Diary of a pretend bimbo

Prologue, at least here.

2011-01-24T20:12:00.004+10:00

Dear everyone,

I've tired of people silently stalking my blog and am constantly creeped out when acquaintances make references to my posts. As a result, I've stopped writing anything and everything that matters and am instead, only photo blogging to avoid controversy.

I like to swear and am happily politically incorrect and have my prejudices. I moved to a different country so I could just be, and am instead falling into the spiral of Doormat Jan again.

So I'm blogging privately now. If you want to read it, email me.

Love,

Jan

Maybe pigtails and giggles will pass me off for 19

2011-01-21T19:10:00.006+10:00

My life is currently inundated with changes, both real and potential. It's pretty crazy and about to get crazier soon.

Ah, the return to student life. After several unrewarding careers, I've decided to follow in my mother's footsteps. Orientation is next week - I'm a little nervous as I'll probably be a decade older than everyone else in class. Had I known I'd be having my student ID done that day, I'd have made a little more effort. Oh well. Maybe no one else will notice my giant pimple and crazy hair.

My beloved Honda Prelude, which saw me through moving two states away and then two states back, is on its last legs. X came over to have a look but the right back wheel is done for. I'll be selling/ scrapping it quite soon. On the bright side, no more vehicle-related expenses!

Just got my iPhone 4 and have been experimenting with camera function. Apart from its chronic habit of not responding to the WiFi, I'm very happy with it.

More flowers (made fancy with the Instacam app) taken on a stroll around Varsity Central, whilst waiting out C's interview.

Tequila shots at a housewarming party. Having always been a nibbler and sipper, this was a rush to the head.

The moley kitten at the Mt Gravatt Westfield pet shop. C and I marvelled at its resemblance to Enrique Iglesias (prior to mole removal, which I only just discovered when looking for a suitably similar comparison). The shop also had quakers, like little green chickens that sit on your shoulders that cost AUD550.

Surprised kitten

2011-01-18T14:56:00.001+10:00

Okay, I know this is old hat, but OMG THIS IS SO OFF THE CUTE-O-METER.

Cake and birds; no floods

2011-01-14T18:04:00.005+10:00

There was a spate of rain earlier last week, causing some crazy damage and over 50 people missing and 12 dead. Received an unexpected slew of concerned messages from Malaysia (including one from my high school English teacher!), feeling blessed. No flooding on the Coast and in fact, no more rain for now either.

C vs Chicken: *Mortal Kombat voice* Finish him!

(L - R): Cockatoos, gallahs, lorikeet. Birds galore!

A detour to Redlands Bay, after an impromptu trip to Sunnybank to satiate C's desire for duck. Very, very pleasant.

We were taking a stroll on Main Beach when we found a small crab. Now crabs are very jumpy creatures and tend to scuttle off at tiniest disturbance. So when we walked over to the inert crustacean and took an upclose picture, we assumed it was dead. My reaction was something akin to OMGITMOVEDITMOVED when it (very suddenly) did.

We also made a discovery - blue bottles pop, like scented napkin packets from Chinese restaurants, when stepped on. Not recommended for the bare-footed.

C and I made tiramisu. We feared mushiness, as purported by the reviews on the recipe and so halved the coffee and dipping time. The savioardi were just the right texture and the Frangelico (thank you Aunty Lil and Uncle Kev!) lent the cake a nice bite. It was the biggest cake we'd ever made and I truly didn't think believe we would ever finish it, but by golly, did my appetite prove my lack of faith wrong! The last square now awaits its fate on day 4.

Helped SC and DR on moving day. Being of a Completely Useless For Labour build, I was in charge of Tiger, their happy and playful kitty.

We set the mantis free. I guess he just wanted to make sure the photo we took of him was a nice one.

The cutest puppy ever. His last sleeping pose, the one I was trying to capture, was way cuter, with a snout and a paw pressed against the glass.

C finally sold my ancient Toshiba L300D laptop on eBay, for a rather handsome sum, I might add. With that, I managed to buy a brand new HP Mini 110-3538TU netbook, on which I'm blogging. Fortunately, I'm quite used to toggling between the iPod and laptop so the small size didn't take too long getting used to. The tiny keyboard however, is another story (apologies to everyone for IM typos).

I must add that this is awesome value for money at AUD388; this comes with 250GB of memory and a 6 cell battery (about 4.5 hours). And most netbooks are equal when it comes to other specs. Remember this people - it all boils down to battery life and looks.

This little spider was munching on a fly, with the carcasses of several prior conquests lending the web an ominous air.

Bird nest found today during a wandering ramble around the neighbourhood.

You know who doesn't love Steve Jobs?

2011-01-07T22:07:00.003+10:00

C is very much against my intention to get an iPhone 4, and everything Apple in general. I'm certain he's only a few days away from withholding sex into getting me to buy an Android phone.

C: You know who uses an iPhone? (insert name of obnoxious acquaintance), that's who! Do you want to become like her? Huh?

Jan: Have you sunken to that level already?

C: You know who doesn't use an iPhone? Barack Obama, that's who. And he's a pretty cool guy.

Jan: What if Nelson Mandela uses an iPhone?

C: Well, then he's a dick! I mean, the man wrote a book called Conversations With Myself.

Yeah, he did.

Jan: Well, Gollum doesn't use an iPhone.

C: He's better than Mandela then.

Jan: Are you comparing Gollum to Nelson Mandela?

C: ...

Doppelganger

2011-01-05T23:57:00.003+10:00

So yesterday, C and I were watching Happiness, a 1998 black comedy. From the first scene, I could not help but notice the uncanny resemblance between Jane Adams and my boyfriend. The large, sleepy eyes, the thin face and nose...

Here, you judge for yourself.

Good grief, even the positions of the eyes and eyebrows are congruent. Ignore girly pose.

* Credit to C, for being a sport and for composite image. I ♥ you, honey.

The start of another decade

2011-01-03T20:04:00.005+10:00

NYE was always such a huge event for me. Drinks and dinner out with friends (or whichever douchebag I was dating then), usually at Bangsar, the climatic countdowns, the sweaty hugs from friends and strangers, the euphoria perhaps stemming more from the prospect of a new slate, than a year well spent.

The past couple of NYEs have been less than memorable, mostly spent on recovering from flights and trips. And given that I'm about to spend a 5 digit sum on my course next year, C and I had a rather low key celebration this year, living the house only to catch the rather uninspiring fireworks (The Spit, Marina Mirage, Surfers Paradise) on the Broadwater.

My last bowling session was an awkward episode 11 years ago (I flung the ball backwards). Hence the overreactions to my hitting anything at all. C was much more adept though, and scored a couple of strikes.

All of us at the table were mildly embarrassed by SC's antics.

A typical day on the Gold Coast - skater dude, beach-goer, fat person.

C left his lights on and needed me to jump start his car, which turned into an ordeal of sorts, given my car's history of chronic un-ignition-ness.

Big ass spider molt at the Botanical Gardens off Ashmore Road.

Non-duck.

It was turtles galore that day. Some guy made small chat, claiming it was his first turtle sighting. Having experienced this, I found it a little hard to believe.

Marsupials at the Coombabah Lakelands. We got surprisingly close. Should have brought food.

The duh roo, with his cocked ear.

Molted cicada shells; I'd never noticed them before, but they are indeed a dime a dozen.

A flea-free cat is a contented kitty.

For a chronic dose of cuteness

2010-12-28T10:35:00.001+10:00

We live in Singapura

2010-12-27T17:11:00.000+10:00

I may not be Singaporean, but we are pretty much the two only nationalities who can appreciate the awkward beauty of bahasa rojak.

Our first Christmas together and other stories

2010-12-26T17:22:00.003+10:00

What the beach looks like when you manage to convince a beach-hater to go on a long walk with you. Next up: rainbows and unicorns!

Cheese and cumin sticks from RD's mum. Tastes strangely like murruku.

I took C out for dinner in very Hefner-esque, cheap boudoir restaurant. Mediocre food, but a nice night out anyway.

What a defeated cat looks, post-shower.

Nibblies at Aunty Lil and Uncle Kev's. The shortbread in the foreground was made by us.

Rosey (L) and Moo Moo (R).

KG was clearing out 3 tonnes of bricks and dead plant matter in the process of his renovations. It's amazing what a long and arduous process it was getting rid of the stuff.

Galileo's thermometer. Very fascinating. As the temperature rises, the baubles, filled with different fluids, fall. Each bauble is numerically tagged.

Our Christmas cards carefully balanced, where the cat would not get them. A flea-bitten cat is an angry Grinch.

Photo taken by C's dad, at his family home, where we spent Christmas.

This is Cat (aka Cool Cat, or Cattenborough). If he likes you, you get head nuzzles, kitty kisses and throaty miaows.

Christmas lunch - ham, turkey and roasted vegetables. Yums.

One of our favourite gifts, from C's folks - almost too cute to use.

The best Valentino quote ever

2010-12-24T01:22:00.003+10:00

(best appreciated when said out loud in a bad Italian accent with lots of hand gestures)

When asked what advice he would pass on to young designers in Harpers Bazaar,

"... they take a piece of cloth, pin, pin, pin and they make a big pouf and to try to get rid of everything, they put a huge belt. No, no, no."

The immigrant's Christmas

2010-12-21T19:07:00.010+10:00

For whenever a Malaysian politician spouts another embarrassing quotable, I become Chinese. And whenever we come across another FOB (fresh off boat) mainlander doing something mortifying in public (like sucking meat off KFC bones noisily), I am Malaysian. And for the purposes of avoiding yet another drunk come-on, I develop an Australian accent (Aussie women are fierce).

I've never felt like I fit in anywhere. I wasn't Christian enough in church. I wasn't Chinese enough to hang out with the Ah Bengs and Ah Lians. I wasn't good-looking or well to do enough to be part of the cool kids. I wasn't focussed enough to be a nerd. I wasn't conformist enough to blend in with my ex-colleagues. For much of my life, I flitted between social groups, tailoring my mannerisms to suit my companions du jour.

Similarly here, I remain not ________ enough to be with the ___________. Yet now I understand why the Gold Coast feels like home. We're a motley crue of everyone from everywhere, all in search of a more coastal lifestyle. Almost everyone I know here was born somewhere else. C's dad moved from the UK as a six and a half year. C was born 2,300 km away, in Tasmania. RD is Slovakian. SK is from Slovenia. SE grew up in South Africa and Sydney. KG spent the first half his life in Adelaide. X spent his childhood in the States and Sydney. TF and I grew up a suburb apart.

We are not united by culture, nor common language. Not religion, sometimes not even interests. Perhaps all we share, is the very act of upping and moving somewhere else. Of building a life for ourselves, unencumbered (or at least less encumbered) by our pasts. Of the freedom anonymity affords. And in this rootlessness, we are blessed to find love in our chosen families.

This Christmas, I am not attending any obligatory functions, nor buying presents because it is expected of me. Instead, I am carving out my own traditions and choosing to spend time with the few people I care about here.

And this Christmas finally feels like my own.

Dogs and cats

2010-12-18T23:38:00.002+10:00

This caused C to tear. The video below is just off the cute spectrum.

We also showered the cat today. Fleas. He reacted surprisingly well and does not hate us, though we were taken aback by the decibels of the initial alarmed miaows.

Heat and humidity

2010-12-11T18:58:00.000+10:00

Last week flew by with errands and visits and visitors. This week was nicely lethargic, aptly reflected by the cat's perma-belly up position.

Apple and rhubarb pie, made with love. C's folks came over for dinner and were served korma curry and the first roti canai I'd had in a long, long time. Unfortunately, the process went something like this:

Jan: Let's ask your parents over for dinner!

C: Okay.

(2 days before dinner)

Jan: We don't have enough plates! Let's buy some!

C: ...

(2 hours before dinner)

Jan: We don't have a dining table or enough chairs!

C: This was your idea!

Luckily, they were extremely gracious guests and acted as if balancing hot Indian curry on their knees was a normal dinner ritual.

C and I had health check ups. I was given the option of a pap smear, which I duly took. A little weird but really not that bad at all. It detects HPV, y'all. My grandma died of cervical cancer, so it was nice to have this on the government.

Banana cake with cream cheese frosting. Divine.

Some hors d'oeuvres served by my French teacher for our last class. I finally tried foie gras. Much better than pate, but I can't get over the fact a poor goose was tortured to produce the stuff. Also discovered that good marzipan and bad marzipan are a thousand miles apart.

Purr-ito!

C and I escaped the hot weather with a fairly impromptu trip to the Currumbin Rock Pools. Many scrapes and bruises whilst being checked out by teenagers.

WTF EPF

2010-12-10T18:49:00.003+10:00

I was looking up some information on the EPF site today. I'm torn between appreciating the whole semangat rojak going on and feeling embarrassed that my government can't even standardize their language on a public website.

Slow cooker tattoos

2010-12-02T23:06:00.004+10:00

Emperor Moe does kitty porn. You have no idea how many times visitors exclaim over his girth, which is apparently dog-like.

C and I did Chocolate Mousse Cake with Coffee Mascarpone. Ugliest cake ever, but with 0.5kg of dark chocolate, sooooo rich and calorific we can only nibble a few teaspoons of the stuff each day.

The blue bottles are back!

Lunch at RD's. Baguette with chived omelette, pickles, radish and coriander and bow-ties with pancetta and onion. SO GOOD.

Powered paraglider on Main Beach.

To explain the strange moniker, it's located in a suburb named Runaway Bay.

The children's meals come with tiny colouring pencils!

The boyfriend and the cat and the other book from the guy who wrote the very excellent Everything Is Illuminated (found movie atrociously boring though). A good read so far.

