorous – the chic, elegant cheetah or the sleek, darkly mysterious panther. Even wildcat or lioness. But Cougar? Huh?

Found on Wikipedia:

"Cougar" refers to an older woman, usually in her 40s-60s who sexually pursues younger men in their 20s or early 30s.

"Jailbait" refers to a sexually attractive person, female or male, below the legal age of consent. This designation connotes enticement to endanger oneself of being prosecuted for statutory rape.

"May-December romance" is a romance in which the age differential between the two adults is wide enough to risk social disapproval

My own July-October romance took place in a country where everything seemed legal. Jailbait didn’t blink an eye, and was as much at home with me on his arm as he would’ve been with a girl his own age. 5 years having passed since I last lived in Europe, but with every day I spent in Holland, more and more I was struck by how youthful our Asian tanned skin is, and how in Europe, I could still easily pass for my early twenties.

So why not lie? Especially when I TELL them I lie. I say "25" when my qualification and work experience suggest otherwise. I was incredibly reluctant to push the issue and find out the guy I had this magical first date with was younger than my baby sister! So I tried to shove it under the carpet and did the mature option of just not thinking about it. It worked for a long while ....

We couldn’t get enough of each other, and eventhough I had to return to the Hague the same night, we stretched the evening as far as it would take us. Under the midnight sun (I love Europe in summertime!) we took a long walk by the canals where he showed me the quieter, more romantic parts of Amsterdam. Tired of kissing on the bridges (as romantic as it was, my heels weren’t built to last for more than getting out and getting in cars, or bicycles as the case may be), I motioned to a more comfortable looking bench. (This was when he first explained to me the concept about not sitting on somebody else’s bench.)

I was aching to get flat on my back, but paradoxically, because I liked him so much, I didn’t want to give in so easily. (On our first date! Honestly! When did I turn into this man eater?!) He did try though, ever so sweetly mumbling how he lived close by. When we later talked about it, I told him I would’ve been insulted if he didn’t at least try it on, but I had made the deliberate decision to hold out.

He was flabbergasted, the Dutch being people of no guile. What you see is what you get, he didn’t understand why not give in to something you both want. An argument I should've expected from any 20 year old when the prospect of sex is laid before them, I suppose. But I really do think for him it was as simple as that. Jailbait was easy going and wonderfully uncomplicated. I loved our relationship for its sheer honesty and lack of drama. He possessed a deep understanding and maturity of someone years older than him that floored me.

Pretty soon I was wondering exactly how long exactly I was to hold out for. Highly conscious of my limited time in this paradise - I was living like I was on borrowed time – which undeniably, I was. When he showed up at my flat with a bottle of bubbly, the very same weekend my flatmate (who, for the first time since we begun living together was away) was away for the entire weekend, I thought it was divine providence.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t enjoy champagne that much. So … what’s a smart girl to do?

What else! I made sure we never made it to even popping the cork ….

PS – I also made certain to find out what the age of consent was in the Netherlands was before anything resembling a felony took place!

Jailbait Julep

2008-05-14T23:35:00.004+08:00

"You’re only as old as who you feel"

I can’t remember who said it, but it was often quoted to me when I was dating Jailbait. Honest to God, I had no idea how old he was when we met. He looked older, certainly sounded older, and most definitely has more emotional maturity than any other man I’d ever been involved with to date.

Like I always thought, you don’t stop dancing when you get old, you get old because you stopped dancing. I had my dancing heels tightly on.

Jailbait was the sweetest. When we finally had our first date, I tried my best not to approach the age conversation. He already knew I was sensitive about my age, and knowing my experience (professional, thank you, and not the walking the streets kind either ….) and a bit about my background, he was well aware I was older than him.

It never bothered him, and I tried my best never to let it bother me, but my Asian upbringing was far too ingrained for that. Nevertheless, I don't regret one second of our time together.

As he was in still at university - the best I could hope for was 22. But as he looked about 24, I figured he could’ve been on a Masters or a PhD even. (I desperately hoped, more like!)

When he said he’d "pick me up" at the train station, I waited in anticipation. Every Dutchman I knew, with the exception of the Baron (who claimed to be more English than Dutch anyway – public school educated tosser that he was, and would sooner confess to his French lineage before his aristocratic Dutch roots), rode a bike. Even my boss’s mode of transportation was of the two-wheeled variety. When I asked Jailbait if he was picking me up on a bike, he answered mysteriously -

"Wait and see. This is a real Dutch Date."

And so it was ….

He greeted me at Amsterdam Centraal on a bike. And apparently, he’d expected me to get on it - heels and all. I looked on in disbelief as he patiently repeated his instructions to get on the backseat. As elegantly as I could in my short summer dress, I clambered onto the backseat and held on for dear life. (I bet he liked that part … I eventually grew to love it!)

My hair may have been held back by my Dior shades, but at that moment, I was no different from my ancestors who started their lives in Malaysia at the rubber estates back in the day. All that was missing was a big fat plait down my back! If only my great grandmother could see me now.

It was quite the experience. We zipped around the traffic of Amsterdam with amazing ease. Jailbait was certainly adept (in more ways than one, as time would tell) … but then again, he probably could cycle before he could walk! There was a bit where he suddenly stopped at the traffic light and said, very seriously, "In this life or death situation, you get off."

I thought he was joking - he wasn’t!

He took me to a pub. I was pretty resigned to it, and was not expecting anything more than a casual drink any way. The Dutch were known to be casual as well as thrifty. Very used to the British boy’s idea of a date (football and beer, down to the pub), I didn’t think much of it.

The entrance to the "pub" read "Dolce". Still new to Holland, I was surprised, but not suspicious. It turned out that it was a pub, but the most beautifully decorated pub I’d ever been in. It was very Creole-New Orleans, the one city in the USA I’m dying to visit. It had musical instruments hanging from the ceilings, amazing murals on the walls, and instead of lights – chandeliers, candles and lamps. It took my breath away.

But that was not all. While Jailbait jabbered on in Dutch with the waitress, I looked about at the full capacity crowd and thought at best, we’d get seats at the bar. But no. Apparently, Jailbait had all of this immaculately planned. I would quickly learn to give the boy more credit…

The waitress, smiling at me in what I now know must have been a mixture of envy and pleasure (for me and for the sweetheart I was with), lead us out to the back, which opened up into a cozy little garden dining area, with ornamental trees I’d never seen before, decorated with christmas tree lights. The sky and the stars were our ceiling, and there were a few small wooden tables spaced apart in a beautifully set up romantic little enclave.

I was too stunned to move. No one had ever made this much of an effort for me. On a first date, no less! And he didn’t even know me. This was meant to be casual, it was meant to be me taking a chance on someone who was obviously not right for me. But from the very start … it was simple magical.

Over rose wine, the Dutch summer favourite, all my fears about not being able to make conversation with a very Dutch young man still in school (university!) quickly disappeared. Despite our incredibly different backgrounds, we could talk. Despite the language barrier, we could make each other laugh. Despite everything – age, nationality, life paths … we seemed to be connecting on a deeper level.

I didn’t really know what he wanted out of it … but finally, when he held on to my hand one time too many, I knew I had him. I remember our first kiss vividly. We were talking – at least, I was talking, and I noticed he was suddenly quiet (amazingly, the boy could talk as much as me! A definite first.). He was looking down, seemingly fascinated by playing with my fingers, like he’d found a new toy. Then he just locked his gaze with mine … the way one only reads about in romance novels.

He had laughing blue eyes, and a permanent smile. None of those dark broody smouldering looks I’m always talking about. But I was drowning in those baby blues all the same. I restarted my sentence a few times, before finally giving up.

He knew it was coming, I knew it was coming. I can’t believe how such knowledge transpired without words, without actions. I almost stopped breathing, for fear of ruining this storybook moment. He must have been taking lessons from Hitch. He leaned towards me, a bare invitation, and waited for me to meet him halfway … so, whats a girl to do?

Like I said, magic.

Much later, he casually dropped this in our conversation, "I’ll always remember the day I met you."

Thinking he was just being very sweet, and honestly, not really believing him, my answer was flippant, "Neither will I". But for me, because it was the 7th of July 2007. 070707. A lucky number all around. I was already thinking of the meaning of signs.

He was keen for me to understand that was not what he meant. Earnestly, he explained. "No, its because it was the day I stopped smoking." All I could think was "Thank God, I don’t want to date a smoker!" because no matter how old this boy was, I wanted a second date. There was such magic here …. I needed to find out more.

Casually, I asked him how long he’d been smoking. The clanger was in his answer – "Well, I started smoking when I was 15. So … five years now."

As much as I hate math, I could do it. Wasn’t this just typical of my life?! Ladies and gentlemen, I was dating a foetus!

"If grass can grow through cement, love can find you at every time in your life." Cher

This is not us, but we did this often enough in the streets of Amsterdam. Our running joke was how we were going to get ourselves our own bench (you're not allowed to sit on benches outside other people's houses in Amsterdam.) In fact, I know this exact spot this picture was taken. The hair colour may be reversed .... but it could have been us. Definitely, some of my sweetest memories. Me and my toyboy. Hey, Demi and Cameron could do it ... Mariah MARRIED hers, so don't blame me for this trend!

Lambrini Liar

2008-05-05T22:13:00.004+08:00

Friendship is the marriage of the soul, and this marriage is liable to divorce.

– Voltaire-

To forgive or not to forgive? That is the question of the day. I’m done playing the Victim. I no longer roll over and play dead while someone sticks her stiletto deep into my back. I’d done all that with the Tart and her posse. I may not have grown claws, but I don’t have to be stupid anymore either. I’ve long wiped the "Walk On Me" sign on my forehead.

Now, I don’t claim to be without sin, but I have never ever wished ill or was malicious to anybody in my entire life, whether they deserved it or not. (Exception being the Singaporean Slut, but I think I’m allowed.) I’ve been nothing but the best friend I could be to my friends, and yet, time and time and again, I get slapped in the face.

But like I keep saying – nothing bad lasts forever, and so I grit my teeth to try and see out this storm and wait for the dawn of a new era. I hope it comes soon. Patience has never been one of my virtues….

I have just returned from Ireland. I know what you're thinking - everyone has the same reaction to that – as must the first time reader of this posting, after the last one. How can I blame anyone? No, I didn’t go back for a romantic encounter. And while Connor was in the picture, there is no happy ending to this story. Consider yourselves warned.

It was not a planned visit and it was not for a good reason. And while I was there, I got far more than I bargained for. When I texted Connor to let him know I was on his shores again, I got a furious text message back.

"Don’t call me. You are a Liar."

Never in all my life have I ever been called that. Laughable, I know - given my education and training, but honestly, I can’t lie to save my life. I wouldn’t know how, plus I do not have a poker face. Every emotion is right there for the whole world to see. If I liked someone, I don’t need to blush – I would have what my friends have long called "goo-goo eyes". If I didn’t like someone, they’d know it. There wouldn’t be any pretense of nicety or friendship.

I am just not made that way. What you see is what you get.

I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew what was up, but I gave her a chance anyway. Texting Aoirish immediately, I asked her what the hell was going on. At least she was honest. She admitted she had said some things to O about me that were completely untrue. But she also had the audacity to say "but I honestly didn’t mean for him to tell Connor." Which is total bullshit as those boys were joined at the hip, and told each other every last thing, a fact we both were very much aware of.

Maybe one day I’ll bring myself to put down what lies she spread. I’m just too mad now, and I certainly do not want to add to her crazy fictional account. My reputation has been damaged beyond repair in County Galway. I cannot blame Connor for taking his childhood friend’s word over mine, a girl he knew for all of 2 minutes. But this is not about him, and me – even more than that, this is about a girl who calls herself my friend. I can’t begin to even guess why any friend of mine would ruin such a beautiful memory for me.

I don’t care if its jealousy (she admitted to me she had a big crush on Connor when they were growing up. But seeing as she was with his best friend, I didn’t really think that was an issue anymore.). I’ve been nothing but a good friend to her. I did not deserve this.

Since I returned from Holland, I was already getting some bad vibes off her, but despite what the whole world was telling me, CJ included, I stood by her, maintaining she’d done me no harm. She was a good friend to me. I genuinely liked her, and enjoyed our time together. Yes, she had some negative points, but who didn’t?

I had slowly come to realise when I was in the Netherlands and getting a new outlook in life that she was not a good friend, but one of those emotional vampires. In her own way, she was happy when I was not. It was like she lived off my misery … and I was done being that crutch for her.

I guess in KL, I played the part of her sidekick, the ugly friend, if you will. I always saw our friendship as equal, but you can’t really be equal in a superficial place like KL. When it was just out for drinks, it was grand, but when it came to talking to the boys, being chatted up and bought drinks, her blonde hair and blue eyes pulled more weight. I didn’t mind so much – she was enamoured by the kampung boys, just as I was enamoured by her Bog folk (Irish for country people). I was even amused by this.

Then came to us meeting up in Galway last Christmas. I was no longer the weak Malaysian sidekick, but truly, Vixen in my element. I was confident, I held my head up high and enjoyed the attentions I got everywhere. There was no room for doubt – and believe me, in this town, when we walked into a room, it was my tanned skin, dark curly hair and big smile that got the lads talking, not her dime a dozen bottle blonde.

Okay, so I’m being petty, but she was just plain cruel.

It was what drew Connor to my side – but what should she care, she had a boyfriend in O, and a few more here in KL. I don’t understand why she did what she did, but nevertheless to say, she walked all over my dreams.

To be fair, I do not know Connor well, and he may have not really planned on taking this any further. But I will never know now what would have happened if she didn’t poison his mind.

I don’t see how this can be salvaged. The relationship with the boy, nor the "friendship". The bonds of trust, once broken, are broken forever. I’m done making friends with the world, I’m done inviting strangers into my world and befriending everyone with no sort of screening process. This lesson was a hard lesson to learn, but I have learnt. Like with men, I will be more discerning in all my friendships.

If Rex destroyed my ability to believe in a love ever after, Aoirish has ruined that part of me that was open and trusting to the whole damned world. Things happen for a reason, and I have earned my battle scars.

Never again.

"God save me from my friends – I can protect myself from my enemies." - Proverb-

Guiness Gem

2008-01-23T18:05:00.000+08:00

Don't Stop the Music

-Rihanna-

It's gettin’ late,

I'm making my way over to my favorite place

I gotta get my body moving shake the stress away

I wasn't looking for nobody when you looked my way

Possible candidate (yeah)

Who knew

That you'd be up in here lookin like you do

You're makin' stayin' over here impossible

Baby, I must say your aura is incredible ...

If you dont have to go, don't

Do you know what you started?

I just came here to party

But now we're rockin on the dancefloor

Acting naughty

Your hands around my waist

Just let the music play

We're hand in hand

Chest to chest

And now we're face to face

I wanna take you away

Lets escape into the music

DJ let it play

I just can't refuse it

Like the way you do this

Keep on rockin to it

Please don't stop the music.

Baby, are you ready cause its getting close

Don't you feel the passion ready to explode

What goes on between us no one has to know

This is a private show (oh)

Do you know what you started

I just came here to party

But now we're rockin on the dancefloor

Please don't stop the Music.

Galway Guiness

2008-01-19T16:49:00.000+08:00

Okay, so I’m not Irish, but don’t let that stop you!

Like I need any more drama in my life, right? As much as I keep swearing I don’t go looking for it ... it finds me all the same! No matter where in the world I “hide” ...

I spent my Christmas holidays in the home of my heart – the Emerald Isle. It was supposed to be restful and relaxing, good times spent with my family and friends, in my beloved Ireland. As an added bonus, Aoirish was also home - and we had grand plans to run Galway ragged with a bit of spice all the way from Malaysia.

So there goes the restful and relaxing holiday and hello to drunken debauchery!

I wasn’t looking for anything. I had packed up my life in Holland. I had put the Philosopher behind me, but I certainly wasn’t ready for anything else. And was not really expecting anything else, with me being due back in Malaysia in less than a fortnight. Maybe a little flirtation – I wouldn’t say no to a little kiss under the Mistletoe (Especially if he were Irish!) but nothing else. Besides, my vow of celibacy kicks off in 2008 – and no time like starting a resolution like the present!

Delighted to have me in her hometown, Aoirish had planned a big night out (what else is new!). Most importantly, she wanted me to meet her new man ... O, who she met bizarrely, through her childhood friend and neighbour, Connor. She mentioned something about this guy (Connor) being “in the arts”, but I was barely listening – so excited was I just to be there, out on the tear in Galway town!

We got to the bar, the girls were a laugh and I was having a blast – in my element around the very Irish crowd. O was a bit on the quiet side ... he shook my hand and went back to talking to the lads. Connor, on the other hand, seemed a bit intrigued, but I wasn’t really thinking too much of it. In a mere 6 months, I’d become well used to the admiring glances, incredibly confident now that if I was somewhere in Europe, it would be me that men wanted to talk to.

I hope my friend Maria is right, and that I would be taking all this magnetism back with me. Two other guys soon came up to get my attention, and I turned away from the group to entertain them.

However, for some reason, I kept being drawn back, for a bit of a chat with Connor, now and again. He was so not my type – I like the tall, floppy haired lanky pretty boy myself (Peter Crouch comes to mind, but I usually go for the better looking of them). Being short (yes really! With both of us sans shoes, he is still only a couple of inches taller than me. At a stretch, I’d say 5’8”), well-built and tough guy type bald, it really was his dazzling personality that had me coming back for more.

(Bald! Really!)

I started to realise how long his eye-lashes were, beautifully sooty black to frame the dreamiest of blue eyes (Eyes always get me). He had the sexiest accent and the nicest laugh. He was sweet, and funny, and just so easy to talk to. Without realising it, instead of just fluttering around the men in the bar, I started to stay longer and longer right by his side.

Later he would confess, in that delightful Irish accent, how he was hoping - from the minute he saw me walk in with Aoirish, that I’d come and talk to him.

I can’t really recall how or why, but we did seem to be attracted to each other. (Aoirish later told me how he said to her pretty much as soon as he saw me that he was attracted to me. Okay, the actual words – in Irish – was that he was hot for me. I take the compliment, thank you, and would return it much later ...)

I thought he was with some other girl, but it became evident that she was only trying to chat him up. He seemed to only have eyes for me. Who was I to disappoint the poor lad? So when she left - I sat myself down on her seat. I tried to find out if they were together by saying something along the lines of how I’d better go or else she’d be gunning for me.

Grabbing my hand, he smiled into my eyes. “No, please stay.” It didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t let go, holding my hand under the table in a very high school way!

She did come back, but when it was evident Connor didn’t want me leaving his side, she just looked disgruntedly at me, and asked for him an autograph.

The look of shock on my face must have been priceless. Who was this guy?! He swatted away my questions, but Aoirish reminded me she told me he was an actor. Later ... my brother, who wouldn’t have a clue – also, recognised him.

First a Baron, now and an actor? Next one had better be Prince William!

Later, there was a girl celebrating her, as being the “celeb” in the crowd, Connor was pushed to go give her a birthday kiss. He reluctantly left my side with a wry “this is the price of fame” smile. When he came back, I read the look as “I’d rather be kissing you,” so I said, “Where’s my kiss?” (I have no idea how I am so confident these days, I swear.)

And he did. He may have looked like a tough man you don’t mess with, but he was this sweet, lovely, funny guy that seemed to adore me. And his kiss was exactly just like him – lovely, soft and romantic. I was being drawn in – his charm was very slowly, demolishing all my defences, all my resolutions ... everything. He was attentive, he was lovely, and I just thought what the hell –

It didn’t stay at just the one night. We saw each other the whole time I was in Galway ... and kept in touch even when I went back to Dublin. The test remains now that I’ve crossed the globe to get back home for the foreseeable future if this will get me somewhere.

He said he’d come out to see me in April. I’m back in Eire in June. The possibilities really are endless ... but meanwhile, I'm still on the lookout for Heat or Now to see if we made the Irish tabloid pages.

Daquiri Dutch Dating

2008-01-07T11:39:00.000+08:00

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies

I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size

But when I start to tell them

They think I'm telling lies.

I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman

That's me.

-Maya Angelou-

Something I said off the cuff the other day struck a chord within me. I have dated more guys in my 6 short months here than the whole of 4 years in KL put together. And yet, I’m in the same position now. (Still) Single, and Disappointed! Perhaps it doesn’t matter if you’re having an active dating life or not … the truth is, when you’re meant to meet the One, you will, and not one day before, regardless of how many notches on your belt you rack up.

