There are a few strategies adopted by lazy bloggers who want to update daily but don’t want to go through the trouble of actually writing anything that requires them to activate more than two brain cells.

• Google for the hot topic of the day, then post a link to it and write a few simple lines about it. “I think that woman is such a slut!! Don’t you think so???!!!”
• Post lots of pictures and type one-line captions. “Me and my dog.” “Me and my dog again.”
• Do an Internet quiz and post the results. “Congratulations! You are Harry Potter’s broomstick! Thank you for doing the ‘Which Harry Potter Character Are You?’ quiz.”
• Post a YouTube video. “Watch this video! It made me laugh and cry and do somersaults!!”
• Post song lyrics and an imeem link. “I love this song!”

I’m sure there are more strategies. You can fill in the rest for yourself.

And you know what? The reason I brought this up was because I was going to be a “lazy blogger” today. Not because I’m actually lazy but because I don’t have much time today and I was thinking of just posting a bunch of old photos, caption them, and leave it at that.

But it turns out I’ve gone and made a whole, original post about it, which makes this not quite a lazy blog anymore.

I’m sorry. I’ll try harder next time.

In the meantime, here are some random old photos.

(The Goonfather surprised me with a suite at Maya Hotel for our last KL trip.)

(The bathroom is as big as the bedroom and is see-through!)

(View from the bathtub.)

(Part of the study/lounge area.)

(A picture of me.)

(A picture of Brandy the Yorkie. The Goonfather’s niece’s dog.)

(A decapitated monkey.)

(Someone’s a dutiful husband.)

(Someone’s a sleepyhead.)

(Someone’s a camwhore.)

(Hahaha. Men in black go shopping.)

(I found Makkuro’s twin and parked beside him (or her. watever).)

(Me again.)

Ok, I think that’s enough. I actually do really need to rush off. I hope you have been entertained by my randomness today.

Categories: Regular Blogs
22 Comments »

At the risk of receiving death threats and suffering grievous bodily harm, I am going to write another food post.

Well, a girl’s gotta eat, despite what any of you will say.

Justyn used to accuse me of eating rabbit food. (The first time I was at a photoshoot with him, I brought granola bars for snacking on, so I became known as the Disgustingly Stick-Thin Model Who Eats Only Rabbit Food.)

Now, he accuses me of being a disgustingly stick-thin model who eats all the most disgustingly sinful food in the world (and gloats over it publicly).

I wish he’d make up his mind.

Anyway. Today’s disgustingly sinful food item is one which doesn’t sound at all appealing. In English, it’s called Flattened Chicken. In its original language (Malay, or Indonesian, I don’t know), it’s called Ayam Penyet.

I’m sure Singaporeans (or Malaysians, or Indonesians) don’t need any introduction to this dish, but I discovered this new place a couple months back at Parklane Shopping Centre and the ayam penyet is good and cheap (little over $5 or something like that).

The name of the shop is Ayam Bakar Selegie, ayam bakar meaning grilled chicken. I didn’t try the bakar. (I’ve been there twice and gone for the penyet twice.)

There were eight of us that night and only two people ordered the ayam bakar. I didn’t hear any complaints, although I think the chicken looks a bit small.

If you do eat there, remember to ask for the sweet sauce to go with your food. They have it in a bottle sitting on the tables but not all tables have a bottle. So if your table doesn’t have one, go grab one. It’s yummy!

This is the gado gado:

Don’t order it. It’s not nice. Haha. It looks better than it tastes.

But the ayam penyet is a must-try. It tastes better than it looks (especially after you add the sweet sauce). Ask for thigh meat if you prefer your chicken tender and juicy.

It’s a really small outlet situated at the spot which used to be the Chinese chicken rice place called Meat You There.

Well, that wraps up today’s food post. It’s almost dinner time! If you’ll excuse me, I have to go search for more disgustingly sinful food.

Categories: Food Files
25 Comments »

[Hamster Tales Part 8]

In Part 7: Picnic proclaims herself Queen of the Castle and thrills at committing all sorts of heinous crimes against sister Pixie, such as theft and attempted murder.

Day 11
Saturday, 5 January 2008

The girls have now been separated for three days. I figure that they (read: Queen Picnic) need more time alone to repent their sins.

This morning, I wake up uncharacteristically early (sevenish) to the sounds of hamster wheels spinning. The girls are running on their respective wheels. Nothing new to see, so I mosey to my computer to check my e-mail and perform daily rubbish.

Half an hour has gone. I decide to go back to bed.

So I’m walking to my bed and, like a waking dream, I suddenly see, on the floor, a hamster looking at me cutely.

