happy family Apologies for the dry spell. I've been away for some time and as you would have it, September was a month for everyone here to get cracking at playing wife, teacher, friend, mother, candlestick maker.But let's hope that we'll see a rebirth of the blog this fall.First things first, Divimama has joined us as a contributor. She's a travelling/ working/ partying supermom, and I believe our very first honest-to-goodness/ trueblue/ bona fide MOTHER. But while she's full of opinions and gripes and hilarious insights, she's also a novice blogger, so let's try to help her out whenever we can, and extend her the warmth that we reserve only for people we like.Diva, just contact me or direct any questions you have to the chatbox on the left here, and one (or all) of us will help address them. Welcome to Disparate Housewives!Secondly, I found this little clip on youtube and thought it worth sharing. It's cathartic for those little moments. ya. you know which moments i'm talkin about.- Pip My Husband, Capitaine Caveman. Of all the Frenchmen ooh-la-laing the world with their sexy accents, their baguettes, their eau de parfums, and their reputation for immaculate taste in attiring themselves, I pick the one Frenchman completely oblivious to the fine art of dressing up, AND down, properly.This means that while he wouldn't don a poofy french cuff dress shirt (you know the pastel ones with white collars and cuffs), it also means he'll wear his tartan-printed caddy/cargo pants out if I let him.Which I don't.That was 2 years ago. And since then, there have been improvements. Thanks to my secretly hiding his old and faded over-sized t-shirts and caddy pants (and the matching shorts) and introducing him to the wonderful world of Cool T-shirts and Hugo Boss. So much so that at our bbq dinner party last week, I trusted him to dress appropriately. But in the rush to go get extra chairs, prepare the apperitifs, and welcome the on-time arrivals while he showered, I neglected to make sure.So while getting drinks for our friends in the dining room, Mr Ooh-La-La enters with much fanfare, hand-shaking and air-kissing all over the place. But there I was, rooted to the ground, shocked into silence.And there it was. The faded grey Hard Rock Cafe Bali t-shirt.:::faint:::At least Ondine's Mr Packrat got initiative and put some serious thought into dressing for pageantry his occasion. Mr Pip just took the first t-shirt he could reach. From the GARDENING-TEES-ONLY section. I think maybe I oughtta ship him over to Packrat for crash course in overdressing. that way maybe got chance for balance. ;) My husband, Miss Universe. She walked into the spare room to find him pulling out clothes from their dry cleaning bags."What in the world are you doing?" she demanded to know."Getting out my suit." he replied with his head still stuck in the cupboard."But these are our formal clothes. Hey...that's your wedding suit!" she exclaimed with realisation dawning on her slowly."Yup, I'm wearing it tonight!" he proudly proclaimed."But it's not your wedding!" she whined, slightly miffed that he gets to dress up while she stays at home in scruffy clothes. She's feeling a little bit like Cinderella having not been invited to the ball.So the husband goes for the whole ensemble. 3/4 length jacket and pants, french cuffs, cufflinks, vest, the whole nine yards. He does look quite spiffy and for a split second, as he stood half in the shadows and the only light from the other room, he gave me quite a start. He looked like a combination of Lestat and Angel- all dark, skulking, dangerous and possibly deadly. Of course that's just for the half a second before he flashes what he thinks is his most winsome grin. Vampires don't grin, so I'm safe.3 hours later, he returns. And not barehanded. In one hand are some shopping vouchers that he's won. In the other, a sash. My husband, in his full Angel/Lestat meets Keanu Reeves in the Matrix glory was crowned best dressed for the night. His first beauty pageant, sash and all. And should the winner not be able to carry out his duties, the first runner up will take his place.And they named him too. Not Vlad the Impaler or anything cool like that. It was Packrat the Overdressed.My husband, the beauty pageant winnner. Every girl's dream. :) He is That Guy Well, this is my somewhat inaugaral post. The first that I'm putting up myself instead of getting Penelope to do it for me. The husband, Packrat, felt I would feel truly at home on this blog and he's quite right.Now, the only problem is that it's exam season now, which means a lot of papers to grade and often incoherent, non distinct stream of consciousness writing. So, to tide me over till I regain some of my sanity and who knows when that will be, here's something else I wrote a while back.And I'm posting it because, really, the guy I married, even though he annoys the heck out of me at times and ignores me some of the time, is really quite the sweetie. He scored a whole bunch of brownie points when he went out in search of rambutans for me, just because I said I wanted some. And I'm not even pregnant!So here's an ode to him.You are the boy who spent your school fees on $10 worth of chicken wings thereupon getting a spanking from your mother.You are the boy who grew up to play games every week with fellow boys.You are the boy who got a Playstation 2 as an engagement present.You are the boy who would eat like a boy if you lived alone, living on potato chips and Pepsi.You are the boy who would like it very much if he didn't have to grow up.But you are a boy who is also a guy.You are that guy that she met at the pre-departure talk, who insulted her baby blue mobile phone in an attempt to get her phone number.You are the guy that commented on how she stood like a dancer with her feet turned flat out.You are that guy that apparently dedicated music to her over the radio and staked out the uni just hoping you catched a glimpse of her.You are the guy that got lucky when you bumped into her at the traffic just outside uni on the first day of school.You are the guy that repeated her phone number all the way home just in case you forgot it and missed the chance again.You are the guy that she out ate on your first date.You are the guy that had to bear all the crap when she couldn't decide who she liked better, you