Speaking of notches, after the Philosopher, I’ve decided to take a vow of celibacy. Honestly. Next time I decide to be with someone in that way … he’d better be the One. (Or at the very least, very hot. :P) At least I’m going to be (more!) discerning from now on. Dr. Dish/Dr.Dense from now on, for example, is never, ever getting his hands on me again. EVER. Please remind me if I ever get desperate in KL.

Anyway, back to my Dutch experience with Dating. I have enough stories to fill a whole new blog/book – but I’ll give you the summary here, picking out the juiciest of them all.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me

A hive of honey bees.

I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist

And the joy in my feet.

It has been a weird experience to me… I’d almost forgotten how being different makes you more desirable. I remembered it from my days in England, but after being back in Malaysia for so long, it was so long repressed, that it almost took me by shock. I walk into a room, and (if it’s predominantly Dutch…) I get more attention than any of my other (very much hotter, thinner, etc) mates (who are mostly paired up anyway, and would not be interested, it must be said!). I’ve been asked for my number – and to my utter shock, they always seem to call. And ask to see me again.

First guy in fact, was not the Philosopher, but this guy who looked like he should be on Baywatch. Complete with shaggy blonde hair, and ice blue eyes, the Surfer Dude took all our breaths away. He was the waiter at the bar we went to on our first Friday night here, as part of the getting to know each other session. All the girls at the tables were making goo-goo eyes at him, but to my utter shock, despite the cool eyed blonde from South Africa, the cheery Brazilian beauty or the darkly dangerous Portuguese chica, it was ME he lavished his attentions on, it was MY phone number he asked for, it was ME he called the very next day and asked out.

Thankfully, I was still in my Malaysian mind-set and was wary. I didn’t think it was a date – and maybe he did, but he included 2 other women on this date as well! Almost amused, and certainly, not at all surprised (but Surfer Dude is too cute for any woman to get annoyed with) I was just about to leave the party when a happy jolly bouncing bundle of light barreled through the masses to get to me. He had the bluest eyes, shining in the setting sun, and a big head of golden curls. Those cherubic lips looked painted on, and the smile, completely infectious. I was taken in an instant. His first words to me, as he stuck out his hand cheerily in my face was “Hello, I’m the Philosopher”.

Just like the man, happy, simple and direct. Hello, I want to know you.

The rest is history. I really did meet my man my first weekend here, though it was a bit slow to get off the ground. There is no contest, the Philosopher wins hands down. I did meet the best at the start of it all … unfortunately, as the sun set on this romance; I went back to dating the frogs.

There was my Scottish Stalker, immediately after. He was an absolute nightmare! Despite the fact I met him the very night me and the Philosopher broke up, he was undeterred in chasing me. When it turned out that despite the fact I was vulnerable, and hurt, I still wasn’t about to let him get into my pants … he turned nasty. I hope I never see him again, or ever hear that gawd-awful Glaswegian accent ever again.

My friends will never forget the story of how he absolutely attacked me en route to the loo. I was determined not to kiss him, not to even touch him. Lulling me into a false sense of security by taking me to the pub to watch the football, he was talking about nothing as he got up to excuse himself to the loo. I barely glanced up at him, engrossed in the game. All I remember was him saying "But first, I'm going to -" and he planted one right on me. I was too shocked to react, and truth be told, only kissed him back to be polite.

Eugh! Can't move on past this weirdo fast enough!

Then theres the infamous Baron – an actual member of the Dutch aristocracy who turned out to be an absolute toad in Prince Charming dress. From meeting him pre-Philosopher romance and almost having to be scraped off the floor (he made me so weak at the knees!). That smile (his mother was an actual French model), the height (he modestly claimed to be “average” – for the men in Holland, that’s like 6’3”!), the fact he admitted to having the Dirty Dancing soundtrack in his car … I thought he MUST be the One.

There were complications, my flatmate saw him first, I was having too good a time with the Philosopher to think about anyone else, titled or not. Then the Baron morphed into a pure and utter arsehole. Or maybe he was finally displaying his true colours?

Whatever it is … I definitely dodged a bullet there! It would be a day too soon if I ever saw those flashing pearly whites again.

Finally, there was this nice guy who had a lot of potential, but for the fact he still had a girlfriend in Australia – a fact he only revealed to me after a night of buying me drinks and acting like a free agent. Still, as long as he just wined and dined me, and nothing more, I was happy (enough!) to get to know him better – or rather, let him get to know me better. (Plus, he had incredibly gorgeous friends!)

Until he became totally Dutch and wanted us to GO Dutch on our last “date”.

I’m definitely moving on from this one. And from Holland in general. I’ve decided, enough is enough, and I am happy to leave here. The memories are great, the lessons have been learnt and taken to heart, but I do feel like the sun has set on this place for me too.

And yes, I’m returning home, as Single as the day I left. But like I said in my previous post, I feel complete again. Holland has been so good for me personally, that I could never have foreseen this. I’m myself again. I’ve regained my confidence, my self-belief, and my hope in a brighter future. I’m certainly not that bitter broken shell of a whimpering girl that Rex and the Singaporean Slut forced out of London. I am, the London Vixen again, and hopefully, despite my return to Malaysia, I will not let her get too far under her Lair that she forgets who she is or what she is capable of.

For I believe, she really is, Phenomenal!

I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care. '
Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman

That's me.

Tequila Toothbrush

2007-12-17T07:16:00.000+08:00

Who'd have guessed - the Toothbrush is the root of all evil ...

Ain't no headlights on the road tonight

Ain't nobody here to make it right

Cos we couldn't seem to find a way, for love to stay

"The Last Goodbye" -Atomic Kitten -

Well, I guess I can’t be surprised really. It was far too good to be true, hence far too good to last...In the Philosopher, I found everything I’d ever needed, and never knew I wanted. I had a lovely thoughtful boyfriend, who never once mucked me about (except when he disappeared “camping” … but that really wasn’t his fault. Story for another day) and constantly made me smile, whether I was with him or not. The moment he comes into my view, I just absolutely hurl myself into those big arms of his, feeling the warmth of affection and security.

And his smile absolutely lights up the room. He’d wear this faint frown as he manoeuvres the crowd, and as soon as he spots me, his eyes go wide, and I get that cheeky “Hello, darling” smile. I know the look, I know the feeling. That “she’s mine, that’s my girl.” look.

All the same, I’ve ended up in the same place.

Hurt. Heartbroken. Missing him desperately.

My first sign of danger (as I realise in retrospect) was when I attended my friend’s wedding in England (of course I went back!). The bride’s sister-in-law and I were waxing lyrical about Mr. Darcy and how we were in such perfect surroundings for him to come galloping by and sweep us (me!) off my feet. When she asked me if I was seeing anyone, I happily told her I was, and if she could believe it, he wasn’t Darcy, but a Bingley!

This woman who’d only known me for about an hour went absolutely still. She looked at me and said seriously, “But Vix, you are not Jane.” Shocked, I let her words sink in as she continued. “You’re Elizabeth.”

And my one solid thought was, how true.

But I was crazy about my Philosopher – wasn’t I? Or was I just crazy about the idea that he was crazy about me? He made me happy, he made me laugh. But … I knew in my hearts of hearts, it wasn’t love.

And yet, I wanted it to work. Despite all the odds.

" If you had another night to give

I would have another night to live

But you're never gonna see me cry the last goodbye"

I thought I was dignified in the break-up. No begging or pleading. It was for a stupid reason – at least a stupid thing set it off, and I was incensed at first. I actually told him it was his regret and his loss, and if he wanted me out of his life, I’ll be happy to oblige him. I didn’t want someone stupid in my life.

What happened? Upon leaving his bachelor pad in Amsterdam (and I use the term loosely – I was running late for work.) he suddenly realised my toiletries were still scattered on his bathroom counter just before he locked the front door.

Most conspicuous of which, was my toothbrush. I just dismissed it and uttered the fateful words, “Let’s go”. Without a care in the world. I’d spent every weekend there since we met, in fact, I was coming back in 2 days. I didn’t think anything of it … but he did. The moment he heard me, the moment what I said registered in his mind - our eyes met, and in that one instant my whole world fell apart. I’m not being dramatic. The light just absolutely disappeared out of his eyes … and I just knew. The whole time back to the train station was this unnerving feeling – he was absolutely squirming out of my grasp. He kissed me goodbye, but he was already gone.

It was the last goodbye - from the magic of that first kiss to the half-hearted goodbye and last "Darling" at the train station ...

There was nothing I could do. I left to return to the Hague, and I didn’t hear from him for 3 days. When I did hear from him, it was inevitable. It was the 2 words I didn’t want to hear.

“It’s over.”

Isn’t it just like me to get dumped over a Toothbrush?

Is it cloudy where you are tonight?

Are the neon lights shining bright?

Are you looking for a place to stay - to get away?

I miss him, but I know we broke up for the right reason. He is right – we are at different stages in our lives. The Toothbrush symbolises marriage and babies, and he simply is not going to be man enough for that challenge in too long. At least not with me, and do give the man points for his courage and honesty. He never did muck me about, and was honest from the start. I will always appreciate this about him.

He does know me. I do want babies. And a Happily ever After. We took it as far as we could go. I think I always knew, even from the beginning, that he wasn’t the One. However, unlike Rex, I only think of the Philosopher with love and affection. He still puts a smile on my face. He’s what I waited these 4 long years for – he mended my broken heart. The Philosopher gave me a new hope; he’s taught me what a relationship should and can be like … but above all, he taught me to believe again. My One is out there, and I’m whole again thanks to the Philosopher.

“And the truth is that we'll never know where love will flow"

Cocktails & Dreams

2007-11-12T01:44:00.000+08:00

The reason for the silence:

"Mr. Bingley is just what a young man ought to be, sensible, good-humoured, lively, and I never saw such happy manners! He is also handsome"

-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice-

Well, it had to happen, eh? Guess the Vix got snared in her own honey trap. Smug Married friends of mine take note - the Wilderness years are over! But I swear on the Singleton torah that I will NEVER become a Smug Married. Or at least, I will not be sharing my smugness with the world. (Hence the lack of postings on this blog)

But did I end up with a Mr. Darcy? You’ll not believe it, I have NOT! The Philosopher is a walking caricature of Mr. Bingley if there ever was one. He even has this permanent smile on his very cherubic face. (Strangely enough, that smile, together with his curly blonde hair and china blue eyes bears resemblance to that Crispin Bonham-Carter that played Mr. Bingley in the 1996 BBC Pride and Prejudice miniseries!) I guess I cursed myself, but I’ve not been this happy in a very very long time! The Philosopher is obliging, friendly, with easy manners that guarantees him friends everywhere he goes.

In fact, very much like myself, he has been likened to a cheery bouncing ball of light. He’s not tall by Dutch standards, but I like our fit (it had to happen!). He is by no means sociably inept – like me, the social butterfly, he is at ease in the company of strangers, and makes them his friends very quickly. He enjoys the new and the unknown. He doesn’t brood sullenly in the corner, completely devoid of emotion, he is the most affectionate man I have ever met. At any chance he gets me within arms length, he’s either grabbing onto my hand, or kissing my hair, or hugging me. He’s got this amazingly wonderful habit of kissing my hand whenever he gets the chance which makes my heart stop.

He takes my breath away with how lovely he is. And every time I think about how this wonderfully sweet gentleman has chosen ME, to be in his life, I just want to sit down and bawl my eyes out.

CJ was right – there is better, so much better than Rex. And nice guys do deserve a chance. The Philosopher does not mess me about – he says what he feels, he calls when he says he will, he arranges to see me, even before the current date is over, he understands my priorities and tries to fit himself into my schedule – he worries about my feelings without smothering me, he … well, so far, he can’t do any wrong!

I don’t know how far this could go … I dare not make any permanent plans when things with my life are so up in the air. I just intend to take it one day at a time and see where the road takes us.

But thank you, Cupid, for helping me back on this road. And he seems to be worth the long and arduous wait.

Chivas Cycle

2007-07-07T17:28:00.000+08:00

Blast from the past ...

Sometimes the past has a way of coming back and biting you in the arse

Can you believe things have happened already?! It's only the morning after my last post ... and now I'm actually posting constantly! So everyone kind of pushed me into getting this Facebook account. I'm still learning the ropes, etc ... but its a good way of keeping in touch, putting up pictures, etc.

A familiar name dropped into my browsing yesterday, and for the first time in years, I decided to get in touch. Driano was the love of my 15 year old life. I probably stayed mad about him till I was 20 or so. We never actually got together, and till today, I don't know why. We used to speak long hours every night (so many times, we "saw" the break of dawn together!), sneak out to go to stupid things at midnight, hang out every weekend. When he first got his driver's license, I was the first to get a ride. He was another popular jock strap, on the hockey team, but also mixed with a bit of a rough crowd. Innocent, good girl me, was hopelessly attracted.

He was the one that was into hockey, and that's how I got into it, he introduced me to the rest of the boys on the team ... and later, to a young Dr. Dish, who was one of the boys on the team - and later came to the same school as me ... and you know how the rest is history! Driano was the mutual friend that was the very first talking point between Dr. Dish and I.

You see how life is a huge cycle?

Anyway, to make a long story short, when Driano started college, he forgot all about me ... and literally, just cut me out of his life. I was very hurt, but also, had the low self esteem to never confront him. You see, it was the day I always feared would come ... why would the popular high school jock want to hang with me?

Now, almost 10 years later, he's right here. Not in Holland, but London. And he just said he travels all the time to where I live ... and wants to meet up!

This is very very dangerous territory. It took me a long long time to get over him ... and the best thing for me, was really, not to have him in my life. But maybe now that we're both adults, lived the last 10 years apart ... we can be mature about this, surely! Be friends. Surely there's nothing left there?

I'm not sure I can answer that positively. He certainly didn't crush me the way Rex did ... but perhaps maybe that's why I still think of him with a little flutter in my heart.

What can I say, but watch this space! Exciting OR WHAT!!!!

Bacardi Beginings

2007-07-07T03:30:00.001+08:00

" Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; you will what you imagine; and at last you create what you will."

-George Bernard Shaw-

Well, well ... another day, another story. Mine started first thing this morning. Feeling rather chuffed as I breezed past security of the hugely imposing building I now work at, smiling at the once stern guards who used to suspiciously look me up and down. Now that I have my brand new ID badge that identified me as an insider, they smiled rather respectfully instead.

I still feel like a kid playing grown up. I wonder when I'm going to shake off the shackles off my youth and embrace the fact I'm a grown woman approaching her thirties on an amazing career path. I walk onward to the elevator, thinking to myself I should act like I look. I caught sight of myself in the mirror - wearing a posh suit, my hair was coiffered immaculately despite the bitterly cold wind (especially when its supposed to be bloody summer!), pearls and heels -

And almost walk right into the glass door as I caught side of who it was waiting on the other side of it. Waiting for the elevator. The exact same elevator that I would take. Despite the fact I didn't bump my head .. . he looked up, twinkling eyes met my slightly stunned ones. I felt my surprise give way to gleeful delight ... and then the phone rang.

His phone. Instead of saying hello, as he obviously was going to, he turned away from me, and that was the end of that. I know he's leaving the country for a bit - such is the nature of our work, but I really don't know how long for. I think he's only got another week or so left ... so this could be it!

I got into the elevator solo, still marvelling at the fact that I keep bumping into Dimples. How meant to be was this! Thousands of employees in a huge international organisation, and we two keep meeting. Maybe this chapter isn't closed after all.

Adrian joined me for lunch again - looks like its going to be a usual thing now. We bonded some more - we both like football, and he, like most guys, seemed completely stunned that my knowledge went deeper than the length of David Beckham shorts. I think I may have found a friend to go watch the games with. Liverpool is playing in Rotterdam on August 5th. I have to go meet my Crouchy! And I don't fancy my chances with the Dutch football fans on my own. Adrian said it was madness for me to go alone ... and definitely, he'd come to keep me company.

I assure you, I tried to hide the look of triumph from my face!

I saw Grigio, as how I've nicknamed the other French one. I truly apologise for the horrible description (Quasimodo sibling). But you know how some guys just have that certain je ne se quoi ? And no matter how they looked, you're just drawn to them? (I can positively see CJ banging her head on the nearest hard surface. She knows whats coming. She knows me well.) Grigio has a shock of shaggy blonde hair, and a rumpled messy look. Real rough and tumble cowboy lawyer look. The kind that tucks his white school shirt into a pair of jeans and puts on a tie and calls it work attire. Adrian is just so much more my type. Sleek and sophisticated with his trendy suits, tight shirts and such a sweet, lovely nature.

Grigio nodded at me coolly from a distance as our eyes met. He was scouring the room for a familiar face, and when he saw me, he started in my direction. I was seated with Adrian, who so obviously is just going to end up a mate now (and if anyone ever saw a picture of either, I'll never hear the end of it!). I indicated to the empty seat infront of me. But Grigio got sidetracked (by a bunch of girls, of course! I'm not the only one who thinks he's an attractive), and shurgged at me as he sat at their table instead.

I nodded, thinking that was that.

But it was not! For all his confidence, the way he later joined us was incredibly endearing. I know he didn't need the coffee. But as he came to get it, after lunch no less. The coffee machine was conveniently situated near my table ... he hesitantly approached us, and almost arrogantly demanded if he could sit down before me.

Most of the people around me today spoke French - really funny, because yesterday I was with Spanish speakers. Adrian speaks both fluently, and I understand both, so I didn't really have a problem. French goes down much better though. I still found it sweet when Grigio, after catching himself realising that everyone else was speaking except me, asked me gruffly, "You understand or not?"

A bit patronising, and abrupt, but he is French, is he not! And why would a little Asian girl all the way from Malaysia speak French, really. Besides, I think it stemmed from an honest concern, and it was his way of being polite. Once he said that, everyone swapped to English. I just love the way he's so strong and sure of himself.

I know, I know - Je sais! There's one absolute sweetheart, who looks good, and is lovely and good with me. Spoils me even. Then there's the one who treats me with a dismissive, almost rude attitude. And who's not even cute for goodness sake!

So which one am I thinking of? You guys know me enough to know I'd never choose the one thats right for me. I'm more attracted to Grigio, God only knows why!

Later this evening, Adrian came up to my desk to say goodbye. To my surprise, he shyly left a piece of notebook paper with his phone number on it. He gestured nervously, muttering, "So we can keep in touch, no?". What a sweetie! He lives by the beach, where a few hotspots are, and we've arranged to meet up tomorrow. It's not a date, the other girls are coming too.

We all are in the first stages of getting to know one another. We've come from all over the world,with completely different backgrounds, but a very similar interest and desire to do good. We all could have glittering careers that earned the big bucks, but we were slogging away for not very much in financial remuneration, but huge gain in personal satisfaction. We were cut from the same cloth, but this cloth has been to many different ports in the world.

I don't know either of the boys from Adam. They could both have girlfriends, or be gay or married even. I don't take any of this too seriously at this point in time. It's just wonderful to enjoy this whole experience ... C'est etonnant! It definitely is one in a million, and I'm one very lucky chica.

Pimm's Parade

2007-07-06T06:40:00.000+08:00

Choices, choices!

"So many men - so little time!"

I can so see how I'm going to need a new blog. Things are happening on a daily basis! And this so saves me from writing novel-length emails to the whole world consisting of my nearest and dearest.

So, even if I attempted a summary, I won't believe it myself, let alone you guys! I'll start from this morning - I found out Kiwi has a girlfriend. Am strangely relieved as this means I won't have to go out with him, and CJ can't blame my fickleness or fatal attraction to the bad boys.

By the way, I met the said girlfriend, and she's not a nice at all. It still completely amazes me how the nicest guys go out with total ... well, not very nice women!

And now I bring you to lunchtime. As I was leaving the room, I walked by the Adrian Grenier lookalike. Being polite, I said, "Aren't you going for lunch?" and he looks at me, smiles in a charmingly shy manner, and says, in that sexy French accent, "Yes, we can go to lunch.". I was on my way to meet another group of girls, but it looks like he thought we were lunching together.

Who was I to say no to such dreamy eyes? Girls, smirls, they can lunch without me! He was so charming, right down to the way he offered me half of his sandwhich. Last I checked we weren't in high school anymore, but it was still endearing.

Once I drew him out of his shell, I found out more and more about him. For one, he's come from an amazingly international background. He's French, but he's lived all over the world. Most recently, he's been living in Madrid. He speaks French, English and Spanish ever so naturally, its wonderful to hear. We exchanged stories about our passion for travelling and our area of work ... but what got both of us was our love for Africa. He'd spent some time in Kenya too, and you all know it's a place very close to my heart.

The possibilities are really endless!

AND THEN! The piece de resistance of the day was when I got hurriedly ushered into my first meeting. Everyone got settled in, and then the last person rushes through the door - late in a typical high school jock-esque "aw shucks, ma'am, tweren't my fault I'm just so damned pretty" kind of way. My jaw almost hits the floor. Can you guess?