The cat decided that the best way to gain our attention would be to sit in the centre of the 1000 piece puzzle we'd just started.

Osso bucco and mash on part of our new dinner set.

Jan: Your fifth tattoo should be of this pattern on the dinner plate.

C: So we can commemorate how domestic we are?

Jan: Yes.

C: How about I get the slow cooker done instead?

Random things

2010-11-24T23:02:00.005+10:00

Whilst deciding which files will survive my laptop reformatting, I came across these little pieces of photographic nostalgia.

A view of the Gold Coast from the Q1 with KG.

Riga, from PVDB's trip.

Me and my two little munchkin friends, who are now married (!!!). Tioman in 2005. On the hellish bus ride to the jetty, I sat by an ulamah who screamed his head off because I wearing a sleeveless tee and three quarter pants. Seriously.

The same trip. Brocolli island in the distance as we do a G-rated moon.

On a 3 day, 2 night liveaboard on the Great Barrier Reef in 2006, earning my diving licence. Photo taken by X. Note ridiculously tall Dutch people in surrounds.

One of my most favourite photos ever. The lick was unexpected and very welcome. Singapore 2006 with KJ.

Sigh. The new wing of MidValley. I miss the gigantic centres of mass consumption. And European high street brands.

Pavilion, all shiny and new. Let's hope their management checks for reindeer testicles for this Christmas' decorations.

My French class on the last day of the last term.

The roost is currently ruled by Emperor Moe, as SK, our flatmate has returned to Slovenia. Moe is a bit of an arsehole, but we love him to bits anyway. He alternates between shredding my arm for no apparent reason to acting like ~~a tempura prawn~~.

"Hi! I'm a cute kitty! Please disregard the fact I just scratched you, left fur all over your fingers so you couldn't use your iPod Touch, constantly interrupt you by sitting on whatever you're doing and then bit you... and feed me. And clean my poo."

"No? Imma seal! How can you resist a cute little furry seal?"

Damn You Auto Correct

2010-11-23T10:00:00.001+10:00

This site should be spread generously. Like love and peanut butter.

Sunny Coast

2010-11-19T05:23:00.000+10:00

We were invited to spend a few days in Bundaberg where it was apparently turtle-hatching season, but a miscommunication (i.e. they left their phone at home) led to a slight change in plans.

We headed to the Glasshouse Mountains first.

Bluer than blueberries

Weird wormy looking patterns on a tree

My favourite photo of the lot

The weather was ridiculously sticky and hot. We wound up driving around in minimal clothing. We took the advice of a tour guide and headed along the scenic route through to Montville, Mapleton and Maleny. These were very lovely, quaint tourist-friendly towns. Very Dandenong Ranges-ish.

The Mary Cairncross Park was a well worth the drive.

C under a magnificent, centuries-old strangler fig.

Dreamily floaty fungi all along a fallen log

Mushroom clusters tucked into the tree buttress

The roots look very much like a serpentine tongue, no?

Stink bug

More mushies

The rear end of a pademelon, a kind of marsupial. Very adorable. We sighted a family of three and three others separately.

We then drove through Bli Bli (yes, that's the name of a real town. There's even one called Obi Obi, but I couldn't be bothered making such an enormous detour) to get to the coastal towns. We settled at renting a room for AUD56 at Sunshine Beach. Fortunately enough, no one else took the other room so we got the entire house to ourselves. It was no Hyatt but it sure beat sleeping in the car.

Whilst I do live near the Broadwater, there is something so soothing, so comforting about sand between my toes, the waves gently lapping at my ankles and the seemingly infinite vastness of the ocean. It was very nice to wake up to a stroll on the beach.

After a rather uneventful dinner at Pizza Capers (nice meal ruined by a rather lookatmelookatme roach, duly squashed by C's boot), we took the long way to the famed Hastings St (i.e. we got lost). The conversation makes a lot more sense if you remember I was driving in the dark.

Jan: Why is the light flashing?

C: *totally nonchalant* I think because the bridge is up to let the ferries through.

Jan: WHY ARE THERE FERRIES HERE?

Anyway. It was my bad. I had assumed the beachfront area would be called The Esplanade like all the other touristy coastal towns (Cairns, Gold Coast, Caloundra), but the GPS led us to bloody North Shore instead.

After strolling up and down the lovely street, admiring things we couldn't afford, we settled down at Santi's for a drink. His James Squire beer and my hot chocolate in the foreground.

The next day was blessedly enough, a Wednesday. I had wanted to go to the Eumundi Markets for ages, in spite of lacklustre reviews.

It was AWESOME. Loads of interesting, one-off items and food, glorious food.

Freshly fermenting ginger beer, yum.

Ridiculously expensive pancakes (AUD8 for 12). Yum.

Cool stall with interesting plants. They had loads of carnivorous plants too, the sort you read about on the National Geographic - sundews, the Venus Flytrap, pitcher plants, all surprisingly tiny, their legends having morphed into larger than life monsters in my fertile imagination.

Yummy German sausage in background and fried Tibetan momos, another item crossed off my list

How do roses thrive in 28C heat?

We went through Mooloolaba and Caloundra on our way back, even stopping for a quick dip. And then off we were again, to Bribie Island. Which was like a Manly (Sydney, not Brisbane), but much further away. It was quite strange to see land from a western shore - I've never stepped foot on Western Australia.

The Seaside Museum

The trip ended with roast chicken eaten with fingers and strawberry ice cream on cheap cones. C gets extra bonus points for being sweet and patient ~~and not maiming anyone~~ with me (having part of your thumb grated off is surprisingly debilitating).

Ne pas s'oublier sans rien dire

2010-11-18T22:40:00.002+10:00

Oh, and C got a car!

2010-11-14T19:02:00.005+10:00

At the Eddie Kornhauser park with C, just before his dad's birthday party. Our Star Wars card (A long, long time ago... *cue theme music* You were born.) was well-received.

Boofta the Poofter - his nose always up someone's skirt.

After a sleepless night on my part, C and I set off to Byron Bay to do the usual boring touristy thing. But first a stop at the local op shop so I didn't look ridiculously overdressed in a hippy town (ombre size 10 skirt worn as a dress, with a child's belt). I hadn't been up Cape Byron for ages though. The downpour had us scurrying down the hill, soaked.

3 hours of sleep, 1 hour of watching C dozing peacefully, admiring his tenacity to sleep through trucks, traffic and noisy neighbours, lawn mowers and the cat playing hopcrotch and I was up at 6am for a 2 hour long walk.

I think it's an egret.

Moe rests on the power supply box. Then awoke our guest late at night by placing a curious paw on his head. And us, via hopcrotch.

I needed a haircut, so Aunty Lil made an outing of it. We headed to this Korean place in Sunnybank Plaza. And I then remembered why I hate going to Asian hairdressers.

Jan: Well can you keep the length, but thin it a little? Also, the back keeps tangling...

Hairdresser: ?

Jan: I mean, don't make it too short, but layer it maybe? Just get rid of the tangled bits.

Hairdresser: ?

Jan: ... nevermind. Just do it like that lady beside me.

It turned out very similar to Ramona Flowers' hairstyle, which was a blessing since C and I are massive fans of Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (how can anyone not fall in love with Michael Cera?).

Aunty Lil's creepy foot growth, which moves. Like a movie prop from a B grade movie.

Our foray with the slow cooker was a success! Beef ribs and vegetables.

Rabbit dropping cake. I kid. The recipe called for 2 punnets of blueberries. At AUD7.99 each, I was about to call it quits but we spotted this wonderous invention known to the common world as canned fruit, at a fraction of the price.

A lovely little nook nearby with very decent AUD5 weekend breakfasts (sausage, bacon, tomato, mushooms, toast and egg) and cheap drinks. I'm too selfish to publicise the location though, so email me if you want to know where it is.

Christmas decorations all up already.

A mishap with the Very Awesome Grater. C has officially forbidden me from all kitchen appliances involving sharp blades. Fortunately, the removed epidermis did not fall into the grated cheese but stuck firmly to the blade (unlike the Salad Incident '02). The wound is fairly sizeable and a bit of a bleeder. Brushing one's teeth left-handedly is a nightmare.

The other day at Robina

2010-11-09T13:22:00.002+10:00

I was observing some fake moles at a novelty shop. These came with hairs on them, not unlike the one on my brother's face, which I fear mine may morph into.

Someone then stroked my hair.

Now, C is very much a cat person and therefore has a habit of stroking my head and scratching me behind the ears. I have long learnt to stop taking offense at this and instead accept the fact that there will come a day, when he kisses the cat and pats me on the head.

ANYWAY. I turn around and this old lady is standing there, with an expression of utter horror, her hand still frozen in the air. Her grandson stood obliviously nearby. "I'm so sorry! Your hair looked too nice to be real! I thought it was a wig and I was going to pull it off!"

At this I looked around, wondering if I had unwittingly placed myself in the wig section. This is a novelty shop, after all. Nope, no wigs.

I suddenly recalled the time I was 12, innocently checking out some books at the PJ Big Bookshop when someone hugged me from behind. Like full body hug. Then a kiss on the head. You should have seen the guy's face when I turned out not to be his girlfriend.

"That's okay. It happens to me more often than you think."

The plastic stick in my arm

2010-11-05T02:11:00.000+10:00

Okay girls and boys, today we talk business: birth control. Whilst we will not speak of the act that necessitates the procedure, I shall talk you through my experience with Implanon.

After a bit of research, I decided upon it because:

a) It's the most cost effective: AUD290 for 3 years, with AUD130 reimbursed by Medicare.
b) No other steps necessary: Most oral contraceptives need to be taken daily, in a timely fashion.
c) Has 0.02% chance of failure.

I had a half hour consultation with a very nice doctor at the Gold Coast Women's Health Centre and had a surgery scheduled for the next Monday in spite of my doubts. The list of possible side effects is ridiculously long; I was in a happy place, physically and mentally and did not wish to rock that boat.

Come Monday, C came along dutifully for the obligatory hand holding. Whilst the implant itself is only about 4cm long, the applicator comes with a DO NOT BE ALARMED BY SIZE OF APPLICATOR warning.

I was duly alarmed.

The anaesthetic shot was quite painful. C's enthusiastic exclaimations of horror were most unhelpful. I cringed and looked the other way. Now, anaesthesia and I occasionally don't get along (i.e. Lasik surgery), so I was relieved to feel nothing during the actual insertion but C's firm grip on my left ankle.

Only after I got over the queasiness of having a foreign object in my body, did I permit C to describe in great detail, how the applicator looked probing around through my skin (really gross, huge and invasive - see bruise below).

Jan: Can I drive home?

Doctor: Of course!

Jan: ...

Doctor: ... I mean you can't do any cooking or housework for a week.

Jan: A month?

Doctor: I mean, a month. Right.

C: I'll take care of her. (He made me instant noodles for dinner.)

Anyhow it's been about six weeks or so now.

The little dot is the extent of my scarring

Pros

- Not preggers

Cons (all chronic - some days I'm totally fine)

- Weight gain: Yet to be quantified because I illogically enough, believe that knowing the actual number will realise the gain. But my shorts which could previously be removed sans unbuttoning is now tight. I do believe much of this is water retention though - the day to day fluctuation is simply too great to be actual fat.

- Joint pain: Mostly my left wrist, now extended to several fingers. One morning, I couldn't even squeeze the toothpaste out. Ibuprofen to the rescue!

- Headache: Only occured twice so far. But completely debilitating - I spent two whole days in bed.

- Acne: Slightly worse than before.

- Bleeding: This is the worst one. According to some forum posts, it's not uncommon for some women to experience it for the entire duration of the implantation. My doctor had assured me mine was unlikely to be bad, given my size and normal period cycle. WRONG. Like everything else, it comes and goes. But mostly stays. Now I just gaze wistfully at the ivory 300 threadcount Egyptian cottons. A girl still can dream.

Conclusion: I'm lazy; it was the right choice for me. Another common side effect is depression. Strangely enough, C claims that I'm a lot more cheerful now (though it's more likely due to the fact he met me when I was PMS-ing and heartbroken).

Community

2010-11-03T22:01:00.002+10:00

"By the way Jeff, I think your shirt's trying to get out of your pants."

Has anyone seen Mike Hunt?

2010-11-02T11:33:00.004+10:00

Aunty Lil and I were discussing swear words (amongst other things). She believes "the c-word" is worse than the f one. C agreed. I'm immune to any shock value common swear words may offer and am much more impressed with aptly-used, slightly obscure adjectives (current favourite: obtuse).

Anyway I looked up this c-word in the name of research and Wikipedia coughed up this little gem. Aussie politics: awesome stuff.

Even Parliaments are not immune from punning uses; as recalled by former Australian prime minister Gough Whitlam:

Never in the House did I use the word which comes to mind. The nearest I came to doing so was when Sir Winton Turnbull, a member of the cavalleria rusticana, was raving and ranting on the adjournment and shouted: "I am a Country member". I interjected "I remember". He could not understand why, for the first time in all the years he had been speaking in the House, there was instant and loud applause from both sides.

A week of miscellany

2010-11-01T13:26:00.007+10:00

Remember the gallah our friend Mike rescued? Chup Chup is now fully recovered, has done 2,000km on the road and in perfect health. He was released this morning back into the wild.

One of the twin lions at the gates of Castle Rumble.

The aforementioned Castle Rumble.

C's friends got married in a rather unorthodox wedding, The ceremony involved some sort of "binding" where the salmon of wisdom was mentioned. You can't see from here but the groom wore a LOT of make up. Not to mention about half a head taller than C, who is 6' 2".

