i have moved

http://crimsondevotchka.wordpress.com

see you there.

as i sheepishly return

i know a few people who are going to be absolutely delighted that i've decided to tap into my uncontrollable urge to blog again. chocolate bars can only do so much to contain the shakes.

i'd said to Edna that i wanted to stop blogging and go back to emailing. however, with instant messengers - it's hard to email the very people you govoreet the entire day with.

it's mid November, almost an entire year has gone by again. i still feel like i'm 19 - but i'll be 25 in half a year. you see, the things one thinks of the most when one is not lawfully employed by any corporation can lie wide and varied between practical and hysterical.

i don't want anyone reading my blog to spiral downwards into a vortex of obsessive compulsive worries so i will introduce you to the thoughts that lie closer to the practical musings of my complacent mind.

"what next, dali?"

i wake up, then, what next? i flush cystitis-causing bacteria away, i blind myself with desert sunlight pouring into our living room, then what's next is that i'll switch on my beloved mac, the tv, then plop myself onto our gawdy brown sofa hoping that the rest of my body will wake up within the next hour.

what's next is i conjure, with a magic wand (the cable tv remote control) and a *poof* - an imaginary scrolling menu of foods in the fridge in my head. then which channel to watch, or perhaps iTunes and an early morning session to destroy my new perfect post-Lasik eyesight poring through tens and tens of useless websites.

sometimes i iron, sometimes i watch Martha Stewart, sometimes i shake my head watching Dr Phil, sometimes i get inspired watching Oprah, sometimes i laugh my ass off watching reruns of Third Rock from the Sun and sometimes i grab the kitchen scissors and snip off my butt-caressing curls in the bathroom.


and sometimes, i go, "what next, dali?"

i look for Archaeology or Psychology degrees i could possibly take up, i glide through possible career options online, i surf websites for products i'd like to sell in my shop (1), i read up extensively on charitable organisations i'd like to be a part of, i fantasise about having children sometime in the next five years - including adopting one.

the best and worst thing about being in your 20s is that you have the whole world in front of you and, you have the whole world in front of you.

i've given myself till 31st December to decide what i'll do next.

for now, i'm putting the house in order after weeks of slothing off on the sofa, walking aimlessly between the kitchen and the bathroom, getting lost in between - and i don't just mean forgetting why i went to the kitchen. after all, if your house is not in order - nothing else can be.



(1) the shop i'd open up if we were more sure about how long we're staying here in the gulf

pursuits of the pygal kind

i am butt-deprived.

last night, we ventured into the wild night of the desert to catch a long delayed date at the cinema. we watched The Break Up starring Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston. the movie was funny, excruciating and extremely exact. and i fell in love with the kitchen and white sofa of the movie set.

pros of watching a movie in dubai:
1. people do not chew their food out loud like some of the animals living in Singapore who occasionally wander into cinemas with large buckets of popcorn do.
2. they sell pancakes that you can bring into the theatre with you. never have i ever been so torn between a mouth-watering pancake and salted nachos with cheese, salsa and fresh jalapenos.
3. the theatre isn't overcrowded.
4. i did not freeze my ass off.
5. nobody checked their SMSes except for the lady beside me who politely left the theatre to continue with a very, very important telecommunication act.

cons of watching a movie in dubai:
1. they censored all the butts in the movie. i was counting on seeing JenA's hot naked butt and the delectable tush of the male model Marilyn Dean was sketching.
2. some parents bring their 9 year old kids to watch romantic comedies who become extremely engrossed in their own private conversations in Hindi.
3. movies cost as much as a full meal, or even twice as much, depending on the kind of daily cuisine one is used to. a ticket per person is DHS30, that's about SGD14. and this, on a weekday night. that's a couple of Big Macs.

several days ago, my beloved friend The Geologist casually asked if i wanted to join her in Nice.

NIS!!

hell, yeah. nothing like a walk (caution, poser speak commencing) along the beach on Promenade de Anglais or taking great snapshots at Cours Saleya and laughing our asses off at a sidewalk cafe taking all of the Mediterranean beauty in.

but i/we might be in for a disappointment. first, the flights are practically full - but there seems to be some alternatives. problem is, my passport. it's still being held back for the issuance of my Resident Visa here.

i wanna sink my teeth into a socca, terrorise my friend in the same box we're gonna live in and fully distract her from her Geology pursuits. i'm hopin' i get my passport back in time to book the non-refundable tickets.

and did anyone notice how beautiful Jamie Foxx's lips are?

what do they feed those pumpkins??

yes, i am quite the errant blogger.

as punishment to ravi's workaholic ways and addiction to his acer travelmate (which is, though warm, a poor substitute to a new wife who should be on his lap-top instead), i have whisked his travelmate away from him.

i do miss my mac.

it was 46 degrees celsius here yesterday. it is hot here and i am used to it. there was a magnificent sandstorm here yesterday. and let me tell you, opening your window to get a clearer picture is not, i repeat, not an intelligent way of taking pictures of a sandstorm.

for obvious reasons.