It was Dimples! HE FOUND ME!!! What are the odds, huh? I thought I'd have to scour this huge organisation for the rest of my time here before I could find him - but now I know everything there is to know about him!

We didn't meet - not officially - but he has definitely noticed me - more so than just in the crowds in the cafeteria.

Unfortunately, he turns out to be American. Like totally American. He looks like he had that popular All-American background, i.e was a quarterback in highschool, the class president, dated the blonde perky head cheerleader, etc, etc. Now to my mind, American's are a close second to Singaporeans. I don't detest them so much as I find them too loud. But I have a few American friends who I love very much. Besides, I spent the first years of my life in the Land of Oppurtunity, so I can't really protest too much!

But can I live with that accent? Even with its pretty packaging? Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, I forgot to mention how one of the first people I met was the spitting image of Dr. Derek McDreamy Shepherd. I'm so not kidding! Thankfully, I didn't nickname Dr. Dish McDreamy. Obviously, the powers that be knew I will find me own in due time. If Dimples the Jockstrap doesn't work out ... I know the Patrick Dempsey lookalike could fill in his shoes, no problem! I haven't worked out his nationality yet, but with those dreamy eyes, and all knowing smile ... you can't go wrong, really! (Well, he's definitely not Singaporean, so that's gotta be good, right!)

My evening ended with a night out at the bar with some more new friends. None of which included any of the above, but more players in the parade of mine. Oh, which one will win the crown? I'm so curious, but I'm happy to take my time to explore the possibilities.

For they are endless!

Cosmopolitan Chica

2007-07-05T04:53:00.000+08:00

"O, mistress mine, where are you roaming?

O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low:

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting

Every wise man's son doth know"

- William Shakespeare-

I woke up my first morning in Holland with a complete stranger.

Ha ha - that got your attentions, didn't it?! Mind out of the gutter, people! He was the passenger next to me! And no, we weren't - not together, at least, members of the mile high club. (Even the business class toilets aren't big enough!). Yes, the powers that be were incredibly generous with flying me out on business. What truly was the start to my new life was the pretty boy trolly dolley asking me ("Madam"!) "Would you care for champagne?"

Would I! Hah, a new start, is it not? Try all things new (not pot or porn, I don't do either, nor will I bring back with me either, so consider all those requests rejected.). I toasted to my new life, and sat back for my new adventure.

I cannot put down in words (yes, even me!) how amazing this whole experience has been - right down to Il Divo performing by the beach on a FREE concert my first weekend here. Those who know where to find it, I've posted the pictures up, and for once, I need to let something else do the talking for me.

I simply cannot do the boys justice. And to think, barely 6 months ago, I was devastated at not being able to see them in concert, although I had the luck of meeting them in person. While Seb didn't look as good as I remembered, Urs stunned me into speechlessness.

And that's really saying something!

My first week so far has been eventful to say the least - but I think the perfection is over with my brand new laptop screen being broken. I don't know how or why, but I hope they fix it. I write this through literally, a cracked glass, so be kind to typos - I can't exactly spell check!

I have a huge meeting tomorrow, with the main man of where I currently work, and since I don't talk about work anyway, I'll just give you the run down of my new (male) colleagues. First, there's this Kiwi guy who I've spent most of my time with - he's very sweet, overly obliging, and has been there every step of the way for me. Either he's the kind who jumps up at the new girl, or he's just that genuinely kind.

I think its the latter, though it could also be because I'm taking over his portfolio so he may just have to as its his job! Now he's not the kind of guy I'd really be attracted to in the first place. Very much like Mr. Perfect, the pure goodness bores me to the quick.

We already get on like a house on fire, and I can see us being really good friends. Someone I can turn to in times of trouble, a shoulder to cry on when the Bad Boy I inevitably fall for inevitably breaks my heart. I know its a vicious cycle, just like I also know its in my power to change it.

I made CJ a promise before I left KL, and I want to give it a try. I never make promises I don't keep. I promised her I'd give the good guys a try. Kiwi, by anyone's definition,is, a good guy. And he's not at all bad looking - though shorter than my usual type, he's got blond-ish almost golden ginger hair and unusual amber-coloured eyes. I think its safe to say my sister and my girl cousins would approve.

I thought of CJ, I thought of missed chances with Mr. Perfect and Mr. Darcy, all for the likes of obviously not good for me men like Rex and Dr. Dish. As I sat across from Kiwi, who was stressing a point in enthusiasm, I thought to myself - if he asks me out, I'd say yes.

Then within my eye-line walked by this stunning tanned creature - also shorter than my usual types, but with devastatingly big twinkling eyes, a cheeky smile and Dimples. God, he was tanned in that rosy kind of way that just makes a girls heart melt.

And before you could say Kiwi who, this girl was sunk.

Kiwi and I are still mates, but the quest is to hunt Dimples down and bag him.

There are a few other players in this new life of mine. Two frenchmen - one sweet quiet one who looks like Adrian Grenier (same dreamy eyes, kissable lips, just totally shy in a frustrating way) who I share an office with, and a more confident Gallic one, who unfortunately, looks like Quasimodo's better looking older brother.

But he's got a personality that makes up for it, so watch this space too!

And that, so far, has been my last 48 hours! The place is crawling with head turners and people I'd only ever read about or seen in the news or papers, so I'm still very much overwhelmed by it all.

Will have more for you soon. Hope you're well, and not missing me too much :P

Malibu Merry-Go-Round

2007-06-22T00:32:00.000+08:00

"Messing up. It's what makes a person. It's how we learn, where we find joy. And the things you don't plan for are things you never see coming."

-Dr. Izzie Stevens, "Grey's Anatomy - My Favourite Mistake"-

I honestly thought the last of anything exciting had happened to me with this fabulous offer. How wrong I was ... with packing in everybody I love who wants to say goodbye, or party for the last time in a long while ... exchanging memories and stories to last for our time apart ... and to the occasional ex who comes banging on your front-door at 3 am in the morning.

I'm not making up that last bit. H calls Dr. Dish my "favourite mistake" ... I'm not sure if I'd be as kind to my memories. Think our dishy doc is really my moment of weakness. That's weakness plural, unfortunately. HOW we hooked up again, I haven't a clue! I certainly didn't mean to .... it just kind of happened.

Honestly, guys, I was standing firm. He was an inconsiderate jerk for far too long to get back into my good books ... much less into anything else! I haven't seen him in months! He blew me off on my birthday. ON MY BIRTHDAY. Unforgiveable! I wasn't supposed to have anything to do with him. EVER again ....

I've been refusing to see him all this month. He'd found out about my big move, and decided he suddenly wanted to see me. Forget the fact we'd barely spoken for the last 6 months or so. Suddenly, he had to see me.

Where was all this concern 6 months ago? Where was this affection on my BIRTHDAY?

Bah!

I firmly resolved not to see him. I wasn't going to be anyone's convenience. I was to good for him. He'd blown every oppurtunity in the book. I was off for a new life, one that did NOT include a too slow, inarticulate dreamy eyed doctor.

20 text messages later ... I said okay to him driving by. Then it was lets not wake my parents, lets go back to his. I made it clear for it to be just drinks, and nothing more. Yeah right ...

But when I got into his flashy new ride ... and took my first good look at him in 6 months, I nearly swallowed my own tongue. How was he so hot? How was I still weak at the knees at the sight of those bottomless brown pools? I should detest him. I should be angry, annoyed, irritated ... not melting into a puddle at the bottom of the new 4 wheel drive.

Sigh ... he knows me well too.

He barely even hinted at anything ... not even to kiss me. We spoke, we laughed, he kept topping up my glass (my only sign the entire evening that he may want to get me flat on my back) ... he was interested in what I was doing, he was supportive and excited for my new life. He was my friend again.

I hadn't seen this part of him since 2004, when we first kissed, and everything turned upside down. I was delighted.

But not as delighted as when I recognised that look in his eye when he pulled me onto his lap .... and we went ... er, "down" our own memory lane.

Again. I don't have an explanation, other than the fact he still is hot.

" The thing about plans is they don't take into account the unexpected. So when we're thrown a curve ball, we have to improvise. Of course, some of us are better at it than others. Some of us have to move on to plan B and make the best of it. And sometimes what we want is exactly what we need, but sometimes what we need is a new plan."

-Dr. Meredith Grey, "Grey's Anatomy - My Favourite Mistake"-

Gin Goodbye

2007-06-14T23:13:00.001+08:00

"Leaving, on a jet plane - don't know when I'll be back again..."

I don’t do goodbyes. Anyone who knows me knows not to be insulted when I don’t show up for farewell parties, or at the airport. You see … I cry. Easily.

I cried at every single Disney cartoon. I bawled through every Hollywood ending. Sometimes, I even cry at music videos! Don’t ask me why, but I sobbed through Daylight, that awful Sly Stallone film about a bunch of people stuck in a tunnel that was quickly filling up with water. (God, hope Samy saw that film before the Smart Tunnel was built!). I feel things, with a whole lot of emotion.

So I don’t say goodbye to people very easily. I am surrounded by people I like very much. I love with my whole heart – not just my family, but my friends and often, strangers I have barely met. I can make friends with the snap the fingers, and remain friends forever. People constantly ask me how this is so ... I've thought about it through the years, and have come up with this - I prefer to see the good in people.

Naive, I know, but my life has been enriched by so many souls, and I have very few scars to show for it, so I'm going to stick with what is obviously a winning formula.

So I avoid goodbyes, but I’m good with keeping in touch. If you have me as a friend, you’ll never really lose me. (unless you want to!)

I just don’t like thinking about stuff like … “I’ll never do this again”, or “it’ll be another 6 months before we can walk in the park like this”, or “before we can share a bowl of laksa” again. I don’t like thinking this is my last meal at La Bodega, my last Sangria, my last Ghetto at Zouk, my last breakfast at Raju’s or supper at Ming Tien.

Ah, yes, of course you always pine for things you don’t have. When I was in KL, I got depressed thinking of my happening London Life.

Now that I’m packing my bags once again, to head off to lands unknown, I look around me and count my blessings. My KL life is not bad at all. Like London, I conquered KL (again) . And I shall conquer Holland to.

I arrived in England, not knowing a soul. I left, having made countless friends, most of whom I’m still in touch with. There’s room in my heart for a lot more.

I returned to Malaysia, to find all my friends still here, with my place in their hearts, firmly reserved.

This time it will be no different. The world is a lot smaller these days, and goodbyes never mean forever.

There’s only one goodbye I ever uttered, knowing within my soul I shall never see that person again. And I haven’t.

It’s Rex’s loss.

Mr. Perfect sent me a text once, a few weeks after I had emerged from the aftermath of my disastrous relationship. He had been trying to get me on the phone all night, but I was in a noisy pub and didn't hear it ring. The text read. “I knew you would find Vix’s London again.”

I shall miss KL. Oh, it will always be home, and I know I will be back before I know it. But I have this period of time to make Europe mine, to make every last bit of this gift that has been given to me count.

I intend to make it. Goodbye, Malaysia, but not forever. See ya when I see ya~

And hello Brave New World!

I start my new life in a week. I'm contemplating starting a new blog just to record the dutch dailies, but will maintain this blog for any drunken adventures, especially of the romantic kind. I think it is safe to assume that there shall be many! Hope someone's warned Europe that this Fox is out of her Lair!

Moet Moment

2007-06-04T20:02:00.003+08:00

Live Forever, for the moment

Ever searching ... for the World

-Spice Girls-

The girls had a point. Live forever, for the moment. Life is but a brief candle – so make of it what you will. Having these exact words (but in French!) echoed back to me by the guy before me was a bit of a shock to my system. I simply wasn’t used to it, having always been surrounded by more sensible and practical souls. (Ahem, CJ!)

My Frenchie wasn’t just good looking. (I’m so predictable). He was also sweet and hesitantly friendly an almost shy manner that was incredibly appealing, without being sleazy and all French about it. He was a bit serious, a bit reserved, but in that strong silent way that I like. A bit of a brooder, but again, I always seem to find that attractive in a man!

He seemed to come alive when he spoke to me. He was the new kid on the block, and as usual, he found me easiest to get along with in a sea of strangers. But not in an I-Just-Need-Another-Friend kind of way. (And not to watch the game with either. Pay attention - he was French. I’m too much of an Anglophile to ever swap to a Gallic side. Crouchy has nothing to fear.) He looked at me in a way that had me speculating about the gleam in his eye as he held my gaze once too often for it to be just friendly. There was a definite connection there.

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

-Robert Frost-

Honest to God, it was unlike anything I can remember (thus far). Certainly not like with Chappie, where all it was the one first night when we met, and he was on his best behaviour. We all know what happened when he revealed his true colours in record time! Besides, thinking in retrospect - it was mostly fun and games (and alcohol!) which wore thin very quickly.

I think I’d opened up and spoke to Moet more than I’d ever had with Dr. Dish. Let’s all call a spade a spade. My thing with Dr. Dish was purely physical, and nothing else. I had, of course, hoped for more, but after a couple of years now, I need to admit facts. There was no real conversation. No meeting of the minds. So weird, considering our shared history, and decade long friendship. However, other than the nights out drinking and partying, and the few heated encounters between the sheets … there was nothing else.

As for Mr. Darcy and I - it was all about second guessing each other. Perhaps there may well have been a connection, but it has been so long ago now, that I can honestly barely remember.

I don’t like playing games anyway.

I learnt something from my French liason. One always knows when one is fancied. I analyse these situations to death with all my girlfriends (and whichever boy that would listen for his man-sider view). The endless days of agonising over “Do you think he likes me?”, and the familiar plaintive “Why hasn’t he called?” whine. Then it goes to frustration, “Why did he say he’d call, if he then doesn’t?” But the bare facts of the matter is, to quote Greg Bernhart - He’s Just Not That Into You.

It was indeed a cliché – right up to the way I was offered not just wine, but champagne when I first went back to his. (Talk about taking an excerpt right off this blog). And not just any champagne. But – you guessed it! Moet et Chandon. Whatever do the French do to their men? They certainly know how to treat a woman! And spare me the thoughts on practised smooth charmers. I know smooth practised charm. This was not it.

This was definitely, to coin the cliché - different.

I hate to break the illusion, but I don’t actually care for champagne. (Shock horror!) Moet or otherwise. I didn’t tell him that, of course … but still. I know what I’ve named this blog. But you see, my thought was that it was like a dream – Champagne Dreams.

And when dreams come true, sometimes, they don’t turn out the way you thought they would. Just like I find champagne a bit bitter to my tongue, and not quite to my tastes. I’ve learnt that sometimes dreams are best kept as fantasies, in order to keep one from the disappointment that is reality.

Do you still remember how we used to be

Feeling together believe in whatever

My love has said to me

I know it all happened so quickly, but that’s how it was. It only took that instant spark, when serious dreamy hazel eyes met laughing dancing dark ones across the room. I was surprised that he actually came over to meet me… I was even more surprised when he stuck by me and didn’t seem to want to move away from my side. But what shocked me was how very quickly, the entire crowded room disappeared, and it was just the two of us.

He seemed to enjoy talking to me, and making me laugh. But it wasn’t just small talk. Somehow, we were confiding in each other about our respective histories and backgrounds. Though we were from opposite ends of the world, we found that we have shared so many similar journeys and experiences. We’ve lived in the same places, did the same kind of jobs, even want the same kind of things out of life. We were nearly a similar age, a similar mentality … everything just kind of fell in to place.

We shook our heads in amazement at the sheer coincidences. We even spoke each other’s languages but of course his English was far better than my French. A plus point, of course, was that romantic French accent. Just the right tone, giving his almost flawless English a romantic, mind-blowingly sexy touch.

There was no language barrier. It was very easy to talk to him, to communicate. It wasn’t exactly fun and laughs - it didn’t even start off as such. It was an immediate bonding. He understood me. But how could he know me so well in a matter of days, I wonder. How was this l’etranger finishing my sentences, and voicing out my innermost desires? How could he know me?

He said because he felt the same, but I still find the whole thing amazing. For two strangers as we were, meeting like ships in the night, from opposite ends of the globe, and yet … finding out they have the same inner working mechanisms. It boggles the mind.

Both of us were Dreamers

Young love in the sun

Felt like my Saviour

My spirit I gave you

We'd only just begun

But as usual, the timing was all wrong. Moet’s only just arrived in Malaysia, and is still suffering from a broken heart. I know how he feels only too well. He’s trying to get over her, but I don’t want to be that rebound girl. At least he was honest about his feelings about it to me. I don’t know any better, so I’m going to have believe him.

I don’t know him well enough to judge if he’s just spinning some sob story to get into my pants, but my gut feeling is he’s sincere. (Yes I know, it could be some Paul the Wine Guy sob story, but I’ve not felt like breaking any watches. I just feel sad at all that potential, and the what could have been’s.). He’s too hot for it to matter anyway, because when it comes down to it, there is no doubt that our little liason was mutually beneficial.

And most importantly, it doesn’t matter because it was not meant to be. The Gods have other plans for the both of us. It is not the right time for him to contemplate a relationship. He wasn’t looking for a relationship when he met me, he wasn’t looking for what we shared. But we both know you can’t plan these things.

He kept telling me that I know what I want. He said it with a cool, almost arrogant confidence that rocked my very core. Most people see myself as a fickle indecisive female – the façade I chose to show. But I am not. I just let other people think I’m a flighty social butterfly, when people who really know me, know I’m made of much sterner stuff.

I always know precisely what I want, and am willing to move heaven and earth to get it.

And I always seem to.

I don’t do flings. I really don’t. For me, sex is important enough for it to be with someone you know and love. I barely knew Moet. But I wanted him. And with a confidence I very rarely feel, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, this guy wanted me right back.

And that, really was, all there was to it!

Yes I still remember every whispered word

The touch of your skin, giving life from within

Like a love song that I've heard

Slipping through our fingers, like the sands of time

Promises made, every memory saved

Has reflections in my mind

However, this was not just a fling, as most of my friends think. I talk about it quite flippantly, but the experience with Moet had awakened this dormant part of me that I thought was long buried. Meeting Moet has given me hope that there could be someone out there, who would like me, for me, who I can share that kind of soul connection with. I haven’t felt that tug of meeting of two minds, of connecting mentally, emotionally as well as physically so well, in too long. Dare I even say -not since Rex?

It is an irony to end all ironies that Moet shares the same name as Rex in real life. (the French version!) Sigh. Rex, being blue blooded English to the core would hate the fact I hooked up with a Frenchman, but suddenly … I don’t seem to be too bothered about Rex anymore. Moet was so great for me in so many ways that he would never ever know.

As it turns out, I’ve received an offer beyond my wildest imagination than will take me out of Malaysia, and back into Europe. My heart has been longing for this in far too long for me to even think about not jumping on this grand adventure. There is no need to consider anyone or anything else - I’m destined for bigger and better things, and it’s about time my ride got here!

But it is a one way, individual ticket.

Moet understands. We don’t have the luxury of time. Also, we are both free spirited wild rovers suffering from wanderlust. We don’t do well with putting down roots, nor can we be tied down for too long. We may want the same things in our future – roots, foundation, family, companionship, but we’re too young to consider those things right now. And we certainly don’t know each other well enough to consider them with each other.

For me, there’s so much more to see and do in this world. Our lives have just begun, and there’s so much of unexplored territory and experiences. Moet and I may very well have been right for each other, but the fork in the road compels us to take different paths in life at this moment in time. So we did what we could do. We lived in the moment, and made the most out of it.

Viva Forever.

But we're all alone now,

Was it just a dream?

Feelings untold,

They will never be sold

And the secret’s safe with me.

Carlsberg Crouch

2007-04-19T20:10:00.000+08:00

Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart
~ Kahlil Gibran~

Beauty is in the eyes of the beer-holder

Why do I have to make my life difficult? I can’t even have a normal crush. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But when it’s an obsessive celebrity crush (i.e someone in the limelight and media glare) should I not pick someone obvious like Brad (cheated on his wife) or Jude (slept with his children’s nanny) or even Wills (God, he dumped Kate? Shocking!)

I realise I must come across as shallow in this blog. Dr. Dish, as his name suggests, is undoubtedly, a looker. Chappie, by anyone’s standards, (except my cynic of a sister!) is yummy. Add to that, charm and personality, and you’ve got another winner.(If one can forget that he’s just another ass under that flashy veneer). But yet, when it comes to my own personal fantasies … who do I pick?

Not Orli (though I did love him as Will Turner). Forget movie stars. Or even pop stars. As for sports hero’s … I never fancied David Beckham. HONESTLY. But I loved the way he used to take free kicks and how he used to run roughshod round the opposition in midfield, but I never really fancied him.

