Take a Deetour

"I write to find out what I think." - Joan Didion

Monday, July 11, 2005

The Birthday A-Z (Work-in-Progress)

A - Alcohol. Copious amounts thereof. Absynth is so overrated. Tastes like mouthwash... probably was! Add to that many beers, wine & cocktails at Caprice & Happy... Nothing. So this is what middle-age feels like... Sober. Very.

B - Birthdays. My Surprising 30th and P's Scarleting 27th. Other people's birthdays I can handle, have fun at even. How come my own (albeit cunningly planned & lovingly executed) has left me in a bit of a daze. Why must I be a walking mid-life crisis cliche and experience such trepidation at leaving my 20s behind? Why do I feel like such a big fat failure? Have I achieved the things I set out to achieve? Bah. (also see E.)

C - Cake, an over-abundance thereof. One on 2/7 from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf ( I forget what it is. Ironically, didn't get to eat any of my own B-day cake).
Two cakes on 9/7 from Bakerzin - Coeur Noir (See Right: Layers of dark chocolate mousse and sacher sponge, with brandy cherries and hazelnut dacquoise at the base).
And from Prego - Double Belgian Chocolate Praline. Much snarfing of said cakes precedes many a diabetes-scented burrrrrrp.

D - Dawn. The magic, melancholy hour. When the last of the revellers have passed out/ gone home/ to bed and you're finally alone. And the silence brings deafening but comforting relief. And you gather the ruby-stained glasses, line them up on the counter-top and make a wish, one for every year each gleaming glass represents. Then you make tea, drink it and climb into bed, turn out the lights and stare hard at the shadows on the ceiling.

E - Expectations. The reason why we walk around morosely from time to time, taking stock and not liking what we see. I feel like a major loser if I allow myself to dwell on false expectations (from myself and from other people). Look, I'm 30. Shouldn't I be married with kids, have a fulfilling career, be making yea amount of dollars, making the parents happy with all my achievements? Shouldn't my relationships with people and God have stabilised by now? Why am I still a paranoid, neurotic mess? The answer is because I allow myself to. The answer is expectations.

F - Festival of Carbs Magnet Set.
One of my fave pressies, cos'
if you can't eat 'em, wear 'em!
With hearty thanks to the carberiffic Misters P & B.

G - G. The party planner extraordinaire, the secret agent in the making. Thank you. Love you.

H - Hotel. Raffles the Plaza (Heellooo IOC officials!) complete with much ordering of room service for my Birthday. The Scarlet for P.'s, complete with decadent, campy, pint-sized suite plus attached hot tub deck (see also J). Upon check-in, was told that if I were a bedroom, I would be the Passion Suite. Excuse me but can you don't mind? Which part of me looks like a hot tub deck?

J - Jacuzzi. Call us victims of Reality TV - Temptation Island, The Bachelor, MTV The Real World... everybody loves a hot-tub (who knows what those bubbles are getting up to below the surface?!). Many an allegedly shy party-goer could not resist a dip. By day, a cold brewski is all the accessory you need. I, however under oath never to be a menace to polite society, chose to descend upon said Jacuzzi under cover of night, when most had gone home. Add generous glugs of bubble bath and yippee, we got ourselves a foam party, folks!

L - London. Guaranteed sobering effect on any party. My dear, dear Ingerlund friends, I love you, miss you, think of you. Often.

M - Make-up. A necessary part of pre-pub primping. With the precision of a factory assembly line, a mini-queue formed at the bathroom, where armed with pens, powders and potions, I waited to pounce on the unsuspecting, unpainted faces of G., J., S. & P.

N - Naked. I have theory, even more substantiated by the hotel hot tub episode: When one gets past a certain weight, one (ok,ok, ME lah!) looks much better in the buff. No clothes to pinch you, grab you, swathe you, squeeze you or dig into your fleshly excesses. So I vote everybody get nekkid!

O - Over-eating. 2 weeks of this overindulgence has taken its toll on my spare tyres. But who can resist a post-party, morning-after (more like tunch, but we woke up late, what!) pig-out session? Brewerkz turned out to be our target and we inhaled plate after plate of double cheese nachos, white bait, fish and chips, potato skins, mussels, bratwurst and mash smothered in gravy, all washed down with pints of homebrew.

P - Prancing/ Dancing Pussy. Starring the schizo crotch of Mr E. Don't ask.

R - Rock Stars invaded my home. Ok, wannabes came to celebrate the passing of my 29th year. Spotted: Joan Jett, Steven Tyler, Gwen Stefani, Bo Bice, Phil Collins, Sid Vicious, Fran Healey and other assorted popstars like Beyonce, Jimmy Ray(??), J-Lo, Posh Spice, Justin Timberlake, Britney Spears, Mariah Scarey and William Hung(!).

S - Surreal Surprise. I thought I would love a surprise more. But after being duped, stuffed with food, booze and shouts of Happy Birthday, I still can't quite process it. Maybe it's the old expectations creeping in again. Is there a way to react? Can I be stuck in this surreal state for a while? Haiyah... Watch this space for updates from the Queen of Delayed Reactions.

T - The Sound of Music. Julie Andrew, the Alps, Captain Von Trapp, WWII, 7 children, my favourite things... lovely way to spend the rest of out hotel time till check out. Finally managed to watch this musical its entirety. My Hills are aliiiiiive with the sound of Muuuuuuuuuusic!!!!

X - X-Ray Parte Tres. Am wholly convinced that TB Clinic really wants my $$. After receiving phonecall to please go down for the X-Ray, you are already 1 week overdue, they resort to (gasp!) calling my mother and telling on me.

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