Recently, I'm addicted to this blog. http://www.xanga.com/ricebunny

Seriously, I think the blogger is wayyy cool and I lurrrve her tutorials. She has a serious talent for wielding the brushes and sponging her face. At least to me, who uses her finger to put on all sorts of gunk onto my face, she is good.
She is pretty and she knows all the tricks of proper cosmetics/beauty application, yet she is not stingy about sharing them.

I mean, think about it this way, she could just hoard all the beauty secrets and secretly wish that those who are ugly will forever remain ugly, and those who are already pretty and well-versed in make up tricks, will never surpass her. Right?

And the coolest part is she gets down to the details, which sits really well for people like me, who loves to be spoonfed.
For example, my favourite - her tutorial on the Aspirin mask. She even tells you what brand of aspirin is good to use, so that you wouldn't spend a bomb trying different brands of aspirin. And I love it when she tells you to "sprinkle and I mean sprinkle drops of water".

Anyways, enough of gushing. You guys can go check out her blog yourself. BTW, I'm in no way related to her, I'm just sharing a cool new site that I found, to all those makeup junkies/wannabes/dunnohowtobes out there.

I was in TTS hospital pretty often lately because my grandfather was admitted after a fall.

In the past before the hospital's facelift, on the rare occassions when I went to the old facilities to visit some distant old relative on his/her dying bed, I'd be holding my breath for fear of contracting some airborn virus from the mouth of some coughing old man with terminal illnesses. Even after its facelift, with it's swanky new lobby, starbucks and all that cool shit that defines a cool new place, I still get the creeps the moment I stepped into the place.

Sharing the room with 5 other ole man, Gramps was occupying the window bed. He looked just like he always look, on weekends when the whole family would go over to have dinner with the folks. He didn't look too bad, except his usual strong voice is replaced by a barely audible whisper; and he constantly rubbed his tummy with a pained expression, while sniffing his medicated oil that I've always seen him sniffed for 20 odd years. He didnt look scary, but the scene around him did. Morbid, rather.

The old men were in varying stages of consciousness and mobility.

The old man lying at the other far corner had a tube that extended in the depth of his nostrils and he kept hacking up terrible things.

The old man on the bed beside my Gramps was extremely grumpy to all those around him. He was calling for the Missy, and was cursing and swearing and demanded to have his teeth brushed, although he looked like he was delirious, because he kept muttering some thing about some unfilial son in a mixture of Hokkien and ENglish.

The chap lying in the bed opposite gramps kept asking his wife and his maid, which of his friends had died.
"Eh, Aloysius died right?"
"Then what about Sam? Sam died too right?"
"Ah David, is David dead? Yea i remember, he died"
"Oh and there's Christopher, he's dying too right? He doesn't recognize anyone any more, right?"
ANd he goes on endlessly...

But through all the poignancy and gloominess, all around in the room, toothless old ladies held on to the hands of their significant half, stroking their arms occasionally and listening to the old men's barely audible whispers.

Looking on, I asked the bf, would he find it a hassle, that when I grow old and wrinkly and ugly and sickly, and my pau cheeks no longer bouncy and I'm no longer sexy, to take care of me everyday, wipe my drool off my cheeks, even if I do not recognise him anymore?

He said he would. (it's a Ten-year series sort of no-brainer answer for now.) But I believed him.

I believe that he loves me, and would want to take care of me for the rest of my life, but to love someone, you need to love something about that somebody. Something about me must bring him joy: make him happy, cook nice food for him, have great sex with him every now and then, try to look cute all the time, be fun to be around, connect with him intellectually etc, for him to continue loving me. That's why I would try to not be ge gao, unhygienic, ugly and fat even when I'm 40.

But the point is, when I am delirious and gross, and have clean forgotten him and our lives together, the only reason why he'll be be my bedside cleaning up my drool is probably because he feels that it's his responsibility to take care of me, his partner for life.

Responsibility. I don't want responsibility without love, I said.

He said, by then, love would settle into a quiet sort of comfort between a couple. It's accountability, responsibility yadayadyada....And I would treasure the memories we had together, and I can hold on to that to love you.

Digressing, if memories were sufficient for passion to burn, then he would still be in love with his ex gfs wouldn't he? <--Not trying to be ge gao here

Even though I've always been cynical about love, I'm ironically a romantic at heart.
To me, love is a philosophy, an emotion. yet to him, he walks the straight and narrow path on the idea of love that has been passed down for generations: responsibility and companionship.

So even when I am 89, stricken with Parkinson, lying immobile on a hospital bed, drooling, he would take care of me, and maybe thinks that he loves me.

Me? If we grew old together, and he got into the above mentioned situation instead of me, I would defintely be like one of those old ladies there gingerly scooping water for him and taking care of his every needs. But would I call that love? That I'm not so sure.

I might, when I'm 50, have seen more of life, and is greying myself,. But I guess I'm still too young to comprehend how can there be love without attraction.

D'Element Fashion Show

OoooKie, My Bad. This post is probably like a MONTH over due and I can only recall it hazily now. BUT I had the contents typed out, and I just had to upload the pictures (which was the one that took really long)...Genius me eh? Anyways, it's about a pretty cool fashion show that I did about A MONTH ago. Pretty cool cos the girls were cool, the outfits were cool, and this time, I had 2 dressers to change for me. WooHOoooo...But before you start thinking that I'm some whip wielding slave-driver who expect poor girls to pick my toe nails and buckle my 5 inch heels for me, I have to say that the interim between my outfit 1 and outfit 2 was a mad rush, especially with the ongoing craze with the layering fashion. Bah...long shirt over tight, with boots and a wrap around that I dunno what it's called, with a plaid cabby cap, and giant hoop earrings, plus a bunch of bangles,and a vest and OH MY GOSH, I CANNOT REMEMBER LA.