Jamie Redknapp, I adored. Matt Jansen (remember him?) too. Raul and Maldini fuelled some very delicious dreams. These are football players one fancies. Even Lampard. I’ve actually met Lampard in person (stood next to me in line at my local kebab stall in Kensington, no joke). He’s lovely – if a little shorter in person than one would imagine. But too much of a London lad type for my tastes.

Not that I’m a great one for good tastes, as my (horrified) friends would attest to. I mean, of all people, Peter Crouch? Not even Stevie G. Not Owen either. (I did like Macca in his time … but people failed to understand that one too. What can I say, he was tall enough, right? And he played a good game.) But I maintain that taste is personal. Individual. Mine.

It started off innocent enough ...though Pete's apparently too tall and gangly and freakish (I would never use this word. I think he's lovely) looking, I’d always liked him as a PLAYER. I NEVER fancied him. Then that hat-trick last weekend (despite the fact it was against my 2nd team of Arsenal) then immediately after that, the Eindhoven bashing, my heart (or various other body parts) was in danger. I thought phoarr! Especially when I saw him in a suit for the first time.

I confessed all to my mate Miller this morning on the IM. He was horrified. He’s no longer worried about how my 12 year old self used to dream of being Mrs. Jordan Knight. He thinks I’ve gone bonkers. I don’t blame him. Who fancies Peter Crouch?

Actually, turns out, a lot of people. I am not alone in this. I’ve spent days googling him to be sure. And how about that page 3 "stunna" who is waiting for her half a million pound diamond rock any day now from the sexy beanpole? (Don’t do it, Crouchy. The moment you get put out to pasture/ get injured / get sold to QPR again – she’ll be off with the first one that would have her.)

Am I just mental? No one would call Mr. Darcy really that good looking either. Like my good friend Maverix said (affectionately I thought!) – "take away the car, the surname and the suit, and all you’d get is another Malaysian man on the street." My sister said something a little less kind – alluding to the sanitation department type lookers, amongst others, but I digress.

Rex was definitely not conventionally good looking. In fact, my first observation of him was "A great laugh, but not very physically appealing. I can see us being good mates, though." He actually later read this same line in my journal, and could not stop quoting it. I think he took it well enough … particularly since I later left him in no doubt of my regard for him. (Enthusiastically jumping him helped. I definitely grew to fancy the pants off him. Literally :P)

I have to admit Rex bears a resemblance to Crouchy. Especially when looking at these posted photos. (Of course I picked the best!) The sheer height, for one. Rex towered above everyone we knew. I used to call him my sexy beanpole. (the shame of it!) His sticking up fair-ish hair (though Rex wasn’t as blonde) was the same kind of awkward mess that never seem to do anything. It was not curly, not straight, not thick, just … hair that refused to be styled. The nose, the spindly legs that go on for miles, the spidery arms, the gawkiness (which I still find endearing), and strangely enough, the eyes that are too familiar for comfort.

My friend, H, observed that I have a huge thing for eyes. I always thought it was the height, but it has struck me as very true. Height attracts me, but it’s the eyes that get me. After all, eyes are the window to the soul.

Sigh, I do need help.

Mr. Perfect is probably the best looking man I know. He had the kindest, sweetest eyes. Not all-knowing, and somewhat lacking in confidence, but always inherently good.

The Aging Lothario stood out in any crowd, and not just because of his above-than-average-Malaysian height. He had come-to-bed eyes, no doubt about it! He was a simple man, with one simple, obvious desire. The desire to get into one’s pants. You can’t hold that against him when he’s honest about it from the start.

Anyway, what I mean to say is that, even in real life, I’ve sampled some definite lookers. Most turned out to be frogs, but I’ve known some with Prince Potential. However, I somehow lost the Princes by not recognising what they were, or having the inability to hold on to a good thing.

So I’ll go back to dreaming … and hey, you can judge me, but Peter Crouch puts a smile on my face. (more like a goofy grin). So this Vixen’s going to keep at it for a while. And when he helps Liverpool win the European Cup Final in Athens, Greece, I’ll see who’s laughing then!

Go get ‘em, Crouchy!

A soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone.
~Johann von Goeth ~

Whisky Wails

2007-04-01T15:01:00.000+08:00

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

Oscar Wilde

Heard, among the choice phrases from my current object of lust on Friday night:

1. “See all the girls in this club? I could have any one of them.”

(I think it was to tell me, “But I’m standing here with you – so be honoured with this rare privilege I have chosen to bestow upon you, undeserving mortal.”)

2. “You know how rare it is to find a man in this country above 6 feet tall?” (Yes, I’m very well aware, thank you) He looks down at me, smugly. “Well, I’m 6 FEET tall.”

At this, I don’t know to burst out laughing … or bawling my eyes out, for yet again choosing such a winner.

The next one’s my own fault … I goaded him into saying it … I just didn’t think he’d be daft enough to take the bait!

3. “Size 14, thank you very much. You know what they say.” And then proceeded to extol the virtues of having a large foot size.

Yes, I know what they say, large feet … oversized ego.

It was Bart’s birthday celebrations, and I’d been given an eleventh hour invitation. Of course, no one else would see it that way as he’d been talking to Aorish all week about the party.

Not me, take note, but my friend Aoirish. (Warning, this post was written with glasses tinted in green)

I went anyway because I genuinely liked Bart, and I liked being around him and his friends. And truth be told, I wanted to see Chappie again. Also, I was a glutton for punishment. I knew Aoirish was coming on to Lord big time … and I was afraid of him reciprocating. I didn’t want him for myself … but I didn’t want Aoirish to have him either.

Selfish bitch that I was.

The inevitable happened. Lord asked Aoirish out. Meanwhile, the Metro still thinks he’s in with a chance. Another one of the boys – reputedly married even (at least he told us about it!) kept harassing me for info about my friend. Bart spent most of the night (when he wasn’t having the drink shoved down his throat) with his arm around Aoirish.

I can’t stand to play the mate all my life, but yet again, I’ve ended up in this situation. There was more than 5 boys around, and yes, I know I made my feelings clear for 1 of them (… and thank God he wasn’t looking her way either) but did that mean the other 4 get to have crushes on her? Surely that simply just was not fair?

It must be something I’m doing wrong. I just wish I could figure out what it was. I mean, I looked hot. I AM a girly girl, with long hair, short skirts and high heels. And yes, I can pull it off! (I was still over the moon over Liverpool’s win and my Crouchy’s performance yesterday too.)

Aoirish was nicknamed “Emma” after the Spice girls for her big blue eyed, bright blond curled look. Phoenix (who was the married one) turned to me immediately and went, “That makes you Posh.”

I always fancied I’d be the Posh Spice in any gal group. But since one of me can make three of Victoria - you can take skinny out of the equation. But I shall take compliment, thank you.

I take whatever I can get. Haven’t I always? Maybe that has been my mistake. To meekly accept the way things, with no real fight to change things. What ever happened to the Vixen who’d fight against the tide to get to her dreams?

I made conversation with everyone there. I was even nice to the skanks … whoops, I meant Bart’s cousins. Turns out Bart and the Chappie are related, so I guess they are his cousins too. I did stay away from the one girl who was all over Chappie though. After a few glasses of vodka, who knows what I’d say! I think I managed to convince everyone I was on great form … or good form at least.

Then again, I can’t pretend to save my life. What you see is what you get. The first thing Aorish asked me (insightful little thing that she was) was “Why are you so pissed off?”

I managed to convince her it was the Chappie’s cocksure arrogance (and my shame that I was a girl in the club that would definitely have him.). She didn’t show me much sympathy. She was too busy crowing over the Lord’s romantic interest in her. And what about the Metro, the Lord’s good mate, who she was also enjoying a liaison with? What about their friendship spanning over twenty years that she would inevitably fuck up?

Nope, none of my business.

“When it comes to relationships, maybe we're all in glass houses, and shouldn't throw stones. Because you can never really know. Some people are settling down, some are settling and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies...” Carrie Bradshaw, Sex & the City.

For the first time – to add insult to injury, my favourite, never-fail LBD, failed.

Chardonnay Charlatan

2007-03-29T21:42:00.000+08:00

"Its ok to kiss a fool, its ok to let a fool kiss you, but never let a kiss fool you!"

With recent events concerning the Chappie and Ash and men of their nature, I realise now, more than ever that one must learn to kiss many a frog before one meets her Prince. However, I do believe I’ve had more than my share of toads – warts and all!

One of the chief toads has to be the Chardonnay Charlatan. We met – as usual, at a glitzy dinner. In our line of work, there are plenty of events for drinking and merry making. And the guest list is absolutely crawling with smooth talking, suave individuals. Unfortunately, usually as good looking as they were charmers - there were very few genuinely nice ones among them!

As this night happened a while back, when I was young (er) and innocent (not really!). I had been on the prowl for my crush at the time - the Aging Lothario. As his name suggests, he was one of those more experienced (read to mean, older), smooth talking Casanova types that a young(er!) me – fresh faced and still idealistic, had fallen headlong in lust with.

Needless to say, he was bad news, but that’s a story for another day. I must say that he’s that’s the kind of bad news every girl likes having in her life … now and again. It spells danger and excitement. Also, because of such supreme good looks, one would never call him a Toad. Tall, dark and handsome, with come-to-bed eyes and a still young face matched up with a body to die for … lets just say there were no warts in sight. (Whether or not I had a proper look … is also, a story for another day.)

Too bad I’ve gotten older and wiser.

Anyway! There I was all dolled up in my Jolie-esque dress and MAC mask … ready to rock and roll. When the Lothario was nowhere to be found, I refused to waste the Pretty! After all, I was my stunning best, and there were plenty of other fish in the sea.

The low-neckline was probably more suitable for the Hollywood red-carpet (and the likes of Ms. Jolie!), but I’d convinced myself I could pull it off, with the help of my favourite party friend, vino. There is a side story here when I met up with my friend, Pixie, who despite sporting a more Posh Spice or Paris Hilton look (i.e. skinny stick insect!) had the renowned "tit-tape" in her possession. Something I desperately needed with the slashed-to-the-navel so called "dress" I was not quite wearing.

Once Pixie taped me down, I skipped out of the loos, back to party, secure in its hold. Who do I bump into, but Mr. Darcy himself who was scowling into his whiskey, alone in a corner.

He answered my (polite) greeting with a characteristic grunt. Then for reasons that were completely beyond me, he proceeded to grasp at straws to make conversation. Think along the lines of "Read any good books lately?"

Secretly delighted, I was having none of it. I had already met more than one bloke that evening who were clamouring for my attentions (of course, the dress had everything to do with it!) so I was feeling rather superior, you see. Trying to suppress my glee at his sudden attentions, I looked haughtily down my nose at him and sashayed past.

When I joined my table and reached to take a bite out of the appetiser in front of me, I realised in horror, that the tit tape, though dutifully stuck to my chest, had not grasped the material of the dress along with it. So I’d been talking to Mr. Darcy the whole time with two white plasters stuck to my chest for his full view and entertainment pleasure.

Add to that, my further humiliation when I found out much later that, Pixie, my so called good friend, and Mr. Darcy, were probably having their own "friends with privileges" arrangement at this point.

Yes, definitely, bring on the vino!

Many glasses on, I found myself cornered by an Octopus. Usually, he would’ve been just my type – all 6’2" tall, dark and well built. However, the heavily (obviously) put on British accent was unbearable. I’d come back from England after a decade and I didn’t have one! The Octopus had been there barely a year, and he was pretending to be Mancunian? Give me a break!

He wasn’t taking my thinly veiled hints to heart. It became increasingly difficult for this 5 foot nothing Vixen to escape his clutches in a socially acceptable manner. Just when I thought I’d have to shove him off with all the force I muster, in full view of my professional brethren, a taller than the average Malaysian, not so dark and handsome young man smoothly stepped in between us, to my rescue.

He turned to me with big seemingly sincere eyes, all concerned, playing the part of the White Knight. "I apologise for my colleague, he’s had one too many," he said properly, easily moving in where the Octopus had left off. Oh this was a Smooth Operator alright, but don’t think I was fooled!

He took my hand in a chivalrous fashion and introduced himself politely. His next words were, "May I just say wow?" (I noted he looked right in my eyes as he said it, not anywhere south-bound.) Holding on to my hand longer than decorum allowed, he continued charmingly, "That is some dress you’re wearing." (Points for honesty here!)

What did I tell you about suave, smooth talking individuals? I couldn’t help but be flattered. Do you blame me? Not only had he played Knight-In-Shining-Armour, he said the exact right thing. I know it was a line, but it was all in the delivery … and the Chardonnay Charlatan delivered very well indeed!

To make a long story short, we hooked up. Yes, it was quick, but hey, we were both liquored up, he was charming, and I was willing! I had actually heard of the Chardonnay Charlatan before, he was certainly making waves in his line of work. His (professional) reputation was impressive and I had no idea he was so young. Or good looking.

Or tall.

He took my card, and promised he’d get in touch. Though I didn’t really believe him, I’m ever the optimist. I hope the many knocks I keep getting in life don’t ever take this quality away from me. The Charlatan tried persuading me to go home with him – of course! I’d have been insulted had he not at least attempted it!

Thankfully, I had enough sense to resist. We got further than I’d like to remember on the dance floor … (maybe we should’ve gotten a room after all!) I’d convinced myself there were no witnesses.

So much for not wanting not to embarrass myself in front of my colleagues. Guess that flew out with window with me flashing Mr. Darcy earlier that evening!

But when the club was about to close, I decided it was time to make a graceful exit. (too little, too late!) and excused myself.

The Charlatan grinned at me in disappointment, but by now he’d already known I wasn’t going home with him (Yes, I have been known to demonstrate some willpower from time to time …). He let me leave the room … and just as I was making my way up the stairs, I heard my name being called out. Blinking twice, I turn back and to see the Charlatan running to catch up with me.

But he wasn’t alone.

He was with a young woman, casually dressed, so she couldn’t have been there for the dinner. I believe he told me she was his sister, but I cannot be sure. He put me in a cab, ever the gentlemen, while the young woman and I eyed each other suspiciously.

What can I say - we were right to be suspicious. What sibling comes and picks you up at 4 am in the morning after a night out anyway? Despite the fact he’d gotten in touch with me the very next day … I’d also found out she was in NO WAY related to him … and most likely, the girl he refuses to acknowledge as his girlfriend.

Bah! What else is new? I found the perfect quote to end this post. Its off my favourite character from Sex and the City:

"Men cheat for the same reason dogs lick their balls: because they can."

-Samantha Jones-

Needless to say, I share Sam's sentiment.

Tequila Triangle

2007-03-23T23:15:00.001+08:00

-"Reality is an illusion caused by lack of alcohol"-

Actually, more like a pentagon. Let me try to summarise. I like Chappie. Chappie may or may not fancy me, but the fact remains, he has a girlfriend. Or at least his friends keep telling MY friends that he does.

No one, least of all Chappie, has told me.

So that’s 2 sides of my pentagon shaped romantic disaster.

Then there’s Lord. He liked me a lifetime ago … and may or may not still have feelings for me. I seriously doubt it though. I never had romantic feelings for him, though I will admit, it’s the first time I ever heard the words “I love you” from a guy. And he said it very sweetly too. So much so, I’ve never forgotten it.

So then Aoirish tells me she’s always kind of fancied him. Ever since I introduced them. However - it does seem he just likes her as a friend. But why then am I so tetchy when they hang out without me? Is it my psychotically jealous tendencies raising its ugly head(s)?

As CJ will tell you … Vixen doesn’t share friends. (You know, like Joey doesn’t share food?). I do have a possessive streak, and like I don’t like my peas touching my mash … I don’t like my friends mixing without me.

Or do I want Lord for myself?

Then there’s the Metro … who fancies Aoirish. BUT – surprise, surprise, the Metro has a girlfriend too. He doesn’t mind playing around with Aoirish, but at the end of the day, he is someone else’s boyfriend. You see why men are jerks? The BOTH of them – Chappie AND the Metro, told us, to our faces, POINT BLANK – did they not tell us they were SINGLE?

Did they not?! You are our witnesses!

Also available! (And could they please have our numbers so we could hang out more? Hint hint, nudge nudge, wink wink …) I’m just waiting for the day Chappie admits it to me so I can sock it to him.

Sock it to him or jump him, I haven’t quite decided. (He is still lovely looking with bottomless brown eyes that scream of lust)

Remember how I was musing just how for us to have met two hot single young men in this day and at our age was just too good to be true?

Well, I was totally right. It was. Welcome to the wonderful world of Singletons.

DAMN it.

I think this has all culminated in on our recent Paddy’s night celebrations. At some point in the evening, I disappeared from the group with Chappie … but only to where his other friends were sat outside the bar, sharing a bottle. Nothing (unfortunately!) happened … but since we disappeared in the same direction … then returned, together, 2 hours later from the outside … people jumped to the natural conclusion.

I WISH! Not even a peck! (And before you condemn me for fancying another woman’s man, in a very Singaporean Slut-like manner – I HAD NO IDEA!)

In retrospect, I guess this is why he acted all detached and gave his attention to the group of skanks that were worshipping at his feet the minute we came back in. Me, drunken and rejected, couldn’t help but say the word “skank” one time too many, and one time too loudly.

How was I supposed to know they were good friends with Lord … and Lord’s best friend Bart’s cousins?

I actually really like Bart. As in totally platonically, and no, I honestly don’t fancy him at all. But I really enjoy talking to him. He, unlike the other boys, has no issues. He’s got a quiet confidence and inner strength that commands respect. He’s intelligent, with the sharpest wit and the easiest to get on with.

And now he probably hates me.

I think I’ve ruined things totally with the boys. Lord’s not talking to me. I haven’t heard from Bart since … and as for Chappie? Well last I saw him; he’d unceremoniously dumped me at my car at the end of that night …. I’ve not heard hide nor hair from them.

Damn alcohol!

- When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it, and hang on.-

Thomas Jefferson

Flaming Fate

2007-03-16T21:21:00.001+08:00

Freak of Fate or Date with Destiny?

"Everything comes too late for those who only wait."

-Elbert Hubbard-

There was this freakish forward sent to me today. I don’t know if any of you know which one I’m talking about. It’s titled "The Chinese Horoscope" and it’s chillingly accurate. Without scrolling down, you’re meant to answer a series of questions and then at the very end, it explains what each answer means for you personally.

When asked to list down 2 separate people at 2 separate numbers, I’d put down Chappie (who’d I’d been seeing a lot of since we met – no romance as yet, but I’m having a blast, and that’s most important thing, right? Besides, 5 times in a week for people who'd just met has to be some kind of record, don't you think?!) and of course, Mr. Darcy. Then later on, I was asked to list down 2 songs. I soon discovered, each song corresponded to each guy.

For Chappie, I was told this is a new relationship that may bring me happiness and his corresponding song was "Pour Que Tu M’aimes Encore". (Il Divo, of course!) Roughly translated, it means "For you, I’d love again." (I got a Bien! on my last French test!) As for Mr. Darcy – well – his song was "Buttons" ("You keep fronting, saying what you’re going to do to me, but I ain’t seen nothing.") and I was told – this is a relationship that would never work.

Well! That be the end of that, methinks!

Mr. Darcy has been having a rough time of it lately, and all and sundry know why. However, my pride stands in the way of me picking up the phone and asking him how he is. I don’t want to be just another googly-eyed gossip, which is probably how he’d view me, seeing as I haven’t so much made contact with him in a year. (Neither has he attempted to get in touch with me … on his own accord, that is!) But yes, my heart goes out to him and it must have been a terrible past couple of months especially.

But it is my experience that the Mighty only fall so far. I think this is a mere glitch that he’ll pick himself right up again, and dust off the flack soon enough. However, I do hope this episode and his fall from grace may finally peel the blinkers off his eyes and see his fair weathered friends for what they really are. The girls, especially – the Tart (of Malicious Mai Tai fame) & Gang, who were only too happy to throw themselves at him when he was in power … will they be around to pick up the pieces when he needs someone?

I can answer that right now. No bloody way. You see, the snakes he surrounds himself with are only after what he stands to offer them – the allure of all that power and might of his surname, the polished background and ticket to a luxury lifestyle. If you take away the bottomless pockets, the last name, and the posh car – would they even look at you twice?

More than all that, or perhaps, despite of that (I cannot deny - I do like the car!) - I like him for the fact Mr. Darcy knows (and read!) who Enid Blyton is (though Noddy has to be my least favourite character!). He can converse intelligently about literature (always a plus in my book). He can quote Shakespeare. He recognises Byron. We even support the same football team – how right is that! (Perhaps he’d not have the same sympathy for my poor Crouch, and yes, I can’t blame him! But once a Red … always a Red!)