(The __ tile is an E)

C was being ~~disturbingly~~ obscene during Scrabble. Incidentally, I won the last game by using all my tiles by spelling out HITTING. Attached to an S. C cleared the board before I managed to take a photo.

A tranquil little spot near home away from the madding crowd.

A bouquet ~~stolen~~ gathered during a morning stroll.

Chocolate fondue at Max Brenners. I never thought I'd say this, but there is such a thing as too much chocolate.

Lebanese food at No-No's on Red Hill. Pretty decent and probably authentic, looking at the customer demographic.

C: What part of Burlesque implies ugly women?

Jan: Probably the burly part.

Guitar shop:

PUSH

Heavy Door

From Mental Institution

A view of Paddington, my vision of happy suburbia. Paddington in Sydney is my vision of happy suburbia sans kids.

C and I made pancakes. We are now being disturbingly domestic, cemented by buying a SLOW COOKER together, from Target no less. How scary is that?

SE is always a comfort to be around, especially during minor crises. We found Mr Puffer Fish on our walkie (yes, we name things). Then we did Asian Poses with him. He would have made a great substitute for a Jack 'o' Lantern.

Update: She's decided to name him Charles instead. Oh well.

And the pièce de résistance. Just so you know, he came up with this caption on his own. It is quite apt though. Just look at the cat's expression.

Conversations with my mother

2010-10-29T09:12:00.003+10:00

DISCLAIMER: My mother and I ♥ each other very much. We just enjoy the odd nonsensical variation of the lectures/ monologues she gives me (usually pertaining to my declining state of spirituality/ what other people think of me/ how much our or her friend's relatives make).

Ma: For heavens sake, if you intend to do such things, don't broadcast them. Don't forget your father and I are alive and kicking!

Jan: That's very un-... nevermind.

Ma: You were about to say unfortunate weren't you?

Jan: Yes.

Ma: Bad girl! You might as well drown your own parents!

Jan: Don't worry Ma. When you die, I will have you cremated and flush your ashes down the toilet.

Ma: Don't talk nonsense.

Jan: Oh alright. I know you want to your urn to be beside Aunty Kim's. I'll even mix your ashes together and give it a little shake.

Ma: I changed my mind. I'm divorcing Aunty Kim.

Later on,

Ma: Don't be such a donkey.

Jan: But as my mother, if I'm a donkey, what are you?

Ma: ...

Nostalgia

2010-10-28T19:50:00.003+10:00

It's strange how with this whirlwind of change around me, how constant my music is. How some selections have remained the same since high school, some perhaps dating back to an mp3-less childhood.

And the power a certain composition of notes have, to overwhelm me with memories. I am fairly selective about the selections (pun totally unintended) on my playlist, so every entry is a quiet little victory, often attached to an emotional event of some sort, sometimes personal, sometimes gleaned from of a soap opera character.

This Conversation by The Submarines, of the sad, tender parting between X and I, of when I quietly brought up the subject we had been avoiding all along.

Soft Rock Star by Metric, of trying times in a large soulless corporation, to whom I was nothing more than a replaceable drone. Telling myself that there was no need to "shine before swine".

Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band, of MF dictating my music choices, and correctly so, in between ice cream, waffles and chicken chop at Madam Kwans.

The Hole In Your Roof by Augie March, of standing under a pitch black sky, beholding the full glory of the Milky Way.

Edge of The Ocean by Ivy, of standing on Cape Byron, of being blown away by the blueness, the infinity of it all, of God's glory and the beauty of this world.

Babylon by Angus and Julia Stone, of long Melbourne tram rides, of St Kilda, of moody skies and of long, long conversations with KG, with my heart in Queensland all the while.

Kite by U2, of lying on a golf course under a stormy sky in Pangkor, my friends by my side, my 16 year old heart having been crushed the first time.

Dancing In The Moonlight by Toploader, of that fateful trip to Sydney, of leaping up and down on the hotel bed in sheer exuberance.

Elevator Love Letter by Stars, of all the times I worked late into the night, compensating for someone else's incompetence/ love of coffee or cigarette breaks/ feigned illness. I am very glad to be rid of Malaysian work ethic. Hopefully for good.

There we are

2010-10-22T23:29:00.008+10:00

The title of this post bears no significance whatsoever. C just happens to like muttering the phrase to himself while slaying beasts on Darksiders (and whilst baking date, walnut and banana cake), in that funny faux British way he does.

The car survived, happily enough, with minimal lasting damage on both vehicle and pocket. Thought I'd pimp my awesome mechanic out. Ross McNaught is a genius and a kind soul. Instead of charging me AUD500+ for the damage (panel beaters needed to be brought in) or alternatively, giving up on me, he fixed the entire thing himself for less than half that price. I was this close to springing a hug on the man.

C and I went chair hunting and found this little gem for half price at Officeworks.

This is what happens when a very white guy decides to date a sun loving girl, sans sunscreen.

My first attempt at carrot cake, one of my all time favourites. Yums.

C took me out for Thai on the Broadwater. Good stuff, though I really need to stop overestimating my tolerance for spice.

Sitting off Seaworld Dr with SK, whiling the day away.

C and I randomly decided to take the turn off to Tambourine, which led to our little excursion to the Skywalk. At AUD18.50 per pax for a glorified 1.5km walk, it's not something I would choose to do again but we did have fun.

Strangler figs: cool.

Mud cake at the Skywalk cafe.

After that, we got a little lost looking for this nice Botanic Garden I had wanted to show C. I usually head north towards Tambourine, so I mucked up the directions (we spent the morning in Logan).

I particularly like this photo.

A wheelbarrow of pretty weeds.

This is the grumpiest gallah ever. Mike, our temporary flatmate who returns to Sydney today (so he can bring all the fish back) rescued this baby bird fom a field. He appeared to have tumbled out of his nest and seemed stunned fo the first couple of days. He now squawks at regular intervals for attention.

Um.

Emperor Moe sinks his claws into my dress, demanding to be petted. I acquiesce, as always.

The central Gold Coast Highway is currently jammed up with bogans and flashers. The Indy races are on for the weekend. This ferris wheel was erected atop a random building in Surfers in conjunction with the event.

Literal version

2010-10-21T22:21:00.002+10:00

Thanks to C, trawler of internets and all useless information. I had tears streaming down my cheeks for this one.

If only fear was an adequate form of prevention

2010-10-20T11:22:00.002+10:00

Parenting has been a question on my mind of the late. (Disclaimer: I AM NOT PREGNANT. REPEAT, I AM NOT PREGNANT) In fact, to ensure this state of non-pregnancy, I've undergone minor surgery which apparently has better chances of preventing conception than abstinence.

Yeah, I wonder about that too.

But I digress. Instead, what I've been pondering on relates to the actual raising of a child. The values passed on. A few days ago, my mother asked me if she failed me as a parent. Some ten years ago as an angry adolescent, I would have jumped at the opportunity to rub salt in the wound. Now in clearer hindsight, I realise I was blessed, that my parents had tried their best to ensure they didn't fail me the way their parents failed them. And in turn I too, will try my best to avoid all the pitfalls my parents made. That no one is perfect, that all we can do is our best.

Possibly a side effect of this aforementioned surgery (the hormones get messed up), but I've been looking at people differently. In terms of Would I Want This Person Near My Child. And of course should I choose to be pedantic about it, no one would be let near my offspring, not even I (possibly I'll just get SE to become godmother and get her to raise them instead). But things that irk me most are selfishness, self centredness (this coming from a person who writes a navel gazing blog), discourtesy, a lack of empathy, irresponsibility, amongst others. When I meet people who exhibit these values, I wonder what went wrong in their upbringing. The millions of variables, the lacking constants. I mean, some psychopaths have had happy childhoods, so who's to say what will happen regardless of all I may do?

I have friends who are completely laissez-faire about their kids; I know people who raise their children with an iron fist. I wonder if I'll be an adequate parent. There is a program in the US which pays drug addicts USD200 to get sterilised, to avoid them perpetuating the earth with their defective gene pools. I am sad to say a part of me agrees to this. But where is the love and forgiveness?

Chaos is eye opening

2010-10-14T19:53:00.003+10:00

C and I have just moved in together, hence the lack of updates. It is truly ironic how the more I have to write home about, the less likely I am to find the time to actually pen it down.

What happens when the cup noodle is upgraded by the cup noodle connoisseur.

Mr Shrimp comes out of hiding.

Fried bananas at Shogun. C and I are starting a Date Night routine where we each take a turn to bring the other party out.

There was some strange exhilaration involved in exploring my new surroundings in the most blustery day in a while. A passerby jokingly worried that I would get blown away whilst wishing me a good morning. The storms were accompanied by random sproutings of mutant mushrooms everywhere.

My self appointed proxy parents and their (most misleadingly) evil looking dog, Rosey.

C had the best time torturing Boofa the cat with the laser pointer. Poor Boofa climbed walls, chased madly and batted wildly to no avail.

The view from the walk along the water.

Emperor Moe at our new pad.

Orchestration of this tiny walk in closet was much more complicated than you would imagine. I blame X for leaving me with anal laundry compulsions.

KG's new, ridiculously expensive washing machine. I finally moved all my stuff from his house today, indicating the end of an era. We stood at my balcony for a moment to quietly contemplate this. I must say he has spared no effort in being helpful, supportive and overall, a good friend. I have been blessed with the most considerate, kindest ex partners here.

The car is convalenscing at the auto repair shop for time being, having suffered a bump, which led to the headlight being jammed, which led to it repeatedly trying to right itself, which led to a drain on my battery, which led to my not being able to start the car today, which led to my call to the RACQ, which led to this conversation.

RACQ lady: How can I help you?

Jan: Oh um, I banged the car on Sunday... or was it Monday? Anyway it worked fine but then this morning it wouldn't st-

RACQ lady: Hold on there. Your car wouldn't start?

Jan: Yeah, it might be because I bang-

RACQ lady: Your car won't start. That will be all that is necessary. Because accidents aren't covered by your policy. So we'll start again. Your car won't start.

Jan: ... yes. My car won't start.

RACQ lady: Less is more. Remember to only say your car wouldn't start if the man asks.

Jan: Okay.

... which led to me omitting vital information to the RACQ guy, which led to him deriving an inaccurate conclusion, which led to me rushing to hunt down a mechanic after being jump started, which leads to this bus timetable I will need tomorrow to attend French class.

Stalking the purple patch

2010-10-08T11:09:00.003+10:00

I miss Federation Walk already.

The lowest car I have ever seen on the road.

At the Pacific Fair restroom. Whatever will marketing come up with next?

C has size 13 feet. I duly gave him a pedicure whilst we watched Better Off Ted, the most awesome series ever to be prematurely cancelled. Why, ABC, why?!

Um, apparently those are beer cartons.

Guess which one my boyfriend is. Hint: He doesn't wear pink.

The inaugral annual Thai Food Festival. I had yummy satay skewers with peanut sauce and glutinous rice. PS will attest to my love of satay. Especially when you have MYR100 of coupons during your primary school food fest and an insatiable appetite.

Patrick: I think that lady likes purple.

Jan: What gave you the idea?

Gelare! I have many fond memories of this place. They used to have a branch in Bangsar, where Mark, Di, K, B, H and I would enjoy the waffles on 50% off Tuesdays (discount only applicable on waffles, not ice cream, wily bastards). I soon discovered it to be an extremely efficient way to gain 20lbs.

South East Queensland was plagued by an unusual amount of rain, forcing me to actually use my beloved polka dotted umbrella.

C and I spent a day in Brisbane, with the intention to do "something random". Part of this involved being distracted by what I thought was a patch of lavender (no, but it smelt nice and herby) in the Botanic Gardens and its inhabitants.

Two beetles and a caterpillar.

Spider. There were tons of them, in varying colours and sizes. Back in the day during primary school, I used to spend recesses wondering around the school, my myopic eyes squinting in search of colourful tropical arachnids in the potted plants.

My lousy phone camera failed to capture the spider (out of focus in the centre), but I like the end result anyway.

Bzzz.

EWWWW.

Giant ~~tarantula~~ spider noming a bee.

Following photo credits to C:

The afterglow

We couldn't tell if they were mating or trying to eat each other.

Bzzz, the sequel.

Flufffffffff.

Quotables today

2010-10-06T22:42:00.002+10:00

DR: Don't contaminate my meat with your vegetables!

* * *

SC: I like tomato juice because it tastes like tomatoes.

* * *

C: I can't wait to marry you and fill you up with babies!

Jan: ...

C: You aren't running away.

Jan: You're holding my hand.

Gullible

2010-10-04T07:59:00.008+10:00

I'm currently hunting for a new home, having left my temporary sanctuary (it was near the beach, the cafes, the marina, the mall, Federation Walk and most importantly, contained SE, the loveliest person in the world). My landlord, possibly the nicest man when sober, is an abominable drunk.

Jan: I'm moving out today. Because you pissed on the couch and floor and you act super creepy when you're drunk.

ML: That's okay, you don't have to move! You can sleep in my bed!

Jan: ...

ML: I won't touch you. Not that I don't want to, because of course I do.

Jan: Like I said, I'm moving out today.

So whilst crashing at C's for time being, I've been flatshare-hunting. Which led me to this amazing deal. At AUD500/ month, for what appeared to be fully furnished room at this place.

It was a few hundred metres to the beach and shops at the most central location ever. I liked the facade of the building and was ready to make the required deposit of AUD750 (2 weeks rent and bond).

The only catch? The landlady, "Maria Domenica" was in the UK. Apparently her husband was ill. Her solicitor would send me the documents and would it be okay if I signed them and returned them back to her? Then I could make the deposit and she would send me the keys via next day courier service.