or some other guy back home.You are the guy that won her heart by buying her gummi bears and walking her home from ballet in the cold.You are the guy that she impressed by eating through half a bucket of fried chicken and then sat back and asked what's for desert.You are the guy that had to be taught what relationships were and in turn taught her how to work hard in a relationship.You are the guy that put your thesis on the back burner while she wigged out about her own thesis through the year.You are the guy who proposed to her on the plane back to Melbourne and made her dizzy.You are the guy that wanted to wear Bata shoes to the wedding and refused to be put into ill-fitting Kenneth Coles.You are the one who got up there during your wedding and sang to your bride.You are the guy that endured the pillows hurled at you in her sleep.You are the guy who will go out there and look for yak's milk from Yemen if she ever demanded it.You are the guy that buys her flowers and burns her cds just to make her smile.You are the guy that believes, trusts and prays even when she has given up hope.You are the guy of her dreams and her greatest fear is to live without you.Who are you? You are that guy and I am that girl. Circa 1955 The following post was contributed by Ondine, who we hope will soon become a regular contributor.This was sent to me this morning. We all had a good laugh because there were so many things that were bizarre. It really is out of Pleasantville and it's hard to believe that, that was what was expected of wives at that time. (click on picture to zoom in.)How many of us, wives, actually do these things?Of course, my all time favourite is the point that says I should be a little gay and a little more interesting when I greet him.In the current day context, that would require some deviation in my sexual orientation and another woman in the house.And from what I hear, it will be a real big hit and it will really make it more interesting when I greet him!But seriously.... We help facilitate marriage prep in church and we have to go through the oh so controversial issue of wives submitting but this really takes the cake!And I'm not about to put on an apron and bake one! This is the story of the HP sauce This is the HP sauce. As simple and brown as it can be.This is the HP sauce that Neav wanted to make Hainanese Pork Chops.As simple and brown as it can be.This is the HP sauce that made Neav drive to HyveeTo make Hainanese Pork ChopsAs simple and brown as it can be.This is the HP sauce that made Neav drive to WalmartBecause Hyvee didn't have itTo make Hainanese Pork ChopsAs simple and brown as it can be.This is the HP sauce that made Neav drive to Saigon MarketBecause Hyvee and Walmart didn't have itTo make Hainanese Pork ChopsAs simple and brown as it can be.This is the HP sauce that made Neav drive to Asian Food MartBecause Hyvee, Walmart and Saigon didn't have itTo make Hainanese Pork ChopsAs simple and brown as it can be.This is the HP sauce that made Neav drive to World Marketand made Neav swear uncontrollably in Hokkien while driving, all over townTo make Hainanese Pork ChopsAs simple and brown as it can be.Which I haven't even made because I was too pooped after all that.Bah.It is now sitting on kitchen counter top - rather smugly if I may say so myself.*CB*lesson learnt? Never take for granted what you can buy from the local mamak shop in SG. Mom and the President three major events struck me yesterday.1. MOM CALLS.Mom called to ask me to plan her vacation in Europe, which she intends to take after attending our wedding there. The thing is, when mom ASKS, she isn't really asking. She's demanding in a passive-aggressive fashion, as most mothers are wont to do. What she's REALLY saying is this."I'm coming AAAAALLLL the way to your wedding because you can't find a Singaporean man to marry and have to pick some ang moh who lives in God Knows Where in the Middle of No Man's Land, and since I'm spending ALL that money I might as well go on vacation with Aunty Mary and Aunty Sally and Uncle Kwek (BREATHE) and if you're a filial daughter by general standards you would appreciate the fact that I brought you up and put you through school and was nice to your western husband who has no concept of Asian values, so you better plan my vacation for me."So. Nevermind that I have wedding to plan and a Mother In Law who's been doing most of the planning and who could potentially hate me because I've asked for bridesmaids for my wedding when in their part of the world they don't do bridesmaids because it's an anglo saxon ritual and they fought many wars with the bloody english who love the Americans who they hate. And I'm marrying her oldest son.Ya. Major panic. Again.So to the second event.2. PRESIDENT BUSH HOLDS PRESS CONFERENCE ON UN RESOLUTIONSo we're watching Bush taking questions from journos, and hubs and I are doing the usual slamming of the American president when a half hour in, I realized I should just shut up. Why? Cos even though the dude comes across as an idiot half the time, he is taking questions from all over the bloody place and addressing them at least somewhat to the point, which is more than I can say for myself if I were president. Nevermind of the free world. Even if its the neighbourhood stamp collection club, I doubt I'd be able to focus after the journalist concludes her 3 minutes question. I'll be like, in front of billions of people around the world, "Erm... can you repeat again? I kinda zoned out."3. WHY IT'S A GOOD THING I'M NOT PRESIDENTAnd so I mentioned this to hubs, and Mr P added that seeing how I react when my mom calls, it's a good thing I'm not president of anything. Cos the whole world would have to stand still for 24 hours until after I recover from talking to my mom.And then we pondered that scenario for a moment and thought about how a standard conversation would go if I were president and mom was First Mother."Penny? Why I call you so many times you never call me back?""Hi mom. Did you leave a message with my office?""What for? They talk so fast I don't know what they're saying.""So you hung up on my white house office staff again? You need to stop doing that.""But you have *69 in US what? He can *69 and know it's me what. And my phone number also come up on your white house machine, you think I don't