Boys, Boys, Boys!

I just want to say a very Happy 25th Birthday to my lovely South African friend and colleague Toz! Thanks for the generous invitation to celebrate it with you guys on Thursday. I had a great time! *Mwah*!

After dancing late into the night with my office crush JV (another ZA cutie) during Toz's birthday party, I was hesitant about going out again on Friday. A "mature" and "sensible" 30-something like myself really does need her rest. However, Ms No Willpower couldn't resist the call of her favourite Irish pub and there I was again on Friday night with Natalie.

We agreed that it would just be a couple of quiet drinks and then home early to bed (yeah right). We were chilling out with the boys in the "Truth is Stranger than Fiction" (TSF) entry, yes, the very same who dressed up as women. I think that this Irish pub attracts the more "unique" specimens of the human population inhabiting this small island, though I do exclude myself from this category haha.

Anyhow, the tallest person I have EVER seen walks in and immediately captures the attention of everyone in our group. Conversation stops and we all zoom in on him. Being six foot TEN (that's 2.08 metres for my metric friends) in a country where the average male height is five foot seven (1.70m) does make you stand out, oh, just a little bit. I took a photo of Natalie with him so all of you who are subscribed to my blog will have seen it. Even sitting down, he's still taller than I am. Like wow.

I thought to myself, "If this is the weirdest that this evening is going to get, then we are not doing too badly." Famous last words. As my friend and bike hash buddy Oral Fix once said to me, "If trouble doesn't come knocking at your door, then it comes knocking next door!".

Hanging out with the TSF boys does bring its own adventures and true enough, at about midnight, Craig decided that it was time to get his lip pierced, something he'd been wanting to do for a while. So Craig, Natalie and I trooped off to a tattoo parlour at the Four Floors, where a very heavily-tattooed young man sits big boy down and proceeds to skewer his lower lip. I could barely stand to watch but I must have, because I have the photos to prove it (which you guys have also seen).

When he went back to the ho bar to show the rest of his friends, two more of the Crackpot Charlies joined in and got their tongues pierced. Surreal? Yeah, you could say it did feel a bit like that. But that's how my nights out always seem to turn out. Either it's just me, or I really do need to find some new people to hang out with!

Reflections and the Other Side of Me

Most of you are aware that the last year of my life has been pretty eventful, with both good and not-so-good things happening. It has been very easy to write about the fun part, which has made up the bulk of stories in my blog up to now. But the tough stuff? Now, that is a side of me that not many people get to see.....

What made me start this particular entry? I received a request from a friend in the US a few months ago which I have yet to fulfill and it has been on my conscience. She asked me to write down all the memories of her sister, Lane, so that her six-year-old daughter would have something to remember her mother by when she grows up. But four months later, I am still unable to put pen to paper and finish up what I started.

In April, I lost my amazing friend Lane, whom I have known for 15 years, to bile duct cancer. She was only 36. Five painful weeks later, my Aunt (who was my dad's younger sister and my godmother) also died of lung cancer. No one who has seen a person die from this disease can ever remain the same. Both Lane and my Aunt fought a battle that I'm not sure I would have been brave enough to face. They were uncomplaining, stoically enduring incredible amounts of pain, especially towards the end when 24-hour morphine drips didn't make a blind bit of difference.

I remember visiting my Aunt in hospital one day. Next to her was a terribly thin young (20s) woman with a shaved head, kneeling on the bed and hugging a pillow, retching up the nothing that was left in her stomach. I couldn't even look at her and hold it all together while I was listening to her throw up. It is incredibly humbling to watch someone suffer so much through no fault of their own. This young woman should have been in the prime of her life: working on her career, hanging out with friends, dating, maybe getting married and having kids of her own. Instead, she knelt on the bed beside me, dying a little bit with every minute that passed.

I felt that I was a part of a horrible and intimate experience, and that it was obscene of me to be sitting there with my healthy body and beautiful designer clothes. It made me feel both helpless and so angry at how unfair life can be. But coming out of those difficult months, what I've also realized is that that is just the way life is. You can't change it, but you can certainly kill yourself trying.

I myself have been guilty of complaining about petty things and not feeling happy with all the wonderful things that I have. Spending just an hour in an oncology ward really shook me up, a very hard wake up call.

Through the grieving, I've made a real effort to go out and live a full a life as possible. It was during this time that my dad and I joined the bike hash. Sometimes, I feel like I am two different people. The person that I am in public is my happy me. But when I'm alone in my bed at night, I really feel the depth of my grief. I miss them so much and you don't stop loving someone just because they are dead. But life does go on for the living and at some point, you just have to accept that they are no longer there, at least not in the physical sense.

