Loco over Lomo

All was not a FAIL at the Flea; at least I managed to snap up this cute little digital camera — the VistaQuest VQ1015 Entry — that promised images with Lomo effects. I went crazy with it at the reservoir the next day during what is fast becoming a weekly ritual with the guys, and discovered that it’s not as simple as pointing and clicking because the tiny viewfinder is next to useless and there is no playback function for instant assessment of composition and lighting. It’s been largely a series of hits and misses, but it’s really fun and here are some of the resulting pictures. Don’t they look simply dreamy and surreal in some instances, just like scenes out of Taking Woodstock?

Morning beauty

I woke up really early the Sunday that just past for a morning run with the guys at Bedok Reservoir. With only a glass of fresh milk for subsistence and with my body still clamouring for more sleep, I got off to a difficult start but soon got into my stride, keeping pace with YC. The fresh morning air was sweet and cool, the sky a brilliant blue dotted with white fluffy clouds, and it felt nice seeing all the people who were already up and about – fishing, walking their dogs, canoeing, cycling and jogging – on an early Sunday morning.

Not to be

I had my heart set on this lovely specimen of bridal shoes, and was all ready to set off and snap it up after I settled on my gown. But alas it is not destined to be mine. NUE closed down since last December, I think, and it has not re-surfaced anywhere else on our little island ever since. I guess I have to try my luck elsewhere then, though I dread the hunt to come. I have a monstrous aversion to strappy, bling-bling stilettos, and 98 percent of all bridal shoes belong in that dreaded category. I wish I can get away with lacy white sneaker-heels (if such a thing even exists!) under my lace gown, but I doubt that would pass either my mum’s or MIL’s approval.

Any suggestions for bridal shoes, anyone? Maybe the the been-there, done-thats like Yannisms, Dottieshop and Sandy can give the newbie brides-to-be like myself and Cat some tips =)

Rodents, all?

Inglourious Basterds was a vastly entertaining ride, classic Tarantino with more than a few similarities with Kill Bill. Diane Kruger surprised me a little with her performance in fact, I think my impression of her as Helen of Troy stuck too well. But all I can think of after watching Basterds is, squirrels truly do look very similar to rats if you take away their bushy tail. In fact, I shuddered a little while looking at this photograph from my New York 2008 collection, the resemblance is somewhat unnerving although it did not register on me then.

So why do people fawn over squirrels but shun rats?

Major hurdle, cleared.

Guess what this is? =)

I think I have mastered the art of shopping like a man. This is supposed to be the most expensive clothing item I will ever buy, for what is supposedly the biggest day of my life. I bought it within an hour and a half of stepping into the boutique, which is only the second one I’ve checked out. The less said about the first, the better; the only nice thing that transpired in there was being complimented on my spoken Mandarin, which apparently had no Singaporean inflections.

Anyway, like Dad says, as long as I like it and it’s comfortable and the price is right, then just get it. I adore lace, and this lace is intricate and very vintage-ish. The gown’s design is quite classic and simple and can be quite easily altered after the wedding into a very wearable formal frock. Most importantly, it is light with a soft, swishy train. What’s there not to like about it?

Que cera, cera

I’m not into Michael Cera the way I’m into, say, Takeshi Kaneshiro, who by the way is probably only the best looking hunk of hotness this side of the planet. But much as I adored Juno and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist for their sweet yet touchingly real teenage romance/angst storylines, I definitely find it somewhat hilarious and unbelievable that Cera has gotten by in Hollywood replicating basically the same character in each and every one of his indie hit shows.

It would seem that New York magazine agrees with me, LOL. All hail Cera, the Hoodie Heart throb!

Our wedding photographer

I love our wedding photographer’s images of Bali.

Heck, I think we just love the feelings his images evoke in us. They’re elegant, yet so expressive somehow, and I just can’t wait for our turn. I suspect his photography is probably the main reason why I’m even looking forward to the wedding at all; if I had the choice I’d rather just elope or sneak off to ROM in stealth and get the whole she-bang over and done with.