know?""Mom. *69 only works in America. Not in Singapore. Ok. What's so urgent you have to call me before my press conference?""I wanted to tell you, Pen, that last night on TV you didn't wear enough blush. Blush makes you look younger. And must smile more ok?""Mom. I was addressing the country about the war on terrorism and the latest death toll and how much America is despised by the world. Not very good to rouge my cheeks and smile, I think.""Maybe if you smile more and wear more make-up, more people will like America.""Ok mom. anything else?""Ya. Are you going to Camp David next month?""No, why?""Aunty Mary and I want to come to America for holidays.""No, mom. You CANNOT use Camp David for your vacation. I can't let you do that.""But you are the President. i thought President can do anything?""Mom. I'm going to hang up now and hope that I break my neck walking up to the podium."Ya. That would be it. Thank god Mom's never going to the First Mother of the Free World. Ever. On a happier (hungrier) note.... Star wars, Christian crusaders and prayer warriors aside, found a delightful recipe thats pretty simple and some what quick that you guys might like to try.... Its a little Indian in terms of influence so if you're not into the tumeric n mustard thing, this may not be the thing for you. They are actually Indian friend potato dumplings (inspired, of course, by Neav's spuds).IngredientsFor the filling1 tbsp oil1 tsp mustard seeds4 cloves of garlic (sigh, can one EVER have enough on non-date days)3-4 green chillies (or less if you want)4-5 large potatos1/2 tsp tumeric powderA large onion, finely chopped (if you like, if you dont like don't use)saltcouple of tbsp of chopped coriander leavesFor the batter2 cups of chickpea flour1 tsp red chilli powder1/4 tsp tumericSalt to tasteA pinch of bicarb of sodaCold waterMethodPeel the potatos and cut them up into small cubes, which makes it easier for them to cook. Boil till they are cooked through. Shouldn't take more than 10 min.Heat about a tablespoon of oil in a pan, fry the mustard seeds and let em pop, then add onion and fry till its translucent, then add the garlic and green chillies. Fry for a couple of min (but not till garlic is burnt yeah, it should stay white).Add the potatos, tumeric and salt and fry a bit, and then while mixing, begin to mash em. When half way done, take off the fire, add the coriander leaves and mash it all up well.Make em into little balls the size of ping pong balls or smaller if you like. Set aside.Hokay, here's the fun bit - the batter:Mix the chickpea flour, red chilli powder, 1/4 tsp tumeric, soda bicarb and salt into a bowl (sieve through if you don't want lumps)... Mix well, and then start adding enough cold water to make a thick-ish batter.That's it. Dip the balls into the batter, and deep fry till its golden brown... Serve with anything from chilli sauce to chutney. Its not spicy hot so just about anyone can appreciate them... I know the English and Irish among my friends were not complaining :)Enjoy!Sigh, tummy now growling... i think she watch too much star wars check out this clip. It's from the American TV show "Trading Places" where two housewives/mothers switch families for several weeks. This mother returns home to her family and freaks out about the experience. Like totally goes mental.CAUTION: content is quite disturbing.Crazy Religious Mom - video powered by MetacafeAnd before you start flaming any group of people (already been done at video source metacafe), remember that mad people come in many forms. They don't have to be americans, christians, fat, or darth vader. Neav: 0 Lost a battle on Monday. Here I was preparing the spuds (the troops) and planning the ultimate weapon (peranakan bai ponteh)... and feeling completely in control.I was humming in the kitchen, examining the bottle of tau cheo, chopping up garlic. It's allll goood - I had thought.This, I had thought, would be a greal meal! True blue peranakan food, recipe as per mom's instructions over yahoo messenger, spuds and luncheon meat - some of our favourite foods, combined together! And a healthy serving of veg... served up spicy with some hae bi hiam.Mr N would come home from work and ta-daaaah.So I worked, and slaved over the meal. Went grocery shopping in high glee in a squeaky SUV, chatted with Vietnamese proprietress of Asian food store, and yes, even stopped for coffee and I don't like American style coffee.But things started going wrong about 2 hours into the whole thing. I put a few mashed spuds and luncheon meat balls into the hot oil. But five minutes into the whole procedure, it became apparent that they would not hold together. Too soft.Emergency application of breadcrumbs and egg to make sure they held into a ball.But as I was handling this, some of them treacherously got burnt. ARGH.At the same time, I was trying to reduce the Babi Ponteh to the consistency I wanted. I blame the tau cheo (what else can I blame). BUT horrors, its been 40 minutes already, and if I wanted to get it thick and syrupy enough, the meat would become... wayy waaaaay too overcooked. Damned. Strain the meat and the bamboo shoots.Mr N comes home. Sniffs at the Babi Ponteh and goes: "What's that? It smeellls weeeeiiird".ARGGGGGGGGggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhh.At this point I finish up frying the spuds - which had absorbed too much oil because I was fiddling with the new batch and trying to get the burnt bits of he old batch out.I flopped into couch and wailed: Let's go out for dinner.Mr N attempts some comforting words, but chortles all the time, while patting my back.He *does* proclaim the spuds as nice, and says I was silly and had too high standards. He is mad. They were oily and tasteless. Wait... is that the secret recipe to making husbands happy?Household: 1. Neav: 0.Today, I wage war on the lime stains in the sinks and bring battle to the laundry. I'm not even the First Wife This afternoon, I turn round to ask Packrat something. Then I walk out of the room. When I come back, he's still talking. I look around puzzled, there's no one else in the room, who is he talking to?Me: Who are you talking to?Packrat: You.Me: But I wasn't in the room.Packrat: Oh.Me: You mean you thought I was in the room, even though I stood up and walked out of the room?Packrat: Er...Me: So you didn't even know that I was gone?Packrat: No. Yes. Er... Notice the monosyllabic answers. Notice the fact that he did not notice that the person he was talking to, wasn't even in the room anymore.That, ladies and gentleman is my husband when he is playing WOW.