My 9-hour home.

My 9-hour home.


My January calendar vs. my April calendar.


I came back from the loo to a chuckling editor and writer. I was RIBBONED!

Good night y'all. A long day before the longer weekend!

Culinary surrealism.

Culinary surrealism.



I'm home from my much anticipated evening with Surreal Gourmet Bob Blumer, utterly charmed but sleepy! The company of good friends and very friendly fellow foodies at our table made it easy to let loose and enjoy the evening without having to make media small talk. Watch this space for more pictures.

La Dolce Vita.

La Dolce Vita.

Ciao! I've just returned from La Dolce Vita with David Rocco at the InterContinental Singapore and it was an awesome experience. I was initially a tad apprehensive and nervous about going solo and having to mingle (or worse being ignored!) with bigwigs at the media table, but they turned out to be really nice people and I even made some friends. The effects of ceaseless drinking (from copious amounts of champagne and cocktails at pre-dinner canapés to a glass of wine with each of the six courses) sank in after awhile and everything started to seem funny. The countless glasses of liquid courage, along with the photographer's goading, led me to trek halfway across the room for a snapshot with the man himself. Haven't gotten my hands on the shot yet but I'll post it up if I don't look too bad...

No regrets, and wonderful memories to boot. ;) Buona notte!

Batam bitching.

Batam bitching.

Since our gossips constantly stretched beyond our catch-up sessions, we thought we'd take it out of Singapore for a weekend. There really isn't much to say about the destination really, apart from expensive cab fares, cheap food and the most painful (and embarrassing) massage I've had to date. The highlight was of course girly company, dirty secrets and a lot of late-night laughter. Is it any wonder I returned more tired than before I left? ;)




Traveling with Polly Pocket (see how her ponytail curls?) and Rapunzel (growing out her hair).



The sudden rain foiled our plans for vegging out by the beach, so we headed to town for a cheap and good lunch that satisfied my post-Bali gado gado craving. How do the Indonesians do it? I've never had such tasty ones here.







Dinner at a near enough kelong, and sharing shocking secrets over drinks at the hotel bar. I shook the babes out of bed in time for breakfast the next morning, but I didn't get any post-brekkie sunning in. I was kidnapped from my deckchair just when I'd settled down for some poolside monopoly in the shade. Gotta hate them to love them.

Raindrops keep falling on my head.

Raindrops keep falling on my head.


http://www.flickr.com/photos/lovelesslife/2443119836/

I am gray today, gloomy and down like a morning fog. ~ Colors by Kira Wiley
I feel like I've rolled out of the wrong side of bed every single morning this week. I hope that changes tomorrow.

Crumbling resolve and sleepy heads.

Crumbling resolve and sleepy heads.


picture from inmagine

The silly things I do when I should be in bed! The days leading up to my weekend of boisterous gossip and sleazy old men are filled with weeknight events. A pre-beach date with my waxer, my "business" date with the girls, Friday's Zouk event, and perhaps an office-hour tipple? We're only young once I say!

My Sunday Shangri-La.

My Sunday Shangri-La.


picture from inmagine

a tangled canopy of rain-drenched leaves
the snap of twigs beneath my feet
shafts of sunshine shyly peek
between weathered trunks of aged trees

hints of citrus and heady musk
whispering crickets in bristled grass
faded Polaroids of rendezvouses past
darting around like motes of dust

the enclosed sanctum of young love's plight
reveal gravelled roads once hidden from sight
enlightenment dawns in gilded light
the discovery of Shangri-La inside the mind

Weekends in print.
music: ingrid michaelson ft. jason mraz - you and i (live)






dinner at eil's. thai chicken salad. prawn pesto tagliatelle. flourless chocolate cupcakes. grey goose cocktails. floating on our backs. goodbyes. rainy days. good friday indoors. chick flicks and a surprise striptease. seafood cream angel hair pasta. shrunken lemon curd tarts. klee. raspberry mojito. spruce burger. the worst lemon meringe pie in history.

Hello again. I momentarily forgot all about indulging my inner-narcissist and the next thing I know, two weekends have zipped by. They've been good though - a healthy mix of swirling activities and lazy me-time. Work's eased off a tad and I've been working on reconnecting with weeknights which are now mine again. This inevitably means surfing travel sites, which explains my impromptu tickets to Perth. Finally I'm going downunder! I'm totally psyched! Fremantle, Swan Valley, Margaret River... ooh don't get me started.

Early this week, I said goodbye to the pool I've spent so many days of my youth at. Soaking up the sun, learning how to plunge, practising a very dismal dolphin style, talking about love and life between laps... I'm thankful CH's left the condo only to move into another apartment in our neighborhood. Good Friday was spent in good shelter with the rain pouring outside, slurping seafood pasta and drinking yummy (now I don't use this often for wine) Moscato, chomping down on ruined lemon curd tarts and garlic chips, doubling over with laughter at Olive's totally unexpected striptease in Little Miss Sunshine and cooing at the sappy scenes in The Lake House.

I finally got to check out Klee last night as well, after a day of morning yoga and brunch with my folks. It was closed for a private event E had an invite too, so I got to sip my drink it a relatively empty bar with no hints of the maddening queues I've read about. A raspberry mojito and a whiskey sour later, an impromptu visit to a suddenly booming Spruce and my insistence that we wait for a table had us seated near the back of house. It was a cool night, and all the better to chomp down on our burgers messily I say. The Spruce Burger wasn't as good as I remembered it to be, but aren't most things? It was too late to feed my tiramisu craving when we finally got to the darkened shopfront of Da Paolo Gastronomia, so we ended up settling at a cafe for a dessert platter and the worst lemon meringue pie EVER. We could taste sugar granules and a hint of the ocean in the filling. Seriously fishy, but all in good fun. It reminded me of the time we were in a teahouse that was a supposed institution in Mumbai and ordered drinks that tasted like drain water.

Skimped out on bits and pieces here, but it sounds like two well-spent weekends no?