Now I come with a major flaw (actually several, but let's just keep this simple) - I'm extremely trusting. This has led me to many, many awkward situations and compromises. So I happily agreed to this arrangement and soon enough, "Steve Robin" sent me an email, requesting that I sign, scan and return the tenancy agreement to him.

The only problem was, there was no attachment to the email.

Right. Could be simple human error. Give benefit of doubt. Request for agreement. Notify "Maria Domenica".

"Steve Robin" then replied again, this time with an attachment. Only this time, the address for the unit was in the Northern Territory, which is about 2,000km from where I am. He also succeeded in getting my address and duration of lease wrong.

Wow. How do bozos like this actually get employed at all?

I explain the errors and email "Maria Domenica" again. I tell the lawyer to fix the issues.

Then SE calls me while I'm out with SK. She'd previously lived a few months in Denmark and had encountered a similar situation. "The landlord said he'd lived in Copenhagen for 5 years. He said he was in the UK and yet when I asked that he send the keys to a trusted friend, so I could exchange the keys for the deposit, he insisted he didn't know anyone."

Seed of doubt planted in my head, I requested the same of "Maria Domenica". She instead gave me her bank account details and insisted she needed my money because her husband was ill. At this point, I noticed a change in her writing style. From normal to all CAPS to all lowercase.

Anyone in the UK regardless of nationality can receive free medical care, thanks to the NHS scheme. I mean, how does AUD750 (GBP375 or so) help with anything really? It wouldn't even pay for her flight back to Australia. What nonsense.

I didn't bother replying and she immediately sent me scans of her passport. In her initial email, she'd mentioned she was Australian and 27 years old. The passport was Italian and her date of birth was April, 1982. I mean seriously, who gets their own age wrong (except for one time on an ice skating rink, but I forgot I'd just celebrated my 15th birthday)?

Once more, I ignored her email and resumed my hunt for a room on the same website.

There was an ad clearly from her, only this time she was masquerading as a 25 year old named Susan. The address given was neither the one we'd previously agreed on, nor the Northern Territory one. But the introduction was exactly the same as those in her email to me.

Sadly there wasn't a Report This As Fraud button. Let's hope the next person isn't as gullible.

One step at a time, ensemble

2010-09-30T11:33:00.002+10:00

I wonder what are the chances for the ticket holder to be named Lois? At the Department of Transport, where C aced his theoretical driving test.

This would even funnier if I were legitimately dyslexic.

I have NO idea what an Outside Skirt would taste like, but I assume the worst.

Yes, I am actually going out with this man. His tee reads, LEGLESS. Now comes in Sober.

L-R: Staph, Sperm and Chlamydia

Ebola and AIDS

TF's new husband dangles a wiener in front of Zeke and happily poses for an inappropriate photograph. Incidentally, M's surname is Longbottom, much to TF's chagrin.

SK and Mo, the biggest cat on this side of town.

I, moron

2010-09-25T12:17:00.003+10:00

One evening KG and I strolled out to Surfers Paradise in search of tiramisu. There was a small crowd gathered around a young Asian street performer. Nearby stood a cardboard sign with a flag, indicating his nationality.

Jan: That's for all you white people who can't tell he's Japanese.

KG: ... that's a Korean flag.

Jan: All those bloody Asians look alike!

KG: ...

The non date and bestial stories (Note: Both items unrelated)

2010-09-21T10:15:00.007+10:00

Evening on the beach, not a soul in sight.

I drove a grand total of 320km to attend 2 interviews and failed to secure the job. Boo. Dogs along Wynnum Rd in Morningside.

Boofa the British Shorthair.

A real springroll. I have not had one of these in the longest time. Thank you Aunty Lil!

Tigger the Whippet and SE's Foot. I had just had a chicken dish and from the amount of doggie kisses I got, he clearly liked it too.

What I really learn at L'Alliance Française - 101 names for bodily wastes.

Traffic mishap - I thought the windscreen had shattered but only the boards slid off the car. Schadenfreude!

C took me to Timezone in Brisbane. Timezone! This was a virtual reality ride thingie. I forget the name.

Part of the Brisbane Fest set up, I assume. It was set up like a real courtyard, with orange laundry hanging on the lines.

Noah's Ark teapot at a gallery in New Farm.

The rice pot, I'm ashamed to say, sat there for a good 4 days before the Mexican standoff was called off. Hint: Not mine.

C made tacos! Absolutely yummy stuff. Possibly scores worse than spaghetti bolognaise/ won ton mee on the First Date in a White Shirt Messy Eating Scale. Luckily, this was our third. I assume by our fourth, we'll start leaving the toilet door open.

Loneliness

2010-09-19T22:48:00.005+10:00

Yesterday SY called me from the UK, where he has been for the past 4 or 5 years. We've known each other for a solid 18 years and have a long history of terrible inside jokes. We've made a pact that he is to make a minimum of one phone call to me a year (ie. The Annual Phone Call). In spite of us having not seen each other for a good three years, like all good friends, we simply pick up where we left off.

SY: Jan, I'm working at a cement plant now.

Jan: Semen plant? (you should listen to our atrocious excrement-related jokes)

SY: And wait, before you say anything, I need to tell you something - I'm calling using the office phone.

Jan: WTF

SY: And, and, wait for this too - it's my account manager's line.

All jokes aside, SY was lonely. He'd recently moved cities for work and with UK's lousy economic state, had many friends move to greener pastures.

Loneliness is so common, yet so rarely discussed. The stigma attached to loneliness is ridiculous. I have been the one half of high school's golden couple, college student council vice president etc. Yet there are days I feel as if I would never be missed, that my mere existence is of such little consequence. During my auditing days, I would have clients quietly enter my room, sit down and tell me all their woes (including the General Manager of a listed company telling me she was "not fit to run the place"). Loneliness is normal, and moreso common for many of us who choose to uproot. I was forced to learn to spend time on my own, to like my own company. Loneliness drove me to compromise standards, of myself and of the people I chose to associate with.

The fact of the matter is, you are forced to make a choice. From the 2 years I've spent here, I've noticed two types of people - the ones who make this home and the ones who don't. Making it home actually requires you to go out, make friends, learn the lingo if you don't know it already (in my case, bastardised English), explore the country, develop your own traditions, but above all, love yourself because chances are, no one else is there to do so.

The trade off? Old friends will fall away. Facebook is extremely helpful for keeping in touch, but the fact of the matter is, only a small handful of people will genuinely love you enough to maintain the friendship. And you with your new life too, will only have the energy for few. The rest will slowly fall away over time.

There are people I know, who have been here for years and years and yet remain their tourist status. Holidays are spent back in their countries of origin. They only mingle with their own communities. They speak in their mother tongues. And do everything exactly the way it used to be done. I suppose that is the easiest way to fit in, but it never fails to befuddle me. After all, why would one go through the entire (very troublesome) process of immigrating, only to do the same thing (let's leave refugees out of the debate)?

But I digress. The point is, there are things you can do to avoid feeling like a leper, but that's really only fighting the symptoms. People come and go. The only constants are you, God and your ~~Mum~~ family. The most important thing to do is to love yourself, to be the best version of yourself because if you don't like you, there is no reason why anyone else should. And then the rest will follow through.

Some ideas on getting out of that lonely rut (thanks to C for this)

SWELL Festival 2010

2010-09-16T10:11:00.007+10:00

Most photo credits to SE

HELLO! I'm CHIP, also known as Creepy Horsey In Patina. I'm your guide to this year's SWELL Sculpture, held as usual at Currumbin Beach!

Aren't I bee-you-tee-full?

This is my friend Bull, he's lost a set.

This is Jan's favourite - Bald Dude Contemplating Where The Rest of His House Is.

Shiny, shiny tiles!

One half of the pear shaped twins.

Naked lady android walking robot whippet on astroturf.

Giant leftover white bread ham, cheese and tomato sandwich. Too much mayo.

This is SE's favourite and makes Jan think of the long ago days when she used to go diving every couple of months.

Duct tape?

This is the other one of Jan's favourites, largely because she is a Scrabble-playing nerd and a romantic at heart.

Um.

Good car/ bad car.

Good car goes surfing.

Bags sculpted of rocks.

Merde

2010-09-13T22:15:00.002+10:00

C: Just making sure you're not pullin the ol' fake number trick

Jan: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER. (which probably requires a guest blog entry on its own)

C: I'M FULL OF OWLS! I NEED A RADICAL OWLECTOMY!

Jan: Maybe you meant bowels. But if you're full of bowels, won't you also be full of...

2 weeks

2010-09-11T17:11:00.003+10:00

Being single for the first time in my adult life is kind of liberating (it didn't count when I was in Melbourne because I got long, long calls every single day from my exes trying ensure I wasn't dating). I swim, I spa, I have random friends stay over, I befriend strangers, I drive ridiculous amounts of distances whenever I feel like it. On the flip side, all the dumb things people do as 18 year olds? I'm making those mistakes right about... now. Thankfully apart from a severe lack of sleep, mild trauma from my own stupidity and a completely manic bout of spring cleaning, I remain relatively unscathed.

My dear friend JC visited from Malaysia and proceeded to do what I both hate and miss about Malaysians - give me loads of unsolicited advice and opinions. Sigh. I miss her already. The unbelievably adorable baby Chloe, with her long, long lashes, is of Portuguese, Aussie and Samoan heritage.

A live possum at Caboolture. Such adorable creatures. Warning: Don't try touching - they scratch and bite like crazy.

Funnily enough, Homer does NOT say "D'oh!" when you press the button. I declined the present anyway.

Jordan, the most well brought up, perceptive kid ever, child of two extremely good looking parents. "I like your shoes," this 5 year old observed. "You're really pretty," I replied, in 5 year old mode. "Thank you", she accepted the compliment gracefully, without any conceit or feigned modesty. That's Cutie, the almost bunny-like Maltese in her arms.

Conclusion: Must find Samoan sperm donor for future offspring.

A carnival of lights and the sunset over the marina. PW and SK joined me for dinner, before a long talk and walk along The Spit's breakwater and back.

Words

2010-09-06T22:38:00.005+10:00

Today, I poured my heart and soul out to someone I love in words. About a page long, what would have normally taken me 10 minutes (I'm a fast writer) took six times as long to articulate. To edit. To re-edit. And again.

But it's nothing compared to trying to write a cash rate report when you have NO IDEA what cash rate is. And you think you can Wikipedia it and learn it on laymen's terms but it's got something like a three sentence paragraph on it. And then you check on the Reserve Bank website and it comes along with multi-graphed charts and statistics with strange terms they never taught you in college. And all these strange terms they never taught you in college are all linked to more charts and statistics.

So of course you decide to watch episode 11 of the sixth season of Grey's Anatomy. I can't believe Sloan and Little Grey broke up. Sob. Older men make such stupid choices. And then you decide to watch some action at Dunder-Mifflin. John Krasinski is unbelievably cute and funny. He looked absolutely terrible in Away We Go, with that yucky Post-Cute Brad Pitt beard and glasses.

Office cutie vs. deranged-hobo-in-need-of-a-hairwash

And then you cough up another 3 sentences. Like squeezing blood out of stone (which by the way, rhymes with Sloan who is an asshole). Only 4/5 more of the page to go. Maybe I should use font size 32. She did mention that the page formatting is entirely up to my discretion.

And then you end up writing about the writing process on your personal blog so you don't feel like you've only written 1/5 of a page on cash rates and one very sad love letter in the past 5.5 hours you've been sitting here.

Thank God I didn't leave this until 9am tomorrow. Looks like I won't be sleeping much again tonight.

Guest blog! (sort of)

2010-09-03T16:45:00.004+10:00

SE, my new flatmate, is possibly the most likeable person I've ever met. Both of us being newly single, bitch and moan about our terrible love lives. Today, she's taken to asking me how to do her physics questions (why anyone would include physics in a dentistry course is completely beyond me). Ah, the futility. The only thing I remember about Fizik is making Encik Zainab cry. Completely unintentional and unexpected.

With her permission, I've obtained an email which is the written equivalent of drunk dialing. This is what happens when the laptop is within reach at 2am in the morning and you're freaking out over your ex, spine and exams (order possibly incorrect).

i think
young romeo that you might acheive yyour aim, but that it will not send you in the right direction
be single..find yourself, get to know the new you.
don't look for answers by moving in with someone
be hapy with yourself. Build nnew more solid, and better version of jon, and tge relationships jon is involved in... make them stronger.
i just saw people in my room.. but there are no people... it
s so fucked up... lol pill sleep now
by xo

Moral of the story: This place might be haunted.

Sex parties, bribing dogs, fridge trophies and other stories

2010-08-31T17:17:00.012+10:00

This is a toy. KG decided the mature thing to do would be to fling at me in the dark. Of course.

Keeping KG company during voting proved to be an eye-opening experience.

Jan: Ma, they have a sex party here.

Ma: Don't you dare go to one of those things-!

Jan: It's a political party.

Ma: What?

Lunch at the Brisbane Airport Novotel - long wait, horrendous service, thankfully decent food.

My seafood platter was pretty decent, though no amount of cheese will ever disguise the disgusting oystery-ness of oysters (duly fobbed off to KG).

KG's veal with red wine jus was bee-yoo-ti-full.

A view of the ocean on our little daytrip to the northern end of Brisbane.

The impressive wine collection at Boroughs, a lovely little (though not imaginatively named) cafe/ bar discreetly hidden in Scarborough.

The view from KG's new balcony, enjoyed over garlic prawns, udon noodles and over-celeryfied garden salad.

This is Rosey the Staffie (Staffordshire Bull Terrier), the sort of dog that one cannot possibly not fall in love with (not to mention she fits my Ideal Hugging Dimensions). She rushed up and down in excitement at us guests, dragging the fairly heavy dining chairs around the room (she severely underestimated her own size) in the process.

