5 posts tagged “friends”

Elton found himself a new best friend after busting one of his tyres recently. A quick call to the Automobile Association sent this mechanic with a really odd first name over to his place. Well, it wasn't so much odd as so mundane a name that you wouldn't really name someone or yourself that. Boy. What kind of a name is Boy? Like how many sisters must you have that your parents have either no clue what male names sound like or figure they'd just differentiate you by gender? More importantly, does that mean you have a sister named Girl?

But, strange name aside, Boy the mechanic seems to be excellent at his job. After the brief encounter they had over the tyre, Elton decided to pay him a visit at his workshop to get more of his car fixed.

So all in all, it set him back $900 to get everything fixed. His bumper, the leaking pipes, the engine, the works. Even added two fog lights in just in case all the street lights should ever go out and we have to drive by the illumination of his lights. Now, I feel a need to stress that last bit was at Elton's insistence.

What was impressive was how Boy took the time to explain, in detail, exactly what needed to be changed, why, what were the different grades of the parts available and whether it's worth it to skimp or better to splurge. He also gave a timeline for how long the whole thing would take (a grand total of two days), called to confirm on the day itself if the car would be finished, and gave Elton back a cleaner car than what he brought in. Even the floor mats were vacuumed. A black oil mark some other mechanic left inside the car was gone, though its more stubborn companions remained, somewhat diminished.

This is quite a drastic departure from the one other mechanic Elton dealt with, who was, sadly, his old classmate. Communication was limited at best, and there was no such detailed explanation. It was pretty much a don't-ask-don't-tell sort of situation. Good, in that you won't spend money on anything other than why you brought it in for. Bad, in that you have no clue what condition your car is really in. The car's been to that workshop a number of times already, but some chronic problems (like all three pipes were leaking, there was no freon left, which was why the aircon was not cold, the rubber on the windshield wipers had hardened, and the tyre pressures were all too low) were never identified, much less fixed. The worst part was not knowing when the car would be fixed, and it often took the better part of a week and much calling before you'd even find out what was going on.

So now the car seems to be purring along better now, and Elton was so incredibly pleased with his very detailed, itemized receipt that he showed it to me with all the pride of a kid with a glowing report card. Pretty obvious he'll be going back to Boy's workshop in the future. (I'm not paid for this, but hey, I'll take the good karma for it - Boy's workshop is at the Caltex Station along Lorong Chuan, just outside Serangoon Gardens. In case you're looking for a good mechanic.)

On the topic of service, my parents bemuse me. They're both sales people; Dad sells mattresses, Mom sells furniture. So you'd expect them to understand what annoys sales people on commission the most; making one guy do all the work, explaining all the details to you, then going somewhere else to buy the thing. Unfortunately, that seems like what they plan to do.

We're thinking of trading in our old massage chair. It's so old, it's of the generation where the rollers had fixed paths, and you'd better be 5'7" with broad shoulders or it'll hit you in all the wrong spots. Nowadays, all the chairs have adjustable rollers so it doesn't matter what size you are. We've been thinking of that since the new chairs came out, but trading in wasn't an option previously.

Now though, it's possible, and we can get a pretty good price for our old chair. The new one is still going to set us back by a few thousand dollars, but it's not so bad. Out of the generosity of my heart, I said I'd pay for the chair.

Since Dad bought the chair originally, we had to clear it with him because replacing anything he bought without getting permission first is just asking for a week, maybe two, of him glowering around the house. Good news was, he agreed. Bad news, he insisted on checking with the vendor at his workplace if they could give a better price.

It turns out we can get it for 10 percent less at his workplace, but only if we pay with a certain credit card that I don't own. Well, I used to, but I canceled it a long while back (what? I wasn't using it).

So now, the thing that bothers me the most is, I gave that sales person my word that if we were to get the chair, I'd get it from him. It's just not fair that he took all the time to explain everything to us and we just up and give his commission to some other dude. I know it doesn't benefit me in the least, but I've also lived in a household where my parents come home and complain about customers who do exactly that (sales people talk; don't think they don't know your sneaky ways). This guy may be just some stranger doing his job, but he's someone's son, probably someone's husband.