I recently read a dedication in a book, 'Night Swimming' by Robin Schwarz, and she wrote it beautifully:

"In memory of my dear friend, who remains alive in my heart and forever loved. You are not gone...you've simply gone ahead".

You know that old cliche, live each day as if it were your last? Well, I'm doing that now. In a way, Lane’s and my Aunt's deaths set me free. Set me free from worrying about the inconsequential things in life. It has sharpened my focus on what is important. If someone had told me a year and a half ago that they'd be gone today, I would have laughed. But it did happen, so I try to be in the moment, every moment. No matter who I'm with, I do my best to focus on having the best possible time with them.

And I have to say, although it has taken some time, I have never been happier. And I mean truly feeling utter joy at being with the people that I care about. All of you who have known me for a long time say I've mellowed out a lot. I just don't sweat the small stuff these days. It's pointless and I am so grateful for what I have. You don't have to go searching for happiness, it's inside you. You just need to know where to look and who to share it with. I know that I'm lucky, I have friends and family (some of you are both) who are quality people. You know who you are.

And my message to Lane's sister? I will get that letter to you really soon.

I'm all Hot, Sweaty and Out of Breath!

Since I joined the bike hash a few months ago, my flatmate Rachel has seen me collapse home in a heap on more than one Sunday afternoon. I often have had to crawl from the front door to my bed, legs a-shaking and wrists so sore that I can't lift anything heavier than a glass of vodka cranberry. However, in spite of the pain, I keep going back time after time. What makes me do it? After all, I just don't enjoy exercising. In fact, there is nothing better to me than chilling out, drink in hand (which is what I'm doing now, by the way). And it can't be the $60 membership fee. I spend more than that on one half of a pair of shoes.

It's simple, as with any fantastic experience that I have, it's all about the people. I just love the bike hash crew.

Being a person who has very long-lasting friendships, I felt that our little circle of friends had gotten into a rut lately. We all seemed to be seeing the same old faces, hanging out at the same watering holes, etc, etc, etc. So this past Sunday, I managed to convince Rachel and my friend Natalie (who were both a part of my Truth is Stranger than Fiction night, see below) to try out the running hash.

We got to the site, or what we thought was the site, and 10 minutes before the run started, there were still no others in sight. Not a good start. After much calling around, we drove to another location and were surrounded by hashers called Hard Licker, Spiderman and so on. I knew then that we were in the right place.

The run/walk started pleasantly enough. With 30-odd men and women of all ages and nationalities trailing at the back of people's houses and across drains, it seemed like I had come up with another bright if quirky idea. The weather was gorgeous, the sun setting with just a hint of a breeze. The three of us managed to stay together at first but I realized very shortly into the run that I could not keep up with Rachel and Natalie. What gave me that idea? See the photo. This was taken two minutes after we started and they were already several hundred metres ahead of me (it looks like I am a lot closer than that because I cropped it)!

To my credit, I did try running. I lasted for oh, 200 metres? Actually it was probably more like 100 metres but I was in such pain that I couldn't really judge properly. In my defence, it was on an uphill stretch. My lungs felt like they were about to burst and I seriously felt sick. Being too out of breath to speak, I used sign language and waved the two of them to go on ahead without me. I think part of why I had difficulty breathing was also because I was eating their dust....
















To my relief, I was not the only one at the back of the pack. I fell in with two other women who were also as slow as I was and we walked together for a while. I was feeling pretty good about myself, until I found out they had both recently had two months off work recovering from major surgery!!

On that depressing note, I took a short cut and went back to the start of the run. All in all, I probably walked five km, while Rachel and Natalie covered closer to eight. On a positive note, they both really enjoyed the hash and will go regularly!

Me? I'm a biker babe and I'll stick with my boys from the SBH!

On Singlehood, Rock Stars and Champagne Nights

My best friend sent me the World's Shortest Fairytale, which my single girlfriends and I found hilarious. It's too good (and true!) not to share:

World's Shortest Fairytale
Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl "Will you marry me?". The girl said, "NUP!"

And the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, dancing, drank martinis, always had a clean house, never had to cook, had sex with whomever she pleased...did whatever the hell she wanted, never argued, didn't get fat, travelled a lot, had many boyfriends, saved more money, and had all the hot water to herself.

She watched chick flicks, never football, had high self esteem, never cried or yelled, felt and looked fabulous in sweat pants, smoked, swore and burped all the time.

THE END

On Thursday night, I went to the INXS concert as I am a HUGE fan of JD Fortune, the most delicious Canuck on planet Earth! I was too far from the stage to take any good photographs, but close enough to scream his name!