My 2 lovely dressers.



Preshow, camwhoring sans makeup. the lightings in the ballroom make it possible without us looking ghastly. Lyndia and I



The pre-show runway. OKie la, almost every picture here is taken either pre-show, or post show. Cos all 10 girls were in a crazy mad stripping and piling on clothes during show, that there's no time for cam-whoring


Preshow prancing about and practicing our walks in the ill-fitting sponsors' heels or own 5inch high heels, lest we trip and fall on stage later.



I never had an issue with my height...well at least not THAT often...

I mean being 170cm tall, plus my trademark 3 inch (and above) heels that I never make an entrance without, you can bet that I tower over most people.

But for the fashion show on Saturday, I was towered over by most, despite being in my 5-inch catwalk heels. Wah Piang eh... The girls were all GORGEOUS, skinny and TALL, like 175cm and above kinda TALL(plus all with their own 5 inch heels)... You can bet that my self-esteem was looking like a raisin, if self-esteems can be seen.

DOn't believe you see...

That's Janine and Me. I'm in this Hiao flamingo dress with feathers. Poooooh, talk about couture. Janine is like 179cm? and has legs that starts from the ground and ends at my waist.

On the runway, she looks like she walks on imported air. Not me, Claire. Damn, I think I am a good 4-5 years older than her....feels ole.







Apart from the fact that they made me the flower girl for the grand finale, because well, I LOOKED like *eh-hem* a girl (with the lack of height and all), and put me in a flowery tiered dress for my last segment, I had a blast of a time with the girlies. ;p I hated my finale dress though, and unfortunately for me, that was the dress I had to take most of my pictures in.

I look like a damn tierd cake




Did I mention that my nickname was "the short one"?

But with friends like that...


and pretty clothes like that...





and fun like that....



and a buffet spread of rich sinful chocolate cakes tempuraand Har Kow for anorexic-looking girls to feast on afterwards, I guess I didn't really minded being shortie for a day. K fine, 2 days: casting & fitting day, and show day.


In case you were wondering, alot of the pictures were stolen from Lyndia. So she's highly featured here. :p

[Guess who's this? Yes, Click here!]


This company is obviously trying to be racially friendly. That's prolly how I made it there -_-||

Either that, or the people in Germany are very hungry, that's why they chose someone with huge pau cheeks to grace their kontakt page.

I hate it when I have to do OT alone in the cold, miserable office in the middle of Amoy Street at 9pm on a Friday night. Especially when everyone is on extended Deepavali Holiday.

Eee-yer, this is conservation area k?

And it doesn't take a history student to know what it means to be in a conservation area. It means this place is old, it has a history, and someone might have actually died of illnes, poor hygiene, or even murder....EEeeeps I don't want to think about it.

My office is located right next to a chinese temple, and god knows what floats around chinese temple~~ Because they cannot enter it. Eeeeps!

Let's just say that sluts get all the fun...

With nothing less than flirty fake eyelashes, 5 inch strappy heels, boobs perked to dizzying height and confidence the size of 5 Moses Lim, one could gain entry into any clubs in town for free, by just posing outside the door.

Coupled with some slinky moves on the bartop, and a devil may care attitude, you can bet that guys, who don't already have a girl in tow, will be fighting to buy you drinks.

Accept the offer, bat your super long eye lashes, down the poison in a couple of gulps....

Then RUN....

So I have not been updating....well, new job = new found busy-ness. Newer new job means new responsibility, new people to remember, and more OT.

With the newfound level of stress and insecurity, I was inflicted with a very bad case of breakouts. Not even when i was at the pinnacle of my adolescence, when everyone had red warts covering their faces did I have such major acne problems.So u can imagine how depressed I am.

Although the peeps at my new place are decent enough, but the lunch culture there is severely lacking. NOBODY EATS LUNCH LA...

I'm always a firm believer that lunch is not just the packet of chicken rice that you tapau and scoop them into your mouth without tasting them, as you loose your mind in the figures and information stacked high in front of you.

Lunch time is a time when people joke and talk with each other, about everyday nonsense. It's a time to not think about work at all. And it's a time to unwind and get recharged to get ready for the next half of the day. But no, people at my office makes calls, thump on calculators, write long reports and stare crazily at their computer screens during lunch. So almost every lunch, I'll be sitting alone in one corner of the marketplace, overwhelming with groups of execs from Raffles place and Shenton way area. I'll be starring down at my plate of wanton mee sullenly, trying to avert my eyes from curious gaze from passers-by. Because it sucks to eat lunch alone, and I totally miss the peeps back in Huntinton. Even when I was teaching, I would have lunch company almost everyday. People would jio everyone to lunch everytime, unless our timetables clash; even so, we'd try to wait for each other.

Back in Huntinton, even if I had lunch duty, Eunice would always wait for me and accompany me, and me vice versa. And we'd spend that 1 hour of our time, feasting on big plates of char kway tiao or economical rice, and top it up with tau hway and 2 slices of cut fruits. And no I didnt gain weight at all. Even though some of the assocaites would sometimes insist on packeting food back to the office, we would always sit together at the meeting room, and talk about silly nonsense to political science and lousy clients over lunch.





I miss my friends there.