Goodbye Max. RIP.

Everyone who’s met Max, leaves Dezzo’s home letting out a sigh before exclaiming “Oooh max….” His inviting puppy gaze through those innocent brown eyes and the welcome lick that would drench strangers whole are all reasons why we love Max.

I can’t bear to speak of him as the past because he is very much still a present. A part of me wanted Chutney because I had fallen in love with Max and wanted one of my own to love. After the first failed meeting with Chutney, I had always hoped that we could let you guys hang out again.

Unfortunately, this was not to be.

Goodbye Max, I will miss you.

Who am I?

Growing up, I was the kid that just chilled out. I did nothing but hang out at the playground with fellow sandbox buddies. When it came time to learn nursery rhymes and such, I just plonked myself in front of the telly for Smurf on Sunday. Who gives a rats bottom about damn rhymes anyhoo?

With the start of elementary school, I just disappeared in the shadows always maintaining some sort of average while not bothering much about schoolwork at all. I was still fixated on the idea of play. You get the drift?

These days, I am about ready to give myself a heart attack. If that isn’t all, I work for someone who tends to micromanage. While I don’t blame the preserved cabbage for being all hands on, I hope that.he will learn to let go because I am ace at what I do and no one else is better.

Today is anything but a leisurely friday. Scuttling here and there making sure that everything is dealt with before the weekend dread approaches. DS commented that I’m absolutely a worry bug and I don’t disagree. Sigh. How do you stop from getting this way?

Oh wow. What shall I get myself for this festive season? A day where I do nothing but chill out. Perhaps soon.

A trip into the heartlands.

Hopeless would be the word most apt to describe how familiar I am with the neighbourhoods that are outside of work, downtown (which is on the cusp of work) and home.

A kid in a candy store

Met Des for dinner at our favourite joint with our favourite weekend past time – smoking sheesha. The boy let me drive home and blissfully found out how I managed to clear my driving exam without having a single point docked for not checking my blindspot.

Should I get the adorable Copen, fuel efficient and cost effective Jazz or splurge and get a good discount at VW for the Golf?

 

Loss

DE asked me out for post work drinks with less than a week to spare before he packs up and leaves for work again. His friends have been in and out the hospital so, his six week paid vacation has been filled with nothing but hospital visits. How morose.

Because I miss her so.

Los Angeles proved to be an interesting get-away for me.

Every bus ride was an adventure, each with its own personal quirky character. Who forgets the fraggled tooth white dude that had a fetish for his birkinstock sandals because of how often he kept smelling it and how he lovingly placed it on the seat next to him during evening rush hour. How I quickly learnt that the right bus to take back home would be the one with the most Asian grannies complete with pastel woolly hat, blue plaid dollar bag and umbrella/ walking stick.

Who needs a clock to turn back time when a trip to Bally’s somehow morphed me into an underaged mexican teenage? As a newly morphed teenager, I managed to get picked up by an 11th grader on his way back home from school and he politely invited me back to his place parent’s place for a cold glass of orange juice. Only in LA.
It amazed me that the people in LA were so nice despite of what people say.

With the metro, I never had to stand for longer than one stop because the dude who resembled a subway thug would let his seat up to me just because I was a girl. Absolutely refreshing because I come from a city where guys pretend to fall asleep so they can keep that precious rush hour seat.

Like NY, I love the city for its quirk though it was a task to order salty fish fried rice without being reminded that a wai guo ren wouldn’t like it. I guess, my poker straight chinese straight hair wasn’t a good enough hint.

It is odd that I felt home in a place that is far from that. Yet now, I am home missing a city that helped me conquer my fear of public transport and fraggled tooth quirks.

The difference between Steve Cohen and me.

Everyone has a budget. Steve Cohen’s pocket was ready to drop $139 million (USD) and mine offers much more shallow pocke at $100 (SGD).

I pondered heading to the red dot museum for the weekly MAAD event to find a piece that suits my need. The art farts will tell you to find a piece that speaks to you. I rather let my fingers do the walking.

Of course, the fingers have found its way to Etsy. The haven for struggling artists (though some of the prices will convince you otherwise), talent abounds in that place. You can search to your whim and fancy from sculptures to jewellery. Awesome.

Of course, it helps if you are enjoying a lull at work. The fingers and eyes found John Clark’s gorgeous film noir inspired prints at a very pocket friendly price. Perfect.

Found the ideal frame to home my Stella Im Hultberg print.

I’d fly a river

Within the next couple of weekends, Sye will drive me to pick up a Roy Lichtenstein to fit the void above my bed. The chinese girl in me also picked up a traditional chinese paper cut of a goat (my zodiac sign). It is more detailed than the picture below which leaves me just amazed at the paper cutter’s talent. Thank God for Made In China.

Unabashingly, I will be the first to admit that I much prefer the female form so it is befitting that all the art in my space (I really mean boudouir and tiny living room) will feature women and of course, the lone chinese goat.

“Meh” says the goat

Now, I need to find pictures of family and loved ones to fill a couple more frames and the Martha Stewart in me will be satiated.