KG discovered a mini iceberg shaped like a consolation trophy while defrosting the fridge. Of course I had him pose like a proud winner with it. Admittedly, his grin was unconvincingly unconsolatory.

The magpie during our picnic lunch at the Nerang River, showing off his bounty (note worm in beak).

This is Buddy, possibly the most stately dog to ever grace me with his presence. After about 5 times, he's finally decided he doesn't hate me (only because during the fourth meeting, I gave him half a doggy treat).

Behold the symmetry of the paying 'bridge' on The Spit.

SE, my new (and temporary) flatmate had a bit of an incident with her spine, which ended with us rushing her to the hospital for an emergency check up.

I got attacked by a Staffie (not Rosey) at The Spit. RD and I were chatting on the beach and this thing just ran 100m up to me and began scratching and pawing me. I actually bruised and bled in the attack. The owner nonchalantly led the dog away sans apology. Jerk.

At a little inlet off Seaworld Drive. See the tallest buildings in the centre? I'm staying in the architect's room at the moment.

Shiny shield bugs. PW's keen eyesight is amazing. Boo to my lousy Lasik surgery.

Another one on the underside of a leaf.

P/S: Shield bugs release tear-inducing, noxious fumes when provoked. Kind of like organic mace. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The Boob Apron

2010-08-29T22:56:00.002+10:00

In lieu of my temporary blogging slowdown, I give you... the Boob Apron.

P/S: LSFW; turn down the volume.

Quiet content calm

2010-08-20T17:42:00.003+10:00

Late lunch at the Surfers Paradise Marriott, which has a most agreeable ambiance. The food's pretty average but the adorable armchairs and genial staff more than make up for it.

The plant life in KG's new investment home (the man bought the house next door... he's going to have a hard time stealthing this out with the new tenants) is thriving like crazy. As is the mosquito population.

Love is like a sunset. Byron Beach.

The new sports stadium at Carrara, pre-completion. KG is being a Good Non-Asian Asian Boyfriend, ferrying me to and fro the train stations.

Peacock at Macintosh Island Park (which is not really on an island). The bird life there is flourishing. Geese, ducks, peacocks, the ever-ubiquitous pigeons and seagulls and the odd tit or two. It was nice to finally share it with KG.

Worry about it later

2010-08-14T11:52:00.005+10:00

It's been a few hectic and tumultous weeks, hence the lack of updates. Another life changing event in a few weeks, perhaps I will have learnt my lesson then.

Michal and RD and our very burnt barbeque attempt at Springbrook. Much of lunch was spent fending our food from the magpies, mynahs and kookaburra. I ♥ RD's cheeky expression here.

On the way to Twin Falls. Makes me think of that Britney Spears music video, the one set in the canyon. Incidentally, Sometimes has been stuck in my head ever since dinner last Tuesday at Fisherman's Wharf. Serves me right for mouthing the lyrics to KG across the room.

KG suggested the second option lacked an E.

Naughty Nana's Club - Where dentures come off and nipple tassels go on

Horsey at Jacobs Well

Sugar factory at Jacobs Well, surrounded by sugar cane fields

Paraglider

Butterfly on RD's porch

Qantas lounge at BNE. You can take showers there. Not that we did.

(Please ignore the incriminating sign) There were about 5 or 6 police vehicles in the immediate vicinity in West End. Apparently a fight broke out somewhere. Like true Malaysians, DC and I stopped to gape.

Towards the doughnut hole

2010-08-06T20:09:00.009+10:00

A sleepless night led to a 6.30am departure. I yawned most of the way as KG sped along the highway towards the west. We were undecided. Most people only ever see the Australian coastline, both tourists and residents. KG, who had spent a substantial part of his life in mining towns, was determined that I saw more of his country.

Morning fog

Much of the day was cloudy and wet. KG was disappointed at the uncooperative weather, but I delighted in the shroud of mystery the fog gave everything. The gum trees, the dried out shrubs, the roadkill... everything seemed a little more attractive.

A brief glimpse of sun

The Great Dividing Range is the fourth longest mountain range in the world and separates the urban from the remote. We drove through the curly, swirly roads through Cunningham's Gap, stopping briefly at Main Range National Park. The air was brisk and crisp; KG and I sped up to remain warm.

Fungus among us

A view from the National Park

Having had only potato crisps (Red Rock Sweet Chilli and Sour Cream: I say yum; he says smelly) and trail mix, we stopped by Warrick for some proper breakfast.

The charming town hall, which had some young men selling raffle tickets. The prize? Hard wood. Enticing, huh.

I had Eggs Florentine and the creepy pink non-Lamington Lamington in the foreground. He had salty porridge (which we seasoned with pepper and honey to no avail) and carrot cake. We won't be going back to Lorraine's in a hurry.

Grain silos. Yes, that's where your food comes from.

We moved on to the Aboriginal town of Boggabilla. We stopped by the Wobbly Boot Hotel, which is more of a pub really, for a drink. The bartenders were a friendly motley crue of a family, including an unexpected Muslim girl, complete with a headscarf.

Their merchandise included Dickhead Port. Yes, that's a man with a rather... phallic proboscis. Cough.

Even toilet rolls were chained here.

A burnt down house - an unnervingly common sight in the town.

Pies at Goondiwindi for lunch. Pretty standard fare.

After some discussion, we decided not to drive another 500km to Cunnamulla and instead to spend the night at Moree, which is already about 500km inland. The Dragon and Phoenix Inn was (surprise, surprise) run by the Chinese. KG had stayed there some years back and related a funny anecdote. There used to be tour groups of Chinese tourist visitors and the Inn staff were concerned about bedsheets being stolen, hence forcing guests to check out at 7am.

The main reason we chose this place - an inhouse artesian therme. That's the (freezing) cold pool in the background. The brochures at the reception area depicted the pool to have lovely girls in bikinis lounging about. The sad reality proved to be overweight and elderly. KG and I practicised our French whilst paddling about, enjoying the warm, occasionally almost hot artesian water. The sulphuric smell was quite tolerable and actually beneficial. I noticed a marked improvement in the texture of my skin soon after.

That's my name in soy sauce at the Bo-Wa restaurant. Characters not in order.

After a lovely night out with the stars, we began our long journey home, stopping by the town of Warialda. Having no idea where to head for lunch, we bumped into a woman who had just opened a cafe in the town. KG, ever experimental and genial, agreed to two plates of roast and veges there. The food was charmingly homemade, in speed of preparation, looks and taste.

View from a lookout

Along a really isolated stretch

Yes, there's a town called Texas here too, though the population is probably a fraction of the more well known one.

Stanthorpe - the coldest town in Queensland, is amazingly charming and modern. Though not so modern that the shopping centre remained accessible after hours.

I drove the rest of the way home; the following sunset shots are KG's handiwork.

Quotes of the day - the Baltic version

2010-08-05T03:18:00.003+10:00

Michal: I talk a lot, no? But that's okay, everyone is entitled to my opinion!

* * *

Michal: Come sailing with me!

Jan: You can bring RD along!

RD: I will commit suicide.

Michal: I will throw her overboard!

RD: You'll be doing me a favour.

One more night

2010-08-02T17:08:00.005+10:00

Après-dinaire at the best-serviced Australian Chinese restaurant ever, we headed out. Walking around the charming little NSW town of Moree, buzzed up from the caffeine of endless jasmine tea refills. My right eye still feeling somewhat raped from a bug that had decided to kamikaze in there earlier.

Driving out further west to find a spot away from the lights. The moon had not risen, the roads unlit. KG pointed out some animals along the way. The roadkill count was fairly alarming and after a while, decapitated roos and squashed foxes only blended into the scenery.

A live one (for once)!

We eventually found a little turn off which led to a dirt road. Parked the car, spread the mats, stepped into the 11C air. I sat down, a large towel wrapped around me. He felt for my knees and leaned against them, our faces tilted toward the starry night. The Milky Way not quite conspicuous, but the pinpoints of light scattered across the sky. A faint Moree-an glow coming from the right.

"See the Southern cross?"

"Which one?"

He pointed to a trapezium composed of 5 stars and began to explain.

We sat there for an indeterminate amount of time. I could smell him, in the crisp cool air. The familiarity of the scent, comforting. I counted 9 shooting stars, each one more unexpected and ephemeral than the next.

As we turned to leave, the moon began to rise.

Ron Mueck at the GoMA

2010-07-28T01:33:00.000+10:00

Last weekend, KG brought my friend PS and I to Brisbane for a day. PS had flown in from Malaysia to spend a couple of days with us and I thought it would be nice for her to experience as much of Queensland as one could within 4 days.

The Ron Mueck exhibition at the Gallery of Modern Art had come highly recommended. Whilst waiting for KG, who was in line for the tickets, I came across this amusing piece near the entrance.

Too Much Sushi II by Niki Hastings-McFall. This will look extremely familiar to anyone who's ever been a student in Australia. I always wondered what to do with the packets.

Ron Mueck is a Melbourne-born, London-based artist who is most well-known for his lifelike fibreglass sculptures. Surprsingly, photography (though not flash photography) was permitted.

Dead Dad. This was the piece that shot him to fame. Mueck made this after his father passed away. It's also the only sculpture using his own hair.

A girl. The picture quality doesn't do this justice. The lashes are fine and sparse, the little hair on her scalp plastered.

Look at the detail on the toes.

I have no idea what the name of this piece is, but it's just perfect. Like the details on the ribs, the stray grays in the hair, the awkward, self conscious expression on his face...

This isn't a real hand, but look at the hairs, the veins and there's even sun spots so faint that the camera didn't pick it up. And the goosebumps on the skin of the buttocks. Amazing stuff.

Woman with sticks. One of the nicest things about the exhibition was how the sculpted pieces resembled real, normal people. With the current obssession on perfection, it was an actual relief to see some dimples (not just on the face), wrinkles and love handles.

In bed.

Wonder what she's thinking about?

Two women. This makes me think of famished, fearful Eastern Europe back in the day.

Old woman in bed. This is only a little one, but the detail once again, was wonderful. If you looked carefully enough, she even has teeth.

Man in boat.

Still life. A familiar scene at your local chicken rice stall.

No, it's not a real chicken. But feathers are used.

Pool time. I wonder if it was deliberately set crucifix-style?

I checked. His eyes are half open under those sunnies.

Mask II. This is a self portrait, which is hollow.

Even the five o' clock shadow consists of painstakingly embedded 'hairs' which are a fair bit thicker than your average foliage.

Not sure what this one is called. Perhaps a political message against violence in Africa?

It was strangely intimate, looking at these non-people people, mostly nude or in resting positions, often looking vulnerable. I once read Courtney Love's biography by Poppy Z Brite. After Kurt Cobain shot himself, she had casts made out of his hands. I suppose if I had the resources, I'd love to have some sculptures of people I love done, just to remember them by.

Camping in Springbrook

2010-07-27T08:57:00.000+10:00

KG, LD and I set off to Sringbrook to experience 3D2N of camping. Unfortunately, camping in the mountains during winter comes with near freezing temperatures. Winter on the Gold Coast is pretty tolerable really, but the (slightly) increased altitude made for an extra drop of 3C. Thankfully, KG had the sense to bring along every warm item in the house, although this did render our 2 man tent somewhat claustrophobic.

Whilst we were both rugged up in multiple layers. Sergeant LD happily waltzed around in a tee and cargos, boasting of week-long treks through the Tasmanian jungles and going 5 days without showers.

Having no appropriate outdoorsy gear, I was suited up like an aerobics instructor with kid-sized Nikes on my feet (adult sizes start at 6, which are too big).

The day grew dark swiftly. We lugged our edibles to the kitchen, where clean electric pans were available for public use.

Sausages from the Ferry Rd Markets for dinner

After an uncomfortably freezing night (granted KG let me have possession of the hot water bottle) of tossing and turning and one quick visit to the lavatory (read: bushes), we awoke to a frosty morning.

View of the Purlingbrook Falls from above

The goal was to complete a 6km trek to the bottom of the falls. Sergeant LD, with his experience of the extremes, had deliberately chosen an easier route for us amateurs.

The cool morning gave way to rising temperatures and soon I was shedding off some of my 3 layers. The spray from the fall was very soothing.

Note the two faint rainbows

A view from under the moderate gush - Queensland hasn't been receiving much rain of the late

An impressive clump of fungi

At the bottom, we nibbled on our snacks and drank from the stream. The water was surprisingly crisp and sweet. Having grown up in a country where 'river' meant opaque, almost solid-looking brown liquid (with pink, filled garbage bags bobbing around on top), I was very impressed.

Jan: We drank from the river.

Ma: Aiyoh, afterwards diarrhea how?

Jan: This isn't Klang river, Ma.

Sergeant LD walked at a brisk pace, forcing us ducklings to huff and puff after him.

Tobacco plant

There are no shower facilities on the campgrounds (not to mention the stuff that comes out of the pipes is freezing), so I washed my hair in a most uncivilized manner. It was either that, or look like a greasy-haired Korean female ghost for the next 24 hours.

Lunch was at a quaint little restaurant nearby. I forget the name as usual, but the pie (all three of us had the same, thanks to the pie seed I planted in everyone's heads) was pretty decent, as was their sticky date pudding, which KG gracefully planted on the carpet. The staff were nice enough to replace it. Incidentally, pies means dog in Polish. A little trivia never hurt anyone.

This shimmering mass is actually a tangle of dewey human hair, found on our campgrounds as we packed up to leave the next day

Hollowed tree

Moss, up close and personal

Food, music and spiderettes

2010-07-19T20:00:00.004+10:00

I currently have a blind pimple the size of a grapefruit (okay, I exaggerate - maybe a pea, but a LARGE pea) right beside my left eye, which unlike zits around the hairline and jawline, is completely impossible to miss, like a well-endowed lady's chest, but less flattering.

