New template!

Oh I love this template, it is so pretty! The flipside is that it's not made by me. Pooh.

Desktop Makeover

I have had my MacBook since 2006, and when I buy something I really like, I make plans. Wise plans. Super plans. Do I actually carry out any of these plans, you ask scathingly? Uh, no. The joy is in the planning, duh.

Anyway, my plans for the MacBook included:

1. Knitting a grey and red cover to protect it from scratches.
This was part of the Knitting Adventure of Glory Mel and I embarked on, in which Mel set out to make a scarf and made a blanket, and I set out to make a laptop cover and made -- something, uh, secret, that you're not allowed to know about.

2. Buying a grey cover and embroidering a design in red on it.
Cover bought. Cover still grey.

3. Sewing buttons all over the grey cover.
I did manage to collect all the buttons ready to sew. They're rattling around in one of my bags.

4. Covering the facade of the MacBook with a collage of magazines clippings and stickers.
After nearly four years, I stuck one sticker on this week: progress! The rest of the clippings and things I cut out are having a PARTAY somewhere with the buttons.

But this week everything changed, because I rediscovered the joy of icons. And now my desktop is an assortment of Lord of the Rings, Star Wars and some other nice things courtesy of PixelGirl Presents.


The whole desktop. That picture in the center is actually a painting, by the way.


The LOTR icon set are so beautifully intricate. I love the lembas bread. What's that? Of course it makes sense to use it for "projects"! Sam had to ration the lembas bread very carefully otherwise they'd starve and the quest would fail, dooming Middle Earth forever! - TELL ME THAT'S NOT A PROJECT.

I love icons, although somehow forgot about them since primary school, where I changed my animated mouse and desktop icons on a weekly basis, until my computer crashed. The two events were, of course, unrelated.

Where topics change at the speed of light.

Is there a way to block people on facebook without removing them as friends? This question could also be asked as, Why would I want to stay friends with someone whose unfailingly regular status updates I cannot bear to look at anymore?

I am considering pulling an MDB and taking everyone except the people I actually talk to regularly off my Facebook account, but the part of me that accounts for the millions of things I have hoarded away in my room "in case of emergency!!!" will not let me. What if I wake up one day and just really need to talk to the person who made my life miserable in primary school? What if Hiro Nakamura visits me in the MRT and tells me I need to save the cheerleader, save the world? How could I explain to him that I deleted the cheerleader off my Facebook account, and don't have her mobile number or email? See? That excuse sounds way lame even to me.

I cannot tell you how much Les laughed when he found out that the number one thing I do online when I just want to chill out is to watch the videos at momversation.com.

I'm sorry! I know I don't have a child. I am a wicked, wicked pretender. I just have not been able to find another place where there are sensible women who talk about sensible things, and where you get to hear many sides to the same issue, rather than ranting or endlessly flaming each other. I mean, the most visited local blog when I was in JC was probably Xia Xue. Point for me.

(And I cannot understand that, or girls who don't leave the house without wearing three layers of make up, or girls who surreptitiously untag all the unglam pictures of themselves on facebook. Sooner or later, Lady, someone is going to figure out what you really look like, and it will be so much worse for you on that day.)

PEOPLE, RICKY MARTIN HAS A BLOG.

I know. I am very excited too. And let me tell you that the excitement you're feeling right now totally, totally pays off. An excerpt, if you will:

[[Many people told me: "Ricky it's not important", "it's not worth it", "all the years you've worked and everything you've built will collapse", "many people in the world are not ready to accept your truth, your reality, your nature".

...

If someone asked me today, "Ricky, what are you afraid of?" I would answer "the blood that runs through the streets of countries at war..."]]

(from here.)

Oh man, I really REALLY need to meet this man. Not Ricky Martin, but Ricky Martin's friend who says things like "your truth, your reality, your nature." I feel like he would understand my soul, and we could cry together while "Friends Are Friends Forever" by Michael W. Smith played in the background. Or "That's What Friends Are For", that would work too.

Unless he lived in a country at war, because, don't you know! There's blood running down the streets over there! Running! Down! The Streets! And I'm just not emotionally prepared for something like that, you know what I'm saying? Hey, if it's Ricky's worse fear, I think I have a right not to want to go there too.

Hello, resident!

Am very in love with the fact that my boyfriend's idea of being inconspicuous to sneak in past condo security guards is to chant "I LIVE HERE! I LIVE HERE!" accompanied by a very bizarre "resident" march.

(He was joking, I think, but it was still unbelievably funny. A catch if there ever was one; there's no explaining attraction.)

