Diary of a Girl Abroad.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-12-14T08:53:00.002+08:00

My mum as a wee little thing and her giant too-cool-for-school dog.

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The help.

2011-12-11T12:31:00.001+08:00

I was a different person when I moved to Hong Kong. I'm pretty sure I was still called Nat, but other than that, I was pretty much chalk. I'm now cheese.

(Has anyone ever tried to combine chalk with cheese? Are they really that different? I guess they are. Plus, not much goes with chalk.)

I digress. I saw many unfamiliar and 'weird' things when I got here in 2009; people hanging meat outside all day long and then eating it, bird's nest, shark fin, dogs in prams, you-name-it.

But one thing that was really strange for me were the domestic helpers. Often called 'amahs', which is similar to 'aunt' in Chinese (and NEVER called 'maids'), these are the ladies who move from places like the Philippines and Indonesia to wait on expat and Chinese families. At first I thought this was reserved for the wealthy folk, much like having a full-time nanny in Australia. But, no... every single person I know in Hong Kong has a helper that comes at least once a week. I've only met two people who decided not to have a full-time helper after they had children.

It's what you do: you move here; you get a helper to do things like cleaning, ironing and washing. You move here and have a baby; you get a full-time, live-in helper who does all of the above, as well as cooking, shopping, nannying - whatever you need her to do. It's more than common. It's just the done thing.

And the reason why most of the population can afford this miracle? Because it's cheap. Because minimum wage for domestic helpers in Hong Kong is low, and because most of us who live and work here can afford it.

And now that B and are 'with child', we're faced with the decision about whether or not to have one of these full-time helpers. A lady who is with us every day, taking away 'the daily grind' off our hands, looking after our child when we need her to, cooking our meals when we need her to, and basically just freeing up my time to parent without the extra pains. The bigger part of me says 'yes'. Why make life harder than it needs to be? Why try and be superwoman, when I don't have to be? And, if everyone else does it, why shouldn't we?

The smaller part of me worries about two things: (1) being physically unable to move back to Australia after becoming reliant on a life without endless buckets of washing and sheet-changing; and (2) that terrible word: 'exploitation'. And that's the tricky one. While it's no-doubt not good that people are paid far less than us per hour to keep our homes clean and our table's full of food, most of these ladies earn far less in their home countries and want the work; particularly when their employer is someone who is kind to them and pays them above minimum wage. Which is what we would do: pay above and beyond the standard, do as much as we can around the house ourselves, and - maybe most importantly - be kind. I have friends here who love their helpers like they're part of their own family. They're not 'maids', they're housekeepers and they're just doing a job.

The woman we interviewed is currently working with a local family who makes her sleep on a wafer-thin mattress on the kitchen floor because they don't have room for her. They ask her to work from 7am to 9pm six days per week, and she's paid the very minimum wage and benefits.

We'll have her work less hours, pay her more overall, and do what extras we can. We'll never boss her around or make her do anything, and she'll live in comfort. We'll get along with her, and we'll be an employer she can count on to treat her as an equal.

Is that really so bad?

Please be honest with me, because I'm cheese. Maybe I need to remember what it's like to be chalk.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-12-07T09:16:00.001+08:00

Hong Kong street food. Nom nom.

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The first time.

2011-12-05T13:29:00.001+08:00

No need to run for cover, this isn't a post about me losing my virginity (although that would have been quite the beautiful post.)

I've been feeling myself become all giddy and inspired lately about 'firsts'... first baby coming, first (and hopefully only) wedding, first visit back to Australia in what feels like forever. Firsts are just lovely, aren't they? Except when they're scary. And bad.

But, this post is a little summary of firsts about me and my gorgeous B. Why? Well, that's hardly a difficult question to answer. Because I love him and I'll take any excuse.

First meeting

At my work Christmas party, circa 2007. I've blogged about this before somewhere... he was the cute guy with an American (but really Canadian) accent in a white shirt and suit pants, I was wearing an off-the-shoulder black dress and must have thought I looked hawt. I thought he was too young for me (ahem, he turned out to be nine years my senior) but his courage to talk reincarnation with a strange woman was charming. Cue sparks.

The only photo I have from the night that we met. I cropped my friends out because I don't know if they're keen on being associated with my blog rambles. p.s. The man kissing me on the cheek is not B... Sadly, I don't have any pics of him from that night.

First date

Around a week later, B took me for drinks to a trendy city bar (sooooo not him, now that I know him so well), then for dinner at a funky Thai restaurant (much more his style.) We talked and ate until our mouths hurt, and he graciously showed me his secret taxi spot, but didn't kiss me goodnight. Mixed messages, grrrrr.