--------I log onto MSN just now and notice that Tym's personal message now proclaims her to be a World Cup widow. We commiserate about how our husbands' interests have made us widows with absolutely no say in how much they indulge in it. We end up using cyberspace to whine about their all-encompassing pursuits that leave us feeling excluded and somewhat alienated.I tell Tym that I declared Packrat's character Tylys (I don't know how he came to name his character, but after this, he cannot give me any grief for wanting to name our child Darjeeling or Tanisha) his mistress.This was the conversation that ensued after that. It does 2 things. It reveals to me polygamy that existed in early Singapore and also how my being an educated, free and independent female hasn't really changed my station in life. Me: So, I was so displeased I changed my blog profile to express my displeasure.Tym: hahahaha, you are First Wife-quite good already. First Wife supposed to be able to decree when Husband can and cannot spend the night with Second Wife.Me: Ay, like that, then I'm not even First Wife! I think it's the other way around because when there's no one to play with online or when the connection is wonky, then he'll come and hang out with me. Absolutely pathetic. I take the scraps that the 512 kbps driven Tylys tosses to me. So the polygamous traditions of the early Chinese still have a place in today's society. And the women, are as powerless as they were before. What can they do but complain? Of course, the tools used are different now and their complaints reach a wider audience but it's similarly ineffective. There's really is absolutely no way of stopping the husband from doing what he wants, when he wants.Especially when you're not even the First Wife.Much thanks to Ondine, who contributed the above post from her blog.Ondine, aka Mrs Packrat, is a WoW Widow and has wind in her head. Check out more of where the wind blows at www.myplaypen.blogspot.com. smell the disparation Why is it that the FOUR blogs we've linked to belong to two gay men, one smarty-pants married man, and one single woman who's having more fun in and out of bed than all of us combined? MeMe Hullo lurvely houswives.Yes, it's your dynsfunctional Neav back in action after a looong absence. Sorry sweethearts.Okay, first order of business: The MemeMy ex(es) ... are really nice people whom I keep in touch with. And they were invited to the wedding too. I *still* like them loads and they can read me like a book. (Scary thought)My Family is... extended beyond belief. Yes, big fat peranakan family and my mom had (count them) seven siblings. They sing carols at Christmas. My mom and dad are far away and I miss them horribly.Maybe I should... adopt a new cat. Or go back to school? Hummm... natch. Can't do math anymore - yes, looked at the GREs and almost flipped.I love... the fact that I've gone through some tough times in my life, and it didn't kill me. And of course, the great things in life: ice-cold beer, a good wine, good food, great friends, preferably together.I don't understand... Racism.My favourite colour is... BlackI lost my... temper at my husband the other day. (Yes, am steering away from the virginity issue... late-middle teens... that's all you gonna get)Walking on... erh, (stumped) broken glass? (Annie Lennox is in my head now)I want to... successful in whatever I do.People would say that I'm... driven, cynical and sometimes, insane. (Girls?)Love is... waking up at 5 am to drive him to work. Actually, love is about sacrifices and learning to let go.Somewhere, someone is... thinking of me? (can it be true? hahhaha, it is a MeME ladies)I will always... wish that I can go back in time and undo some stuff I've done.Forever is... that five minutes before you can knock off your shift.I never want to... be fat or lonely. I don't mind being alone, but it's different if you have no one else in the world to care for or who cares for you.I think the current Prime Minister is... actually cooler than his predecessors. And a whiz at managing the media. I have high(er) hopes for this one.When I woke up in the morning I... yawned, groaned and then went to brush my teeth. Nothing dramatic.Life is full of... little surprises. And awkward situations.My past is incredibly... complicated.I get annoyed when... I don't live up to my own standards and when people take me for granted.Parties are for... like-minded friends.I wish... I liked looking at myself in the mirror.My dog is... deceased. She was a pug and we grew up together.My cats are... spoiled beyond belief.Kisses are the worst when... they are from strangers. Worse, old "humsup" strangers.Tomorrow I'm going to... cook a huge meal.I really want... everybody to love me because it’s really all about me.I have a low tolerance for people who... think they know everything, are conceited and arrogant. These are the people who will not hesistate to hold forth on every and any subject under the sun, but know very little in reality. Oh, I also have low tolerance for people who coo at me: "oooohh wooooww, you speak such good English.''I had a million dollars... in my dreams.Guys are... mostly fun. Unless they start doing strange stalking things...Girls are... mostly inane. Except my friends! *laughs* That's what you'll have to call loyalty to my pals.