Bottoms Up!

Last weekend, my friends and I celebrated Actor's birthday. In typical diva fashion (but of course), we pounced on the occassion to dress up to the nines and partied the night away as if we were starring in Fergie's Glamorous video. Out came the faux gems, the gold heels and the Nippits.

Zeta Bar is nothing to shout about. Actually, it's nothing to even write about. It's Hard Rock with drinks priced as if it's Bar Marmont, it's the nirvana of travelling white men, the diamond mine of SPGs who began their journey at The Beach Club. You get what I mean right?

For a very long time, I was a stalwart subscriber to the notion that I could not have fun on a night out unless I was:-
a. completely inebriated with alcohol
b. completely inebriated with alcohol and had a love interest present
c. completely inebriated with alcohol and passed out in somebody's car

Fast forward to last Saturday night - I realised that with only one whiskey soda all night long and no cigarette in hand, I was actually having fun. Great, great fun! Great, great fun at Zeta Bar!

The first time I realised that fun was possible without alcohol was back at the Rainforest Music Festival a month ago. Before the Black Label fest began, I was sober and loving every moment of partying outdoors at such an amazing gathering, high on the idea of kicking the pretentious KL scene in the butt and imagining myself in a Woodstock moment. Of course, sobriety is equated with being diseased in the pickled-liver town of Kuching, so I was quickly 'remedied' by locals. With twenty slugs of whiskey (straight out of plastic Coca Cola bottle) and some token water, I was no longer the leper. But the point is, there was a short moment of sobriety and in that flicker of a moment, there was happiness.

I have probably been waiting for this to happen ever since I stepped into Faces for my 13th birthday in 1987, complete with parental entourage.

Is it truly possible? Apparently it is. At Zeta, I danced like a maimed donkey, posed like a salah Paris Hilton and pranced about in a very Benny Hill fashion that is, if you really think about it, stupendously salah. The idea was to celebrate a friend's birthday, not just in action, but in feeling. The door to liberation had indeed sprung open and I was amazed I was allowed to gain admittance.

My explanation is this: As corny as it sounds, it comes with being at peace with myself. With not having to prove anything to anybody, especially me. Not having to please anyone, or to include anyone else's feelings and wants in my selfish pursuit of hedonism. It's about acceptance - largely about accepting that perhaps, I'm not all that (egad!), that plans don't always go the way I want, about being happy with what I've got - not constantly trying to make it better, or be with certain people or somewhere else completely. I know I come off really sad at this point but if the truth be told, this has a been a real obstacle for me to overcome (I really am that shallow). I'm not entirely sure how I arrived here, only that I have.

Having said that, here comes the disclaimer: I am not saying that I don't enjoy being off my face - of course being drunk is REALLY LOVELY, but what I'm saying is that it's no longer the precursor that stands in the way to a good time. I genuinely have a good time when I choose to - and I think that with most things, when it comes from inside out, it's all good.

Erm...almost everything. Not puke.

I Love Nicole Richie

For those of you who shop till you drop (and you know who you are wink wink)...

If you have exhausted Eye Candy yet still have this desperate need to throw your money away, there's Wondermomo to restore your faith in KL retail.

Here's a place where you will find edgier, more current, funkier stuff. Lots of DvF, Stella McCartney, Missoni, Marc Jacobs and plenty of accessories - Coach hats, Chanel sunglasses, Kate Spade bags, ugly ass shoes... The theme is current - many of the labels will actually tell you which season the things come from and many were as recent as spring/summer 2007.

Mind you, prices are steeper too. A too-die-for DvF mini bell dress (none of this wraparound shirt thing going on) in cotton, expect to fork out about RM499 with a measely 5% discount if you buy two.

You will find it in Mont Kiara - on the ground floor of the Sunrise tower block itself (the one with the Subway, Maybank ATMs and the supermarket).