Above all, we bonded over our common longing we still have for our lives waiting for us back in London. Malaysia is the home of our families, where we will always be so and so’s son and daughter … but we made London ours. No last names or family help.

Solo effort. An effort we both take pride in.

Perhaps we both really don’t want to do what our parents have mapped out for us, but are stuck in this career path just the same. You fear you will never live up to your family reputation, and I fear I lack the gumption and the courage to ever succeed.

We’d lived in the same places, went to the same schools – just never really met each other until we returned home to Malaysia. Perhaps the time was not right, not yet … or perhaps it’s never going to be right?

Only Time will tell … but from where I sit, the sand is fast passing through the hourglass.

"Take a chance, to recognise, that all of this, could be yours."
– "Buttons", PCD-

Cuervo Crush

2007-03-02T20:59:00.000+08:00

I Met Someone!

I feel like shouting it from the rooftops – even though there’s been no real action. But it’s been so long since a girl meets a boy that she likes and he likes her right back.

Now, I don’t know if he likes me back … but for now the signs are good! Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen … looks like I have a crush!(What else is new!)

It was a mutual friend’s birthday party held last week. Aoirish and I were at our glamorous best … and to our delight, when we spotted the Birthday Boy, Lord - his table had just one other female in attendance. Along with about 10 hot trendy KL-lites of the male persuasion. Aoirish and I had to hold ourselves back from grabbing on to each other’s hands and dancing about with glee.

Michael Flatley style!

We had to keep from shrieking our ecstasy, and go into friendly but not too slutty mode. Very comfortable at our corner of the table, we sandwiched Lord – who – I’ll now admit for Aorish sake - is actually quite gorgeous. There were two guys each on the other side of us. (Thank you, Lord!) One suave metro-sexual Chinese boy in a figure hugging (and strangely enough, plunging neckline) black top and a cheeky chappy type young man of indiscernible race in the ever-successful white shirt and blue jeans combo. Sigh, feel my heart go pitty pat. (or feel my heart, full stop! Down, girl!)

I wasn’t fussed, as either were prime specimens of Man!

Before long, the Cheeky Chappie started listening in to our conversation and laughing at my jokes. I knew the Metro was giving me the eye and saying all the right things too, but one look at those bottomless brown eyes (Chappie), and I was sunk. Willing Aoirish to take hold of the Metro for me … I tried to concentrate my attentions on just the one.

After a quick toilet break where Aorish and I deliberated the game plan, we came back to the table to put it in motion. Like we hadn’t given it a seconds thought, Aoirish dutifully plonked herself down next to her designated guy and I had my big brown eyes all to myself. Aoirish really is a girl after my own heart. I find it so amazing that we’d only known each other a year, we gel together so seamlessly. One thing I miss MOST about the UK (besides available TALL guys!) is like-minded girlfriends. (Like minded meaning drink, dance and dudes.)

It was like child’s play. Men can be easy too, sometimes. (I said SOMETIMES!) Chappie didn’t even blink. The boy knew an opportunity when he had one. He immediately slid closer to me, cornering me so that he was the only one within my eye-view. He put his arm around the back of me in that, I’m not moving too fast, I’m just relaxed, kind of way. The nerves in his expressive eyes gave him away, though. He gave me his undivided attention. Check. He made sure I gave him mine.

Do I sound like I minded? Who’s playing who, player?

He was certainly a looker. I'm so shallow, I know! I go for the pretty boys, EVERY TIME. Big liquid eyes (you know how I’m a sucker for those!), lovely curly locks …. And when he stood, I nearly wept with delight. He was TALL! (sorry, CJ!)

Chappie was a breath of fresh air. The minute he established interest, he’d asked about my status (single! And very available if you’re asking, Chappie!), if I weren’t averse to dating Malay men (religion may be a problem, but not at the moment. Besides, I practise a non-discriminatory approach!) and if he could have my number. (Yes! Yes! Most definitely, without a doubt - yes!)

THANK YOU, God. For proving that Malaysia does have some perfectly normal guys who don’t turn into arrogant tossers or puddles of mud with no in between.

We spoke, we flirted, we laughed, and we drank. I think he’s LURVELY. And did I mention good-looking? AND TALL.

Please God, don’t forget the Tall.

Chappie and I spoke at length, despite being in a crowded group, we’d exchanged lots of information … I told him things I very rarely tell even my own friends, let alone strangers I’d just met. But he inspired such confidence. When we said goodbye, he’d hugged me (guess goodnight kisses in polite society in front of other people in this country is a no go, but I wouldn’t have minded in the least!) and told me, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And surprise, surprise, HE DID!

And I’m seeing him tonight at the Metro’s CNY party

Singapore Sling

2007-02-19T12:27:00.000+08:00

"Love sees sharply, hatred sees even more sharp. But Jealousy sees the sharpest of all, for it is love and hate at the same time."

-Arab Proverb-

I admit ... I have cursed a whole nation for the actions of one evil creature. I originally wanted to name this post "Singaporean Slut" ... but you all know I never use her real name, even in real life. And since I've just come back from Singapore (shock, horror, it's TRUE!) - my first visit in a decade, I've decided to eat some humble pie, and admit I may have overeacted. Just a bit ...

I don't hate Singapore, as such. It's just the SingaporeanS that I cannot (couldn't?) stand. You see ...

#1 - I had never met a nice Singaporean.

#2 - All the Singaporeans I did meet were highly competitive and always always had to outdo the Malaysian. This constant "I must prove I'm better than a mere Malaysian."

#3 - Malaysia was just generally, the nicer of the two nations. In Singaporean speak, that just meant we were the stupid doormats and were meant to be walked all over.

You see ... I guess the (Singaporean) Slut walked all over me. People ask me why I don't hate Rex. (I don't.) They tell me my anger should be directed at him, not the poor innocent girl whose only fault it was that she fell in love with a boy, who fell right back in love with her. How dare I, the discarded Ex, persona non grata, stand in the way?

Are Rex and the Slut still together? I have no idea. I don't want to know.If they are, I would be upset, and if they aren't, I would hope. Both spell doom for this Vixen, so you'd agree, I'm better off not knowing.

The reason I detest her so much is because she showed no respect for our relationship. Rex and I were deliriously happy ... until she came into the picture. We started bickering, at first, then it escalated into fully fledged rows. I'd never heard him so much as raise his voice with me, but when it came to her, he'd shout, he'd rage, he'd sulk ... this one time we were arguing on Picadilly Circus (right there in full view of everyone), and I swear I thought he was going to hit me. He never did, of course - but I thought he was going to - he was that mad. All because of her.

Women are always smarter then men. We always know, often before the man does. Call it women's intuition. Men take a lot longer to cotton on ... and they only ever think with their other head. The moment I saw the Slut look at my Rex, I knew she wanted him. She took one look at our happiness with each other, the fact that this tall, cultured, educated, okay, I admit it - rich, English man, seemed to be in love with me, a mere Malaysian, she thought, hmph, he can do better. He can be with a Singaporean.

He could be with her.

And even more disturbingly, I began to notice how he was with her. It was different from how he was with any other girl. It wasn't me being psychotically jealous, as he accused me. A subconcious part of me noted that it was like how he used to be with me ... in our early days. You see, I knew what was happening, right before my eyes, and I was powerless to stop it.

Soon after she moved in, whenever I left the halls where we lived, she'd be there in our room, in an instant. Stupid me, I even tried to be friendly at first. She did not say two words to me, but always complained to Rex that I was a moody bitch to her. He told me to try harder. How the poor girl was shy. That she, unlike me, couldn't make friends as easily. Take her under your wing, he said, introduce her to people. Help her settle in. After all, she was almost my countryman.

No, you dolt, she was most certainly NOT.

Oh, she knew how to play the game. I'd come home to find seemingly insignificant, little gifts in our room. Sometimes, just a bit of Rex's favourite chocolate, or cheesecake, which he has a weakness for. Silly little cards and trinkets that may not mean anything to anyone but the Girlfriend i.e ce moi. I thought it was a complete violation, and of course, it pissed me off up to no end.

Rex, silly fool, thought she was being nice.

One day, clear out of the blue, barely days after we signed the papers for our joint bank account, he just announced. "I think we should break up." (thankfully, I still had the papers.) Just like that. No explanations, no emotions.

Like always, we had woken up that morning in the same bed. I didn't have a clue how things were any different. Sure we were fighting so much more than usual, but we loved each other, I thought. It was a mere bump in the road. We'd get over it. Rex even made me coffee, like he had done almost all our mornings together.

It was the sweetest thing. Once, I had mused about how I didn't miss much about home ... except the fact I had to, bleary-eyed, make myself my own cup of coffee before I was barely awake. I didn't even realise he was listening ... but after that, I never had to make coffee again.

I wish he had known how much that one simple act he did for me, all our days together, had meant so much to me. But I never told him, and perhaps, I'm even guilty of taking it for granted.

Unlike a lot of people whose relationship ends, I remember our last kiss. Painfully well. We were having lunch under a tree in Hyde Park. It was a beautiful sunny spring day, and I was feeling happy. I remember it, because he did not kiss me back. It sent alarm bells clanging, but he shrugged off my queries. He also dropped my hand and walked off ahead of me, never again saying another word until "I think we should break-up."

After those fateful words, I left in a flurry of tears and remonstrations. But he did not blink. Those once gentle hazel eyes, always loving and kind, were cold and void of emotion. It absolutely terrified me how in an instant, the closest person to me in the whole world, had become a stranger. I just could not understand it.

I never saw the person I once knew, the man I fell in love with, again.

I came back, two hours later, after calming down, and thinking we should at least talk about it ... but he wasn't in our room. As I opened the door to the corridor, I heard him laughing.

Laughing, as if he did not have a care in the world. My world had fallen apart, my heart ripped in two, but he was laughing. How easily he had talked about forever, about how he did not believe in love until me, about how "we share a bond some never know in this lifetime". How we were soulmates.

Laughing, with her.

So let me have my hatred, for I'm not left with much else. I don't blame the nation, for some reason, I don't blame him ... but I blame her. I hope what they say about karma is true.

It comes around.

Beer Buffoon

2007-02-13T19:27:00.001+08:00

Bloody arrogance of man!

This is why I am still single. I meet the most capricious male characters and the road taken always ends in the same way. I should learn from my past experiences, unfortunately, as Dickens (Emily!) said – that damned thing called hope seems to spring eternal.

Whenever will I learn?

Now there’s this guy I’d been seeing socially … in that non-romantic, totally platonic way. We twenty something KL-lites are often out and about after all - particularly the single ones! He was just one of these guys that I meet once in a bit but recently, I have seen a lot of him. It was always in a group, always just friendly.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Unfortunately, it’s hit me again why Malaysian men don’t get the difference between "friendly" and "flirty." Readers be warned, as an Malaysian myself, I feel qualified to make such racist statements! I will, however, issue a disclaimer. I realise there are exceptions to this rule. I know some lovely, down-to-earth Malaysian men (the Don for one). However, there is a reason why I always seem to date European men – my countrymen always always seem to let me down in this incredibly predictable stereotypical way! (that and the fact that white guys have the height advantage.)

Back to this new guy. We have loads in common, and at the face of it, I can see why he’d be labelled as "my type". One dead giveaway is the height. (of course!) Definitely above 5’10". Check. He’s funny, he’s intelligent, witty and charming. (Predictably, only when he can be bothered.) When we’re out, we have a laugh – and as a major plus point, the boy can move. (dancing, you perverts! Mind out of the gutter, please!)

When we met, Ash (so nick named after his disgusting, life-threatening habit) was all smiles and charm itself. I’m well accustomed to just being well liked as a friend, a buddy – that gal-pal every guy has. Its my own fault, I suppose - I like watching sport, I can talk intelligently about football, I’m happy to sit up in clouds of smoke with the boys as they drink and carry out drunken conversation … more importantly, I’m their window into the female psyche. I’m happy to share my thoughts, I listen to their queries/problems and give them my opinion/advice the best I can.

Everybody’s best friend, and nobody’s girlfriend, has been my lot in life. I’ve long accepted this fact. There are far worse things in life than to be liked and wanted to be friended by men, right?

So whenever we went out, I never once thought this guy fancied me. I’m far too used to having attention from guys who only ever wanted to be platonic friends. I’m well used to men laughing at my jokes, interested in my life, calling me for long, long conversation or nights out that never crossed over to romance. My teenage heartbreaks are all testament to this fact. I’d already been there and done that and certainly, bought the t-shirt. I know when a guy fancies me … and this was not it.

At least not yet.

So while I entertained Ash whenever he was flirty (it was only polite!) … I was at that very comfortable neutral place where I wasn’t bothered either way. If he wanted something more and pursued it, I was happy to give it a try. If he only ever wanted to remain friends, then hey – I’m absolutely fine with that too.

You all understand that I did not like (not romantically at least) this guy – yet, right?

He (predictably) didn’t.

After last night, I’m not sure I ever want to see this arrogant tosser ever again. I was asked to go out again in a group that involved Ash. As far as I knew, things were cool. We’d gone out the last time, had a great night – no awkwardness nothing.

Yet soon after I’d walked into the club, I’d realised all was not well. Ash barely greeted me, let alone looked me in the eye. He sat at the opposite end of our table, as far away from me as possible, like I had some kind of disease. I did not mind it/think about it much in the beginning. I had other people to meet, to chat to and drinks to get down me. Thankfully, I had my partner in crime, Aoirish with me. Nothing’s a bore when a drunken Irishwoman is around!

It soon became apparent to me that Ash was busy trying to chat up another girl. One with this permanent look of discontent who kept shooting me and Aoirish the dirtiest of looks. All Frizzy did was barely entertain Ash, let alone anyone else, preferring to chug away at her cigarette. (Ah, a match made in fume-heaven!) Perhaps I should take a leaf out of her book. If I looked disgruntled, sat on my own, with my arms wrapped around me, looking sour and dissatisfied with the world, men would see it as a challenge and come running.

What did this Vixen do you ask? Had a laugh, thank you very much. I wasn’t the kind who’d ruin a good night because a man was being a prat. Aoirish was far more angry than I was. I think she took it personally as she’d spend half the night last time trying to convince me he was into me.

Ah, Aoirish, listen to the voice of experience. I love you for thinking I’m hot and irresistible, but I know better. Nevertheless, there was no stopping her that night. With the added incentive of vodka, emotions on her part were running high. She fumed (no pun intended!) at Ash’s blatant rudeness, and despite my protestations to leave well alone, she soon went to find out what the matter was.

She came back rolling her eyes. Apparently, she got the feeling Ash thought my Irish friend was coming on to him! What bloody arrogance of man, eh!

He should be so lucky. No thank you, not me, and not my mate.

I guess it was also possible that he thought I’d sent her there to suss out the scene for me. He’d made it a point to tell her how he liked Frizzy, a girl he’d only met that night. To add insult to injury, she (Frizzy) barely had a personality, let alone looks. I’m being a bitch because she was a bitch to me. I have claws too … though I don’t unsheathe them much!

Later not one, but two of his friends come over to find out if I liked him!!! And proceeded to give me advice on how to "get" him. I didn’t know where to put my face! And I cannot believe this man is nearly 30, but acts like he’d never graduated kindergarten!

Oh, the cheek of that moron. I cannot believe the sheer temerity and arrogance! And how should I stand up for myself, to tell them what I feel? No one asked me!!! Everybody just made bloody assumptions. And since they were all his friends, no one thought to even ask.

Who should be more embarrassed, do you think? This arrogant swine who thinks just because a girl looks at him sideways and smiles at him one time too many, she’s madly in love with him?

Or was it me who had to be embarrassed? My only fault it was is to be my naturally friendly self! This seems to be something Malaysian men in particular have a hard time understanding. Apparently, I should be aloof, play hard to get, not try and make them feel comfortable, and make small talk.

I give up! I will not apologise for just being myself. They can like it or lump it, and I’m certainly not going to waste my time with such Neanderthals.

Whisky Wilderness

2007-02-08T15:33:00.001+08:00

The Return to the Wild

"Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we die"

~ Isaiah 22:13 (Old Testament)

It was straight out of an episode of the Simple Life. City girl takes on kampung life. (I hope I didn't embarass myself too much!) After an encounter with a really good old friend, I suddenly found myself speeding down the North-South Highway with no end in sight last Friday. But as I was with a bunch of drunken boys for a weekend that promised a grand old time – I was hardly complaining.

Okay, the little-known town of Muar (little known to me, the bona-fide KL-lite and city girl to the bone) was in sight. I’d known the Don (as we really did call him) since our first year of University. He was the main man, the centre of everybody’s universe that kept the whole jing-bang gang of us together. We had come from across the globe – Malaysia, Kenya, Oman, Egypt, Tanzania, and yes, there was even one sole English representative. Initially, we did not have much to bind us together.

The Don soon took care of that. He’d gathered us together in his tiny kitchen, serving up platter after platter of mouth-watering dishes. (I still blame him for my extra 10 kilos I gained at university. I have yet to lose it!) True, we had to wait for "dinner" – he’d only start to cook when we arrived (booze in tow)! Often, we’d have to wait till the wee hours of the morning to actually partake in the feast.

But what a feast it was!

We’ve come a long way from those endless nights where the only thing we had to worry about was if the bottles were going to last the night. Death, family circumstance, financial woes, work worries, relationship pains have all settled in since, but in my one weekend with him and his friends, I learnt that despite it all, nothing dampens the human spirit.

He’s a true inspiration. His friends and family welcomed me with open arms. I was amazed at such warmth and ready acceptance. But that just goes to prove what a guy he was, and his well deserved good reputation. There’s nothing anyone wouldn’t do for him, for there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them. We all owe him, in some way – for brightening our lives as he did. I only hope that no one ever lets him down, for he deserves nothing less than 100% loyalty.

We’d reached Muar in record time. My father was freaked … a normally 2 and a half hour drive took barely 90 minutes. I was slightly freaked too. Never had I even seen the speedometer go past 120, let alone 180. The Ford Explorer was absolutely FLYING. And it didn’t help that what was between the driver and the front passenger seat was a six-pack. All I could do was shut my eyes and pray.

I broke my long-held vow of never getting into a car where the driver was drinking. Thankfully, I survived. I will not be doing that again anytime soon. (And will not apologise for it!) Drinking whisky makes driving risky! For all my so called "wild ways"- as I'd frequently been accused of by my more sober and grown-up friends, I never felt more a dull bore as I did this weekend! Those boys put me to shame!

There were two other boys on this trip – mates of the Don, who despite not (really) knowing me before, were my instant protectors and big brother stand-ins. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for me – taking me all over Muar to see the sights, buying me anything they thought I may like, ensuring I was kept happy and well.

I was. It was a weekend orgy of food and drink and as the Irish would say – great craic (fun/laughter). We never stopped eating, and took breaks only to pour yet another drink. I let down the "Muar Gang" by barely having a couple of glasses, when they were opening bottle after bottle. I’m more of a vino/vodka girl when all they had was whisky. And I’m only 5’2". I can’t eat a hell of a lot … and didn’t exactly do the massive amounts of food they had justice.

But I had a brilliant time. You know what they also say … whisky makes you frisky! We created such havoc in the streets of Muar with all our drunken carousing. I had not had that much of carefree free-wheeling fun in far too long. Thank goodness there’s still room in our almost-thirty lives for such reckless cavorting! I doubt Muar town will be forgetting our visit anytime soon. I sincerely hope the friendships forged this weekend will last.

The Don flits in and out of our lives, but I rest safe in the knowledge that all I have to do is call.

The only (slight) mar would have been Liverpool barely salvaging a draw with Everton, and my poor Crouchy not really performing. (Okay, I’ll admit it; Peter Crouch at 6’9", is far too tall for me.) However, the weekend thrashing of the Spurs more than made up for it. I’m not a United supporter, but Rex lives and breathes Tottenham Hotspurs. Knowing he’d be in the depths of despair and it would be the Singaporean Slut who'd have to deal with his sulks and guaranteed surly mood makes me feel a great deal better about the whole thing!

Champagne Casanovas (the divine men of Il Divo)

2007-01-18T21:15:00.000+08:00

Champagne Casanovas ... histoire d'amour (the tale)

2007-01-18T21:06:00.000+08:00

Didn't I describe them aptly? Not taken the night we met ... but may as well have! -Vix-

“Carpe Diem! Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.”

-Dead Poet's Society-

Okay, I admit, I’m a total stalker! But who’s complaining when dreams have proven to come true? I’m firmer than ever in my belief that we are the Masters of our own destiny. No longer will I complain about life being mundane when all one has to do is to go out there and live it! Like a good friend of mine always used to say, “Life ain’t no dress rehearsal.” We only get one shot, so we should make it good.