First kiss

Pervert much?? Haw haw. It was in his puhretty 1968 Mercedes convertible outside my apartment. Yummy. Cue one of us taking a top hat off and holding it in front of our faces as we smooch while the image turns sepia. Perhaps B can have the top hat, I'd look fairly odd wearing one, especially if he wasn't.

First awkward moment

When we climbed into a taxi with the ghost of Michael Schumacher (who's, uh, actually not dead) behind the wheel on one of our early dates. B got in first, and before I was even in my seat, Michael spun the car around and took off - me flying across the seat and landing right in B's lap. I'm pretty sure he blushed. B that is, not Michael, who was too busy trying to break the sound barrier.

First argument

Not really a voices raised type of thing, but the first time I saw B frown at me was when we went to the Blue Mountains for a weekend away and I kept texting my friends from his car. He didn't think it was very social of me to do that and promptly told me. I remember thinking, "whoa... he's wound a lil' tight, inn'he??" But, now I do agree with him. Texting a lot on a couple-ish weekend away is bad form. Sorry, honey.

First holiday together

See previous entry about the Blue Mountains. My friend invited me to his 'masquerade' wedding up there only a few weeks after B and I met, so we faced the nervous decision about whether or not he should come along. Screw it... he joined me in his sexy Zorro mask and we balked in horror when the groom (my dear friend) fainted at the altar. Twice.

First time I embarrassed myself

On that same trip when I decided I'd be all sultry-like and run a bubble bath. Except I poured in the liquid and then turned on the jets, not realising what would happen. I screamed and B ran into the bathroom, laughing at me so hard I still think there's a ruptured spleen soaking in those suds somewhere.

Sexy stuff Nat, sexy stuff.

First time I knew I had a big crush

On our second date, when took me on a long drive through a lovely national park. While beautiful beyond compare, his classic car did this weird thing where the speaker would start making this loud buzz, and the only way to stop it was to bang his hand hard against it several times in a row. I won't forget giggling under my breath as he drove with one hand, the other bashing his radio while trying to still look cool in front of a girl. It was so adorable.

First love

When he picked me up at Toronto airport to meet his family after the world's longest flight (I may have passed the moon and several solar systems on the way.) He was carrying an esky with a Canadian beer in it (bless him) while wearing a dark blue t-shirt, his hair slightly messy, his skin tanned. I don't remember anything else other than thinking, "I love you."

And who wouldn't?

So, there you go... just a few firsts. Let's have plenty more shall we, B? Are you there? Do you even read my blog? Hello?

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-30T09:19:00.001+08:00

Sign at Shek O beach, Hong Kong

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Saying goodbye to style.

2011-11-28T17:33:00.001+08:00

Nothing says you're 'up the duff' (really not the loveliest expression, is it) quite like maternity jeans.

MATERNITY JEANS.

I mean those hideous jeans with an elastic waistband that fly the comfort pride flag rather than the fashionista one.

I'm hardly Rachel Zoe (and thank God for that) but I never quite imagined myself wearing elastic waistband jeans. In fact, the heavens had a little snigger at me about this very issue just last week... I headed over to a girlfriend's place on Friday night, 15 weeks pregnant. When I arrived, I pulled up my shirt (relax folks, it wasn't that kind of party - not enough champagne) and proudly showed her that I was still fitting into my regular jeans! She oohed and ahhed and kindly served me pasta and cake, and then we settled down to watch The Kennedys mini-series.

Except, after all that pasta and cake I just couldn't concentrate, despite JFK and Bobby and all their rrraow-ness. I kept wriggling and writhing on my friend's couch, even though I was lying flat on my back.

My friend asked me, "Are you OK?"

I replied, "I can't breathe. I need maternity jeans."

No less than a few hours after I was showing off about not needing them. Cue friends' laughter.

So, the next day, I hurtled to the store and picked up two pairs. And, can I tell you a secret folks? I am never taking them off. B can't even get me drunk enough to get these babies off, because I can't get drunk right now. BOOYAH.

Who invented these genius devices, and where can I subscribe to their entire being? I may not be cool, but my lord I'm comfortable. **Runs to the store to buy a comfort pride flag and hang it in the window like a Brazilian**.

p.s. I promise to post a baby bump pic soon!

The reality of pregnancy.

2011-11-25T11:36:00.001+08:00

A loooooong time ago I wrote an 'About Me' page, in which I shamelessly gushed about a few random things: my love for Hong Kong, a freak gift for latin dancing, my boyfriend's basketball obsession - and wanting to be a mother.

I've always wanted to be a mother, as most women do. Someone's obviously been feeding nature's maternal instinct its spinach, as it seems to kicking along, alive and well. Pat on the back, mother nature - here's to a job well done.