My hesitation to get the chair from Dad's workplace made Mom think I have no intention of changing the chair, transforming her into this gruff barking person. Whenever she's annoyed, it sounds like she's trying to imitate a big dog barking when she talks, with this bass, hollow quality to her short, antagonistic sentences.

Thing is, I want to change the chair. And I have no problems with paying $400 more (it's on zero percent installment anyway, the extra bump is not that painful when spread out like that), not that I'll be able to get the discount anyway, since I don't have the credit card. The issue is, a) it's stupid saying I'll pay for the chair, then get Dad to sign it on his card, paying him back subsequently, and b) I'm breaking my promise.

I don't like to go back on my word. I don't give it lightly, and I can be prone to cutting it very close (basically, if I start phrasing things very carefully, you know I'm just trying to weasel out of it), but once I do promise something I try my damndest to go through with it. I blame it on reading too many fairy tales, since the fey don't lie, although they'll bend the truth till it's a hair from breaking. But it makes me feel like a good person, and I'll try to keep it that way.

Which is why I'm quite concerned for Kym at the moment. Our new careers aren't exactly working out, but she seems to be having a more difficult time than I at adjusting to the new culture. Her industry is a lot more technical than mine with so much to learn. (Truly, it's not difficult being a journalist, but if you can't write, you can't write.) It doesn't help that there's one particularly nasty person in her workplace. On the bright side, they're on the same rank, so she doesn't have to take orders from the bitch or anything. Then again, you don't have to be outranked by a bitch to be terrorised by her.

Over speakerphone, she told Elton and I about her problems at work, and asked if we could think of an alternate career she'd be better at. As much as I'd like to give her an answer, the truth is I have no clue either. I mean, I supposedly got my dream job, but I'm still dreading going to work everyday. I'm still thinking about things in a temporary fashion.

But because I said I would think on it, I'm thinking on it. And I'm hoping somehow I can at least point out a job she would like to do and be good at doing.

It's a good thing I don't have that many friends, otherwise I'll never get anything done.

It's 6.28am, do you know what your favourite blogger is doing?

The trick to drinking alcohol is to pick a drink with no adverse side effects. Nothing too gassy, because burping and farting are unpleasant, then there's the fact that the bubbles actually get the alcohol in your blood stream faster, and the worse fact that they'll make your tummy gurgle, leading to possible vomiting and diarrhea. Nothing too, er, convoluted either, because they tend to give you a headache (like bourbons and tequila) and make your face swell.

Now, I have a new thing to add to the list. Nothing with a fucked up mixer. I'm sitting here, sober as daylight and alert as a paranoid housewife, thanks to the sheer amount of Red Bull in my system right now. At least my heart rate's gone down. All the vodka's been pissed out or sweated out already, but the Red Bull gives me wings. Not only did I manage to come home after a whole night of clubbing (no, seriously, the lights went up, the music went out, and they started chasing us out so they can go home) and edit almost 60 photos and upload them, I'm now blogging.

Am I conscientious or what?

Ok, I'm insomniac, but hey, this sort of endurance deserves a little applause.

It'll only be more kickass if I start packing my luggage for our Melbourne trip right now.

Hmm.

Ok, maybe not. After this, bed.

We were out celebrating Yvonne's birthday, which is really really cool, because this would be her first birthday as two people, technically. (No, she's not schizo; she's preggers. And in case you start judging her, she had a little red wine and that was it.) So we had a kickass dinner at Indulgz (seriously, for about $50 per person for five people, we ordered so much stuff, it was beyond scary), before proceeding to Loof for drinks.

Unfortunately, Loof was crowded as hell, thanks to the lack of a cover charge. So we went downstairs to look for Supperclub. Unfortunately, their marketing department was a little low on budget, so there were exactly two arrows on the ground pointing us to that place. And the second one pointed to the street.