I know a Kiwi teacher here who looks a lot like JD and I must confess that I have a mini-crush on him. By coincidence, I ran into him the very next night at a very crowded and noisy pub. We started talking and I learnt that he had also been at the concert. During our conversation about INXS, he leant down and sang some of 'Never Tear Us Apart' to me, his warm breath on my ear. How come they never had teachers this gorgeous when I was in school? Sigh...

Later the same evening, a bunch of us went to one of the Quays. My beautiful friend (who is named after a motorized vehicle) and I decided to split and go dancing on our own. We didn't get very far though as a handsome dark-haired man did a double take when he saw Sexy Scooter and stopped us in our tracks. They were Qantas cabin crew ("M'am, would you like chicken or fish?") and really cute. Somehow, I found myself walking barefoot through a fountain (the kind that spurts out directly from the floor), getting my 'Lucky' jeans (private joke) totally wet in the process! We ended the night by being served champagne and grooving with the two cruisy Aussie boys (who by the way, could really dance!) at the bar with a view. What a great way to start the weekend!

This was obviously my time for Moet and beautiful skylines. The very next night, I was in my dad's apartment, drinking more of the bubbly stuff. His partner had invited me over for dinner and she prepared a delicious Japanese hotpot dish with very tender Shabu Shabu beef. As I sat on the 20th floor balcony looking out at the city, laughing with them and having an amazing time, I thought to myself, "Life doesn't get any better than this!"

So although this weekend didn't involve house keys on piercings or any other shocking experiences, I still had a fantastic couple of days with friends and family. I can't wait to see what next weekend brings woo hooooooooooo!!!

Fireworks

Last Friday, I took my cousin out for dinner and to watch the fireworks on a cruise boat as we haven’t spent much together lately. It was great to be out on the water and we had a really lovely evening. She surprised me by giving me a fantastic racer back top embroidered with a dragon that she and her sister had bought for me in Bangkok. Good stuff!

A Rose by Any Other Name...

So, after the break up of my last long-term relationship, I decided to do something really different to celebrate my new found freedom. What could be more unusual for someone who does NO exercise than to join a mountain biking hash group (an offshoot of the infamous Hash House Harriet runners)?

Unwilling to suffer alone, I dragged my dad along with me. One Sunday morning after a grueling two-hour 'trial' ride through some dense offroad tracks in extreme humidity and heat, we unwittingly (the sun must have fried our brain cells) signed on the dotted line and foolishly became members of the Bike Hash. In my defence, I was not myself that day. The night before, I had partied hard and was both hungover and had only two hours sleep. Plus I was about as unfit as a well, a very unfit fiddle.

The concept of the bike hash is simple. About once a month, a motley crew of crazy expats and even crazier locals meet at various locations to mountain bike through different areas of the island. 'Hares', those hardworking souls who lay the trail with either flour, chalk or toilet paper (only 100% biodegradable materials), map out a ride for the rest of us. There are false offshoots to ensure that the slower riders can catch up with the faster ones. The goal is to cover 20km in 2 hours, with the entire pack getting back to the starting point within 20 minutes of each other. Afterwards, what happens on the ride is dissected in the 'circle', where we welcome the virgins (first time riders). In addition, the person who comes up with the most stupid "quote of the day" and other individuals who commit any other transgressions have to participate in a "Down Down" ie basically a public humiliation.

Some of the members have hash names, which go along the lines of Oral Fix, Fat Stuck B*stard, G-String, No Good and so on. As you can imagine, these names usually stem from some unfortunate act or comment which the individual did or said. For almost six months, I was lucky enough not to have my more foolish moments witnessed by any of the other members. This was because I was always the slowest rider at the back of the pack. However, my luck ran out this past Sunday, when I was called into the circle for a personal best record of THREE times.

Transgression No 1:
During the first 10 minutes of the ride, my nose started to run. Not wanting to wipe snot on my sleeves, I politely asked the Grand Master who happened to be cycling by at the time, "Barbarian, may I take some of the toilet paper (that was used to lay the trail) to blow my nose?". Yes, in hindsight, I should have just quietly picked it off the bush and not brought attention to myself. However, I was smack bang in the middle of the pack and doing so would probably have incurred a worse punishment. I naively thought that Barbarian would not bring it up in the circle, but well, he did. And the result? I now have a hash name. Could it be something hot, perhaps sexy, maybe cool? No, it is....Nose Wipe. When I complained bitterly that I didn't like it, my so-called "friend", Oral Fix, shouted out, "Hey, at least be glad they didn't call you A** Wipe!". Okay, point taken.