Wha…?

She bolts to her right and disappears under the bed.

“Fugg,” I say, and give chase.

I kneel beside the bed and look under. I can’t see her. It’s dark and a mess in there. Boxes and junk and dust.

“Come out, you silly. The dust will make you sick,” I tell her.

She doesn’t answer.

I sigh and get up to find out who’s the little runaway. I see Queen Picnic snuggled under her royal tissue shreds. That means Pixie’s the imp.

I shake a yoghurt fruit drop out of its packet, knowing that it’s a futile endeavour.

Holding the teensy weensy treat in my fingers, I announce to the general direction of the bed, “Come out, little girl. I have your favourite treat.”

No answer. No excited clamouring. No eager beady eyes scuttling up to me for a treat.

Of course not.

I look around the room helplessly and then I see her again. She has magically appeared under my computer table.

I didn’t even see anything run past me. I crawl slowly to her, holding the treat out teasingly. She zips around the table and burrows underneath my pink mushroom bedroom slippers.

I hold out my hand, on which a teensy weensy treat lies.

“Oooh, lookit! Yummy yoghurt fruit drop!” I tell my mushroom slippers.

No response.

Ever so slowly, I lift the slippers. No hamster. I look under my table again. No hamster.

No one ever told me that hamsters could teleport.

I get up and walk around the room.

There she is. She’s gone and teleported herself under the Goonfather’s table.

“Come here, you silly rat.”

She dashes for the bedroom door.

Oooh, they can run, too?

“Nuh-uh. I’m not opening that door for you.”

I want to make a grab for her but I don’t want to hurt her or traumatise her.

Besides being skilled at teleportation, Roborovskis are also really, really fast. You’d need to swoop down speedily and you know how force equals mass times acceleration (or summat; I can’t believe I still remember that) and I fear I might squeeze the life out of her if I were to swoop.

I don’t know what to do, so I play wild goose chase with her while I attempt to talk her into giving herself up.

“You don’t want to live outside your cage, little one. There’s no food, no wheel, no yoghurt fruit drops.

“And there’s evil feet stomping around that could stomp on you, and there’s evil icky dust all over. Oooh, yes, evil icky dust and evil icky other things that can make you sick.

“And hungry. And cold. And miserable.

“Oh, look, Picnic is stealing your stuff.”

I can’t seem to convince her. She continues to gleefully escape my every advance.

She’s now running about within an open area, making circles. I make a half-hearted attempt to trap her with my arms so I can grab her, but she’s too fast.

She heads for the bed again but I perform a flying leap to block her access, like a hero soceer goalie leaping for the ball.

She changes her mind and runs to her cage.

Aha! I see my chance. She’s run herself into a corner.

I dash towards her and grab a cardboard hamster box to block her escape.

She’s now trapped and she zips back and forth within her prison till I’m giddy. Slowly but surely, I move things around to reduce the size of the trapped area.

Finally. The area is now so small that she has hardly anywhere else to go. I lower a hamster ball (containing a yoghurt fruit drop as bait) and wait for her to climb into it.

She clambers on. Not necessarily for the treat; most probably because she has nowhere else to walk.

I scoop her up and gently lower the ball into her cage. She sits in the ball petrified for a moment. She refuses to walk out, as if I’m going to make her go to the dentist.

“Go on,” I say encouragingly.

My voice breaks the spell that’s keeping her rooted and she scrambles out of the ball. Then she starts scooting around the cage like a rabid monkey. She’s acting like I’m Godzilla and she’s running screaming hiding running screaming hiding like how it happens in the movies.

“I’m not going to eat you up. You’re my pet. I feed you.”

She doesn’t believe me and continues running screaming hiding.

I leave her to her cinematic delusions and examine her cage to discover how she escaped.

Up her clay house and through one of the gigantic air-ventilation holes that the Goonfather had drilled into the lid, is how.

I had asked him to make little holes. Cute little drilly holes. But noooooo, he had to make beeeeg holes because he had bought a new drill bit that made beeeg holes.

I can’t reverse the hole, so I move her little clay house to a corner of the cage, far away from the holes in the lid. The other furniture are slippery and unclimbable, so there’s no way she can escape now.

Unless she teleports.

I put a milk cookie in the cage, to send across the message that her cage is a wonderful place to live in where one can find surprises and treats ever so often, so one shouldn’t want to escape such a wonderful place.

She finds the treat and eats it happily, her morning adventure all but forgotten.

If she weren’t so cute and lovable, I’d make me some hamster stew.