Fortunately, we has brains, so we found the joint in the end.

Now, Supperclub is great if you, like me, can't sit straight. It's a problem for the, uh, older generation, thanks to the weird length of the seat, where unless you have Lance Armstrong's thighs, you can't quite sit, lean on the back rest and keep your feet on the ground. We didn't get one of the beds, mainly because that section was closed off when we got there, then we were too comfortable in our little corner to move. The lack of free form chairs meant if you didn't get a table in a corner, you all had to sit in a line, which was a little silly.

The DJ was very good though. I'm not entirely certain what category of music that is, but it got even me moving, and I usually don't like that stuff much.

Throughout the whole night, I kept taking pictures. Lots and lots and lots of pictures. Why? Because sometimes, when you're having fun and you just have fun, you end up the next day with like four pictures and you completely regret it. You know it's true. That, and it's nice to have memories of the night, especially if there's alcohol involved and you might forget all about it. That, and I happened to be the only person who brought a camera, the lazy bastards. Fine, so they had 8 megapixel camera phones, but that's just not the same.

It's probably a good thing I did that too, because I discovered that my camera lens was a little smudgey, so I managed to get it cleaned up before our trip. It didn't really show, except for a couple of shots with the flash on.

Oh, and in case people start giving me nonsense about how I shot the entire night on just 4 MPs and the pictures are going to turn out shit, please realise that megapixels mean nothing. You need skillz to get a good shot. Unless, of course, you intend to blow that one picture up to be the wallpaper in your room or you don't understand the concept of zoom and resort to cropping your photos by THAT much.

Ok, I'm sleepy now. Next post might take a while. Or it might be from Melbourne. :)

Kym tells me that among her oddly nicknamed friends, they have a very competitive culture going on. They'll compare everything, from jobs, belongings to boyfriends, in this constant and bizarre manner that somehow includes not telling each other they have stuff stuck in their teeth just so their hotness quotient is reduced temporarily.

Like that also happy...ah well. I guess that's why I don't have many female friends.

The problem is, sometimes the culture develops on its own, and even if the members of the group don't like it at all, they can't really change it unless they're willing to admit it exists. Which is rare, because if it's something unlikeable, it means it's something they don't want to admit being a part of to one another. Who wants to confess that they're a childish competitive bitch? Really?

And so it persists. It's not an issue if it's healthy, like it drives them to get better jobs and better boyfriends and they end up happier for it. It's only an issue when it starts to degenerate into stuff like, "What bigger, better and more expensive present can I get my guy to buy for me so the other girls die of jealousy?" Unless you're dating like some sheikh who supps you his Centurion, that game eventually leads to the golden goose running away from being wrung dry for its eggs.

The thing is, friends are necessary as points of comparison. They are the ones you turn to for a yardstick to measure your own life with when it comes to subjective things like whether your life is going well. Of course, even that measurement is subjective, because it depends on who you hang out with.

Which is probably why you can sometimes see the Fat Girl In The Hot Girl Group. I feel so sorry for them, because I know, they know and everybody with eyes know that they're in the group not because of their winning personality, but so that when the waifs look into full length mirrors and complain that they're getting fat, there's someone they can look at and breathe a sigh of relief that at least they're not that fat yet. Women are evil.

I used to be part of a group in secondary school that had a Fat Girl. And the thing is, she's not even very fat, just larger than the average girl. It didn't help that she had short hair, cut like a boy's, with some strange skin condition of the flaky sort. I wasn't too comfortable around her, but I kept my thoughts to myself because she's supposed to be a friend. I left the group because I got sick of them bitching about her when she wasn't around. They'd laugh at her fats, discuss the possibility of her being a lesbian, that sort of thing. Cruel, evil, bitchy things.

I wonder what became of them since. I wonder if they're still friends. I wonder if any of them developed independent thought processes or if they're still taking orders from the queen bee. Hey, maybe their life is simpler, I dunno.