Tiramisu, which apparently, isn't actually Italian.

The new pontoon by the Brisbane River, which bobs along with the waves and ripples.

Before anyone calls me juvenile, I'd like to point out it wasn't me who noticed this first.

KG and I spent Thursday night at the Judith Wright Centre for Contemporary Arts in Fortitude Valley. There were 2 artistes performing 40 minute sessions each. The first was Jon Rose, who gave a very energetic violin performance, aided by his Mac. The music was very Stanley Kubrick-esque, accompanied by lots of arm flailing and discorded sounds. Mr Rose, whom I somehow perceived as a Tortured Genius (Tortured: the music; Genius: how does one make that many sounds with such a simple instrument?), explained that the bow was fitted with a device which produced the mentioned sounds, depending on the movement.

"Why was I flailing my arm around like a deranged person? Oh that's art."

After Mr Rose, then came Chris Abrahams of The Necks (whose music is more random than that of Sigur Ros). KG and I, having experienced his music before, anticipated the unanticipated-able. Sure enough, he spent most of the 40 minutes tinkling the same note. KG snickered quietly through the performance, at the unfittingly solemnity of the occasion, whilst I giggled at the man sitting in front of us, whose head gently dipped towards his left shoulder again and again, as he fought to remain conscious in the lulling and repetitve tune.

Lakes cafe+bar at Varsity Central. My driving instructor had once told me of this fabled place, which I stumbled upon whilst hunting for my interview venue. Very lovely atmosphere, decent (though not outstanding) food.

Creepy lump at the leopard tree in our garden, when gently blown at...

... unfolds into a hundred baby spiders.

Cultural Learnings of Japan for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Australia

2010-07-15T00:50:00.000+10:00

Last weekend, KG and I headed to Mikado Restaurant in Surfers Paradise for a sumo-related charity event. We were slightly late, having initially gone to the wrong venue.

Now like any good Malaysian, I've had my fill of Japanese cuisine, read my manga and watched my Sailormoon anime (people under the age of 23, just ignore me). Heck I even took Japanese language classes at school briefly.

However, an actual formal (the formality is to debatable, with a few men turning up in cargo shorts) event with Japanese people is a different thing altogether. For one thing, we stuck out like sore thumbs, having turned up 3 minutes later than the stated starting time. Everyone else was de-shoed and neatly seated, as we scurried to the empty mats.

The Mistress of Ceremonies, had been a sumo sports commentator on NHK for 15 years, so her explanations of the formal traditions and Japanese sumo culture were largely lost on me. I surmise that:

a) Sumos are fat (I never said this was going to be enlightening)
b) They start at 15, and usually retire at 35 and it's hard to get in by 28
c) They bestow upon the odd non-Japanese wrestler Japanese names
d) Their habitats (for lack of a better word) are known as 'stables' (this is where KG and I started making jokes about cattle prods)
e) They wear aprons over their ~~thongs~~ loin cloths.
f) One of the aprons was embroidered with a Samsung logo.
g) Wait a minute, isn't Samsung Korean?
h) I keep mistaking the Korean flag as Japanese

They had this group playing the ceremonial drums; the performance is usually pre-match. Very rousing stuff. I can totally see how their practice sessions would set the neighbourhood's canine population off (on a somewhat related note, I live with a man who displays his level of maturity by repeatedly rewinding to the annoying beeping bit in 2001: A Space Odyssey in a successful bid to annoy our neighbour's dog).

Appetisers. "Egguprantu", the nice lady sitting on my right offered by way of explanation, upon observing my skeptical expression whilst prodding the mystery blue stuff.

The chankonabe, which was explained to us, to be very nutritious and essential to the sumo's girth (read: fattening).

Japanese man: (animated Japanese speech, accompanied with lots of nose pinching)

Japanese woman: Soup! Soup!

Me: ... um, okay. Thank you.

KG: Did he say his nose is going to fall off?

The mochi at the end was unexpectedly unpalatable. KG and I frantically thought of ploys to avoid this delicacy without offending our affable Japanese neighbours. I succeeded by dumping it in a random bowl when unnoticed; KG bravely swallowed away.

I utilised my miniscule Japanese vocabulary to my best: itadakimasu, oishii, atsui, obaachan wa nihonjin (how does one say, Well, we're not sure, but she was adopted during the WWII and she doesn't really look Chinese plus my mother and I constantly get mistaken as Japanese, I mean, you first started speaking to me in Japanese too?).

The friendly couple graciously accepted my bastardised offerings and spent the entire time speaking to us fluently in Nihongo, whilst we nodded away cluelessly. What I did not say: gohan (because my rice was missing; I very nearly asked for goku, the spiky-haired main character of Dragonball) and kitsune (I wanted to compliment the lady on her dress, but I wasn't sure if it meant fox or beautiful).

Montblanc cake. Apparently topped with meronnu, but tasted suspiciously like azuki beans.

KG bought and distributed AUD20 of raffle tickets, which produced a sumo shopping bag (larger than the standard fare, of course) and a SUMO SAKE (14.5% alcohol, 35 standard drinks) for me.

I really wanted the umeshu. Oh well.

Post event KG and I -totally overdressed, by the way- had tea on the balcony of Hard Rock Cafe, huddled under my skimpy blue ombre shawl, watching the Gold Coast lights.

Just desserts and other stories

2010-07-12T13:16:00.004+10:00

Black forest cake, with Cointreau instead of kirsch (because I'm not about to pay $29.99 for 500ml of cherry liquer I won't drink). Yummy, but abominably hideous under all that whipped cream.

Over the top sculpture at the Arts Centre during tea with AD.

Creme caramel (notice pattern in ugly but tasty sweets). Deformed, thanks to KG yelling, "Boo!" outside the kitchen window when I was removing it from the cake tin.

The full moon looming over Main Beach after fish and chips.

Dusk near home.

Sago + coconut cream + palm sugar = nostalgia. The mat sallehs liked it too. The vegetarian restaurant on Mermaid Beach dishes up amazing stuff (HB the vegetarian asked repeatedly, "Are you sure this isn't meat?"), with smiliest proprietor I've ever seen.

Doggy chews and masking tape form the word SALE at the sass+bide shopfront on James St, which is The Most Awesome Place in Brisbane Ever (thanks to WT for photo and taking me there). Totally brought back memories of Bangsar lepak sessions with my beloved high school gang (Madam Kwans > thatnowdefunctgelatoplacewith50%offwafflesonTuesdays > Starbucks > Mc Donalds > Devi's Corner - the standards lowered as our pockets lightened through the day)

Japanese lady clearly besotted with the white chocolate TimTams (which are terribly average stuff, really).

Roast vegetable risotto - looks and tastes great, with a somewhat pleasant colon-cleansing side effect after. Substituted pancetta with bacon.

First it was the Virgin Mary on toast...

2010-07-10T20:06:00.001+10:00

Long live The Bloggess!

The oracular sotong

2010-07-08T20:55:00.002+10:00

I've recently gotten into Facebook again, having discovered a neighbour's unsecured wi-fi on the iPod.

(To understand my level of unenlightenment, bear in mind that I do not read newspapers, watch television or listen to the radio.)

First, this caught my eye.

My former English teacher (who once memorably summed me up as 'a little girl with a big voice') actually names her seafood. Shocking. Must be work-related stress.

Did she get the octopus from Germany? And why does everyone else know about it?

Long live the octopus (actually squid, but there isn't an actual Malay term for 'octopus')!

Okay, this is really bizarre.

Thank you, Rae.

Note: For other cave dwellers such as yours truly, Paul the Octopus is a psychic 2 year old Octopus vulgaris (haha). And yes, he's German.

Aussification

2010-07-05T21:19:00.005+10:00

Here are some random Aussie sayings picked up over the 21 months I've lived here. Make sure your boss isn't standing behind you - slightly NSFW picture ahead.

1. VB (pronoun/ abbreviation)
Victoria Bitters; some say the alcoholic choice for Aussies.

2. Mushies (noun/ abbreviation)
Magic mushrooms, also known as psilocybin mushrooms, which can be determined by the inner stalks that turn blue when exposed to oxygen.

3. Bong (noun)
Marijuana.

4. Rissoles (noun)
Meat patties made of questinable origins, usually barbequed until flavourless, then eaten with a healthy dose of ketchup.

5. Poofter (noun)
Derogatory slang employed to describe effeminate and/ or homosexual males.

6. Mate (noun)
Used to describe a person with whom one shares beer and occasional emotional intimacy, especially when drunk.

7. Friend (noun)
Used to describe a person with whom one shares emotional and occasionally physical intimacy, especially in uncommitted relationships.

8. WOG (abbreviation/ noun)
A derogatory colloquial term used to commonly describe people of Greek, Italian or Mediterranean descent. Ironically and originally stood for wiley oriental gentleman.

9. Septic tank (noun)
A derogatory colloquial term used to commonly describe Americans. Used, because it rhymes with Yank.

10. Islander (noun)
A colloquial term used to commonly describe people originating from neighbouring islands, including Papua New Guinea, New Caledonia and Naru.

11. Pomme (noun)
A colloquial term used to commonly describe British people, especially those from the United Kingdom. Often preceded with the description 'whinging'. Origins unclear, since pommes means apple in Francais.

12. Budgie smugglers (noun)
Obscene swimwear, usually favoured by old European men with A/ B cup chests and large potbellies. Or Tony Abbott.

Tony Abott (Photo credits)

13. DT's (abbreviation)
Stands for dick togs. See 12. And picture above.

14. The Seventh State (noun)
Refers to New Zealand. Term used to annoy emigrant Kiwis.

Food talk - hard to digest

2010-06-29T07:12:00.001+10:00

We were sitting at a Chinese restaurant. My seating wasn't central; the oversized table had left an awkward expanse of space between us, requiring me to crane my head over to catch bits of the conversation over the din of the restaurant.

They were talking about food.

For some strange reason, I perceive people whose conversational repetoire revolve around food as irksome. You'll find me very agreeable in general. There's some weird ingrained mummy-instinct that has me ~~feigning~~ being patient and generally supportive of most ventures. Yet there are certain comparative trivialities that completely put me off. I'm not talking about the common crimes against humanities or the seven deadly sins - just minor things like faux Western accents, relatives who make unnecessary comments on your appearance and well, talk about food (not to be mistaken for recommendations for dining out).

There's just something I find incredibly boring about talking about food. I mean, eating it is great! I have 24 entries on food on this blog and like an annoying Japanese tourist, tend to insist on photographing dishes before my fellow diners are permitted to dig in. Yet when people sit around talking about what they had for breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner, supper and what they're going to have next whilst still masticating their current meal, my mind drifts off.

Perhaps due to the Gold Coast's limited culinary delights, I find it almost an exclusively Malaysian thing to keep talking about food. I still remember those boring audit days, when I would be stuck in large food-inclined teams. Apart from gossiping about everyone else in the office, Food was the topic du jour. Like every-jour. Every friggin' jour.

During these lengthy discussions on whether we were to have mamak or chicken hor fun or chap fan for lunch and if we should head back to office so we can have nasi lemak for dinner, I would hold my silence and quietly count the days down on my Excel spreadsheet as to when the assignment would finally be over. And pray that the next team would be less food-sy.

And then there are the dieters. My mother once had a friend who was kind, friendly, helpful and a genuinely good friend to her. Unfortunately, she also harboured two extremely grating habits - her penchant for mundane monologues and the fact that the monologues often centred on what she and all her fellow diners had for every single meal, how they felt about it and she felt they felt about it. Listening to her, you would have expected her to weigh 300lbs, but no, Aunty W was as slim as a toothpick and rarely ever finished a meal, preferring instead to pick at her salads whilst eyeing everyone else's dishes (with of course, a running commentary).

Let's not even get started on people who talk about sleep.

Photo credits

Clear Mountain

2010-06-27T11:57:00.001+10:00

KG and I spent last weekend at the Mercure Clear Mountain Lodge. I'd never heard of the place before, the sentiments echoed by Brisbane friends. "Clear Mountain? Where's that?"

Heck, even the trusty old Wikipedia page lacked information.

Our room. True to the Trip Advisor reviews, the room was extremely basic (considering how the RRP is AUD500+ per night - we got it for much less though). I was freezing, having left my jacket in the car and set the room tenperature to a tropical 31C.

It had an ensuite spa. Sadly, the water was pretty mucky and the foamy scud marred the experience.

Dinner was at the inhouse restaurant, Mandy's on the Mountain. The chef's name is Shannon, so I wonder how the Mandy bit came about. We were given the last booking for dinner for the night, which was quite strange, considering how the dining area was about 2/3 empty.

The food was excellent, though fairly pricy. The waitstaff were attentive, in fact, overly so. After our conversations got interrupted the nth time by the waitresses' flirting (yes, KG was very popular that night), the green-eyed monster in me was tempted to sit in his lap/ stab them in the thigh to make a point.

This is our generously portioned entree. Salmon something-or-rather, with crayfish salad.

KG's snapper. I think it had champagne cream sauce.

My very excellent beef fillet with truffled mash, creamed mushrooms and some sort of red wine and beef jus reduction. It was beautiful.

Apparently, our room should have had, and I quote, "breathtaking panoramic views of the Glasshouse Mountains and Moreton Bay islands", but this is all we could see from the balcony. KG was pretty annoyed but the other suites with spas had been booked out.

The pergola thingie. This place is apparently a hotspot for weddings. There was one going on during our stay.

The improved views from the alfresco dining area.