*phew* okay, that took a long time....Second order of business: Okay, why I love my husband:Because he sometimes pounces on the bed and gives me the puppy-dog look. It's usually because he is trying to come up with some kind of rational argument for buying something beyond our budget and failing miserably.Because he scratches my back when he's feeling affectionate. Throwback from his childhood days when his parents and aunts would give him a back scratch to get him to nap.Because we have an unwritten code. I can widen my eyes at someone and he'll pick up on it. And we know what we're both thinking.Because he's goofy when occasion demands, but when he does his professional doctor thing, he's good. Very good. He cares deeply for his patients - enough to wring his guts and give me anguish as well - but he worries about them. He'll even wake up after every two to three hours to check on them. I respect that.And because he's like a kid in a candy shop in a porsche showroom. My kinda guy. Not that we can ever afford one.THAT said. He can be annoying though (!)Third order of business:Ladies, I have also discovered a good way to let go some of the cleaning angst. (You know how much I've bitched about cleaning.) Now, when I do the bathrooms, I just go au naturel. Yes, I just bring that sponge with me into the bath and let a light shower of hot water run all over me when I scrub that spot off the shower curtains.That soap scum?No worries, just stretch like a cat and rub it off.Tired muscles?That pitter-patter of warm water does the trick. Promise.Of course, there are things that you can do with that showerhead... (what might you be thinking of? hummm?) passing on the meme baton My ex is... happy now with someone else but he named the new cat after me and I wonder if she knows it and if they have a good laugh about it.My family is... as dysfunctional as a family can get but I still wish they weren’t so far away.Maybe I should... go back to school to study art.I love... it when old friends get together and pick up right where they left off. I don't understand... how some people can hate dogs.My favourite colour is... usually black but today I really REALLY like red.I lost my... virginity when I was 20 and tried to catch up with Cici.Walking on... Sunshine is a song I’m not sure I like.I want to... be 18 again.People would say that I'm... due to start a family but I’m nowhere ready for that, and neither is Mr P.Love is... wishing Mr P was home with me even though I’m pissed off with him.Somewhere, someone is... picking his nose with relish.I will always... love the rain.Forever is... waiting for medical tests to come back.I never want to... be bitter and in debt. I think the current Prime Minister is... watching you. When I woke up in the morning I... made funny noises to wake hubs up so he can keep me company early on a Sunday morning.Life is full of... warmth and love and generosity when you least expect it. Of course, when you DO expect it, you get none of that.My past is incredibly... simple. If only people could see it my way.I get annoyed when... people can’t keep up with my ADHD.Parties are for... everyone from the moment they’re conceived and sometimes to their last breath.I wish... I had superpowers. Like the Invisible Bionic Wonder Spiderwoman.My dog is... my pookie-wookie-kookie-bookie-tookie-snookie baby.My cats are (were)... mostly dead. One’s still alive somewhere in Massachusetts, I think.Kisses are the worst when... they’re Hersheys.Tomorrow I'm going to... start on two portraits.I really want... everybody to love me because it’s really all about me.I have a low tolerance for people who... have low tolerance for other people with different believes and lifestyles (that don’t intentionally hurt others), and make obvious moves to show it.I had a million dollars... but I won’t tell you what happened to it.Guys are... mostly lots of fun and great to have around. Until you date them.Girls are... mostly lots of fun and great to have around. Until you date them. Havin' a meme moment.... Having a bit of a meme moment, so I stole this from Like Sands Through The Hourglass... one of the blogs I'm lurking on at the moment... Incidentally, I have suddenly developed a great liking for blogs maintained by gay men... Many of them are well-written funny, incisive, frank, and almost always make you stop at the end of the post and think....In any case, its one of those "finish the sentence" memes... here goes:My ex is... still one of the people who understands me best and who can tell from the sound of my voice if something is up.My family is... one of the most important things in the world to me.Maybe I should... get a haircut. My locks are looking rather shabby these days.I love... stuffing my bag with a nice bottle of wine and a snack, grabbing Mr C and getting to the beach for a walk just before it begins to rain, when you can smell it in the air, and then running for the nearest shelter and sipping the wine while we watch the raindrops.I don't understand... how some people can be so cruel.My favourite colour is... black.I lost my... virginity when I was 17. Or was it 18? Hmmm.Walking on... thin ice at the moment.I want to... be a mother. And a good one.People would say that I'm... loud and boisterous. And I am.Love is... being the first to say sorry, whosever's fault it is, because the relationship is more important than the fight.Somewhere, someone is... probably also doing this meme.I will always... love Mr C.Forever is... probably how long I am going to take to give up smoking.I never want to... eat goat's cheese. It reminds me of smagma.I think the current Prime Minister is... erm, not as tall as the last one (sorry ah, ISD come after me I die).When I woke up in the morning I... contemplated jumping into the shower and getting to work early, and then promptly fell asleep again.Life is full of... missed moments, because people don't pay enough attention.My past is incredibly... colourful. 'Nuff said.I get annoyed when... people don't respect other people.Parties are for... ages 3 and up.I wish... I could win the lottery.My dog is... well, when I get one, it will be a border collie. So cute.My cats are (were)... under the impression that they were actually dogs. They would wait at the door, demand to be cuddled and beg for food.Kisses are the worst when... you just know you've had too much garlic.Tomorrow I'm going to... clean the house. Really! Maybe. Well...I really want... someone else to be cleaning my house. Ha. Okay, what I really want? For my marriage to filled with boundless amounts of love, and lust (FOR EACH OTHER).I have a low tolerance for people that... flirt or sleep around behind the backs of their spouses. I had a million dollars... I'd buy a house with a big garden for me and Mr C, and travel travel travel. Oh and start a trust fund for my kids.Guys are... often too quick to make decisions with the wrong head.Girls are... currently making me look twice. Been assessing the fcuk potential of females ever since reading Sash's latest post on bisexuality. I'm not too sure if I really wanna