I still want to be a mother. I've always known I'd check in as a permanent resident of Heartbreak Hotel if I was one day told I'd never become one. I couldn't bear to think of it.

And now, I've been told I'm going to become one. Provided all goes well, of course. And I really do know how lucky and blessed that makes me.

But, here's the thing... Call me a dreamer, but I always thought that when that moment came, I'd tumble into a huge vat of happiness... Giddily rolling around in it like bubbles dancing in lemonade. But, the reality is, when I found out, my reaction was... different. I panicked. Worried. Freaked out. Wondered. Even cried.

This wasn't a planned pregnancy, this was a surprise. Some say that's the best kind. I kinda think they're all amazing. But, because a MAJOR life decision was made for me (can you say understatement?), the control freak in me froze. I wondered if I was really ready for this, if I could cope with a long pregnancy, if I have the skills to be a mother, if I am capable of putting my needs on hold for, I dunno... the next few decades. And all I saw when I walked the streets were babies crying and toddlers throwing tantrums.

It didn't help that I didn't have a great first trimester. Thank heavens I wasn't vomity, but I did suffer from enormous fatigue and a constant feeling of extreme flu. It's hard to be emotionally strong when your body just isn't there for you. I've always loved to work, socialise, be strong. Physically, I just didn't feel like myself. Because I'm kinda not, right now. There's two of us trying to make it through in here - a shared space.

So, I found myself worrying about what this all meant, rather than spinning cartwheels down the street with sudden joy. And that's fairly frightening to admit, because I'd hate to think my child-to-be would ever think he/she was unwanted. I never didn't want it. In fact, I recall when I was doing my pregnancy test, I was secretly crossing my fingers that it would be positive. But, I can't change the fact that I was totally blind-sided by nature. And now, the good news is, at the start of my second trimester, I am feeling much, much more excited. There might even be some cartwheels in my future. I'm still scared, but I want it. I want it really REALLY bad. And I know how lucky I am.

So maybe this is it... the first of many surprises of motherhood. I've now learned that wistfully dreaming about something usually transforms into a self-portrait of sunshine, roses, and vats of lemonade. The reality of it can look, feel and taste quite different. But that doesn't make it any less important, or any less beautiful. In fact, it's more so. Because it's actually real.

Oh, and does all this also mean I need to edit my 'About Us' page? Because I really can't be bothered.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-11-23T14:20:00.001+08:00

The man's Movember beard. Surprisingly, it's hawt!

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Buns, ovens and belated blog posts.

2011-11-21T15:33:00.001+08:00

Oh crap, I fell off the wagon again. It was whirling along at breakneck speed, me practically leaping out of the driver's seat with blogging inspiration (I may have even shouted the odd yeeeee haaaaaaw or two) and then, out of nowhere, the giant hand of 'things to do' reached out and slapped me back to reality, waving its finger and shouting, You do not have time to blog, you worthless creature, your time is MINE, mwahahahahaha.

Oh yikes, I'm clearly rusty at this.

So, allow me to curtsy (perhaps even throw my back out in the process as a courtesy) and officially apologise. I am sorry I haven't blogged in a very long time. I am the world's worst blogger. I won't be mad if you have abandoned me. Sniff.

But, there have been things to do, like coping with the utterly ~~ginormous~~ (I need a word bigger than ginormous, Mr Oxford, I mean come ON, let's think outside the box, shall we) news that I am, in fact, pregnant. Having a baby.

WTF??????

I KNOW. Exactly my reaction.

It is B's, just in case you were wondering. And it all went something like this:

He proposed. I did the kind thing and said yeah, 'spose.

Disclaimer: There was no baby at that time, folks, rest assured. We are evil and we've shamed the family.

We went to Thailand to celebrate our engage-moon.

Not all contraceptives do what they're meant to.

We came back, and - drum roll - a human started to grow; a cheekily three whole years ahead of my ten-year-plan.

The sound you just heard was God (or someone equivalent) sniggering at my ten-year-plan.

So... it has been hard to blog. I had a secret I couldn't share (there is some crazy rule that you're not supposed to tell anyone for three months, which is when you're quite frankly FREAKING out, feeling like absolute hell, and suddenly unable to do things like drink wine and coffee, of which you are the patron saints.) But, I'm following all the rules, even the nutty ones, like a good mum.

So, here I am, 15 weeks pregnant, and finally able to talk about the fact that we have a critter on the way. I feel like I have lots to share, such as how my reaction was really not what I thought it would be, and how awesome it is to be able to do things like add extra cheese - just because we're meant to fatten up. BOOYAH.