KG and I then headed off. Upon running out of Twisties (alas, the BBQ flavour is not to be found down under), we drove to Samford in search of food. We also bumped into an ex-colleague and good friend of mine, JL whom I hadn't seen for ages and ages. Noting the size of Australia in proportion to the number of people I know, this event bears mentioning. It felt almost like a rite of passage to my sense of belonging here. I mean, holy cow, I actually bumped into someone. Met a friend, unplanned, more than 100km away from home, in a foreign land (though really, I already feel very much at home here). Whoo-hoo!

View from one of the many Brisbane National Parks lookouts.

KG and I settled in a quiet spot for a picnic of random items from the local IGA. Unfortunately, he failed to appreciate my choice, which had me eating more than 500g of roast chicken wings.

I am avoiding chicken wings for the foreseeable future.

A curious and clumsy kookaburra

I don't know how the residents here relay their addresses with straight faces.

The breathtaking view from Jollys Lookout

Possibly one of the ~~less vulgar~~ quainter street names I've come across

another bloody water

Stolen Recipe Ice Tea (not bad but too chamomile-y for my liking) and Charlie's Honest Smoothie (the colour and texture of Malaysian drain sludge but hey, KG liked it)

Upon my insistence, we headed to Mount Coo-tha. It was almost impossible to find parking, but the view (poorly captured below) was worth it.

Unfortunately in the excitement, we forgot to check out the Japanese Botanical Gardens, which are apparently well worth a visit. Until the next time then.

Coombabah Lakelands

2010-06-22T11:26:00.005+10:00

Our Meet Up group had yet another successful outing last weekend. The Lakelands are remarkably conducive to taking postcard-worthy pictures.

The roos actually do move along with the shade of the tree.

Solid algae

"Venice", sans gondolas

The floating "ball" is actually a crayfish pot.

Doug: It's true what they say about the centre of the universe!

Lunch

An egret

My favourite picture of the lot. I'm a sucker for all things ombre.

Roo poo, a cousin of bait poo.

All kinds of yum

2010-06-18T13:36:00.006+10:00

KG and I are currently having a rat problem. He'd been away to Melbourne for a week, during which I noticed a large bite had been taken out of a rotting apple in the bin. I brought this up during a conversation with RD on paranormal activity, which led to a discussion not conducive to my sleeping behaviour that night. Anyway, KG picked up on all the signs and we're now feeding the poor critter with poison. Oh well.

Apparently authentic Italian pizza is made with few ingredients. Thus I decided not to serve RD my honey-soy-kebab-lamb-sausages-pineapple-mushroom-capsicum-tomatoes-onion-garlic creation.

RD's risotto, ossobuco, salad and rye bread feast. Then there was apple strudel too.

Party at Paul's. We huddled around the fire like hobos, munching on Violet Crumble cake.

Live band at Beergarden. I bopped along to Nirvana's Lithium.

Lemon cheesecake. My first attempt with the new mixer (I actually went out to buy a mixer for this) had the kitchen walls, floor and I splattered with Philadelphia Cream Cheese. Whilst the actual cake turned out ugly as sin, it was fairly tasty.

HAHAHAHAHA.

KG and I had date night at Shogun, a well-received Japanese establishment in Bundall. The restaurant has the most unassuming facade ever, tucked discreetly between furniture outlets.

We had Mixed Sushi (AUD13.90) for entree and Tori Karaage (AUD12.90), Maguro Steak (AUD18.90) and Chahan (AUD6.90) . The food was pretty decent for Gold Coast standards and the service absolutely excellent. The waitresses were extremely attentive. I mean, they actually asked us which order the dished were to come in, and if it was okay to cook the steak now?

The cutesy Japanese garden outside.

JQ418

2010-06-15T20:52:00.003+10:00

A year since a stranger leaned over to read the cover of my library-loaned Midnight's Children, offered to switch on the overhead lights and then, proceeded become a huge part of my life.

On beauty

2010-06-14T15:47:00.006+10:00

Thandie Newton - the first time I realised that one did not need to possess blue eyes, blonde hair and pale skin to be considered physically lovely

I still remember the silly things I did in my quest for beauty, as prescribed by Cleo or Womans Weekly - mayonnaise in the hair for shine (stench, mess, Mother yelling Stop wasting my mayo), sunbathing on the balcony (severe sunburn), egg white on the face (stench). Pre-beauty magazines, I'd greatly envied Michelle Oh's toothy smile and her dimples and spent many afternoons with my pinky nails dug deep into my 8 year old cheeks (pain, futility). At 15, greatly despaired by my uncomplementary nose, I almost agreed to a friend selling his violin to fund a new one. I plastered my face with a variety of masks and creams, certain that someday I would find one which would peel off to reveal large, deep set eyes, a tiny nose and clear, rosy complexion. I got around the make up ban at school with tinted lip balm and cheek pinching. At some point, I counted 8 different types of shampoos on the edge of the bathtub, each only partially used, soon to be thrown away. I fantasised about growing another 7 inches taller, losing another few kilos and perfect shiny, waist length hair. I imagined a day when the pores on my pimple prone skin would vanish, as would the greasy shine.

My self esteem was not helped by the fact that I had impossibly good looking friends; our adolescent conversations involved reassuring each other that we were not fat, pretty and that of course, our crushes would eventually realise we were The One(s), a la He's Just Not That Into You. Alas, I now live with a man who dutifully calls it as it is. On the bright side, I know the bi-annual compliments offered are sincere.

Last weekend, I went to the Beergarden with YM and some friends. Having never really gotten into the whole clubbing scene, I enjoy these annual outings which often do nothing but reassure me of what I'm not missing. Since YM had gotten us free Nandos (a woeful reminder of my declining tolerance for spicy food) for dinner, I felt obliged to buy the drinks. The club was packed full of drunken, hormonal youth moving to the thumping beat.

As I patiently awaited the bar tender's ministrations, I observed a chubby man trying to get my attention.

"I'm sorry?" I yelled across the counter.

"...!" The (surprisingly decent) live band drowned out his words.

"What?"

"I said, you're f-ing hot!"

"Oh, thank you!" I looked at his much better-looking friend, who stood between us.

"You're gorgeous!" He seconded, either for moral support, or out of inebriation.

Maybe the mayonnaise helped after all.

Just pretend the bloodstains are salad dressing

2010-06-10T16:11:00.004+10:00

Jan: Ow!

KG: Did you cut yourself again?

Jan: It's only the third time in 3.5 weeks!

KG: And that's not a lot?

Jan: Well I still have 7 other fingers not cut.

KG: ...

Jan: My accident rate is 30%.

KG: *drags me upstairs for tea-tree-oil-and-band-aid treatment*

South Stradbroke Island

2010-06-08T09:09:00.006+10:00

I'd recently joined a Meet Up group, whose maiden voyage was bound for South Straddie, as the island is known locally. Meet Up is basically a platform for like-minded strangers to gather periodically. It's a great way to make friends. I'd been to 2 group meetings on Chapel St in Melbourne, in a bid to widen my social circle. Whilst I found the host rather rude and intrusive, I liked some of the other members and subsequently am now friends with one.

There are a fair few Gold Coast groups but many of them were business networking/ New Age/ had age criteria types. Naturally, I was relieved to find a group without an agenda/ dogma and a diverse mix of people. Not to mention the outing didn't cost too much, as most of the other groups' are apt to.

I'd been given the wrong instructions as to which pontoon we were departing from. A panicked call, a lot of swearing and a parking spot later, I was greeted by Desley, our hostess and Brian, the captain of the Rum Runner.

The day was sunny, much to my relief. I settled in with 2 men and a Kiwi lady. Everyone was very congenial in spite of my impunctuality and soon off we were.

Farewell, Paradise Point!

During the hour long cruise, Henk our affable host offered all sorts of interesting titbits on the history of the islands. Geographically and historically-challenged, I am always impressed with people capable of carrying tons of seemingly random facts in their head. KG is a stellar example.

We arrived at Tippler's Kiosk, where I stopped by the convenience shop to buy lunch (steak and mushroom pie, which turned out to be congealed in starch and fat - I highly recommend bringing your own meals).

Angela and I squinted away whilst rushing Robert to click the shutter.

The families stayed behind whilst 8 of us sprightly ones set off for the trekking route. South Stradbroke is a long, thin sand island. For the first half of the journey, we were walking through the bush. Note: Bring loads of mosquito repellent if you expect to survive in shorts. Thankfully, Henk came prepared and we frantically covered ourselves in the stuff. I have roughly 10 lumpy souvenirs all over my limbs.

We stopped at about 1pm and settled down in a little clearing to have lunch.

A freshly shed snaked skin nearby the toilets.

We soldiered on and climbed over a sand dune, post toilet break. It was amazing. From a lush, sub tropical setting, we were instantly transported to miles of white sandy, seemingly untouched beach.

From here, we walked through 5km of fine, loose sand whilst chatting away. The beach was scattered with medium-sized unbroken shells, mostly scallops and mussels. It was all very pleasant, though by 3pm or so, my knees and calf muscles were aching. I'd discovered one of the group lives only 10 houses away on the same street and shares a common language with KG, so that was nice. We plan to meet again soon.

We then climbed over the dune again to head back. In a faux-ranger tone, Henk suggested I "stop feeding the animals" with my blood. I groaned my amusement whilst his wife admonished me every now and then for my more or less continuous scratching.

The landscape changed once more. I forget the name of these trees - ghost pines? Ghost firs?

The band Kulaz performs every first Sunday of the month. Mostly top 40 hits fare, but decently covered. That's our captain and his lady sitting in the foreground.

Angela trying to get the best angle for her shot.

This is possibly the dearest house on the Coast. Sovereign Islands is a man made patch of exclusivity - only houses costing a minimum of $1million need apply. This $33million monster is built on $12million worth of land.

9km of exercise did me good. I'm really looking forward to the next one.

Rediscovery

2010-06-04T01:08:00.001+10:00

Having moved to 20km north of where I used to live, I'm looking at the ~~city~~ ~~town~~ city in a new light. And although my geographic knowledge of Melbourne is far superior (as the signposting is atrocious), I'm surprised at the little bits of the Gold Coast I discover everyday.

Ari and The Cat. Siamese cats are just so lovely, but KG would be highly annoyed if I actually brought this stray one home.

TF's newest offspring is as adorable and genial as the last.

Madam Tojo's at Chirn Park has lots of character, if not anything. The key to the toilet is attached to a long, dramatic feather hidden in a birdcage on the ceiling.

Fortunately, the food was also above average. This lime and pistachio cheesecake was unbelievably good. Prone to basic comfort foods, I was impressed by the unusual combination.

KG's floral reply to my mushy text message, which cannot be repeated here in case my readers get a case of permanent goosebumps.

Seafood risotto! This debut turned out surprisingly edible. I adapted the recipe from here. I reduced the prawn count and included marinara mix and added loads more chicken stock. I think I'm starting to get a knack of this cooking business.

KG's contribution to this week's post.

Holey moley!

2010-06-02T12:16:00.003+10:00

Photo credit

This brings the saying hole in the ground to a whole new level. Read about it here.

God bless Guatemala.

Melbourne - Canberra - Sydney - Gold Coast

2010-05-30T16:41:00.001+10:00

I woke up earlier than I would have liked, aided by KG's 7.00am phone call. Upon debating the pros and cons of driving through Melbourne during peak hour traffic, we decided upon bypassing the CBD via Barkers Rd and Melbourne University. Sydney Rd is one very, very, very long, seemingly unending stretch I never had the chance to visit properly.

On Burke Rd bidding farewell to the lovely inner east - the best place to be young, free and single.

What names! I had to park by the emergency stopping lane to snap this one.

I'm not one for driving long distances. Especially not alone (i.e. this is the first time I've ever done this much driving). I managed the first 5 hours or so fine; the iPod selections were generally suitably upbeat and boppy. But by 2pm or so, I was getting morose and edgy and had chowed down 4 Cadbury Mixed Berry bars (rice crispies with berries coated with chocolate, yum) already. KG sent me a text every couple of hours to ensure I hadn't veered off the road in boredom. My dexterity improved by the minute and soon I was opening food packets and water bottles and changing the iPod selections whilst whizzing down the motorway at 100kmph (admittedly I have the benefit of cruise control).

I stopped by Wangaratta for fuel but failed to find any food. Albury was the next major town but I lacked time. Holbrook was remarkably pretty, with its submarine-themed signposts. Gundagai was lovely; I wish I had more time.

About 10km past Gundagai is the Dog on the Tuckerbox. KG's insistence that I stop by this little piece of Australian history bordered on nagging, so I obliged with a quick pit stop.

By the time I neared Canberra (~~little~~ less known fact: ACT is not a state, nevermind the misleading online form options; I live with THE walking encyclopedia), the winter sun was setting rapidly. The Barton Highway lacks street lighting and I was one of the few cars driving into the territory; everyone else was leaving, high beams on. I squinted and swore furiously the whole way, the nervous sweat from my palms forming rivulets on the steering wheel.

I arrived at BR's house without too much trouble, considering how I made it on a blurry phone camera photo of Salman Rushdie-esque Google map instructions. Note to others: Suburban streets in Canberra are much narrower than those of Victoria and Queensland, with very, very dim streetlights.

BR's hungover expression remarkably resembles the sculpture

We headed to the town centre for dinner. We settled for a vegetarian Vietnamese restaurant, whose laksa and pho were surprisingly delicious. The Italian restaurant (the fancy one in the corner - I forget the name) was completely packed, so we took the tiramisu home.