complicate my marriage with it though, haha.Okay ladies, your turn. boils of war I got my first major war wound today. I burnt my end-most nuckle knuckle on my ring finger from ironing hub's shirt, the significance of which hasn't gone unnoticed. I didn't put anything on it either, because I wanted to be brave and feel the hot slash of reality seep in. And now it's a 1 cm-long white water-filled slug. It's turgid amidst a ring of blushing red. Very fresh. Tomorrow, it should become a little sloppier. By Tuesday, it should start to wobble and thin out. By Wednesday, it could pop and set free all the fluid that's risen above the lower epidermal tissue and laid waiting nice and warm beneath the superficial skin surface, bursting free from its restraints but doomed to dry up and die an old maid.Sorry. What was I talking about?Oh yeah. blister. It's par for the course in the daily battle of Wife. Today's casualties? Six Verbena plants that have dried up and died in the hottest week of the year despite my tender love and care (the ingrates!) and one mini baguette that now thinks its a baseball bat after baking in the oven a half hour longer than it should have because I forgot it was there.But victory is mine because his shirt's all ironed and crisp for tomorrow, and his lunch (one egg and bacon salad, one new and perfectly crisp mini baguette, one yoghurt, one banana) is all set and sitting in the fridge.Yeah I'm on roll. Life of Wife is Nice. Now where's that blog entry about how much we love our husbands? We love our husbands because ... I figured we'd been bitching so much about being married, about being housewives, about being a working wife, about lazy hubbies and such, that its time to remind ourselves of why we picked them from the dating pool in the first place.So feel free to jump in anytime... why do YOU love YOUR husbands?Because his idea of instant dessert is taking a bite out of a chocolate bar, followed immediately by a bite off a banana, and then mixing them up in his mouth.Because he sneaks french fries to the dog when he thinks I'm not looking.Because he pretends to be interested in my composting but doesn't know what to say when I talk to him about nitrogen and carbon. Grass greener over there... I used to wish out loud: I want to be a tai tai (read not-working wife). Sometimes u actually get what you wish for.... and now wha, have a lot of time on my hands.Have started baking (like whhhaaa?) and cooking stuff like meatloaf, beef stew, lasagne, etc etc... and guess what... ahhahhahah, now I think the grass is greener back home when I was busy as heck.Anyhoos, the muffins came out weird shaped - hehehheh - and my poor unsuspecting neighbours have got them. Triple sniggers.Hope I haven't poisoned anyone. Didn't take a photo of them like I promised pipi because my phone cam is a bit wonky.But will do my best to embrace tai-tai-dom (except my stint doesn't really count because there's not that much moolah to throw around) soon, i'll get started on some gym classes, maybe breakfasts with some ladies here and more brownies and cookies and muffin baking.... hehehehhe.we'll see. I have 11 more months to go. stop and smell the humus Being in the army has been described to me by many an NS man as akin to watching grass grow. Especially when lying in wait in the field during combat training, they say. Suddenly, you're conscious of everything... each blade of grass, each stalk of seedling encased within, each bug that crawls to the tip...Being a housewife is not much different. Of course, the battles are dissimilar, as are the chores, tasks and duties to take care of. But the level of consciousness in the watching-grass-grow regard, I suspect, is the same. And since there is laundry to do everyday, dishes to load into the dishwasher everyday, someone to cook for everyday, and clothes to iron everyday, it means that there is always some room to procrastinate and contemplate... and time is on YOUR side.So you organise wedding photos and reflect on how you want to group them specifically. You start painting again and plan your canvas meticulously. You prune your rose garden carefully. You recycle religiously. And then you sit down, have a bottle of beer, and think leisurely... what next?And then it hits you. COMPOST!So you happily hop to home depot to get a compost bin, and you read up on the best compost recipe, and then you start making your own veggie crap! And if there's anything else more satisfying than watching grass grow, it's watching it rot into a soddy... mushy... mess. Especially if you get to add your own ingredients and mix and match the colours and know that your guests will not be picky eaters.So you throw in all sorts of yard waste. dead leaves, twigs, hedge trimmings, rose petals, dead bouganvillas flowers; along with kitchen scraps like mango peel, shrivelled tomatoes, avocado skins, pistachio shells, over-ripe apples and pears. Mix enough colours in and you've got a Monet in a bin, circa 1889, and lots of nitrogen for the living, breathing, heap of rot. There you have it... form AND function.And the best part about it is that after the heap of rot matures and turns into rich, nutritious soil, you can lay it out nicely in your garden again and know that this time, MY grass on MY lawn is gonna be the greenest of them all. My greatest fear right now Pip's question a couple of days ago on the bulletin board got me thinking.I reckon the biggest thing in my life that I'm deadly afraid of is... losing it. Losing my edge, my personality, my ability to do my job...So I have left my job back home, to come and be a supportive spouse in a new country. It's only for a year, but wow, the adjustment has been harder than I thought it would be.Why the hell would I freak out about soap scum? Because, that's all that's in my life. The new duties mean keeping house and cooking and doing all the domestic-y stuff... I get annoyed, because soap scum means more work for me = thoughtlessness on the part of partner.That's the rub: In my world, housewives just aren't appreciated very much, nor are they highly thought of in general. I guess its how I and my peers grew up, we saw the careerwomen as "THE" thing to be in school - the corporate suits etc. I mean, the female role was no longer in the home when I was growing up: My mom juggled a job and