Guys have the same problem too. Don't lie, you lousy fuckers. I remember the days when I was still dating Damian and he was still relatively cool and all the guys would try to complete his sentences with him as though his speeches were some audience participation act in the National Day Parade. And they would always wait for him to come up with his conclusion of what was the coolest deck/army/character build so they could echo him, since he had a nasty habit of dismissing everything else as utter and total shit. Ok lah, I can narrow his fan base down to three guys, but the rest would just keep quiet, because as alpha males go, he's just fucking loud.

That example aside, men have their little bitchy cliques too. One leader, one joker, one candlestick maker, and all of a sudden your happy and contented guy feels the need to have some "personal space" or some "privacy". And you're there lip-syncing to Pink's "Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)" and wishing you had some time to yourself, wondering where the heck that came from.

Your guy's friends are the single most dangerous group around. They will help him lie to you, invent ways for him to lie to you, and give him reasons to have to lie to you. Date a hermit. Seriously. Otherwise it'll be, "I'm going out for a movie with the guys" when it's really not. And if you're tempted by the idea of running a spot check, don't bother. All it'll do is lower yourself in their eyes. What should you do? Find a guy who isn't so easily lallang-ed by his friends. A guy with a back bone who doesn't have stupid drunken Tucker Maxish friends who tell him shit. It's cute in secondary school. It's great if you're a nymphomaniac looking to work your way through the group. It's a recipe for pain if you're just looking for someone to share your life and your heart with. Truly, there are men who have evolved beyond bar apes. Go out and find them.

Over the course of this month, I've come to realize the importance of friends. They make life less lonely. But I really don't know whether I'm capable of making more. Or if I should. Apparently one of Kym's boyfriend's friends was really taken with me in the short guest starring role I had in their night out a couple of weeks back. So much so my presence was requested at future social outings. I'm flattered, because hey, it's nice to know people like having you around. But I'm just not sure if other than a higher blood alcohol content, we shared anything else in common. And in the glaring light of day, when sober, whether things will be just awkward. Wouldn't it be better just to leave it as a lovely one night only performance?

As you grow older, it's just kinda weird to make friends. It's no longer as organic a process as it once was; you literally have to push it to make it happen. We're busy (fine, you working people contributing to the economy are busy), and it's hard to develop a friendship unless you happen to see that person everyday. If that's not the case, you have to shanghai them for weekly tennis games or drinking sessions to make sure you guys stay friends.

And if you push too much, people start to think you're interested in more than just friendship. Even if you're the same sex. Tricky tricky.

I'm not the sort of person who has tons of friends, mainly because I prefer economy in all things. I'm starting to realize that might not be such a good strategy after all.

Last Tuesday I brought my good friend Kym to The Shop and caused a major power imbalance. I'd decided to skip VtES in favour of shopping, then decided to go find Elton to share a cab back with him, and also to let Kym rest her feet.

Now, any female going into The Shop will naturally be checked out. But this was possibly the first time I saw someone commit suicide just to get a better look at a girl. (Yes Danz, I'm talking about you. Don't deny it; your Assamites were in pretty strong position then suddenly everything magically fell apart.) The others were too geeky to give up the game, or maybe if the game ended they wouldn't have an excuse to sit there and furtively glance at her, so things slowed down dramatically. Or so Elton said.

It's not surprising. Kym is worth a stare or two. She's got these big limpid eyes, long flowing black hair, and she's quite well endowed. She's not humongous (she's still within proportion), but in flat-chested Singapore, she's definitely in the top 10 percent. And she makes an effort to dress up, which pushes her into the top five percent (because some girls think they got tua neh or they damn skinny they can just anyhow wear any old T-shirt and be done with it). Of course, hearing this rousing endorsement will usually make some guys demand for a picture, study it, then go, "Nah, she's not my type." But the fact remains that no heterosexual guy I know of who has seen her picture in passing has not displayed some level of interest.