I almost cried when I left behind three dresses that Nicole would so approve of - one olive silky girly thing, the bell (in all its glorious variations) and a colourful cutesy girly number by I can't remember who but I just can't afford to blow over a grand at the moment. Boo hoo...but seriously, you go. Spend! Rub my face in it!

PS. Their jeans are on sale. Rock & Religion for RM50? Log off already!

The Prayer

A while back, I wrote about how Crystal Healer taught me the concept of asking from the universe and receiving. When it comes to love, it is possible to conjure the qualities you want in a man and simply to wish him to appear in your life. Despite the Cinderella ring to the whole notion, I listened very carefully. She told me to be very specific, after all, she was when she asked for her man and Prince Charming (now Mr Crystal Healer) really did appear four months later as if she had ordered him straight out of a catalogue. He was exactly as she had requested.

This idea of custom-making and pre-ordering Mr Right was nouveau to me - not just novel in its concept, but outright audacious in its nature. It leaves nothing of fate and to suggest that us mere mortals are capable of conjuring a dream partner practically reeks of withchcraft and godlessness. I battled with it, I really did. I'm not sure if it's Asian humility or just my family upbringing but asking and receiving with no reference to whether one deserves it or not, is just completely outrageous. Yet, somewhere in the inner sanctum of my consciousness, I liked it. I really really liked it. It made so much sense. What's the big deal? Ask and you shall receive! Who could resist what Crystal Healer was suggesting? Create the man and he will come! It's almost like Harry Potter being told he can have his parents back.

After alot of tossing and toying and wondering and debating, I got to work on my man.

Has anyone ever watched that '80s flick "Weird Science" starring Kelly LeBrock and Anthony Michael Hall? It's where these two teenage geeks stumble on a computer programme that enables them to create the woman of their dreams. Well, it's a little like that minus the technology and the big hair.

It took me a while to think up the qualities I wanted. It's hard to deal with intangibles. Physical attributes are easy. Tall, hunky, lean muscles, six pack, no BO are pretty much standard orders. Hobbies too came easily. I wanted him to be outdoorsy, to value nature, to enjoy travelling so we could wander the world together, to be adventurous etc etc. But his virtues, that was a bit harder. I will never forget my step mother in all her unrealised wisdom, who taught me the importance of kindness in a partner. Kind is not a thing that springs to mind when you are checking out guys at a party. Some girls checkout booty, others check out eyes and hands even, I check out hair on the head. Nobody checks out kindness. I have been out with unkind men. I tell you, it's a vital factor. It's whether he opens doors, whether he curses violently when the car in front slows down or just shrugs his shoulders and makes a joke instead, its whether he will yell at his mother in public or just deal with it in a dignified manner. It's true, it's the little things that matter.

So I finally got my list done, and it spanned a couple of pages. I mean, it's important to be meticulous in such a situation, no?

And everyday, I asked the universe. I added this 'prayer' to my list of prayers. I know what the universe must think. Here comes the demanding one again...

Funnily enough, months later, I believe the universe answered. It sent me The American. When Dear Friend saw him she gasped, gaped and gawked at the same time. When my gay friends saw his photo they Googled him. He climbs rocks like a fiend. He really kicks butt. He's a scientist. He's published 'findings'. When I saw his body, I silently thanked God for creating the world in all its beauty. He is thoughtful. He is unpretentious. He isn't throwing away Daddy's money. He's clean. He eats organic. He doesn't have BO! He fit my 'prayer' like a glove it was uncanny.

The problem is, and continues to be, me. I didn't fancy him. There wasn't an inkling of fancy. I liked him, he was nice but he did not make my heart race and my knees weak. There was nothing to not fancy and everything to fancy, but there was no fancy. End of story. I quickly smsed Yogi and asked if the universe ever got mad if one turned down something one asked for. Perhaps I had not been precise enough in my prayer. Perhaps what I thought I wanted was not what I wanted. Perhaps I did not know what I wanted.