Carpe Diem!

Back to my stalking triumph. The hotshot band Il Divo’s in town right? To quote Simon Cowell, four hunky young men “that sound like The Three Tenors; and look like Armani models”. I have been sunk from the first aria. Or the first glance of not one not two but four examples of male perfection. Il Divo means “divine male” in Italian. No argument here! FOUR divine males, to be exact!

My loopiness over boy bands dates back to the days of the New Kids on the Block. Do you blame me? Any girl who was a teenager between the years of 1988-1994 knows exactly what I’m talking about. It’s just that while they are smart enough to keep their traps shut, I don’t do so well with censure. So I will admit I dreamt about being Mrs. Jordan Knight for (embarrassingly) too long past their prime.

Then there was Boyzone soon after (I’m proud to say I was never a Take That fan.) which lead to my Irish obsession. The obsession remains (Erin go bragh!) but the days of Boyzone are long gone … it started right about when Shane Lynch, my object of affection, started mutilating himself with those tattoos and multiple piercings! There’s always ONE isn’t there? NKOTB had Donnie, BSB had whatisface the alkie (AJ?), NSYNC had Chris – the old geezer … the list goes one. Hopefully Il Divo never stoop to such lows. Then again, a pierced eyebrow would hardly go with those sleek Armani suits the boys wear so well. As for what they have under those suits … I’m going to keep dreaming it’s just tanned pristine muscle.

I’d not had any luck in trying to (a) get a glimpse of the boys nor (b) get concert tickets. For some reason, I just wasn’t able to find someone who could spare me a ticket. I exhausted every contact, promised the moon and the stars (in a breathy voice “I’ll do anything, anything … except fork out the RM500!) … I even had contacts that actually WORKED at the hotel, the sponsors, the media, etc. But, everyone seemed to have the same idea. I’m so indignant as I feel I’d discovered them FIRST! Can anyone ELSE name their World debut? I caught the Miss World 2004 performance!It was love at first sight! I saw the career-changing Oprah showing … and these latecomers on the bandwagon had snapped up the tickets in my stead! I was most upset!

I even got invited to a private party on Saturday night by the owner of a popular night-spot in town and was promised an introduction. And what do you think happened?

Absolutely nothing! I thought God was just having another laugh at my expense. It began to appear as if my campaign was a complete failure. Never one to give up when I’ve sunk my teeth in something … the night before the concert, I finally made it to the Shang with a group of friends who’d consented to have our night out in the hotel lounge for me. (I will always be thoroughly grateful!) No one else was willing – and I had tried EVERYONE! It was a last ditch attempt, and please note it was not really stalking, but sitting in the lounge as a hotel guests … another normal Monday night after work drinks. (I checked the law, just in case anyway!)

After 2 hours on of sipping overpriced cocktails, I had pretty much given up. I kept expecting four immaculately dressed Greek Gods (okay, Spanish, French, Swiss and American respectively) to suddenly burst out in a rendition of “Regresa A Mi” right there in the hotel lobby. Or at least a hint of celebrity status – burly security guards, gaggle of screaming fans … a procession of flashbulbs and incessant clicks of the paparazzi … but again, nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I absently noted a tanned young man in a pristine white shirt. I was drawn by his happy excited chatter, and of course, the amazing looks. And lets not forget the unmistakeable voice, almost reverberating off the walls. I guess it was only because I didn't think it possible that I didn't catch it any earlier. In the distance, I didn’t think too much of the familiar curl in the middle of his forehead, the gleaming tanned skin or think to question why that dazzling mega-watt grin was so familiar.

I blame his casual attire; his jeans totally threw me off course!

Then a tall familiar figure in a beige motorcycle jacket sauntered by, and stopped to chat. My world very slowly tipped upside down - as I began to twig. Those Gallic blue blue eyes were evident even from where I was sat. As if in slow motion - the pieces of the puzzle just started falling together. Just as I was blinking in belated recognition (I can be a bit slow too sometimes!), the final piece hit me like a ton of bricks. A shorter-than-I’d-have guessed beautiful, beautiful man, with perfectly chiselled features, complete with huge piercing eyes looking downward, with all too familiar jet black hair in a ponytail; hurrying by me(!) on his way to the lifts.

I’d never seen someone with such perfect features in all my life. I think my jaw is still hanging open ... slightly! And how is it that they managed to look SO MUCH BETTER IN PERSON? God, I wouldn't have thought it possible!

He was in a suit - finally presenting me with what exactly I was expecting. A pristine black, custom-made Armani, there was no doubt about it now! It was! Urs Bühler in the flesh … but before I could blink, he was gone. He had an unexpectedly sweet smile as he disappeared round the corner, looking ever so shy, belying his superstar status. My head turned back towards the mega-watt grin and tall motorcycle jacket in a flash – NO bloody way!!!

It was it was it was!!! My very own favourite Sébastien, and the very recognisable Carlos Marin! All I could say was “Oh my God, its them!” It was really them! Over and over again. Thankfully, my friends had the presence of mind to force me to get up and approach them. I never would … in fact; I get all shy in such situations. But thankfully, 2007 has heralded a new change for this Fox. A confident, more self-assured devil may care year. (Phoebe would be so proud.)

I didn't have a clue what I was going to do until I was actually staring Carlos right in the eye. (Carlos Marin!). I can't really say why I went up to Carlos first, when it was Sébastien I loved. But I guess he did seem the friendlier one, all charm and smiles. That big welcoming grin and sparkly flirty eyes, he was much more approachable then the coolly gorgeous Sébastien, who had a stunning redhead wrapped around him. Quite off-putting, no?

The redhead turned out to be his surprisingly nice (considering I was openly leering at her boyfriend!), incredibly down-to-earth (come on, this woman gets to be with Sébastien Izambard!) and very friendly girlfriend.

In fact, I’m shocked to say I may as well have made a proper friend in her, I was busy chatting to her more than the men in question. Sébastien actually had to interrupt me not once not twice but a few times, as he stood beside us, virtually ignored.

I can be such a muppet sometimes!

He very sweetly wrote “To Vixen, Much love from: Sébastien. Take care! xoxox” for me. Sigh! I’ve got to get this framed! Je t'aime, Sébastien! Viva l’Il Divo! J'aurais aimé que la nuit dure à jamais! - I wish the night would have lasted forever.

Okay, I’m mangling the French … but OMG. What are the chances of that? The dream would have been completed should they had handed me a ticket to the next night’s showing … but unfortunately, it didn’t quite get as far as that! C'est prendre ses désirs pour des réalités. (only wishful thinking) Never mind, the memory of that night is better than attending a thousand concerts but never having that face to face contact; or getting lost in those dreamy sea-blue eyes and hearing my name being said out of those legendary lips, in that voice!

Cher Sébastien (et Carlos!)-

Merci beaucoup pour cette expérience incroyable! Je ne l'oublierai jamais. Grosses bises, Vixen xxx

“Follow your heart and your dreams will come true."

-Anonymous-

I'll never sleep again!

Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T15:56:00.000+08:00

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring happy bells, across the snow,

The year is going, let him go,

Ring out the false, ring in the true

-Lord Tennyson-

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Rum Regret

2006-12-23T20:49:00.000+08:00

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.

-Sydney J. Harris-

I try never to regret the things I did … I always say, regret what you didn’t do. Unfortunately, the one time I didn’t follow my own advice, has not really been tempered by time. I’m talking about the One That Got Away. He was such a Perfect, Perfect Specimen of Man. (Aptly, I shall refer to him as Mr. Perfect. It’s true, because he is!) Not just on the outside, but truly on the inside where it mattered the most.

We were never anything more than friends (much to my regret!) However, I do have too many instances to think about - where friendship managed to spill over, just for a second… into an all- too brief glimpse of What Could Have Been.

I honestly don’t know what I felt for him. I love him of course; and I love him still, as a dear friend. That much has not changed. While I fancied him when I didn’t have him, I can’t realistically see me ever actually being with him. So what it was, I’ll never be able to explain. Not to you, not to me … not to our friends, and never to him.

This one incident comes to mind every time I think about "us". Why the hell did he come rushing back to England the minute I told him about my break-up with my Rotten-Ex? (Am going to start referring to him as R-Ex now.) After a few days of denial, disbelief and suffering in silence, Mr. Perfect was actually the first person I poured my heart out to. I didn’t even realise he was halfway across the world on holiday. All I got was a one-line response to my soul baring e-mail.

"I’m taking the next flight out."

He took me out to dinner that very night. In my state of grief, the romantic setting didn’t hit to me, the oblivious fool that I was. In retrospect, I guess it was like he had it carefully planned - first drinks by the Thames, in view of a quaint Cathedral nearby, the river, and the setting sun – the all elusive "quiet spot" in London. Later dinner followed, at a cozy restaurant that included candles on the table.

Rex never gave me candles.

I guess anyone who saw us would have thought we were out on a date. He wore a suit (a far cry from Rex in his favoured Euro 96 rotten t-shirt and trekkies), I was in my favourite black Chinese outfit. (It was my never-fail 100% successful LBD. With a mandarin collar, sexy neckline and nothing but see-through black lace to cover my back, it was always a sure fire hit.) Hand on heart, the only reason I wore it that night was because it was the first time I ventured out from under the duvet of tears and tissues, so I wanted to make a proper splash.

Guess that outfit’s scorecard till today remains, 100%.

My heart was feeling lighter than it had for months. I didn’t realise how unhappy I had actually been until I felt my first genuine smile when I first saw Mr. Perfect that evening. He was so tall and dashing in his calf-length black London coat and suit, coming out to meet me from his posh offices. The Modern Day Prince Charming. We could have been any other happy young trendy London couple but for the fact my heart was in pieces.

I blubbered and sniffled and cried all through dinner … and he scoffed at my woes - "You think out of all the 3 billion blokes out there, there’s only ONE for you?" Ever pragmatic, is my Mr. Perfect. I looked at him in shock and was forced to think about my response. I believe that was the first time I began to accept that perhaps Rex wasn’t the One.

We spoke at length. Before Rex, Mr. Perfect was my closest confidant in the big bad London town, when I had yet to make it mine. My best friend from Uni was busy travelling at the weekends to be with her fiancé (now husband) and the best she could do for me was the odd lunch or so. I didn’t hold it against her – but it did help bring Mr. Perfect and I closer.

It’s weird because we didn’t know each other so well at Uni. The only reason we even knew each other was because I dated his friend. In a long and twisted type circumstance, we became friends. (I always fancied him though. All the girls did - he was undeniably yummy. A younger, cuter version of JFK Jr., with those huge chocolate eyes, unruly chestnut curls and matinee-idol Bouvier good looks. Believe me girls, I AM kicking myself still).

However since Rex knew I fancied Mr. Perfect, when Rex & I were together, I barely saw Mr. Perfect. That night, we had a good two years of catching up to do. To my surprise, I was laughing again, enjoying myself – a first in ages. I was enjoying him. I felt attractive and desired, and this wonderful man seemed to have eyes only for me.

For a while there, I almost forgot this was my dear friend, and felt the stirrings I thought were long dead. Despite my own feelings - which I had barely registered, I couldn’t guess what was coming.

Mr. Perfect walked me to the station at the end of the evening. Actually happy, I looked up at him (he was just about 6’. Maybe 5’10" at the very least, but a comfortable height for me to hold on to) for a friendly goodbye hug … I couldn’t put my finger on it, things were suddenly different.

He drew me into his arms (in a decidedly unplatonic gesture!) and said softly, "You look really lovely tonight, Vix." Alarm bells were ringing in my head, but I truly couldn’t believe it. Not Mr. Perfect, not then. Of all the million ways I’d envisioned us getting together, I didn’t think it’d be then. Even as his face neared mine – a long suppressed fantasy almost coming true, I was in total and utter denial.

I absolutely bolted. Away from him without a second glance. I ran past the barriers, raced down the escalator, jumped into the train without catching a breath. My brain was a blank, my heart was racing in a panic. Yes, I was supposedly a young adult woman, but I behaved like a 16 year old who’d never been kissed, let alone shagged senseless!

Stupid me, I headed straight for Rex’s. He’d been my best friend, my first port of call, my shoulder of comfort and hand to hold for so long that he was the only one I could think to run to. You couldn't have found a blinder fool than the woman I was then.

Reality crashed into me like a train. (Incoming from Singapore).

Who do you think answered Rex’s (and what used to be my) door? At 3am in the morning, wearing nothing but his well loved England Rugby shirt that I used to sleep in. In fact, when he finalised our break-up, he asked if I wanted it as a "parting gift". Damn him, he knew how much I loved that shirt. But in my place, stood this malicious creature, cackling in my stead, wearing my shirt, answering my bloody door.

It couldn’t be more obvious than if she had peed all over him. (Let’s not go there….)

But the deed was done. Mr. Perfect and I never spoke of that moment, and till today I wonder if it was just part of my over active imagination. Would he have kissed me if I’d held on to some semblance of calm that night? Or was it all in my head?

I read "He’s Just Not Into You". I know the score. And yet something in me still wonders. Women really make their own lives a misery, eh? Maybe men really are that simple and if they like you, they'll tell you. Maybe maybe maybe... But the truth of the matter is that only the two individuals standing barely inches away from each other, that one time, so many years ago now, would know. As for what would have happened ...

We'll never know.

There is no happy ending - this excerpt is after all, titled "Rum Regret". Mr. Perfect met the woman he would eventually marry a mere 2 weeks later. I was furious for a time. In the entire time I’d known him, he’d never even had a girlfriend, let alone date anyone! Then barely 2 weeks after making a move on me (I thought!) – he hooks up with someone? I tried to declare her persona non grata, and avoided meeting her whenever I could.

But my outlook changed when I met the happy couple recently. They actually came here on their honeymoon (don’t ask me why he chose to come to Malaysia, I’d rather not think about it!) … and as hard as that was, seeing him so happy made everything crystal clear for me. If she puts that smile on his face, I have no beef with her.

Meeting The One That Got Away and The One He Got Away With, at what would probably be their happiest time together, was probably the hardest thing I’d had to do yet. Hosting them in my own house was harder still.

However, it has made me realise that I probably would not be able to bring out that kind of euphoria in him. Perhaps the better woman had won the better man after all.

No, not better, but Right. The two right halves had found each other to make One whole. I can only hope she lives up to everything he hopes she will be, because he deserves nothing less. She definitely is His One … and by default, that meant, I was Not.

"There are two tragedies in life: one is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it."

-George Bernard Shaw-

This Vixen's search continues.

Alcoholly!

2006-12-16T12:57:00.000+08:00

"Time, don't let it slip away,

Raise your drinking glass

Here's to yesterday"

-Aerosmith -

On the first day of Christmas, my True Love gave to me …

Already, the first line of the ancient well-loved carol discriminates half the population – the single half! The ditty leads us to believe that everyone has a True Love. Well, what about those that are still looking? Bah Hambug! I think Scrooge had the right idea after all…

I’m thinking of boycotting Christmas this year.

You see, I don’t like Christmas as an adult! Firstly - there are the pairings. It’s never been more clear to me as now when I have just finished writing out my Christmas cards …. (having to post them to the UK takes time, not that I’m terribly organised. Then again, it could be the Virgoan in me).

To my distress, it hit me that what used to be merely "Nicki", "Katie", "Chris" and "Andrew" now reads "Nicki & Greg", "Katie & Daz", "Chris & Chi", "Andrew & Monica" … you get the idea. Those that used to be part of my London urban family have now doubled – either happily married, blissfully engaged or ecstatically shacked up in sin … One does wonder if there’s still any room left for me.

As you well know - I’m still solely yours. With nothing but a bottle of wine for company.

I’ll repeat it – Christmas as an adult really sucks! And not just the added responsibility of buying gifts … and getting much less in return. Isn’t this also the season for giving? I’m not seen anything in my stocking for years now! (And all those who used the excuse of "we can’t find anything 6’ tall in this country" – I was only joking!)

There used to be so much to look forward to at the Yuletide season. Carolling practices used to start in SEPTEMBER, leading to weekly gathering with so much to plan and do.

Then there was December itself. Gone are the days when I used to rush home from school, to excitedly don on my little red carolling skirt to sing to the masses. I was more excited about what happened after, of course.... Where I was allowed to have late dinners with the older guys (in the spirit of Christmas and all) and come back in the wee hours of the morning. From the age of 13, I had a different crush for every Christmas … and "Christmas Bride" had a new meaning for me with every season.

But more than that, the other carols ring true for me these days -

"Once again, as in olden days,

Happy golden days of yore….

Faithful friends who are dear to us,

Will be near to us, once more.

If the fates allow."

Those same carolling friends are also now married and scattered all over the globe with their own little groups. It used to be that we were only overseas on our studies, and would come back for the Christmas holidays and Christmas would be our Christmas, together. But now … we’d be lucky if we caught sight of a handful of familiar faces.

Christmas isn’t Christmas without the belting out "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" with the 3 guys (you know who you are!) doing their dodgy versions making the front-line chorus girls burst out laughing instead of keeping in tune. Or the late night mamak sessions and day long shopping for gifts for our manifold friends. Christmas isn't Christmas without you all. Are memories all that we're left with?

Where are you, Christmas?

Now my 16 year old cousin is doing those same rounds, talking about the same type of boys and activities. And I can only listen and smile wistfully for my own "days of yore." The groans I used to get when I asked for my favourite carol "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" … the groans I used to give when we were to sing "Oh Holy Night" when the sopranos had to hit those high notes. (I used to mime when we got to the latter houses!)

And slowly, the focus from the huge group of friends have changed to a more centred core – the few friends still around after all these years, and family, quietly in the background but ever present.

Ric - who can still tell you the embarrassing things I did when I was 15. (I’m denying the Planetarium incident until our graves!). If I do ever get hitched, this guy is not going near a mike! Remember when I painted your toes a shocking pink when you were asleep? Why can’t we be as stupid and silly anymore? Life was so much more fun then. (Just so you know, he got his revenge. He locked me in the bathroom and hosed me down with freezing water for that little misdemeanour.)

Melchiz, my best friend growing up since he had the misfortune to sit next to me in Form 1. We are different people now, but he will always have a place in my heart.

Lyn, so far away now. I think the last Christmas we spent together was in 2001, in your house. I wonder when the fates will allow us time together again.

After SPM, it used to be the 8 of us. Once people left for foreign lands, became busy professionals with their own, new lives … leaving just us 4 from the "happy golden days".Actually, 3 if you count the fact Lyn is no longer here in KL. And the (dis)count goes on.

Deck the halls with bottles of bevvies ….

Malicious Mai Tai

2006-11-26T22:43:00.000+08:00

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

From A Midsummer Night's Dream (I, i, 134)

-William Shakespeare-

One of the main stumbling blocks to the Romance That Never Happened was the back-stabbing piranha’s absolutely oozing out of the pores of our old offices. This is a long story, so bear with me. Be warned, though, there's no resolution in sight. (A bit ironic, considering our areas of specialty...)

When I first met Mr. Darcy, he was very sweet. (Though I will never say that word with his name in the same sentence now!) Never alluding to the power and prestige of his background, it was only because everyone else knew where he came from and what he was. This seemed to paint him an arrogant boor. (That and the fact he completely lacked any social skills whatsoever! You guys notice a pattern yet? I’m so verbose, so I’m always attracted to the strong silent types. Go figure! If the both of us were chatty, who’d be doing the listening?)

Anyway, while I admit, I was attracted to him from the get go, it was (truly) never anything to do with where he came from, and who he was. The attraction was the man he almost was, and who he aspired to be. (So Renee in Jerry Maguire here!) He wasn’t very cute (in Vixen speak, that meant he wasn’t very tall). He didn’t have an impressive dress sense – which usually jumped out at me (I have no problems admitting that I’m shallow). He had the social skills of a hermit … and he could only talk about work … and worse, golf. There was a lack of passion in living life that I always find off-putting in a man.. or anyone.

But when I was in the room, he seemed to light up, and come out of his self- imposed detention. He was always clambering after me – so sweet in his clumsiness, so unlike his usual confident know-all demeanour. He’d ask about what I was up to, or my latest scrape. (It was fast becoming the highlight of my former office-mates day when I walked into the room. I was almost always greeted with "Vix, tell us stories!" in a what-happened-to-you-today type way. Undeniably, something or other would inevitably happen to me. Drama seeks me like a moth to a flame.)