(In case anyone's interested, true "resident"-s march like the love-children of professional walkers and the Red Army.)

The TV issue.

Somehow, I'm still watching Lost. And it's true what they say; it gets better. (It gets a lot worse first, though. You might want to skip the whole of the beginning of the third season.) The scriptwriters are getting pretty good at making us believe these people were really ballerinas and con men and doctors before they crashed on the island, but really, we know where it's at. Yes, Lost scriptwriters, we know you've been lying to us. It was a plane full of models that crashed on that island. And Hurley was the pilot.

(Afterthought: This theory also explains how, despite the fact that they're all supposed to be wearing clothes taken off dead bodies and what not, they always look FABULOUS. Because they know how to choose the right dead-people-clothes for their figure and complexion. Good job, models!

Further afterthought: Actually, there's another explanation: Lost is an American TV show. The end.)

By the way, at this moment, there are three groups of people huddled around three computers watching different seasons of Lost. I love my job.

Besides Lost, I've only been watching a little bit of American Idol. Has anybody been watching American Idol? Can anybody explain to me why the contestants feel the need to whip out a guitar for every little thing? Other than proving that Americans can sing and play guitar at the same time. How very wonderful for you all. (Also, as the seasons progress, the whipping-out-guitar-thing gets faster and furious-er.) I don't think anyone really jumps out at me this season. I still think Adam Lambert was the best thing ever to happen to that show, but now he's kind of prancing around in codpieces, which is, well, see for yourself:

I know.

After reading about the US passing this revolutionary health bill, I've realised that I actually don't have a country to call my own, which is very sad. I have two passports, but because I don't live in either of those countries, I'm not really a citizen, and don't qualify for healthcare, or pension plans or voting. I could go back to those countries, but I don't think I would belong there as much as I feel I belong in Singapore, with friends and family and food (oh, the food.) At the same time, I don't think I would ever give those passports up for Singapore citizenship - it feels too much like closing off those options forever, and I don't think I could bear it.

The working definition of having a government seems to be having someone you can blame for everything wrong with your country, but I think it's nice to feel that, at the end of the day, they are kind of looking out for you, you know, with various complicated scheme things that I am not eligible for.

But really, guys, let's face it: there's only one reason you've all been just hanging around reading this, and it's not for my charming conversation. And by guys I mean Mel Wu.

So without further ado, let me announce the winner of Claire's Favourite Lost Character.

Vincent. I LOVE Vincent. Nothing dramatic ever happens to him, he just has a ball of a time on that island. He's always running around, looking happy and barking at things. And he loves everyone, even though they're always abandoning him or passing him off to be looked after by someone else while they escape or have love lives or die. Every time I see him I feel happy, and that's probably his purpose, because everything else goes wrong on Lost except Vincent. Vincent should have his own show. It would be called Lost and Lovin' it! or, you know, something else, because that name sounds bad.

"That's not just a bear... (ENDLESS PAUSE) ... that's a polar bear."

A guy in my office has been telling me to WATCH LOST because the rest of the office are all apparently dying of the awesomeness of season 6. So I got Season 1-5 from Lynn and am slowly trying to catch up. I've watched Lost before, and really liked Season 1, and then Season 2 was alright, but by Season 3 it was kind of TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENING ALREADY. The new intrigues being introduced seemed to be in the hundreds but the answers were zero. It sucked.

Anyway, I'm giving it a second chance. Although halfway through episode 1 I realise: This is the series that made me terrified of flying, a horror that I've been trying to overcome since I first watched it and, oh dear, I am watching it again. The plane is being torn apart and people are screaming and dying and falling and my April Phuket trip suddenly seems like a death trap.

FINE.

Okay, I have promised a few people that I will try to write something and so I shall, just so the next time you check this website when you're dead bored and desperate for excitement, I will be able to say IN YOUR FACE.

*Happily watches Project Runway for the next hour.

Hooray for pretty dresses! Okay. Project Runway always makes me want to rush out and start sewing, just as, I suppose, Next Top Model makes me want to rush out and start exercising, and The Bachelor makes me want to rush out full stop. But really, about the sewing, does anyone know how to sew well? Or do you know anyone else who knows how to sew well? Because I want to be taught, you know, having so much free time to boast what with 4 part time jobs and school and piano and driving.

I wonder if it really is possible to achieve everything you could possible want to achieve. I think not, really, although I have achieved many things I used to think would never happen, like sitting at Les' place writing in my journal while he composed music in the next room, and actually making good money for writing. If you do read this, dear friend several months away, please comment and tell me 5 things you'd like to achieve by the end of your life, and then maybe call me and offer to buy me lunch. That would be nice.