Luckily, I somehow manage to not feel any jealousy towards her. I may have in my younger days, but now, not a tinge, and I'm not just saying that. If anything, I feel more protective than anything; she's a very sweet person, and I get very angry when people take advantage of her. She's the one female friend I still hang out with, and there's a reason for that.

Kym has seven sisters (yeah, O_o indeed), so she's way more used than I am at having female company. She's got a number of female friends, but listening to her talk about them, I really wonder if they treat her as a friend at all. There's one who constantly sends her gory pictures of traffic accidents despite Kym asking her not to. Then there's another who constantly stands her up (or "fly her aeroplane" as Kym puts it) because she's too lazy/cheapskate/boy crazy to go out with her. Then there's another who constantly makes fun of Kym's assets and dressing. Then there's another who splits bills down to how many chicken wings she's had in proportion to the others. And THEN there's another whose Total Sponge ways caused Kym's boyfriend to develop a sense of paranoia that Kym's trying to get him to pay for everything as well (which she's not; she's just teasing you, dude. She's more than happy to spend her own money so you won't nag at her).

It's starting to seem as though I'm her only sane friend. Then again, I've been exhibiting a tendency to show up late for our outings and a certain long-windedness when we get on certain topics (sorry girl, I promise I not late next time, and I'll try to shut up).

But the thing that really seems to get her goat is when her friends OD on the lan hong and dump her for the sake of some guy. You know that saying "bros before hos"? Well, it works for women too, possibly more, because some girls have a tendency to date really fucked up guys and we are the ones who have to come in as clean up crew when he cheats on her or leaves her. Guys just go off to cry on their own, but girls, why, they suddenly remember they have you as a friend and you have to take time off your happy life to go and pick up the pieces of her screwed up one.

Well, you know what? Fuck that. And fuck you, bad evil friend! Stop using people! Kym is a nice person, and she's not going to tell a crying friend to fuck off, but I am. Which is probably why I only have Kym. Ack. I have no patience for stupid selfish girls who put you down to make themselves feel good, ask you out to be a filler between their appointments, make you travel all the way to their side of the island because their too lazy, make you pay the bill because they don't have enough money then forget to pay you back, date complete shitheads and don't listen to your advice (or even ask you for your opinion on the guy), and come crying to you after months of not answering your calls or messages because said shithead banged some other stupid girl. That's not being a friend. That's not even treating the other person like a human being. Where's the respect? You don't have to put your friend on a pedestal, but you should at least treat her with the dignity you'd give to a stranger. Yeah, that's the other weird thing; they'll treat complete strangers nicely, but have no issues with treating their friends like dirt. Fuckers.

I lost most of my female friends a while back because I realized I detested being treated like I'm disposable. I hated being someone's whine bucket. I hated that my advice was never heeded. I hated seeing them treat other people like dirt or them being treated like dirt. I'm not saying that all women are like that, but there is a group of girls who really seem to think the world revolves around them. They're the kind of women who would go out clubbing with their friends then call their guy or the guy who's interested in them at four in the morning to get him to come pick her up and send her home. They're the kind of women who expect their guy to pay for every single fucking thing, even the ten cents for the public toilet. They're the kind of women who string guys along with the unstated promise of possible sex just so they can get presents from them. To these women, I say, you think your CB made of gold ah? Think about it, you get things and money based on sex or the promise of sex, so what does that make you?

Their counterparts are the women who treat men like gods, and they don't even bother to look for remotely god-like men. In fact, they seem to have a knack for looking for assholes. I had one cousin and one friend go down this road; they bought everything for their guy, they'd drive him around, they'd cook, they'd clean, they got completely used. They block their ears to any negative thing about their guy, but occasionally still come whining to you about their relationship. To these women, I have a lot to say, but they don't listen anyway, so I'm going to save my breath.