However, I soon got the sense that I was being actively disliked. (Trust me, this is relevant!) Making and keeping friends wherever I went; was something (perhaps the only thing!) I’m 100% confident in. This change completely floored me. These women seem to dislike me, based on nothing I had done other than being myself! (Note – it was all women, and Darcy- the sole rose among the thorns. You see why these women were busy grappling over him like a pack of rabid dogs over a measly bone?)

It has since hit me that it was probably my fast-blossoming friendship with Darcy that was the cause of all this discontent. I couldn’t help it if we had the most in common and that we understood each other, and more importantly, why shouldn’t I cultivate a friendship with a seemingly nice enough guy who seemed interested back?

Things came to a head early on when on one of our very first outings as new colleagues, we went out for drinks. Not being a competent driver, and being completely unfamiliar with the roads in KL, (okay, and being a complete chicken too) I was relying on a colleague to send me home. It soon transpired as we stood outside the entrance while Darcy waited for his car (valet, of course, dah-ling), that neither of us (the colleague giving me a ride and me) had a clue how to get me home. Darcy, was very familiar with my living area, hence it seemed only natural that I got bundled into the car with him the moment it pulled up on the curb.

Once away from the crowds, alone in his car (much to my complete shock and amazement) - he started off by saying how much he enjoyed my company. He said how he was well aware that he constantly teased me with sarcastic jibes and was delighted that I always took it so well and in such good humour. I was taken aback by this seeming confession; my heart was pounding in a manner that made me – for once – lose all ability to speak.

Then he kept silent for a while, before mumbling shyly, "You know I don’t mean it, right? I really like –"

This is when his mobile rang. How I wish to this day I had answered it as he told me to – but when I hesitated, he’d picked up the call himself. In a split second, it all came tumbling down like a house of cards. Next thing I know, he was making a U-turn and heading back to the bar.

Flabbergasted, he’d shook his head at me and said how another guy was going to take me home as I lived nearer his area, and he was under orders to take home another colleague. Confused, especially in light of what almost happened, I kept silent, and let the others dictate what was meant to happen, and just followed orders.

As did he.

#1 - I didn’t live near this other fellow’s area, and that other guy did not have a clue how to get me home. #2 – Darcy had to go hours out of his way to take home the other (non-threatening female) colleague, and got lost on the way back too. It was such a transparent attempt to keep us apart – unfortunately, I was helpless, and Darcy didn’t seem to want to do anything about it.

Later on, I heard one particularly vicious snake, which we shall refer to as the Tart (for obvious reasons), who had high ambitions of becoming the next Lady Darcy, had rung him and said, "Do you want to be rescued?" in reference to the fact I talk too much, and he not at all. (Darcy was always laughing at me for my chatterbox ways, but until that night, I always thought he enjoyed my company. Perhaps he did, but the Tart managed to make me doubt it). I can’t remember it, but the story at the office was that Darcy’s reply was "Yes, tell me how".

Because I was in the said vehicle, and knew exactly what was going on between us, I cannot imagine that he said that. But in the harsh light of day, it seemed like I dreamed the whole thing up! (Especially when he seemed unmoved and tight-lipped about the whole thing.)

We never did get another chance. And Darcy has not yet summoned up the courage to finish that sentence.

I, however, had my moment of reckoning with the Tart, when finally weary of being all Miss Sunshine and Blue Skies the whole time, I'd confronted her about the whole "Do you want to be rescued," thing. The pure shock on her face was priceless. Her beady little eyes went as wide as it could (have I mentioned yet that she was educated in Singapore? What is it with that country! My theory is that it must be the water. My apologies to all nice Singaporeans out there ... I've not met any of you yet! And your ambassadors have not been doing a good job - to say the least.) as she gasped "How did you find out?!" And I swear she looked over at Darcy, frozen with fear.

He was right next to her as I whirled around to face him. (Okay, I had a few drinks – he did not deserve this, and I knew it! Our audience didn’t though. And that, my friends, was the point.) "And you, with your tell me how," I sneered, my hurt feelings getting too much for me. I guess poor Darcy didn’t know what hit him. (He was very English in the way he refused to display any emotion. He did, however, look furious that night!) He barked out at the Tart, demanding an explanation, but that was the last I heard as I haughtily made my exit, head held high.

I never got my explanation. I don’t regret one minute of closing those doors behind me for good. It would be a day too soon if I had to see another two-headed snake that I used to share an office with. They can have their seemingly glittering career and their Prince. I - having served my sentence and learnt my lessons, am moving onwards and upwards.

When Mr. Darcy makes his escape, he knows where to find me.

Dom Darcy & the Daquiri Diva

2006-11-19T15:37:00.000+08:00

"I have simple tastes -

I am only satisfied with the best"

-Oscar Wilde-

I realise all I’ve written about is Dr. Dish. But there is a Mr. Darcy in the fringes of my life … never actually physically present (as Dr. Dish is), but I (still) can’t seem to get him out of my mind. I wonder if that is why I’m avoiding pursuing a commitment with Dr. Dish … our arrangement suits me fine, because I’m holding out for something better.

Something like Mr. Darcy.

It has come to my attention that people are confused whether or not Mr. Darcy is a real life person of the 3D generation or a "template" I’m basing my requirements of Mr. Right on. The answer is yes … and no. I do refer to my Mr. Right as "Mr. Darcy" … but I believe I have found him.

I am still in the Elizabeth-esque throes of hatred, though. The Mr. Darcy referred to in these excerpts is a real life person who I think epitomises the character created by Ms. Austen centuries back.

He may wear Armani instead of a cravat and a tux instead of coat tails and a top hat (at least not since his public school boy days - sue me, I'm a sucker for the posh English types. I guess a Malaysian Anglophile comes close?). My Mr. Darcy has no fashion sense to save his life, but he exudes that arrogance and confidence from every pore, that unfortunately, I have found difficult to resist, despite his blatant rudeness.

(Very much like Elizabeth Bennet - "It would be most inconvenient since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity.")

It’s been almost 3 years now since we met, and he’s done the following in that time:

1 Made me fall for him. (I never say love until I’m 100% sure … but there’s certainly something there! On my part, at least)

2. Befriended me, then cut me dry, with no rhyme or reason. (Well, the reason is his pride, but he’d never admit to it!)

3. Dated my good friend (neither of them who told me about it – hence he ruined my friendship too)

4. Been a complete Prat. (no two ways around this one.)

Our history is simple enough - we met, we clicked instantly, in a way that was undeniable to anyone who witnessed it. There were literally sparks in the room when we were both in it, making it impossible for us to be just friends, or mere professional colleagues.

I’d had just arrived in KL, after almost a decade abroad. Not only was I still reeling from the devastation of my failed relationship with the Rotten Ex, but I was also trying to acclimatise myself to my home ground once again, having been a "Londoner" for so long. Not only had I needed to rebuild my life again, I also had to jump-start my career. Romance was furthest from my thoughts.

It all changed the day I walked into my new place of employment and saw Mr. Darcy. I never believed in love at first sight. (Yes, romantic that I am -I do have my practical moments!) But after that first introduction, when our eyes first met … I find it impossible that he didn’t feel the sparks I did.

We’d found, in a miraculously short span of time, that though diametrically opposite in character, we were, at heart, innately compatible. Coming from a similar upbringing and background, we had the same principles in life. We even shared the same fears and insecurities, as well as the same hopes and dreams for the future.

At the end of the day, no matter how different you are on the outset, that’s what counts, wasn’t it?

However, there has been no happy ending (yet). I’m afraid to say, it did not work out the way it could have. I was the Romantic Idealist, he was the soul of Practicality. (He was Sense to my Sensibility.) Love got in the way of his 5 year plan to climb the Corporate ladder - he didn’t want love in his life, he didn’t want to make time for romance, and my pride wouldn’t let me pursue him. I can’t explain why ... for someone who’s used to throwing caution to the wind and just doing, I was powerless to make this very important thing happen for me.

So with me resenting him for being a coward and not taking a stand, and him blaming me for complicating his life …it all turned to extreme tension and all that tension then turned into a love-hate type relationship. Instead of becoming friends, we became friendly adversaries …. at first. He constantly nit-picked at me, and often, I gave back as good as I got. He couldn’t just talk to me, he had to find fault with me which lead to furious debate and heated argument. Unfortunately, I was the louder and less likely to censor myself (especially when I was right!). Guess he didn’t like being taken down his pedestal in public, but I wasn’t the sort to care - then.

This "rivalry" turned to hate with the final straw coming and going without me even realising it. Instead of resolving things with me, he took the chicken’s way out and just cut me out of his life completely. He’d go so far as to not even acknowledge my presence, whether I was seated next to him, or across the road from him. In Mr. Darcy’s world, I simply did not exist.

It wasn’t hate … Mr. Darcy, like his namesake can act completely devoid of emotion. He acted like he was incapable of feeling and warmth, and pretty much everyone but me believed it. I’d seen the softer side. Perhaps he was appalled he’d shown so much to me?

Even though I’ve now left those offices behind me, and Mr. Darcy is no longer part of my daily life … we still keep bumping into each other. Sometimes he’s charming – deigning to acknowledge my presence, sometimes he’s a boor, walking right by me like I was nothing more than part of the furniture.

So far, there is no happy ending in sight …. but my romantic heart is ever hopeful. However, whether or not Mr. Darcy would ever cotton on, I do not know. I could very well be "labouring under a misapprehension".

I must state for the record that Mr. Darcy’s thoughts and feelings in this matter are all entirely my own perception (and perhaps imagination?). I could be deluding myself, and he could just be not just that into me… only I really don’t think so.

Like a mutual friend recently said to me (after only meeting us for a only couple of weeks then going back to her home across the Atlantic) – she thought our lives were like a Hollywood chick flick. "Fun, energetic chic girl, meets arrogant, hard-working serious boy, and fall in love, despite their differences, (after several horrible run-ins, of course) when they realise, deep down, at heart, they are innately compatible." I couldn't have put it better myself.

We’re still on the horrible run-ins stage, but the credits are by no means ready to roll.

Watch this space...

Mimosa Madness!

2006-11-14T22:32:00.002+08:00

CJ said the other day she was perfectly happy for once as all the people she loved were in the same geographical vicinity. I get what she means now. Last night, I welcomed home my good friend Phoebe - so nicknamed after the same of Friends fame. Not that she’s the slightest bit ditzy, our feisty Doctor (yes, most of my friends are doctors, it was the college we went to!) is the sharpest tool in the shed. However, once we were on holiday with a group of English backpackers, and not one of them could pronounce her name, so they called her Phoebe. Months later, another one of my English (male) friends did the same. I’m afraid it’s stuck ever since!

Pheebs is only back for a week, and despite the fact we’re not in constant contact everyday, given her busy schedule, it only took one evening to have me remembering how fond I am of her. She’s a lot like me, except amplified a tenfold! Scary thought, eh!

What got my attention was my realisation that I love who I am with her, for she brings out the (even) wild(er) side of me.

Like CJ is the Yin to my Yang – ever the voice of reason and sensibility and yes, gives balance to my universe, Phoebe causes me to throw caution to the wind and live! In fact, with Phoebe,I feel like the sane one!

Like she would talk at the top of her voice in public, wanting to know the most intimate of details, and when I resist, she just scoffs "Like you’re ever going to see these people again."

You've got to admit, the girl has a point!

However, like CJ, she too, is incredibly protective of me. (I guess I bring out that quality in all my friends?) This one time we were at a dodgy nightclub and I overheard a group of men say something along the lines of "Look at these fit women, they deserve to be raped." Completely appalled, I told Phoebe immediately. She didn’t hesitate. Without even checking with me who said what, she whirled around and slapped the first guy she got. (Guilt by association and all...)

Of course, if I was 6 foot tall with that raging temper and volume to match, I’m guessing the guys wouldn’t dare do too much either. Phoebe certainly was not a force to be reckoned with!

She was also the one who literally, taught me all about the bare facts of life. I’ll never forget our bedroom behaviour conversations! Every guy I’d been with really has her to thank (or blame?) for giving me a clue (or several!).

She has a carefree sense of living life to the fullest and to hell with the consequences I wish I had, but I know I have something like sanity and reason holding me back! On that same holiday it was Phoebe who decided we should go skinny dipping. Short of pulling my suit off, she made me go along with it. The old Vixen would be cringing with embarassment, but the Vixen now is proud of her so called "wild" past.

But I’m a fake wild child. I’m still me, I still consider the consequences and truly, I would never do something like that without the Phoebe's demands (or lots and lots of alcohol!). Also, I can’t deny I’m a little bit afraid of her! But Phoebe always seems to innately know I want to do, but my inhibitions were holding me back. She's not ever made me do anything I didn't already secretly want to do.

I look up to her - then and now.

All my friends have qualities I admire and wish I could emulate. But the fact is - I genuinely feel loved back with friends like Phoebe and CJ. I’m very lucky in the people who’ve chosen to have me in their lives, and its something I hope they never feel I take for granted.

Amaretto Amore

2006-11-01T20:09:00.000+08:00

The similarity of amaretto and amoretto leads to the concept of "a little bitter love".The amaretti created by the amoretti were small biscuits, like love both bitter and sweet, and presented wrapped together in pairs like a pair of sweethearts.

-Wikipedia-

So I’ve been told I sound too happy in my excerpts. (Like it’s a fault???) I don’t think about it much, but generally, I really am one happy bunny. Nothing truly gets me down or keeps me down for long. I don’t let it.

Nothing except, my One Great Heartbreak. I hadn’t thought about it in a while, but a few nights ago, I awoke feeling 100%. No thoughts of the Rotten Ex, no thoughts of the Singaporean Slut to haunt me like they have for the past 3 years. I mean, surely I’m letting this drag on for far too long? People get over heartbreaks in record time.

He certainly did.

But I was wrong. That brief interlude has lead to the bursting of a long-holding dam. Now, I’m being bombarded every day by old memories, serving up fresh lashes of pain on a wound that should have been healed by now. I thought I’d successfully locked away the memories of that devastating relationship and mailed the trunk to Siberia.

However did it find its way back to me here in Malaysia, completely intact?

So what's wrong with me that I still think about this man? No one who knows either of us is able to tell me to my face that they think we belong together. He’s the direct opposite of me, and I don’t just mean the height! He’s reserved and will only speak when spoken to, and very like the real Mr. Darcy, speak to whom only he deems appropriate (public school educated tosser that he was!) I, on the other hand, have famously been described as "will talk to a wall if I thought it’d talk back to me". (That’s a direct quote.)

His idea of a night out is down to the pub for the footie them back home to the tv. Now I actually love football, and I actually understand it. (Obviously something to keep us together? Relationships have been based on much less!). But I also love doing the club circuit, the partying the dancing and of course, the drinking, till dawn.

I'm happiest in a crowd, at the centre of attention. The Rotten Ex was happiest when there was no one to bother him, to force him to be sociable. I’d turned down almost every invitation I’d received to go out, in my time with him, preferring to sit at home, in my PJ’s watching Eastenders, than to get glammed up and sloshed. I still cannot believe I lived this life for almost 2 years, and yet, to be brutally honest, I’d never felt so happy, or so fulfilled or content, in my entire life.

I think I gave my heart away so completely, that I still haven’t got it properly back. My emotions when it comes to relationships now are almost nil. I successfully hold myself back … but with no real effort. Take Dr. Dish – the old Vixen would have never let it go on for this long … certainly, would have never even gotten involved if there was no love. But no love was the safest route. As for Mr. Darcy – he’s unattainable, and therein lies the attraction. To be honest, if he turned up at my doorstep, professing True Love … I’m not sure I wouldn’t slam the door shut on him.

But with the Rotten Ex – walking down a street was an adventure. Shopping at Waitrose, picking out our dinner, was a pure joy. I looked forward to seeing him everyday, despite the fact we lived together. I almost always woke up with a smile on my face. To hold his hand still gave me a thrill. He made every romance novel I’d read, every cheesy Hollywood ending, every soppy love song ring true for me. He was my every wish … and I still cannot believe there was no Happily Ever After.

Forget a swinging social life versus nights in by the tv. Our connection went beyond that. We could spend hours just talking, exchanging ideas and views, laughing at the world, dreaming of a future. We were both literature freaks and would spend day’s just browsing bookstores (in different sections) One time on a romantic mini-break in Kent, we came out grinning from ear to ear at our finds at a second hand bookshop– he, with an ancient version of Chekhov and me with the Complete Works of Oscar Wilde. Now who else would’ve gotten that?

Above all, I loved the way he loved me. Just the way I loved him. Completely. I will never doubt it. Not then, not now.

He once memorably said to me "I love how intelligent you are, your ability to grasp concepts straight away. With the exception of the away games rule, of course!" (I can’t explain it; I get the offside rule with no problem, but have trouble getting my head round the away games rule.) That in a nutshell, summed me up.

You see, he gets me, the real me. No one would ever know me as well. I’d like to say I knew him inside out as well, but for the fact of how he behaved in the end of our road. I’d have never ever guessed he could be that cruel. But he was the Perfect Boyfriend.

Just a really Rotten Ex-Boyfriend.

My friends convinced me (as they had to, for what other choice was there?) that of course I will get over this, OF COURSE I will weather this storm and one day meet Someone who made me feel 100% more than He ever did.

3 years on, I’m afraid to say it’s not true. I’ve never come close to even FEELING again. And it’s just not fair. You see, I never believed love could die. I always thought you only fell in love once, that one time would be forever.

Amore para sempre. Forever love. We were supposed to love forever.

Flames to dust

Lovers to friends

Why do all good things come to an end ?

-Nelly Furtado, "All Good Things" -

I started writing to him, before the dam burst. I said "I get it now, I get how relationships end, how love doesn’t always last and how realisation sometimes just hits too little too late." But I’ve realised that I was lying. I still don’t get it. To my mind, if it ends, then it couldn’t have been love.

Right?

Heineken Hussy

2006-10-25T14:02:00.000+08:00

No one understands my "pseudo" relationship (as I like to call it) with Dr. Dish. Least of all me. (Guys have a clue though – here’s a girl that never says no – too good to be true? Not really, I am living proof! Just to the one, though.)

Why is terminology so important anyway? This much is clear - we are NOT in a relationship. He’s not made any promises (hence he can’t break them. I like this part), I don’t hold him to any obligations, nor am I obliged to him. There are no emotions involved, hence there is no need for a commitment. As yet.

Is that so hard to get?

Evidently so. Most of the time, I’m pretty relaxed about the whole thing. Why should I chase him for a commitment when I’m not even sure I want one myself? I laugh when people say he’s using me. Puh-lease! I’m getting my roll in the hay too! And I have enjoyed (almost) every ride – so to speak. However, there are times the green-eyed monster does raise its ugly head and I feel the need to clamp down on the shameless hussies clamouring for his attention and scream, "Hands off, Ladies, he’s MINE."

But he wasn’t. Okay, here’s where the waters get murky. I guess I see the need for definition after all. But I am well aware I have no exclusive rights over Dr. Dish. However, we have a (tacit) system that’s easy enough to understand. If ever the two of us were in a room together, whether or not we arranged it, we were together. I wouldn’t disrespect him by flirting or getting off with anyone else (no matter how hot!) and I would expect the same for him. I can live without love, but I demand at the very least, mutual respect, if not affection.

Enter the Heineken Hussy. No doubt she’s known him since diapers. (Okay, high school). Upon first glance, she hardly seemed threatening. Mistake #1. Never underestimate your competition, no matter how they looked on the outside. Remember the age old adage Never judge a book by it’s cover? In this case, she came to Zouk in ca-pa-lang (dark) blue denim jeans (unfashionably baggy!) a pasar type white baby tee and an old lady bag … and OMG, yes, it was white plastic looking sneakers fit for primary students playing badminton.

My Carrie Bradshaw soul cringed at the sight. Blahniks, they weren't. (Not even Vincci!) But after the stunts she pulled that day, I have now humbly learnt my lesson. No matter how these hussies look on the outside (they don’t always have to come in the LBDs and FMBs) – they always know how to play the game!

And they don’t play fair.

In this case, ironically, it was I that was in the LBD and come fuck me heels. All dressed up and nowhere to go, in the end...

Dr. Dish had come to meet me, bringing along his high school friends. I was delighted! Admittedly, I was still holding up for a future relationship at this point and I was thrilled he was introducing me to the sacred circle. I took it as an almost-declaration. After all, Dr. Dish was always more of a man of action, and very few words. (these days almost none!)

Hussy was having none of it. Of course from the moment I saw them together, I knew she liked him. This is the case of most females when they catch sight of those big dreamy eyes, all the way up on that tall buff bod. (And in the case of these hussies, they jump up so fast-blink and you’ll miss it- when they hear the word "Doctor."). Dr. Dish really is clueless about how attractive he is, and I usually have to do the beating off with a stick. (Not that I let him know, of course!)