I would like to be able to 1) play music in front of other people without having a nervous breakdown, 2) have one boy and one girl child without having to have 10 boys in a row first, 3) sew my own clothes, 4) live in a house overlooking many, many trees, and 5) er, play golf well? Not sure about 5.

My mum keeps asking questions out loud to people, and I keep thinking she means me, only to find that she's talking to someone else. It's very off-putting and embarrassing, considering I always respond like so:

Mum: Hey, you want some bread?
Me :YES!
Holly: She was talking to me.

Mum: Hey, you want some apple -
Me: YES!
Mum: - Holly?

Mum: Hey, you want some dessert?
Me: YES, DAMNIT!
Mum: *Continues looking at Papa expectantly.

I am sensing a pattern!

And Miffy tries to eat my toes for the ten thousandth time.

Well, I weighed myself today.

So is being fat really the worst thing a person can be? Is it worse than being selfish, or a murderer? Part of my mind is desperately repeating this wonderful thing JK Rowling said, but then again, this is also the part that likes to eat very, very much. And I do believe there are many many more terrible things than being fat, but I think 5kilos in about 6months means it's time to start running, Claire, and you better be running further than the bus stop.

Happily, tragically, after learning of this new me, the me that, thanks to her love of CAKE and POLYSATURATED FAT can no longer fantasise about being a dancer or a wrestler, or whatever profession it is that requires you being lifted at some point by another human being, as opposed to being lifted by the crane that built the Singapore Flyer, this new me decided a pint of durian ice cream is a terrible thing to waste. A mind is a terrible thing to waste too, as is half a comprehensive wardrobe that no longer fits, but these things weren't in the fridge tonight, so they will have to wait their turn.

Man... this really sucks!

I am starting to believe that the sun may no longer actually exist.

Facebook can be so strange on so many levels.

"Holly Matthews has just invited you to SHARE the LOVE!"
WHEEL of FORTUNE!


"I would never send you a lifeless boring gift, here is an animated one!"
Well I would never send you a gift, because, like, I don't even know who you are!


"I'd like you to check out (fluff)Friends, where you can adopt a cute pet on your Facebook profile! Give your pet a name and a personality, earn munny and buy things from the (fluff)Shop, and enter your pet into (fluff)Races. With over 20 pets to choose from, and new features being added frequently, it's fun, free, and fluffy!"
I grew up in a household where fluff was code word for fart, so excuse me for not being very interested.


"Remember playing hangman when your were a kid? Well, you can live those days again by playing it on Facebook against people from all over the world. It is fun!"
This is just bad, bad copywriting.


"Jane Ashley sent an invitation using Love Match Predictor: You've been invited to use The Love Match Predictor! Jane wants you to try out The Love Match Predictor."
Yes, okay, I understand what 'invite' means, you don't have to repeat yourself ten thousand times.


GROUCHY!

first the teddy bears, then the giraffes.

Hempsted Forest

'Tis the month of my birthday! It's surreal that my birthday is so close. Not the "Oh no, I'm gonna be 20!" thing, I'm over that, I've had a year to get over that while everyone else my age turned 20 (except ling! my loyalest friend!). Just the "Oh, it's my birthday!" thing. I'm very excited actually, although I don't know why. I hope I can get back to Singapore before the 31st!

I have been painting for most of today, determined to master watercolors. It's much much harder than I thought, but I am learning, at least, I better be after painting the same picture ten thousand times. I'm trying to follow watercolorpainting.com's glazed wash tutorial which is supposed to look like this,



but ended up looking, sadly, like this,



and then like this,



and finally, (finally!) like this!



I'm going to take a break today and do colour pencils, but I might have another go soon. If you feel brave enough to try the same tutorial, send me pictures!

I miss Candy Chen and all her crazy friends. Perr-FECT!

Period + Grass = TERRORIST THREAT!

Well today was just fantastic. I got my period halfway into a four hour face painting session. I stood up to stretch and oh. MY. LORD. And of course I never bring anything with me, it just totally spoils my image, you know? I've just had too many embarrassing incidents of trying to take out my wallet and having unsightly things fall on the floor to be viewed by disapproving aunties and embarrassed uncles. So I needed to go to plan B: lots and lots of toilet paper. Oh, the joy.

Wait, did I mention that this face painting thing was in the middle of a field? On the opening day of Clean and Green week? Thus it was, on this, the 3rd day of November, that I found myself making a beeline towards the blue Portapumpers, sitting just across the green green grass, praying that they had toilet paper, please have toilet paper, please please please.

