That’s me – complete with bad posture – in my corner of the world. Breakdown below.
Mixed Bag Vol. Who Knows?
Caitlin stayed over a couple of weeks ago and one afternoon, our helpers flung her into my bedroom and she, of course, was pleased to investigate Godma’s room – to see what goodies she could ransack. Needless to say, she got bored of my Gene Simmons doll, the mini Rubik’s cube and even the Beauty and the Beast DVD. Now, I love my god-daughter but without any ammunition, I had no clue what to do with this child.
So, we played dress up.
A hair-clip ingeniously held my short skirt together, she chose the purse, I chose the accessories and off she went to wake Gammy and Grampa.
I have a new favourite drink at Charlie’s (which for some reason, I’ve eaten at, like, 4 times in the last 3 weeks. It’s called Kopparberg, from the town proper in Sweden, and there are different flavours – the Pear rocks. (Wiki tells me this is the number one selling pear cider in the world!) It’s really good, give it a go – if you can’t remember the name when you get there, just ask for the “pear cider”. It comes in a can.
I have also managed to get my hands on a copy of Gleaming The Cube. Oh, the days when I was in love with Christian (Slater, at the time, not Bale), when skateboards were the rage, when Tony Hawk didn’t have video games… (Sidenote, I love how in this movie, Tony Hawk is in it and puts a Tony Hawk sticker on the plane window).
Here’s to yesterday.
Call for change.
I am not one of those people who change their phones every month. I do not go gaga over new technology (I sit here, typing on my iBook G4, circa 2004) and only recently had to get an Ipod Classic because my 3rd generation died.
So, the move from my good ol’ pink Sony Ericsson has not gone down well. Under much peer pressure from my sister and the sales assistant on why my phone is ridiculously outdated, I exchanged it for the Samsung F480 or Tocco. (Bear in mind, I had to research it a few days later to find out its name, it was merely the pink Samsung to me).
I was practically in tears walking away with this new phone and for the life of me, I have no clue why. I felt the same way when my iPod, Polly died but have since grown very fond of Polly Too – with its video that keeps me company on the train, God bless it. I get unusually attached to inanimate objects versus actual people.
So, here I am in the touch screen day and age, trying my best to come to grips that this is the way of the future – and I guess, I have to get used to it. I’m sure I will and eventually fall in love with it, but in the meantime, I’m transitioning.
So far, the biggest flaws are on the messaging interface – the “clear” button is next to the language button, so trying to delete something has led me to type in Bahasa. The “space” button is right above the “back” button – so I constantly have to cancel almost deleting the entire message.
The camera is 5 megapixels, which is impressive enough although the shutter speed is slightly slow at times so it’s not really click and go.
Other than that, it’s pink (which is always good for me). I know people may wonder why I, an Apple person, did not get an iPhone. I am an Apple elitist. I hate the entire mass bandwagon of Apple fans – the ones that get the iPod Touch or Nano, who started buying iMacs fresh from Windows and can barely use a Mac and now, get iPhones. I once sat next to a typical Uncle on the train, fiddling with his iPhone. As much as I’m glad that Apple is doing well – I like my Apple as a computer and storage/music player. That’s it.
Commitment, schmamittment.
Ok, so it’s no secret that I lack the commitment gene.
I am not one of those girly girls who listen to love songs, doodle their lovers names or dream of the perfect fairytale wedding. I am the Underground boot-stompin, drummer chick who used to write short stories about cannibalism and the only wedding dress I ever remember and admired was the one Stephanie Seymour wore in the November Rain video. I still think it’s a lovely dress, minus the early 90’s pouffy sleeves.
The simple truth is – it’s not even about relationships. It’s about me. I chose Starhub cable, not for its swift internet access (what horseshit speed) but because it offered the shortest contract – 6 months. Even though you can get nifty gadgets for signing up on the 2 year contract, the idea of signing up for anything before 6 months is unforeseeable, stifling and just way beyond my planning radar.
Same for my mobile phone – I would rather pay more to get the phone than sign up for a longer contract.
And the big question behind my whole twisted logic is: What if I want to change my mind? This is a question is burnt into my brain (and the brains of other like minded commitment phobes out there, I’m sure) about everything I do. It reared its ugly head yesterday when I was contemplating buying a fitness package.
I have all the imaginable qualities one might need to purchase a fitness package:
- The money to buy it
- The will to exercise (I have recently started a Monday dance class and want more)
- The accessibility to where I live – 2 train stops and I’m there
- The classes I’m interested in (low impact aerobics – very Olivia Newton John’s “Physical” – and yoga)
- The time to do it (with constant dog-sitters for Dolce)
- The extra kilograms to sacrifice
And yet, I froze.
The minute those words (“So, would you like to buy the 12 month package?”) came out of the salesgirl’s mouth, I felt the oh-so-familiar clamming of my throat and the urge to cardio-motor my ass outta there. And my verbatim response of, “I’ll think about it” popped out and she looked puzzled because my enthusiasm literally went from Hero to Zero in a nano-second. Short of expressing my commitment problems to the Amore Fitness salesgirl, I mumbled some excuse and fled the scene (with a quick contemplation of solace KFC).
So, it’s come down to: the 12 month package (in toto, about $750, equating to $15 a class – or as Liz said, “That’s a bag!”) or the 3 month package ($370, equating to $30 a class). So, now, it costs more to be this commitment phobic. Shouldn’t we be applauded for our open precaution and trepidation?
On the more positive side on commitment, I have already made appointments for a MAC makeover and hair styling in February. I have completed a health screening test (thanks to Mum for the wonderful gift), which included my first ever blood test (nothing creepy or painful about it at all!) and I have finally realised that self-tweezing of eyebrows is not that bad. The next thing to do is get on track to get my driver’s license and who knows, 2009 might actually be a productive year.
Of course, it’s only January.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ow1gS3m1ckM]
Nobody puts Baby in a corner.
I found myself recently excited that Step Up! was showing on tv. This led me to realise that I have long enjoyed the dance movie. I’m not talking Hannah Montana or High School Whatever – but good, old fashioned dance movies.
It started out with Grease. Spending school holidays with our (then, little) cousin Marc, who enjoyed the racing scene at the end of the movie but had to put up with the entire movie first, thanks to his two female cousins. We must have watched Grease about 3 times a day (before we turned to the Rocky obsession but that’s another story. Eye of the tiger, man! Eye of the tiger!).
And then, came Dirty Dancing. Till today, I can remember every word of the dialogue. What a great movie. (Johnny!)
The next dance movie I remember enjoying and definitely watching more than once was Save The Last Dance (except all that ghetto blaster shit).
The only modern day dance movie I enjoy, Step Up. I didn’t expect to like it but god help me, I’ve watched it more than 10 times now.
The formula gets clear after a while – you have the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, the pristine, virginal girl, friends who all seem to have nifty footwork – sparks fly, the boy fucks it up, makes it up and the big dance finish. And here’s a big dance finish for your viewing pleasure.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2SLWzZoDmhg]