Let me set the scene. There we were, getting our groove on, by the side of the bar, just the two of us, despite his friends just standing around with their drinks. Let me digress for a bit here and wax lyrical about how thankful I am that the boy has rhythm (both in and out of the sack). I love dancing with him. Despite his height - while attractive to ME, even the simple act of holding hands is hard enough, let alone dancing. I can’t ever reach without him bending double or me going on my tiptoes. (Although he has this sweet habit of lifting me up and letting me stand on his feet when we kiss.)

I remember it well. I was looking up at him in open admiration, and he was looking affectionately down at me as we began intertwining against each other despite the fast beat. I was waiting for the first kiss – the sparks were in place, the romantic tension … it was only a matter of seconds.

I forgot one tiny not-so-INsignificant deet. Mistake #2. Heineken Hussy. Before one could say "Cheap Slut" – she’d barged right in between the two of us, breaking up our little embrace instantly. She looked at him all innocence and whined plaintively, "I want to dance with her," then turned to me with a look of triumph in her beady little eyes going, "I love your friend (me). I love the way she moves, so sexy with all that hair, and that body and those moves (please, hand me the puke bag now. How transparent was that!) I want to dance with her!" and with that, Dr. Dish laughed and let her to it. Obviously not too transparent to this obtuse man!

This Vixen wasn’t fooled. As politely as I could, I walked away at the first opportunity. (Shoved her away, more like.) But as she’d achieved her purpose, Dr. Dish was no longer wrapped all around me, so she continued on the dance-floor in her glee. To my delight, I saw Dr. Dish sat by the bar, pouring the Chivas. I happily made a bee-line for him, and we had maybe 5 minutes before the Hussy had come over to us on the pretext of wanting a fag.

Now, since I don’t smoke, obviously, it wasn’t me who she came to talk to. As soon as he lit it for her, instead of politely leaving us to it, in fact, she sidled closer to him. Right in between us!!! I couldn’t believe what was happening. It was like a train-wreck in slow motion, and I saw it coming and yet I couldn’t do anything to stop it. There I was, standing right in front of him, while she was – OMG, she was not….

Yes, she was. SAT. On his LAP. My Dr. Dish!!! I couldn’t believe the cheek!!! Dr. Dish gave me a helpless look and held up his hands for me to see they were nowhere near her, but it didn’t make things any better. There nestled in his crotch was the Heineken Hussy, puffing away at her cigarette, in between MY Man’s thighs.

How would ANY woman react, I ask you!

God, I so wanted to give her 2 black eyes to see in the new year, but remembering his psychotic ex girlfriend, I didn’t want him to think he’d ended up with another Psycho Siren. So I held my head up high, and actually stood my ground. I don’t know if I should be shouted at for this act of stupidity, or it should be admired. I actually stood around in the immediate vicinity, chatting to his friends around us, all the while feeling like a fool, because anyone looking at them now would think THEY were the happy couple.

Aloof, Cool, Ice Queen. I kept chanting, determined not to let her win. But I'm afraid to say she did. There was only so much I could take, and I thought it was bloody disrespectful of Dr. Dish not to do anything. Finally, I reached my limit and stalked off without another word to him.

Not that he even guessed I was spitting mad, such was my dignified (I thought!) exit.

I found my friend, and insisted we leave. I guess I should mention it doesn’t end here. Once he cottoned on to the fact I was gone, and had not said goodbye (a bit slow, is our dishy doctor)- he came running after me.

Too little too late.

Que Hindi movie style drama. When he shouted to get my attention from the crowded entrance of Zouk, and I barely glanced at him, he seemed to think it was a brilliant idea to run across the crowded street. In fact, he almost got hit by a car – and here our Bollywood hero banged on the bonnet as he rushed towards me, calling out my name dramatically.

(I cannot believe these things actually HAPPEN in real life!)

And what did he say when he actually managed to grab me? Between the "Erms..." and "Aaahs" .... I did not hear an apology nor an explanation. (Words not being one of his strong suits.) Just a pleading look and an apologetic hug and telling me he’d call me and we’ll do something that weekend.

Unfortunately, I am (still) a sucker for those big dreamy eyes. Sue me. I'm only female, and my particular weakness (other than alcohol) is spelled "Dr.Dish".

Score 1 Heineken Hussy. Vino Vixen, nil.

Smirnoff Shags

2006-10-18T15:29:00.000+08:00

Friends with Privileges …

I’d said before how I didn’t believe in sex without love. But I’ve grown up now, and am no longer viewing life through my rosy-tinted shades. Where I was once naïve and idealistic with hopes and dreams of a Forever Love, my “relationship” with Dr. Dish has changed all that. We’re involved, in the biblical sense … and yet, there have been no declarations as such, nor do I even think there might be some in the future(!).

I don’t deny I hope, however, I am realistic enough not to expect.

But while I may not be in love with him, I’m certainly in lust with him. I do genuinely like him - and not just for that stunning exterior alone! Because he is an inherently kind, decent human being, and in this day and age, one really can’t ask for more than that. (Yes, I do realise I deserve MORE, however, MORE isn’t at my doorstep at the moment.)

Plus, he’s got these huge dreamy eyes that a girl could just drown in. They go really big when he’s thoughtful, half closed when he’s turned on, and almost sly when he’s just about to make his move. (Hah, and he tells me he’s shy. I’ve got his number on this one … except I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth!)

I can still remember the first day I saw him. In a school full of geeks and bookworms (yours truly being one of the latter) and completely deprived of hot totty, the sight of this tall dark and handsome young boy stuck out like a sore thumb.

I remember that devastating smile – what I once thought of as mysteriously sexy, I know now was just awkward shyness. When he found out I wouldn’t bite, and would actually talk to him like a person, not an object, how he had relaxed and started laughing with me. When we sat next to each other at chemistry and wrote each other notes the whole time to make the lesson go quicker. When he first scribbled down his number for me to ring him... ah, if we only knew then what that would culminate in!

We became buddies. Not great mates, but two people who could always laugh at the world. We didn’t have deep meaningful conversations. While I could follow sport better than the average girl, I didn’t truly understand his passion or commitment to it. To be fair, I don’t think he recognised or understood my passion for words either (he being a man of NO words ...). We didn’t really have much in common … and honestly, we still don’t. However, in those days, we shared a lot of laughs.

I miss that part. I miss how he’d tease me mercilessly, yet always look on worriedly, wondering if he took things too far. How much easily he laughed with me than with anyone else. How he looked for me whenever he came to join a group I was with. I felt he liked me then, even if he won’t tell me now.

I remember that night when we sat together on my porch fence, alone in the world, those big eyes looking down at me, all innocent nerves. It could have been the perfect setting, but I hadn’t a clue he wanted me then. This popular, handsome, sports star … and me … sure, I was popular, but everyone only ever wanted to be my friend, not to be my boyfriend. It took me a further 8 years to do what I wanted to do that night.

8 years on, the day I turned 25, I gathered up the courage I didn’t have at 17, fuelled, of course, by the alcohol intake (it was my birthday!) and planted one on him. Of course, he’d been giving me signals the whole night, but nevertheless, I was still shocked when he responded … and much more! Almost 2 years on, here we are, still doing what we do!

In retrospect, I have to wonder did I lose him at 17 by my lack of confidence and low self-esteem? He started going out with the school siren the very next week. They stayed together, went off to university together and pretty much, everybody thought they’d have their happily ever after. Dr. Dish and the Siren – no one name was ever said without the other. In fact, the sight of him following her around like a devoted puppy would not easily leave me.

Perhaps he’d never love again, not that purely. Maybe she’s sucked all the remnants of feeling and emotion from him. Whatever devotion and affection he had then, he’s lost the will to conjure up again. She was a fool that was never good enough for him. She broke my Dr. Dish, and I wonder if I could ever make him whole again.

I don’t deny I’ve come with scars of my own … and perhaps now is the time we were meant to be with each other, not back then. I don’t know what we’re doing with each other now, but I don’t want to be without him either.

That shy young awkward star is now a Dishy Doctor. He is still rather awkward and shy, but is more self-assured than I remember. And that chatty bookworm has become a chatty Professional Butterfly. I’ve discovered style, I’ve discovered men … and I have a clue. Dr. Dish didn’t know what hit him!

However all that conversation we used to have is gone. Those easy laughs and drunken mirth. By crossing over to the greyness of a “Friends with Privileges” arrangement, our friendship is gone, and we don’t even have a relationship to make up for it. But we do enjoy each other, physically. Is this good enough for the long haul? Probably not. But only time will tell if there is more to our future than just a physical attraction.

We’ve been at it for nearly a year now. Surely a fling ought to be flung by now? However, if we’re just with each other until our Ones come, so be it … life’s too short to close the door on opportunity.

Particularly when that opportunity has those big dreamy eyes and hot body, full of promise I know he can deliver. Why spend Saturday nights alone on earth, when a phone call away is someone who can make the earth move. Again … and again …. and again!

Whatever my head tells me; my friends tell me, whatever common sense dictates, Dr. Dish is just something I have to … er, do.

Bequeathing Bourbon

2006-10-16T16:27:00.000+08:00

CJ surprised me today with the strangest request. As I’m currently under pressure at work, and awaiting the axe to fall, I’ve been chanting the following all day:

“I’m going to die…. I’m going to die…. I’m going to die…. I’m going to die…. I’m going to die….”

It has obviously served to inspire her. Not even a little bit hesitant, CJ asked me what I’d leave her. When I couldn’t think of anything – still living off my parents and all (basically owning nothing!), she graciously suggested my bed. Ah, my place of slumber is indeed a place of unfulfilled fantasies and long-held desires. (Unfulfilled as in I’d been the only occupant … ever!) It’s a custom made teak creation with the requisite four posters that I’d long dreamt of, inspired by the many romance novels I’d read.

Also, being king sized, it’s much too big for little old me, but probably perfect for the 6’ CJ! Sorry, mate, it’s staying with me as long as I’m alive. And given my taste in men …a king-sized bed is very necessary! I have one requirement (one obvious one, that is!) and it is HEIGHT. Not the easiest thing to fulfil in this country!!

But believe me, I have paid my dues! The Rotten Ex was 6’4” and we shared a single STUDENT bed for 2 whole years.

I've never actually dated anyone less than 6’ feet tall, if memory serves me (and be warned, I'd been accused of having a selective memory!). A constant bone of contention for my (much) taller best friend who frequently accuses me of swimming in her very small pool. (More like puddle!)

However, you’d be surprised to note that my Mr. Darcy is not quite 5’8. (He insists on 5’10”, but you all know how men easily exaggerate inches, or lack thereof!) I’d always been warned that if I’m too fussy (with one requirement?) I’d get the direct opposite of what I asked for… And truth be told, if I ended up with Mr. Darcy, I would.

I have come to surmise that attraction can make one loopy in the head. (Yes, this is my mature conclusion.)

And by the way, CJ, if you should go before me (choi! choi! choi!) you know what I want. (Ahem. B is for both baguette and bling. Put them together and you get ….) Just so you know, while our time is limited on this earth, I’m not quite ready to go just yet. There’s yet things to do, places to see, people to meet… lives to change...

Vodka Vision

2006-10-14T15:51:00.000+08:00

Don’t Drink and Text – Especially the Ex!

Okay, so he’s not an Ex, as such, but it’s still sound advice. But I must elaborate on how I was driven to it.Yes, driven! Contrary to my first excerpt, life truly isn’t all champagne wishes and caviar dreams, as we well know.

Let me set the scene. There I was, feeling like a party, for the first time in ages. Yes, there’s the excess weight gain (again, to quote my favourite heroine, I’m going to have to tell Mr. Darcy "And yes, I will always be just a little bit FAT." Too much Bridget in my life! If there ever was a Malaysian version, you’ve met her!), but by some miracle, outfit I assembled - okay, my SISTER (helped) assembled after I’d discarded the majority of the contents of my wardrobe, wasn’t showing too much of my 3 spare tires.

I hadn’t feel fanciable for a good 3 weeks now… it no coincidence that it was the exact period of time since I told Dr. Dish to "lose my number". But I was determined that I had taken the high road, and this was best. I was the aloof, cool, Ice-Queen Professional Woman and no emotional fuckwit was going to mess around with me!

So, there I was, with my dancing shoes on, when the other half of my Guinness combo came roaring up my driveway at half past 9, I was well up for a good night out. Why Guinness? My party partner, Aoirish, is as fair (blonde and blue eyed) as I am dark – messy dark hair that never behaves itself (though thankfully, tonight, it was in its gypsy curls fashion on its best party temperament that night) with dark eyes to match, her Mam had thought the nickname apt. The nic has since stuck; despite the fact we’re both vodka women!

Aoirish has recently become involved with Older Man. It’s made more complicated by the fact she’s mates with his (soon-to-be) ex wife. However, as this is my story and not hers, so that brief intro is all you’re going to get! I had not seen Aoirish as often as I’d liked since Mr. Smooth came into the picture, as is the usual practice when one’s girlfriend meets a New Man.

Moving along swiftly! Aoirish was meeting Mr. Smooth for after work drinks at his regular watering hole, and I was promised some fit men. I soon found out there were none...

None eligible, that is. Mr. Smooth’s work buddy, Mr. Suave was cute, and definitely up my alley, but for the fact there was a wedding ring flashing on his finger. I’m not ever helping a Married Man cheat (ever again! I had my one …and there goes the quota!) But there was always vodka ....

I met a few people I knew – KL is such a "tempurung" sometimes (like the katak under the tempurung?) Most surprising of all, was my high school friend, Spaz. I swear he had a crush on me in high school however as he never asked me out officially (story of my life!), I had never quite believed he liked me romantically.

We had a nice time catching up on our lives – at first. We’re both adults now and living in completely different worlds, but it doesn’t change the fact we shared some good times way back in the day. I walked away from our conversation feeling cheered. ("Buttons" had come on, especially dedicated for me, and Mr. Smooth and Mr. Suave were entertaining the masses with a strip tease. I needed a closer look. No crime in window shopping was there?)

A few vodka’s on; I was caught in a tête-à-tête with Mr. Suave, and was genuinely trying to escape the charms of those suggestive brown eyes. Another vodka or so, and I may have forgotten my Married Men Rule. (I try to stand very strongly on this one!) But it’s always nice to feel fanciable, and older men like Mr. Smooth and Mr. Suave were masters of the game, having been there, done that, and bought the T-shirt. They know precisely what to say to a girl to get into her pants. I just don’t want to be that girl (anymore).

I was comforted when Spaz joined me, apparently to show me pictures of his 18-year-old girlfriend. I was more amused than appalled at his display of the proud "ha ha, I got me some teen ass" machoness. The Spaz I knew wasn’t a bad person at all, underneath all the bluster. I know insecurity, and have experienced the over-compensation for the lack of confidence many a time. However, I was not equipped to deal with it when I wasn’t expecting it to be directed at me!

After doing the usual "Way Da Go" pat-on-the back, he smiled at me in smug acknowledgement of his greatness. He said and I quote (directly!) "I gotta admit – you’ve put on some weight, eh?" Ladies and gentlemen, Clanger #1. My jaw dropped open in sheer shock at the unexpected rudeness. Weren’t Malaysian men aware what polite anymore? I stared at him in a complete loss.

He then laughed, putting his arm around my admittedly fleshy waist, and continued (Clanger#2) "But you still have your lovely personality,"

I know what this meant. Guys only described women as having "lovely personality" when they wouldn’t do you with a bag over your head, but would laugh at your jokes at the dinner table. However, believe it or not, the worst was yet to come. The piece de resistance was Spaz’s final jab. "Remember when you used to be hot?" (Clanger #3) and with that, he walked away, all over my fragile confidence.

I had to escape, and absolutely bolted to the loos. And that’s where it happened. Back to Dr. Dish. The phone was just there, the number not yet erased as I had commanded him to. Absolutely begging me to let him come and er, "comfort" me, as only he could.

Sod pride. I needed the ego boost, and he was just THERE, a phone (booty) call away. All 6 feet tall of gorgeous man, those dreamy eyes and big sheepish "aw, shucks, ma’am, I didn’t know any better" smile to boot!

In my drunken despair, my "Can we be "friends" again?" completely eradicated every power-packed punch of my (now infamous) "Lose my number!"

However, as I woke up with a smile on my face … I can’t complain just yet.

Cocktail Code

2006-10-11T17:36:00.001+08:00

The Single Girl’s Code to Living Life

I used to have only 3 rules, all concerning my chosen vices – drink, sex – and the one I absolutely draw the line at – drugs.

1. Drink - Never drink alone or when the sun is out

I guess the older you get, the more rules you break. Or, as life is an ever evolving process, the rules change as you grow up. Rule #1 was broken pretty quickly when I moved to the United Kingdom. Alcohol was no longer something to be done under the cover of night in a dodgy club where your parents or their friends could catch you at it. Our first tutorial group went to the pub after our afternoon lecture, and there was no conceivable reason not to have a drink if you felt like one.

Wine over lunch became acceptable … classy even. So why not?

As long as one knew their limits of course, which of course I do! (NOT.)

2. Sex - No Sex without Love

I never fooled myself into thinking I was saving myself for marriage. Please! Not like marriage was a certainty … but I had hoped to at least, experience True Love.

And I did. I had a dream first time with my dream man. It was everything I could have asked for. We were madly in love and didn’t see the end, in the way only two fools in love could be. We were each others best friends, we’d convinced ourselves we’d found our other halves. He was my soul mate…. And even though it’s been over for years, I haven’t quite convinced myself there could be another One out there.

However, as he dumped me for the Singaporean Slut that lived down the corridor, that dream died a quick painful death. (It was getting over it that was the agonisingly slow process).

But I was no longer an idealistic teenager in love. I was an adult woman with physical needs and desires. One that wasn’t foolish enough to wait another 22 years for love. Sex can be just that – sex. No complications, no entanglements … just two people enjoying each other’s physical prowess between the sheets, hopefully a mutual respect and affection for each other if not undying love.

I have that now, and I do not feel like it’s anything to be ashamed of. Of course one always feels they deserve better … a Meaningful Relationship, for one … but until that day comes, I don’t see the harm in enjoying myself while I wait.

And any female that has met Dr. Dish would call me a fool if I did turn him down. Meaningful Relationship or not, the man is HOT. And his bedside manner improves with every encounter, I can't complaint just yet.

3. Drugs – TAK NAK!

Nope, there’s no way around this rule, not for me personally. While I enjoy the alcoholic effect of getting tipsy and high … it’s a natural high that’s the best. I do not believe in drugs, in any kind of false chemically-induced happiness (does alcohol count?)… This is one rule I’m never breaking, no matter how old I get.

Like I always say – two out of three ain’t bad.

Babelicious Brandy

2006-10-07T11:53:00.000+08:00

Just before the lot of you think I'm this pathetic Romantic, awaiting her Knight in Shining Armour - I'm not. Here's my mantra, courtesy of the Pussycat Dolls. Like Nicole says, "I want a love thats real, and without that, there's no deal." -Vix-

I DON'T NEED A MAN (!)

"I see you lookin' at me like I got somethin' that's for you

And the way that you stare, don'tcha dare 'cause I'm not about to

Just give it all up to you

'Cause there are some things I won't do

And I'm not afraid to tell you I don't ever wanna leave you confused

The more you try the less I bite and

I don't have to think it through

You'll know if I'm into you

I don't need a man to make it happen, I get off bein' free

I don't need a man to make me feel good, I get off doin' my thing

I don't need a ring around my finger, to make me feel complete

So let me break it down- I can get off when you ain't around!

I see you lookin' at me like I got somethin' that's for you

And the way that you stare, don'tcha dare 'cause I'm not about to

Just give it all up to you

'Cause there are some things I won't do

And I'm not afraid to tell you I don't ever wanna leave you confused

You know I've got my own life and I bought everything that's in it

So if you wanna be with me it ain't at all about the bling you're

bringin'

I want a love that's for real

And without that-no deal

And baby I don't need a hand if it only wants to grab one thing

The more you try the less I bite

And I don't have to think it through

You'll know if I'm feelin' you

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (Let it go!)

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (Baby...)

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (No no no no...)

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go (Let it go!)

I don't need a-I don't need a man, I don't

I don't need a man to get me through

Cause I'm doin' fine I feel brand new

I don't need a-I don't need a man, I don't

I don't need a man to make it through

Cause I'm doin' fine without you!

Oh, I don't need a man

I'm over you, yeah!

I don't need a man (Ohh I'm over you)

I don't need a man (Without you)

I'm over you

Oh! I don't need a man

I don't need a man (Did I complete 'cha? I don't need ya!)

I don't need a man"

-Pussycat Dolls-