a home - she's amazing. She managed to COOK for the family everyday. So, everyone else who did otherwise just didn't cut it in my eyes.So dah dah duuum. Big readjustment. And yes, I am freaking out that I am planning recipes for dinner and wondering what meat to have. I'm freaking out that I am looking at various detergents and buying several ones to cut that damned grease.Soap scum drives me insane. I miss my life that had well, a little bit of meaning.It's bloody scary. I think I am having such difficulty because, well, I never thought much about domestic work. Nor held in any regard. I realise now that THAT has got to change, and okay, learning moment here: Housewives deserve respect too.But until I truely embrace that, I suspect I am going to have problems adjusting to this.Gah, just two months ago, I would have raised an eyebrow at someone venting about being a housewife. And then just gone on to have a smoke and bitch about my career pressures.It's also tough cos you know the husband does NOT want to know about domestic stuff that happens. He just bathes and leaves soap scum around. (He also belongs in that peer group that well, never thought much about domestication.) So there's absolutely NO support whatsoever there - and sometimes I wonder if he understands how tough this is for me (if I tell him, how much you want to bet there'll be a raised eyebrow/rolled eyes and a "you are having trouble? with what? being free?") to come here and to be... a wife. Personally and career-wise.Ahh. Who am I kidding? The short answer is no. He doesn't.Oh well. Back to some vaccuming. Thanks for letting me vent girls. On a completely unrelated note... Spotted this:The following came from an anonymous mother in Austin, Texas:Things I've learned from my boys (honest and not kidding)1 ) A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.2 ) If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.3 ) A 3-year old boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.4 ) If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Batman underwear and Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20x20 ft. Room.5 ) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.6 ) The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.7 ) When you hear the toilet flush and the words "uh oh", it's already too late.8 ) Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke -- lots of it.9 ) A six-year old boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old man says they can only do it in the movies.10 ) Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old boy.11 ) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.12 ) Super glue is forever.13 ) No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water.14 ) Pool filters do not like Jell-O.15 ) VCR's do not eject "PB & J" sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.16 ) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.17 ) Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.18 ) You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.19 ) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.20 ) The fire department in Austin, TX has a 5-minute response time.21 ) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.22 ) The spin cycle on the washing machine will, however, make cats dizzy.23 ) Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.24 ) 80% of men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.25 ) 80% of women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids.... Because- For those with no children - this is totally hysterical.- For those who already have children past this age, this is hilarious.- For those who have children this age, this is not funny.- For those who have children nearing this age, this is a warning.- For those who have not yet had children, this is birth control.We can consider ourselves warned. I'm running to the shops for condoms.Ciara. The TDOOET Project The Talk-Dean-Out-Of-Eagle-Tattoo Project (TDOOET)It has come to our attention that a certain visitor to our blog (see chatbox) has serious intentions of getting the American Bald Eagle tattooed on his back. Now while we know that its really none of our business how other people choose to use and abuse their bodies, we'd like to think that we're doing the world a small service by preventing some others (the good unsuspecting folk out there) from having the said image imposed on them.We're NOT against inking your temple in general, but the american bald eagle on your back is just so... wrong.On SO.MANY.LEVELS.1. It's an icon of American patriotism and should be reserved for patriotic Americans. Likewise the bear if you're Russian or the cock (rooster, if you prefer) if you're French. Now getting a national symbol as a tattoo might be one step up from complete assdom, but if you're stuck with a merlion as a national symbol, you're screwed. So drop any tattoo ideas associated with national symbols. Its a lose-lose situation.2. It's not as original as you think. A simple google image search pulled up the following human canvases.Trust us. There are only so many ways you can have a tattoo of an eagle on your back. full flight? taking off? landing? attacking? profile? perched? face left? face right? And there are even tribal versions. So chances are unless you draw the dang thing yourself or commission someone to do it, the tattooist is gonna dig into his own stash and pull up a couple of pre-designed samples for you. So you can trust that some sailor on a ship is at one with you, or some ah long san out there has, erm, got your back.3. It is NOT cool. And i'm not saying that because we don't like tattoos. In fact, one of our contributors here has got enough ink on her solid, nubile, phenomenal body for each of the other contributors. The point is... if you MUST get a tattoo, get a good one. One that won't make people laugh, cry or collapse. One that will inspire others to want to be you, or want to bang your brains out.Or better yet... one that Neveah, Ciara or I approve of. Trust us...We KNOW Cool.Think about it, love. nooooooooooookieeeeeee! i got some booty last night.A whole 36 hours after our "scheduled" sex appointment and about 36 minutes worth. Ya. it's come down to that.But just in time tho, cos I was hovering dangerously close to born-again virginity. If we waited any longer, i