and today, we went to the Singapore Deli Cafe for, well, Singaporean food. managed to get nasi lemak and fantastic authentic sambal. the leaky nasal passages thereafter absolutely delighted me. not that i regretted asking for more sambal and was forced to finish most of it since i was too proud not to finish it after i had boldly asked for more in this sambal-less desert paradise.

i have switched interests, from Ellen DeGeneres to Martha Stewart. Martha has inspired me to grow giant pumpkins weighing 1450pounds.

to whet yer appetite, here's a shot of ravi and i escaping from everybody to the Summer House on our wedding day. the smiles came easy when we were away from the relatives who are always more concerned about themselves, about how they think the wedding should be - than they are about the actual bride + groom.

longest 10 minutes

paranoid, not really.
just careful, you know?
yeah, isn't that how each girl should be?
absolutely! or else who'd we have to blame?
ourselves of course.

there are times in a girl's life when she feels threatened walking home on her own and wonders if she's losing her mind. when she has a visual of herself violently knocking the side of her head trying to knock some sense into herself, "don't be paranoid."

but hey, this is Singapore, it's safe and thankfully, there are lights everywhere.

so it's 0100, i've gone home later than that before.

i pay the bill, i walk out of the restaurant, take a look around to see who's lurking, cross the road and start on my way back to the hotel. the road i take is a very quiet one. many trees, many shadows. i walk past a megamall that's a quiet shell of its day personality. i walk briskly, and my ears are perked up. i pick up footsteps behind me, i think nothing of it. after quite a distance, the footsteps are coming closer. still, i think nothing of it, two people can come from two different places and have the same destination in mind, right in the same moment.

but it's just not okay anymore when the faster you walk, the faster those echoing footsteps are.

i walk in the light, i come to a junction at the bottom of the slope. ahead is a pathway which is lovely in the day, shaded by low trees. but now, it's just too dark for my comfort. i decide i'd cross the road where the pathway is brightly lit and unobstructed by trees. to get to the hotel, i am crossing the road a little too early. at the side of my eye, i can actually see the man in a red polo shirt and jeans and his body language is strange, it is unsure, hesitant - worse, his footsteps slow down when i cross the road. is she going to enter that serviced apartments?

when it's obvious i have no such intention though i sure as hell make it look like i am heading that way, his footsteps hasten again.

ok, at this point of time, it just gets bloody hell creepy.

sometimes you think you are being followed, but you are able to ascertain very quickly that you are not and feel absolutely nothing thereafter. after 5-7 minutes, you're still unsure? chances are, you are right, you are being followed.

i enter a small road towards the hotel which leads to a dead end. i walk up the slope briskly and he walks faster than ever. i avoid the pathway altogether and walk on the road itself, it's so brightly lit by rows of lamp posts on either sides of the road.

the narrowing gap between us just makes my hair stand on end.

i tell myself, maybe Dali, just maybe, he's a hotel patron too. and you know what, if you are, muthafucka, it's not FUNNY scaring someone like that.

i walk faster up the slope, enter the hotel, glance over at the concierge, smile at the receptionist then find myself horrified that this stranger walks into the hotel. he asks the concierge something inaudible.

i head quickly to the elevators and hope i do not have to share a lift with him. the elevator door opens, i step inside and try to close the doors with one tap.

and then he appears.

a short tanned man with wavy hair and large glasses. late 20s - early 30s. long lashes, bushy eyebrows, shifty eyes. oh, and luscious lips. cant forget that.

now, i simply CANNOT enter a lift, OBVIOUSLY look at this guy and close the doors on him, what if he really is a guest of the hotel?

i hit open and the doors retract back to welcome him into the elevator capsule. happily for me, it's the see through elevator that all of the world can look into.

i smile and ask, "which floor?"

he hesitates.

i think, "what the fuck?" and i hope to God for his sake that he really stays here or i'm whacking the back of his head with my bag.

it's almost like he doesn't know what floor he stays on. he looks at all available floors, scans all the floors quickly, lands his eyes on the top row and says, "twelve. twelve." like it's a fucking relief he got his mojo back.

and i start thinking, "great Dali, great risk you're taking allowing this freak into the lift with you when there are three other lifts."

but instead, i say "ok", hit twelve and stay by the door. he walks in to the back of the elevator where the glass windows are. both of us have our arms crossed. i pretend i am relaxed.

i feel his eyes on me, he's watching me.

"are you afraid?"

and i'm thinking "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

the fucker smiles.

"excuse me?" i ask.
"are you afraid?" he repeats.
i pretend i haven't a clue and raise my eyebrows questioningly.
"are you afraid because i am following you?"
"i am not afraid, goodness, no!" and start laughing it off dismissively like i never thought he was following me in the first place. i am pretty sure i had not been obvious except for walking briskly and looking out for traffic.

ding. it's my floor, i say goodnight and leave the elevator. i hope he picked 12 because he's really staying on that floor, not that he was observing which floor i'd get off on or choose the floor after mine and run down the stairs quickly to my floor.