KG had warned me repeatedly about the weather, so I left my heaviest winter clothing on top of the pile (my car was almost packed to the brim). "It's -0.1C now", he informed me. I pooh-poohed this notion, and headed outdoors the next early morning to repack my car. Whilst I felt completely fine, I began to notice how my fingers and ears had started to hurt. My digits were red and swollen. I hurried with my task before developing frostbite.

Frost on my sunroof

BR kindly awoke at 7am on a Saturday morning to make me a carrot and pear juice and to accompany me up Mt Ainslie (arid, very natural bushland setting). This is a popular spot for the health conscious locals, who bounded past us nary a sweat in shorts, no less.

If you squint really hard, you'll see the kangaroo. He actually posed long enough for me to get 2 semi-decent shots (I was 5 metres away and using a lousy phone camera)

A panoramic view of the city. Pressed for time, I didn't manage to see the city, but received a fairly thorough explanation of the notable buildings from BR.

I hurried off and stopped at the nearest fuel station outside the territory. My stick indicated the oil levels were dangerously low. I, who up until now, still struggle with caps (jar, childproof), relied on the kindness of a stranger to do the honours, before speeding all the way past Goulburn to the Sydney Airport, with leftover Kettle chips as breakfast.

KG's flight arrived at 10.19am. I was 2.5 hours late (though this was anticipated). His ruddy smile and grey curls were a sight for sore eyes.

He took over the driving, seeing how it was impossible to fit him into the passenger seat with all my stuff. We stopped by the Sydney Exhibition & Convention Centre to have a look at the MindBodySpirit exhibition for a bit before driving across the harbour bridge to McMann's Point for lunch.

We had some excellent food at the Italian restaurant (I really need to start remembering some names - it's the one with loads of people dining alfresco in the middle of the strip anyway).

The loveliest picture I probably have of Sydney, including both iconic structures, taken from McMann's Point.

After a whirlwind tour of the north shore, we headed to the Hotel Ibis on Pennant Hills Rd for the night. It's very minimalistic and functional; we especially liked the space efficient bathroom.

The sunrise from our room window. The man handling the check in was extremely candid when requested for a room with a view. "What view?"

We awoke early the next day and set off at first light. The fuel stop at Heatherbrae (just before Raymond Terrace) had surprisingly excellent food; try sharing the chicken sandwich - portions are enormous.

I'd hoped we could do lunch at the organic shop in Kempsey, but it was closed. We headed to the nearby Macksville instead, for some vaguely edible meat-and-bread combinations.

The view from our picnic table. Thankfully the seagulls left us alone this time.

The long stretch after was pretty monotonous. Both of us were fairly knackered and required a pit stop or two (never underestimate your exhaustion). Dinner was Hungry Jacks in Ballina before we drove on and finally arrived home, sweet home.

Settling in

2010-05-25T16:24:00.005+10:00

There's a whole suburb named Tanah Merah in between the Gold Coast and Brisbane stretch. I'd always been curious. Apparently, there's a sizeable Malaysian population around.

Redundancy. (Credit to KG for doing a U turn and pausing the 10 seconds required for me to fumble with the phone camera, click and snap at a roundabout no less and miraculously, not getting honked at)

(Dunny is Aussie slang for toilet. In case that wasn't clear enough)

You can't tell, but the out of focus street sign behind actually says Papaya St. On a somewhat related note, mangosteens are going for $1.49 here. EACH.

These seemingly harmless feathered friends here are plovers, known to draw blood if feeling threatened. They nest on the ground too, so mind your steps.

Manly, a pretty suburb on the south eastern side of Brisbane. Try The Pelican's Nest for decent seafood and pleasant ambience.

Dessert for tonight. Mascaporne cheese is glorious stuff. I got the recipe from here. KG better be hungry.

Potatoes in lieu of silicon

2010-05-21T12:44:00.004+10:00

Happiness is watching the orange glow of the sunset fade across the Nerang river, while being held in the cool breeze. And then running screaming down the street because your lover is trying to put a potato down your shirt while a group of strangers try to make sense of the scene. And then making bangers and mash (boil diced and peeled potatoes 'til soft then mash with milk, butter, salt and pepper) together before settling in for a quiet evening at home.

Riza says:
i have to go make dinner

janbanks.blogspot.com says:
cook away, my furry friend!

Riza says:
haha so who does the cooking over there?

janbanks.blogspot.com says:
me
lol
tho yest KG helped

Riza says:
lol what do u cook anyway?

janbanks.blogspot.com says:
we needed to make mashed potatoes
n didnt have any
so we went out to get 2

Riza says:
2 potatoes? lol

janbanks.blogspot.com says:
then i put them in his chest pockets
so they looked like boobs
lolololol
everyone kept staring

Riza says:
lol well jan, i see you havent changed

Things I will miss about Melbourne

2010-05-17T08:21:00.000+10:00

So endeth my three month stint in the Garden City. Victoria was lovely - in many ways, my life there reminded me of the good times in KL. My social life was hectic, I worked in a corporate environment and there were lovely cafes around every corner. Not to mention the enormous Malaysian population.

So why did I leave? I could list inane things like, the weather, the horrendous dodge 'em traffic, the madding crowds, but really, I'm leaving for love. SO, my favourite sister-in-law (even if you aren't the only one, you'd still be my favourite) put it succinctly: You might be in Melbourne, but your heart was always in Gold Coast.

Still, much as I love KG (please take note of what I'm giving up for you), the sunny blue skies and the ability to flaunt my waistline in dresses (I am constantly in jeans here) all year round (I used to love outerwear but am sick, sick, sick of it now), I know I'll miss...

... the cafes in completely random places: Dead Man Espresso (South Melbourne), Babble (off Chapel St), Journal (Flinders Ln), 1000 Pound Bend (Little Lonsdale St), Giraffe Cafe (also Little Lonsdale St).

... cheap food: Japanese at Don Don and Hanaichi ($6.50-7), pizza at Brunswick and QVM ($2-2.50 per slice), Sushi at Lonsdale St ($2 per roll) and general $10 meals everywhere else.

... the parks/ green: Fitzroy Gardens, the National Parks along the Great Ocean Road and all the little reserves all over the inner eastern suburbs and Yarra Valley, of course.

... cheap and chic: Brunswick St and Fitzroy St are great for warehouse/ outlet sales (see Missy Confidential for tips), Camberwell Sunday Markets for recycled designer stuff, DFO South Wharf for the Gap and Forever New outlets and apparently, the op shops in St Kilda's (never got the chance, sadly).

... Christian support: I attended the Planet Shakers church once and honestly, if you're new to the city, register yourself there - they have random church members call you now and then to make sure you're okay. And of course, SL and co, thank you so much for your prayers!

... friends: I've met many, many people here - some nice, most unmemorable, some downright insane. And also turned many acquaintances into friends. To the lovely people who put up with my lovesick whinging and craziness, I ♥ you all and promise to return your hospitality when you pop over to my turf next time.

... people: For most part, Melburnians are extremely friendly and easygoing. Although I did face my first racial epithets ever here, I've also had many long, in depth conversations with random strangers.

... tree-lined streets: Autumn here is amazing and I'm so glad I got the chance to experience it.

Okay, I'd better stop here or I'll start with a litany of regrets next.

Stopping to smell the roses

2010-05-13T19:48:00.006+10:00

BE and I met in 2007 through Facebook (I poked him because he's cute and I thought we shared the same surname). From the start, I liked his gung ho-ness, his sincerity and above all, how he ~~always picked up the tab~~ is always such a thoughtful friend.

And here's another display of his thoughtfulness, after a profound conversation we had. Whilst I am not the sole muse for his post, I am meandering through life a little (albeit quite contentedly so). This attitude isn't exactly appreciated by some Malaysian friends and family; I'm certainly relieved that my sabbatical is far away from the naysayers.

When I worked in KL, I'd faced a lot of criticism because I did things differently (ie. efficiently) from everyone else. And you know what? Those same people are slogging until 8pm-midnight everyday, shopping, partying and boozing away.

A party-pooper and teetotaller, I believe that life holds much more than all that certainty. I appreciate the randomness each day brings and like myself much better for it too. Whilst my mother despairs over my indecision, I'm relieved that I'm in a position to be indecisive.

So here's to Godsent friends who write you blog posts, post you stuff to cheer you up, buy you plants, pray for you, help you fix flat tyres, help you move house and overall, are there when you need them.

Days 3 and 4: The Great Ocean Roadtrip

2010-05-12T09:57:00.003+10:00

We spent most of the late morning wandering about the 12 Apostles Marine National Park, which is really worth the ramble. Note: Eat breakfast if you're planning to do this - it'll take a good hour and the nearest shops will be a 15 minute drive away in Port Campbell.

Limestone stalactites

A reasonably decent panoramic effort near the Sherbury (?) Estuary

X and I kept look out for each other as we answered our respective calls of nature

The Blow Hole

Thunder Cave, which I believe leads to the Blow Hole

Starving by now, we drove towards Port Campbell and wound up at the charming Room 6 for brunch. I had the Big Vegetarian Breakfast (mushrooms, spinach, hashbrown, toasted turkish bread, scrambled eggs and a yummy unidentifiable relish) and X had the Big Breakfast (bacon, eggs and the lot). Mine was gorgeous. Highly recommended, though be prepared for a couple of hungry sparrows.

We decided to skip Warrnambool in lieu of a more leisurely drive, though in hindsight, including it would have still allowed for a decent pace. The journey inland from Port Campbell to Colac (past Timboon, Camperdown and Cobden) was lovely. We drove through the lush Cape Otway National Park. It was amazing how beautiful and thick the vegetation was, and in certain areas, how tropical. We were told that the year had brought much needed rain and how some years back, most of the land had been parched and brown.

The breathtaking view from Mt Leura, which is really a volcano in the volcano of Leura Maar.

X's brother who lives in Geelong suggested we do lunch at Colac. Unfortunately, we were both ridiculously stuffed from the brunch earlier. We did stop at the Otway Estate Winery (12 km off the main road) nonetheless. The restaurant there has won some kind of Food Award for 2008 - 2010 and the dishes did smell divine. X and I plopped ourselves on the couches for some dessert and drinks. This is where the Best Iced Chocolate exists. The milk was thick and the ice cream was probably homemade, with a slightly gritty texture and dark cream colour. The chocolate syrup lacked the sweetness of most commercial brands. It was beautiful.

We lazed around, reading magazines for a bit before resuming our journey. The initial plan had been to stay the night in Colac, but the caravan parks had looked extremely uninviting (the one near the lake is pretty, but lacked linen).

We wound up in Winchelsea, which is about 20 minutes from Geelong. The Winchview Cottages are run by the hospitable Graham and June Rowe. It was all incredibly charming and I had the best night's sleep there, with the electric blanket turned up to the maximum temperature.

The cottage is actually a mobile house (yes, they actually cart houses off to be replanted elsewhere in this country). I believe this one was from Geelong.

And finally, this one for the American and Israeli friends. At least us bloody Asian drivers get this one right (most of the time).

Days 1 and 2: The Great Ocean Roadtrip

2010-05-10T20:14:00.007+10:00

X and I had planned to spend his birthday together. Now virtually everyone I've mentioned this to asks, Didn't you guys break up? Well, yeah. We did. And we remain broken up. But just because you break up with someone (especially when it was amicable), it shouldn't mean you should wipe them out completely. X was a massive part of my young adulthood and still remains, a good friend. I'm not going to pretend he wasn't a huge part of the reason I moved to this lovely country and he didn't affect my life very fundamentally.

Jan: ...and I'll pick you up, okay?

X: Wash the car first.

Jan: WTF

X: I don't want to picked up by a dirty car.

Jan: SO TAKE THE BUS.

So goes how I ended up doing my first solo carwash. All sorts of nervewracking scenarios played in my mind - what if those giant brushes broke through my windscreen? What if I drowned in soapy water? What if I was late for my medical appointment?

After checking into Hotel Discovery (functional, friendly staff, reasonable parking, gorgeous bedding though the toilet was miles away), we spent a large part of the day wandering around the State Library. I felt vaguely Harry Potter-ish, what with my heavy MNG wintercoat and glasses.

X's lovely niece recommended the Dining Room at the Waterside Hotel. I managed to convince his sister to make a 4 hour roundtrip from Boolarra too. It all turned out beautifully in spite of the pouring rain. The food was divine - try the Grilled Saganaki. I had the Calamari and Chorizo Salad, which was lovely, and would have been lovelier had I actually liked chorizo.

Torquay is lovely. Reminds me of the northern NSW towns, only heaps colder. Bells Beach had such lovely waves - long, unbroken and non-dumpy. I am in awe of how anyone can possibly surf in such freezing conditions.

The entire drive was so scenic.

Lorne reminded me of Kiama, albeit smaller. Very charming and as with all Aussie tourist towns, overpriced. The friendly manager of the local post office cheerfully told of a 3 week period earlier during which he was able to view whales mating through the door. "What other kind of indoor job can you expect to see that?"

Apollo Bay. X got some smoked trout, which became fodder for a load of jokes (did you know that smacking someone around with a frozen trout is an actual offence in UK?). I got some barramundi and chips whilst the seagulls circled us at the park.

The 12 Apostles was breathtaking.

Only the gloomy weather marred the magnificent vision.

There was a really noticeable amount of Indian visitors there (like 40%). At first I thought it might be due to the nearby university town of Warrnambool, but was told those institutions largely cater for locals. Is anyone able to provide an explanation? I thought it might be a sacred site or something, but then it's the 12 Apostles, you know?

Fat ass bee on the lavender patch outside our motel.

We stayed at the 12 Apostles Motel and Country Retreat. It's hosted on 8 acres of former dairy farmland and a phone call from KG at night had me standing outside, gazing up at the star scattered night sky, the Milky Way subtly visible.