Yes, we’re paying Fat-Barrel a premium, and we’ve already gotten into some trouble with the MIL when she learnt how much we were paying, but we believe he’s worth it!

Too close

This is so tragic. Imagine this young woman with a bright future ahead of her, the world her oyster, having her life snuffed out violently just a few days before her wedding, and her body stuffed inside a wall of a laboratory building on campus.

It cuts a bit too close to home, seeing as my husband-to-be lives and studies in a city with one of the highest crime rates in the US of A. We’re also getting married in just eight months, on May 15. I used to worry all the time about his safety over there, and all those nightmares came flooding back when I read the article this morning.

I can’t help but worry.

I also can’t say it often enough, so. Stay safe my dear.

Of babes and babes

Lately, the whole world seems to be popping.

According to Yannisms, more than a few of our classmates in communications school are now mothers, the latest being Stella, evidently. At work, one of my colleagues gave birth about three weeks ago and another is due in a month and a half, probably. One lady in my previous division popped about two months back, and two guys who are posted overseas are apparently so virile that they can get their wives pregnant even in the short snatches of time they get to spend together. I would say it’s uncanny and serendipitious, except if I stop and think about it, my peers and I are indeed at the optimal age to get married and have kids.

Me, I’m not sure still if I’m the maternal sort. I can’t even muster up much enthusiasm for planning my own wedding, let alone look after a bawling wee kiddy, wiping up its poop and patting it to sleep for hours on end. Ok, “it” is probably the wrong pronoun to use, but hey it kinda proves my point that I’m just not the maternal sort?

I’m afraid of how my child will turn out, seeing as there are so many teenage terrors running around. I’m deathly fearful of dropping my baby on its head or accidentally drowning it in the bath, which are not altogether baseless fears as I’m overwhelmingly clumsy and careless. I’m all for freedom of will for all mankind but what if I turn out unable to accept my child(ren) for their values, beliefs and lifestyles? At my core, I think what holds me back from embracing pregnancy, or rather motherhood, is the prospect of having to become a better person for the child my husband and I are rearing. I’m an immensely flawed human being fundamentally; I swear and curse, I’m selfish when it suits me, I’m obnoxious and impatient at times with my parents even though they love me unconditionally. I’m scared of bringing up a mini me.

Still, I can’t deny that babies are a ridiculously wonderful and loveable bundle. There’s something about cuddling their warm, tiny and soft bodies close to the bosom, the way they stretch their little feet, flail their little hands and open their mouths in a wide yawn, that melt even the hardest hearts and sweeten up the foulest potty-mouth around to coo and gurgle in baby talk. I must say I’m not immune to that charm. In fact, even as I was dripping beads of sweat cuddling this lovely, placid babe in the humid evening air of my colleague’s Tanah Merah apartment, I did think for a moment that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having one of my own. Then the baby yawned. I caught a whiff of stale milk and that vaguely, remotely maternal split-second thought vanished instantly.

I guess I still have some way to go.

Weekend spoils

What irony.

I, who cannot drink alcohol at all, go to Timbre and order cranberry juice, end up being sabo-ed to do the chicken dance with a random guy named Don as part of Erdinger’s Oktoberfest promotion, and walk away with a small Erdinger hamper. Well, the mug is very nice and I can probably find some use for it when we shift to our new office come October, probably as a photo stand or vase.

“The Sweet Life in Paris” arrived yesterday, finally! I got home from Timbre (or rather McDonalds, more accurately) dead tired but perked up immensely when I saw this package sitting sweetly and demurely on my keyboard. Sneaky Amazon had indicated in all their automated communications with me that the expected delivery date was Oct 1, probably a standard ass-covering procedure to head off complaints of late deliveries. I think I’ll be in book heaven for tonight and the next few nights. Excuse me while I head off for late-night escapades (what’s the plural of ‘rendezvous’ anyway) under the sheets with David Lebovitz.