would have forgotten which end it goes in, which I'm sure would make Mr Pipi quite happy to "help" me find out.For the ladies who have been less fortunate and who can no longer remember which end it's supposed to go in, here's a reminder (animated pic on left from kamasutra animated). Just need to make sure it goes in where its marked "input" and not "output". unless u want to be rear-ended, which is, of course, entirely up to you. Can't see the picture? click on it for a close up and a series of other forms of insertion in the right and wrong ends.So after a night of nookie, my mood this morning has completely changed. The sun is shining brighter, the grass on MY side of the lawn is greener, and the neighbour's blackberry tree growing into our yard has bore fruit. In fact, I had planned a whole covert operation to, er, liberate the berries this morning. That involved lightly stepping over the crackling fallen leaves at the edge of my fence and peering into the neighbour's yard to make sure they weren't there... and then just reaching up and very quietly tugging at the ripe berries.So from almost-cherry plucking last night, to berry picking this morning. Life is gooooood.Pip to husband: SOAP is FRIEND Don't even get me started, babe. I'm telling you, its genetic. This one almost got me hurling plates.The little doggie decided to pee on the carpet in our bedroom, and if you've tried cleaning dog pee off carpeting, then you'll know how much work it is. I've already done this several times and dear hubs knew I was at my pee-cleaning breaking point. So more out of concern for his own safety than a genuine desire to help, he offered to clean up the mess. But how? he asked."Here's a pail... I've filled it with water. Use the scrubbing sponge and here's the glove to protect your hands. Use the soap in the bathroom and scrub until it's almost invisible," I instructed before returning to my work in the garden, as he goes to work at the pee. In retrospect, maybe I should have said "please, darling".15 minutes later, I returned to the scene. The pail stood there, sponge and glove by its side, husband in family room watching TV. I walked over to grab the pail to throw the soiled water out, mumbling about how he couldn't finish the job properly and how even when HE volunteered, I had to end up clearing the pail so what was the point, when I noticed that the pee spot was the EXACT same colour as it was before the cleaning, with a dark circle of dampness around it. Then I looked into the pail and.... waitagoddamminute... there were no suds? WHERE WERE THE SOAP SUDS?"Dude," i said. "Where's the soap?""What soap? U didn't say anything about soap."Ok. Its important to know that I held my breath here, and hence, held back the tide of wrath threatening to erupt."Urm. I DID tell you about the soap. But really, shouldn't it have been obvious? I mean... plain water isn't going to clean out pee from carpet, much less anything else from anything else."And then he said he would go do it again but he sat still in the living room (not fast enough dammit) and I didn't understand what he was freaking waiting for. For the pee to set in the carpet? For the soap to walk to the spot? For the dog to do it herself? What?So I stormed off and did it myself and fumed while he hummed and hawed unconvincingly about letting him do it. Ya whatever. too f*king late. Why are men so F**KING USELESS Okay, super rant coming up.Why are men - specifically Mr N - so goddamn thoughtless.After an afternoon of cleaning the bloody bathroom, he manages to FLOOD the floor because he couldn't be bothered to make sure the shower curtain was inside the tub. Wait. There's more: there's foam EVERYWHERE. Why doesn't the fucker understand that soap scum means fucking mildew that I will have to effing clean up later.Sure. You have a job. whoo hoo hoo. BUT will it kill you to think about the extra FUCKING work you're dishing out by your complete thoughtlessness.If you're male, you're reading this and you cannot figure out that the bathroom floor is not your laundry basket. Do take five minutes to acquaint yourself with the loaundry basket. It will be much better on you in general.The laundry basket is just a few steps away. Just walk those five steps. It's like getting the fucking beer from the fucking fridge two rooms away, only shorter.A VERY Pissed off Neav. Marriage Prep. Ciara, Nev,Here's a question. Did either of you go through marriage preparation before you tied the knot? I'm asking because I'm just about to embark on a religious version and I'm not that sure what to expect. All I know is this.Before Mr Pipi and I were married under civil law, a friend (yes, I have other friends apart from you two) had come to me exclaiming how surprised she was that I was only doing the religious marriage prep AFTER the actual legal marriage, because that's what couples are supposed to do before. She suggested gently that I should postpone the ceremony and do the prep first, nevermind that it was less than a month to the marriage. There are things these experts know that will help you prepare for life as a wife, she said."Why? You think it could change my mind?""Maybe. It's been known to happen."?!?!??! I was upset that she didn't have faith in my ability to commit to a marriage. Sensing this, she suggested I give a married friend a call."Jen went through it. Ask her. She should know better."So I did. But not without googling the whole shebang first. Most of what google offered up were costly programs to prepare for eternal monogamy... as if that wasn't costly enough. So I called Jen."Anything you learnt that was useful?""Urm... not really. Its mostly for couples who are moving in together only after they marry... about finances, sharing spaces, that sorta thing. Nothing really new for people like you who live in sin.""Gee thanks. But did anything stand out at all from the sessions? Anything that left an impression or prepared you for something unexpected?""Ya. He told me I had to obey my husband because he was lord of the house, or king of the jungle, or something like that."I would have laughed so hard and coughed out a lung had I not been completely stupified. No wonder people decide not to marry after undergoing these preps. Please tell me they're not all like this because i got no escape clause liao.Pip.