The Universe sent me another candidate. Out of the blue, The Englishman made me a friend on an online community. As a friend of a friend I replied his message and we became friends. He made me laugh out loud with his wit, he was generous, he allowed me to ramble on about me, me and me. He acknowledged my oddballness and found it a laugh. He flew thousands of miles to see me and as touched as I was, I wasn't. So here again, on paper, the boy fit. Again, the problem is and will continue to be, me. I cannot say why not, I just cannot say yes.

Mind you, I'm not saying these two are throwing themselves at me. All I'm saying is that on my part, I cannot find the spark to even start the engine. I hope the universe is not mad at me. It appears to have answered my ad, only that now, I'm not sure whether the job opening is really there.

I wondered if perhaps I'm all loved up. That I had a go at love and I blew it and nothing will ever compare. That I've gone off the waves and cannot ever tune into the right frequency again. My quota is up.

But that's just so defeatist.

Or maybe what I want is not want I want. Maybe we know so little of ourselves that sometimes, it's impossble to break it down to a checklist of requirements. We know what we don't want, and we work from there, relying on instinct and 'a good feeling' to guide us to The One.

To be optimistic and positive about the whole thing, I am thankful for my two new Transatlantic friends. Though there's no lurve vibe going on, their appearance in my life has reinforced my belief that there are good men out there and that yes, they are in Asia too. Maybe the time is not right for me, maybe despite wanting to be loved, I'm not as hard up a I thought. Maybe I have no inkling of what I want in a partner, maybe I have worked myself into a corner with too many specifics. The bottom line is that it all reverts back to you. The good men are out there, they really are. Yes, single, available, good men of our age. The issue is not what's out there, it's what's going on inside. Inside you and inside me.

Alive and Kicking

Oh I know...smack my hand why don't you...

I'm back. No, I haven't been in Kuching all this while. I did come back in one piece (barely) and live to tell the tale.

In truth, I haven't blogged because frankly, I'm a little intimidated. I know, it's hard to imagine how someone with such a supersized ego could possibly be so easily intimidated, but I am walking proof.

It worries me that this is actually a public blog. Oh, I know, it's on the web but I really thought that the only people who read it were the ones who commented. And they are admittedly a handful of people I know and those whom I don't but have come to know over the months/years. They're friendly parties, with their encouraging comments and "I'm so happy for you" remarks. It reassures me that whatever crap I write, I'm safe.

It just goes to show how people like to believe what they want to. Safety on the internet - that must be a classic.

No, I haven't been attacked in cyberspace or anything. Just over the months, I have come to discover that an old flame has dropped by, a Rinpoche has circulated one of my posts and when shopping at my favourote discount designer store, the owner thanked me for bringing in a customer who read about it on this blog.

I am honoured that people drop by. I do churn out mounds of crap but I am glad to see somehow, there are the odd few who don't see it as that. But at the same time, I'm not one who likes to disappoint. I'm the type of person who buys things that I cannot afford just to please the sales staff (I'm working on that and conveniently blame my unconventional childhood and my role model parents for this hungry need to please). It just feels that now there is an audience of some sort, it is accompanied by a pressure (self imposed nonetheless) to cater to expectations. Now I have to think up more profound things to say, more issues to divulge, more boats to rock, more revelations to post. Oh, it's lame I know. I just don't like to disappoint, that's all.

So, I've been running a few issues through my mind that would be worthy of posting alongside all the notable contents on the worldwide web, and surprisingly, I didn't draw as many blanks as I thought I would.

But that's fodder for future posts. Just want to say, hello, I'm alive, life is good. It's mid-summer in the Northern hemisphere and relatives are invading. It's one of my favourite times of the year when people suddenly realise I exist and include me in their plans. It's the season of birthdays, the race to the calendar finish at work, hastily booked holidays as half a year has miraculously flown by and a big gear up to the end of the year festivities.

I am so looking forward to the next six months.

PS. It's also my son's birthday today! I'm so proud. I can't believe I've mothered someone for so long.