Transgression No 2:
James* called me into the circle and told the following story about me, "Now before the ride this morning, I saw Nose Wipe cycling up and down the road. She seemed to be having some problems with her bike so I asked her what was wrong. She said that she was having difficulty changing the gears. So I thought perhaps it was some issue with the wiring, maybe the lever was stuck, whatever. But no, when I asked why she had couldn't change the gears properly, she told me, 'My nails are too long!'."

Transgression No 3:
No reason apart from the fact that they needed a local in the circle to do a "Down Down" with G-String and since I was already down (no pun intended)......

All in all, it was a hilarious day, though I have to admit the joke was on me. But if you can't laugh at yourself (or let 50 other people laugh at you), then what's the point? I love being a part of the SBH because I have seen some areas of the island that I otherwise wouldn't have, and I have also made some great friends.

Another highlight of the ride was that one of the 'Hares' was also named. Having recced the area several times while plotting out the trail in the preceeding weeks, he was stung by a hornet during the line of duty. His new hash name? Wh*renet. You gotta love it!

On On!

*Names have been changed not to protect the innocent, but to prevent them from kicking my b*tt

Pic o' me

Truth is Stranger than Fiction

It all started out innocently enough. My British ex-husband Mark* emailed me to say that his childhood friend Dan was getting married and would I show the newlyweds around while they were passing through on their way to Thailand for their honeymoon. Sure I said, why not?

So on Friday night 4 August, Dan (whom I hadn't seen in over 10 years), his wife Deirdre (it was her first time in Asia and I had never met her before), my friend Natalie and myself had happy hour drinks at a bar on the 72nd floor of one of the hotels. It has a fantastic view of the city and is very posh. Then we went for a delicious local dinner. Natalie kindly drove us around in her BMW so I think we were giving the newlyweds a rather civilized and positive impression of our country.

We got to my favourite Irish pub and many more friends arrived, including my flatmate Rachel. We were having a great time and I should have known it would go downhill when three big white guys walked in dressed as women. They had full make up on, painted nails and pantyhose. One was in a long orange dress, the second in a green mu-mu type number and the third was in a baby doll top and matching bloomer shorts. He had padded (though admittedly lumpy) breasts. On each large head was a scarf (babushka) that cleaning ladies in the UK wear.

Well, you could have heard a pin drop. Our entire table, in stunned silence, collectively eyeballed the three very ugly "women" walk across the bar to join their friends. To my growing horror, I realized that I actually knew one of them, whom I had spoken to a couple of times before. Craig is from the UK, has a shaved head, several huge tattoos and works in construction. Oh, and he's built like a brick sh*thouse.

Whereas I would normally go over and talk to them, I thought it wouldn't give Dan and Deirdre a very good impression so I played it cool and continued to sip my vodka cranberry. Unfortunately, Craig not only paints a mean fingernail, he also has very sharp eyesight. Not long afterwards, he slowly strutted over in our direction, causing me to panic but realizing too late that there was no place to hide. He stopped in front of our table, pointed at me and pursed his lips in a kiss. My friends burst out laughing and I was completely mortified. Seeing that the game was up, I gave in gracefully and introduced Britain's Finest to everyone and we all had a good laugh. At some point during the evening, the lead singer of the band got Dan and Deirdre to have a dance and I took some hilarious photos of the love birds in the foreground, and three men in drag slow dancing in the background.

Note to the double Ds: please send the pics to me so I can forward those on! Note to ex-husband: don't say that I don't show your friends a good time!

The newlyweds left shortly afterwards and it's a good thing that they did because the following then happened:
1. Craig and his friend Ken in the orange dress snogged. If you have never seen two men the size of tanks in full make up french kiss, take my word for it, you need a strong stomach.
2. The third "woman" in the babydoll top pulled down his bloomers. On the end of his pierced manhood (also known as a Prince Albert for all of you not in the know), hung his house keys. I SWEAR that this part is true, and I have my friends as fellow witnesses. Not only that, but he was so well hung that I am sure he could have opened his front door without taking the keys off his piercing.

Well, what can I say? This is NOT a typical night out with me. On that note, we decided to go over to another party nightspot also known as the four floors of wh*res. I mean, why not continue on the path we were obviously meant to walk that Friday night? We danced at up a storm and finally at one in the morning, we wisely decided to call it a night.

On the way to the car, Rachel reached over and rubbed at my cheek, saying, "Oh, there's some of Craig's lipstick!" from where he had kissed me goodbye. Now, maybe it's just me, but isn't there something terribly wrong with that statement?!!

*Names have been changed to protect the traumatized.