Categories: Hamster Tales
21 Comments »

I haven’t had a fashion diary entry in ages. I wasn’t really pleased with my latest shopping trip (two months ago) so didn’t feel like taking photos. But Justyn dragged me to a photoshoot, anyway. Well, you’ve seen the video. Now see the stills!

Name of outfit: Cherry Soda

Self-Rating:

[Photos by Justyn Olby]

I really like this outfit because it’s very comfortable and it’s bright and cheery, which makes me feel bright and cheery.

But Justyn hated it.

I showed up at the studio wearing this outfit and he was, like, “Go change into your first outfit.”

I said, “This is my first outfit.”

Then he did sort of a double take and went, “Na… no. Nooooo. You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not.”

“You look like a 15-year-old.”

“I don’t.”

“This is a 15-year-old outfit.”

“It’s not.”

“This won’t do. It’s… it’s… cute!”

“What’s wrong with cute?”

“Everything is wrong with cute!”

Tsk. Photographers.

And he was really traumatised every time I did kawaii Japanese poses (third picture). He threatened to delete them all and smack my bottom if I ever did it again.

But he’s a sweet fellow. I kept doing it and he didn’t delete them and he didn’t smack my bottom.

And then he complained that the thing I have wrapped around my leg looks like a bandage.

And the problem is?

Men. Tsk.

They just don’t understand fashion statement.

Fashion needs to incite reaction. Emotion. Whatever. Whether it’s a positive or negative reaction, it doesn’t matter. You can’t please everyone, so don’t bother trying.

Besides, if people can wear arm bands and bracelets, I don’t see why legs should be neglected.

So there.

Categories: Fashion Diary
18 Comments »

There is now a massive recruitment drive for The Cowboy Bar, a virtual bar created by Cowboy Caleb, who at times assumes the guise of Zeus and at other times appears to be The Magic Pony.

The bar used to be the secret hiding place for crazy, sex-starved individuals who gather together to grope, harrass or lambast one another.

It is now still the hiding place for crazy, sex-starved individuals who gather together to grope, harrass or lambast one another, except that it is no longer secret.

The terror that was previously safely contained within its crumbly virtual walls has now been released to an unsuspecting public.

The bar’s doors used to be closed to all but approved initiates who have to endure a horrifyingly strict ritual to prove their worthiness to be inducted into the mysteries of The Magic Pony.

But no longer!

The Cowboy Bar (which exists in the form of an internet forum) has been reset to destroy forever all evidence of past depraved acts of hideous and wanton natures.

Its doors are now open to everyone. Yes, that means you. YOU. Who are reading this very piece of rubbish blog post right now.

OMG God save the world.

If you are a regular member of the Singapore blogosphere, you will stumble upon an Invitation To Join because the invitation has been tomorrowed. It will be phrased in beautiful, enticing words that twirl around your ears sensuously, bringing with it the light fragrance of sweet jasmine intertwined with juicy steak sizzling on a hot plate.

Do not yield to its siren’s call.

DO NOT JOIN.

If you do, you will suffer the terrible fate that has plagued all its members in the years past:

1. You will be turned into a grasshopper. Instantly.
2. When you have access to a computer, you will not be able to do anything else except stare dumbly and endlessly at a page which address is cowboybar.liquidblade.com, occassionally sacrificing text to the shrine which is the bar and occasionally hitting F5 to gaze reverently at more texts sacrificed by other members.
3. When you have no access to a computer, you will sacrifice your firstborn to make sure you do, and then perform point no. 2.
4. You will be dragged screaming to secret ritual grounds where secret liver-poisoning rituals will be performed in the name of sacred fellowship.
5. If you are male, you will be groped by the scattering of princesses and bimbos living in the bar.
6. If you are female, your boobs will be squeezed by hot mamas.
7. You will be harrassed by the resident village idiot and forced to listen to his rubbish 24/7.
8. You will be forced to listen to bad poetry by the resident emo guy.
9. You will be set upon by outlaws, who are actually allowed to walk brazenly into the bar to kidnap unsuspecting new grasshoppers to try to turn them into new outlaws in secret rituals.
10. You will be forced to participate in depraved sexual orgies so that scandals about you can be spread the next day.
11. You will become associated with this crazy picture:

    

You have been warned!

Your days will never belong to you again. Your nights will never belong to you again.

You will never belong to you again.

If you still have half a wit about you, if you value your sanity and your sanctity and your liver, I repeat: Do not join.

Of course, if you’re under 18, you can’t join. They won’t let you. So you’re safe…

…until you turn 18.

Categories: Regular Blogs
21 Comments »