Perhaps the reason to this is a lack of education. After all, there isn't a class on friendship in school, and a lot of these girls watch too many of those Channel 8 or Hong Kong drama series where friendship has a tendency to degenerate into two girls fighting over a guy (I hate to generalize, but there is a tendency for members of the above groups to watch more Chinese shows than American ones. The kantangs have issues too, but they tend to be different ones). So here's my rules of Life and Love:

Nanashee's 5 Rules of Life

1. Thou shalt not abandon your friend due to lanhongness.
It is ok to disappear for short bouts when starting a new relationship, but not ok to fly your friend's aeroplane ever. If you don't want to meet up, don't agree then call at the last minute and say you can't make it because you want to spend time with your guy. Friends aren't obsolete once you find a guy; most of the time they can sense whether a guy is good for you or not, and they're the ones who'll be there when you get cheated on.

2. Thou shalt not mock your friend.
It is not ok to make fun of your friend's boobs/ears/teeth/cheeks/tummy or other weird body part. It is also not ok to criticize your friend's dressing/taste/boyfriend/family/etc. (Not criticize your friend's boyfriend? But what if he's evil? Read on.) If it's something bad that your friend should change for her own good, it's fine to tell her about it. But try to do it in a tactful manner because everything your friend chooses to do is an extension of her self, so you're basically telling her she sucks and nobody likes to hear that. What is not ok is to make fun of her to make yourself feel better. That's what random strangers are for.

3. Thou shalt not make your friend give in to your needs all the time.
It is not ok to make your friend come all the way from Woodlands to Tampines just because you stay there unless there is a massive sale or a fantastic restaurant or you're having a house warming. Oei, taxi very expensive now ok? Nor is it ok to always insist on going to the places you want or doing the things you want to do. Take turns deciding. Compromise. Meet halfway.

4. Thou shalt not be a cheapskate.
One of the most wtf stories Kym told me was of a girl who insisted on paying a certain amount for a communal style meal because she only ate two chicken wings out of the whole platter. Ha-low lah, how about next time you bring your own sandwich in your little Tupperware? The Chinese have a saying, talk money hurt feelings. There's nothing more off putting than someone who splits every last cent. It's like saying that you're out to cheat her of her money by making you pay more for her food. Then there's the other kind of friend who always shortchanges you or owes you money but doesn't pay you back. Who died and made me your mother? You don't have your own money issit? For that matter, even if you're not working, it's one thing if I offer to pay for your meal; it's another to assume that I'm going to.

5. Thou shalt respect thine friend.
Respect is a word that Elton's bosses have a tendency to toss around, usually in an Ali G fashion. It's deeply ironic, since they seem incapable (well, one much more than the other) of actually showing a hint of it. Some people (usually those who have a poor grasp of English) think that respect is something meant for the elderly or more powerful. That is just one level of respect. The more common one is to respect people as people, treating them the way you'd want others to treat yourself. If you were a waiter, would you want people to shoot one syllable words at you and not even give you the dignity of eye contact? If you don't get this, I have a sneaking suspicion you never will. And that's too bad for you, because your life will be so much poorer for it.

And now, Nanashee's 5 Laws of Love

1. Listen to your friends.
Love is blind, especially in the beginning. Your gut can't tell whether the butterflies it's feeling are because of excitement or because there's something wrong about him and your body's trying to tell you about it. So you need to count on your friends to tell you if things aren't right. If you don't respect your friends opinions and you ignore them, that's fine. Then don't go crying when things fall apart. You don't have to break up with a guy just because your friends don't like him, but ask why, listen, and look at him with fresh eyes and see whether it's a legitimate concern. Orgasms and much easier and neater with a vibrator anyway; you don't need a guy.

2. Listen to yourself.
One of my cousins used to date a guy named Douglas when I was very young. I hated the guy. I was a good little girl and would greet everyone, but him, I would purposely run to the other side of the room to avoid him. I didn't know why. He was friendly enough, said the right things, was a long-standing boyfriend, was very nice to the family. Then one night my cousin called and sobbed to my mother that she was sitting in the hotel room she'd booked for their tenth anniversary (or something) and he had just dumped her. This, after years of using her. She literally bought everything for him, down to his underwear and toilet paper. She loaned him large sums of money, gave up her all for him. The kicker is, he had been seeing another girl all the while.