But I was thwarted. Thwarted, again, by Harry Potter a nice burly Indian man who told me No miss, you are not allowed to go across the grass because the Prime Minister is here. Oops, silly me, I should have known that you just can't go walking on grass when the Prime Minister is in a tent 300 metres away, totally obscured from view and terrorist attacks, I mean, THE WORLD WILL EXPLODE.

What on earth does my walking on the grass have to do with the Prime Minister? I don't go up to him when he's saying his speeches and tell him to stop, because, you know, I'm walking on the grass right now, okay? so just go do your speeching somewhere else, this is my private grass-time. I do not do this. I am a reasonable human being. I appreciate that some people have to make long speeches and some people have to walk on the grass, and some people sometimes have to get toilet paper very badly and don't have time to trail behind 10 billion people gawking at exhibition boards about cockroaches and Dengue Fever - How Does It Affect Me?

I am sure that the Prime Minister would have thought it unreasonable too. I do not like these strange rules that crop up near important people, as if they are so easily offended. They're just people!

Now, for some comic relief.

This lazy thing i do.

I am losing all ability to be useful to society. I watch Rainbow carefully licking her butt and I think, wow, she's doing something with her life, look at her go! I mean, sure, it's not too pleasant, but someone's got to do the butt-licking and she's stepping up to the plate and doing it. I, Claire Matthews, am doing less than my incontinent butt-licking cat. Whoopeedo.

Well, to be fair, I am doing something. I'm working! That's useful right? I'm also taking dance lessons and attending rehearsals. And sometimes I even make my bed to raptuous applause from my mother and exclaimations of "It's a miracle! Thank the Gods!" from my father. But today is not one of those days. Today I am supposed to be helping my dad do some copywriting for some project. Since I have started my now very impressive three-sentence-long draft, I have stopped to read blogs, I have stopped to paint my nails, I have stopped to remove the nail polish (I just like to paint, but then the colour flashing from my fingers becomes annoying fast), I have stopped to go to the bathroom twice, I have stopped to write this. If I hadn't finished re-reading HP and Time Traveller's I would have stopped more often. This time next week, the draft could very well still be three-sentence-long and rotting. Rot. Rot. Rot.

I have run out of wood shavings and Penny is wearing a peg on her nose.

I feel like taking cello lessons! And I'm getting very excited about it. I wrote to this place called Tanglewood and I'm going to go for a trial lesson before I decide. I've wanted to take cello for ages but no time, no money etc. Although i'm going to england in November (to stay with CANDY! Hooray!), and if I do get into it I don't know how I'd take my cello there to practice. Cello's are also very expensive, but oh well, we shall see. When I searched for "Cello" on Yahoo! Auctions, I got this picture of a roll of masking tape, with the enthusiastic caption, "CELLO TAPE! VERY GOOD CONDITION!" Gosh, I have bought quite a few used things off auction but it's a bit much to buy used sello tape, even without the spelling error.

Today was a bit of an odd day. First in the bus, I was sitting next to this suspicious character. He had twitchy eyes and an odd smell. After a while, when the bus was sailing past Kembangan MRT, he started ticking ala Captain Hook's crocodile. It was very ominous to be sitting next to a suspicious ticking character, and I suddenly felt very afraid that he would blow up and I would die! Two days into my diet, I would die. The injustice! He didn't explode in the end, however, he did continue ticking away until I reached my stop, while I became increasingly panicked and began telling myself that modern terrorists don't use alarm clocks tied to bombs anymore. A mystery.

The second odd thing was that my boy tuition student was quite merry today. He kept giggling at unexplainable things that I don't think he would have thought funny otherwise. And I'd laugh along, but I was never sure if I was laughing at the right thing, or if he'd just put pencil lead in my milo and was being pleased with himself. As punishment for making me uncertain of the object of my laughter, I made him practice pronounciation by saying "Pirates of the Carribean" over and over, faster and faster until it became "Carrots of the Carribean"

The third odd thing happened when I was swimming. To my horror, there was some kind of family reunion happening at the big swimming pool when I arrived there, but my desire to burn fat overpowered my desire to run for it, so I stayed and swam. To my second horror, there was this fattish kind of man who kept giving me the thumbs up when I swam to the end where the people were, and then saying "WAHHH YOU SWIM SO FAST" when I swam away. He didn't seem to get tired of saying it either, and after a while it got stuck in my head and i was chanting it to myself unconsciously as I did my laps. Irritating! I think he was not quite right, because his words were slurred and he had a goose expression on his face. Odd!