I had the same dislike for one of my aunt's husband as well. Long story short, he cheated on her, they're divorced, and she's saddled with two kids and no alimony.

Trust your gut. We ignore it most of the time, but the truth is, it tells you a lot. If you have no feelings for a guy, even if he's handsome, kind, and all around Great Guy (tm), don't waste his time. If the guy you're seeing suddenly asks you for a loan and you feel a weird sensation inside, don't ignore it. Deep down, we're just animals, and no matter how much we deny it, our instincts are still there. There's even a book about it that Oprah talked about.

3. Pay your own way.
There's even a song about it. There's nothing I hate more than women who sponge off guys. I think this stems from an episode in secondary school when a guy I really really liked decided to date this other buck-toothed girl instead, except she made him pay for everything and he dumped her but was too scarred by that to date again. Not only did she get the guy, she even spoiled the market thereafter. I swore to myself there and then that I will never use a guy as an ATM. It's such whorish behaviour that I'm surprised there are girls who are actually proud of getting guys to buy things for them. It's a lot more drawn out and prettified than the transactions at Geylang (and I don't think they do barter trade over there), but it boils down to the same thing.

4. Be your own person.
There are some girls who suddenly become two dimensional and stick to their guy's feet once they get in a relationship. Wendy's friend is a good example. Thing is, there are some guys who want their girlfriends to do everything they want to do or just sit there quietly like some blow up doll. They don't care that their girl is bored stiff or if she might want to do something else and they generally treat her like a mindless piece of property (this brings to mind this gamer named Gavin who has thankfully disappeared from my social circles before the urge to sodomize him with a ten foot splintery pole got too strong). This is what I can tell you; these guys just want an extension of their right hand (or left, depending on which one feels better on their dick). Their girlfriends are not considered as people; they are just things that they own. There are many many more guys out there who are not like that and will treat you nice and you are worthy of that. Just because this piece of shit leaves you doesn't mean no one will want you. Go out there and find a normal person. Please. For the love of god.

For the less severe cases, just because you're in a relationship does not mean you have to morph into the We Monster. You can still take a shit out of your own arse, can't you? I have a feeling your guy/girl didn't start dating you because he/she thought, "Wow, this person is really dependent! I always wanted someone who can't live without me!" So yes, do your own thing, think your own thoughts, because even Siamese twins don't stick that close.

5. Respect your partner.
Yup, it applies to everything. I know a guy who completely disrespects his wife because he pays for everything and because he's a misogynistic little shit who got turned down by too many women before. He insists he loves her, then goes around sleeping with other women and cussing her out when he's in a bad mood. Yeah, I can reeeeally feel the respect right there. Think about it selfishly; if you manage to break your partner's will with your horrible treatment, would you still want to date the spineless creature you created in the end? Or are you going to go after some asshole who's going to treat you like a piece of trash instead? A functioning happy relationship isn't about power. It's about balance. Most people like to be equal, so they prefer mutual respect. Others are fine with one partner being stronger and having a bigger say, but they stay happy by making sure the weaker partner is still heard, even if the weaker partner doesn't speak most of the time. Once you ignore your partner's opinions and you dismiss her intelligence and think she's useless, you might as well just get a pet.

Now, you've got no excuse. Don't say your mother never teach, because I just did it for her.

I've been slacking off. The only things I've really pushed myself to do since I've started working were to go out with Elton, go out with Mom, and go out for yoga. Then again, even that last one was starting to dwindle quite a bit. Otherwise, my days in Singapore are spent sleeping, or just generally mooching around at home. I tell myself I'm just tired from my flights, and I need to recuperate, but honestly, I let it get way too far. There are crew members who head straight for the clubs after an 18 hour flight to New York. Ok, they're nuts, but if they can do that, I can get off my ass and get out to town.

So when Liangcai messaged me a few days back, asking if we could meet up soon, I jumped at the chance to go out with the boys. Plural, because Andy came along too.

We went out for lunch today, had very nice pasta at Pizza Walker in Wisma Atria, Liangcai's recommendation. I had a prawn arrabiata for about $13.80, and it was the best pasta I've had in a while. The linguine was on the right side of al dente, not too uncooked in the centre, the sauce was the right kind of spicy that didn't give me heartburn, and the prawns were fresh and springy. Or crunchy. However you describe that lovely firm texture that bounces like good fishballs. My only complaint is that they weren't shelled, which made me work for my food, and sent spicy tomato sauce spurting in odd directions. Otherwise, faaaantastic. The pizza (Andy couldn't finish one by himself) was the thin-crusted type which ensured full flavour. What little crust there was was baked to fragrant perfection. Personally, I prefer a fuller crust, because a girl needs her carbs, and I've got a bread penchant, but this was good stuff.

Over lunch, we chatted about what was going on with our lives. Liangcai's on holiday at the moment, going on to his honours year soon. I commented that it seems like his uni life is this neverending stretch. We met one another before Liangcai went to uni, and after he more or less disappeared amidst the undergrads, I've not played a single game with him since. Quite sad, really. Still, his dedication wasn't for nothing; the guy's on the dean's list. He says he likes academia. I guess it's a good thing he lives in the West, where the unis are. I can't quite picture him as a lecturer, but it'll be pretty cool having a friend with a classically respectable job. In case I ever go back to my journalistic roots, he'll be my quote bank.

Andy's taking a break and looking for another project to excite him. I don't know if you've read his blog (it's linked to mine somewhere), but that man isn't happy unless his job takes him to dodgy places with bizarre food. Say what you want about money versus passion, but I think he's a lot happier than a lot of people stuck in their offices day in day out. So if you need a film-maker who's not afraid to get down and dirty, go drop him a message on his blog. On the romance side, he's apparently quite torn at the moment, in a conundrum not of his doing. Whatever, I'm just glad to see any sort of romance going on in his life. It's about damned time, dude. Or maybe he's been hiding his girlfriends from me for the past five or six years.

I found out something interesting. Both of them are Virgos. Which explains the near-palpable feeling of dependability that wafts off them. They're both very dedicated individuals, to the extent of a near anal-retentivity that's quite scary sometimes. Liangcai's been known to re-write entire essays by himself, just to get it right. And we wonder why we haven't seen much of him since he started uni. Nah, it's because he's busy with the cafe he's working at.

It was good to touch base with them again. We sort of went shopping. They helped me pick out a new pair of specs (black plastic with a white trim at the sides), encouraged me to buy this Swatch watch I randomly set my sights on, while Andy was buying his, and had more beverages with me in a single day than any other person I've spent a day with.

Having successfully pulled my ass off the proverbial couch, they went off their separate ways, and I went to get a few things done that I should have a long time ago. I applied for a credit card, and went for yoga again. The first has been something that has been on my mind for a long time. Since my monthly expenditure was consistently hitting four digits, it was time to start earning points for it. My debit has been serving me well, but why not get more bang for my buck? I was told not to apply until I had at least six months' worth of paychecks to prove that I was earning a certain amount, so now that I do, it's time to get some plastic.

Going for yoga, hot yoga, specifically, is one of those things where I keep questioning the logic of, until I actually get to the class. Hot yoga is masochistic. You try holding a pose where you're practically upside down, with sweat dripping into your eyes and the instructor dragging out the count like a dirty referree at a wrestling match. At the end of the session, you're sweating like mad, which I hate. But, once you hit the showers, you come out like a new person, and that, I enjoy very much.

It's time I stopped letting myself slack off. Not that I'll be able to anyway. My birthday's next week, so there's that to plan. In addition to the proficiency test I have to sit for to prove that je peux parler francais on the eve of my birthday. It's going to be a pretty exciting week.