But, I'll save all that for other posts, because this post has already sucked enough time from your day, as well as being formally written in the 'Nat's gone nuts' genre.

But that's OK... I'm pregnant. I have the best excuse now for everything.

I forget to take the garbage out. But honey, I'm pregnant.

(Actually, I just didn't want to.)

I perform poorly in Mandarin Chinese class. But teacher, I'm pregnant.

(Actually, I just couldn't be bothered doing my homework.)

I can't go and get the milk. But honey, I'm pregnant.

(Actually, I'd just rather you did it.)

But it's good to be back. It's great to be able to share this news. We are truly THRILLED. And our baby is going to have the BEST baby-daddy in the world. Now, can it just get his temperament, patience, intelligence, sense of humour, pouty lips, straight nose, soft skin, curly hair and chocolate eyes?

Hear that God? No chuckles this time. Sweet. Tks.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-10-26T09:36:00.001+08:00

Tasting Flamenco flavours in its beautiful city of birth: Seville, Spain.

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Procrastination.

2011-10-21T13:18:00.001+08:00

I'll think of a better blog title for this post later, when I've stopped ~~swapping what I'm meant to be doing with lazy, menial indulgent distractions~~ procrastinating.

I am usually a super motivated person... so much so, I've been teased about it most of my life, along the lines of:

"Nat the go-getter!"

"What project is Nat working on now?"

"If Nat tried to sit still, and there was noone there to see it, would she still be Nat?"

My sides are splitting with laughter.

But this week, aliens have evidently caught the number 12 bus down from planet alienville and injected their paralysing vermin into my innocent "please don't probe me!" body.

I've still been working this week, of course. But just the basics... what I have been asked to do. Jobs for clients, with as much thought and time as each deserves. But that's it. No additional work, no ambitious projects, no business development, no supplementary achievements. No go-getting of any kind.

But here's a little of what I have been doing this week...

* Watching Tabitha's Salon Takeover (man, that woman is a beartch)

* Talking long afternoon strolls through Victoria Park with the music up full blast on my iPod

* Sending Glee song requests to Ryan Murphy

* Pruning my plants

* Concocting celebrity baby images

* Lying on the couch gazing out the window at the clear October sky

* Chatting to friends on the phone about nothing at all

* Googling Glee interviews and kicking myself for stumbling across spoilers

* Writing lists of what I should be doing

* Flicking through my diary, realising all the things I didn't do

Wow... quite the high achiever this week, huh? Now I'd stay and write more, but someone has just emailed me a video of a man inventing his own animals, that I simply must watch...

Wordless Wednesday

2011-10-19T10:09:00.003+08:00

Temple offerings.

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The sinking ship.

2011-10-13T17:27:00.001+08:00

SCENE 1:

INT. NAT AND B'S BEDROOM. LATE.

NAT: (obsessing about some random issue, as usual)

But what if X, Y, or Z happens? That'll be just awful. Maybe even the end of the world as I know it.

B: (gently)

Do you realise you're worrying about something hasn't happened, or may not even happen?

NAT: (panicking)

Yes, but what if X, Y, or Z DOES happen? What will I do then?? Huh?

B: (pause; taking Nat's hand)

Honey... You know, whenever you find one tiny leak in a ship, suddenly that ship is sinking. It's just a leak.

CUT ON NAT'S PENSIVE FACE, PERHAPS TAPPING HER FINGER TO HER JAW.

CUE DRAMATIC EXIT MUSIC.

------------------------------

He's right. The first part of that ramblish I'll-never-win-an-Oscar-for-screenwriting dialogue is just me taking creative liberties again, but the last line is real. B said it to me this week while my mind was performing cartwheels over something random.

And he's right. I do that. I'll often collapse under the weight of a sinking ship when I find a leak, made all the worse if the issue is important to me.

Is this a glass half empty thing? If I have mixed feelings about something, am I sentenced to default to worrying about the worst possibility? Am I the only one sinking ships? And how do I stop? Positive thinking? Mindless distraction?
Perhaps just leaning over and kissing the cute boy with the wise words?

And how many questions can I ask in one paragraph before the reader sinks his/her own ship because they're over my upward-inflection-ending questions?

OK, I'll stop. Got a leak to fix.

{image source}

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-10-12T09:26:00.004+08:00

Hong Kong's greatest tradition... the foot massage.

Disclaimer: These hideous shorts, which likely needed to be charged via battery every hour to stay that bright, were most definitely not mine. The lovely masseur lady lent them to me so I didn't give the whole room a show with my skirt hitched up. Hong Kong folk are considerate like that.

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This isn't cute at all.

2011-10-10T13:31:00.002+08:00

Baby pandas on a heating pad inside a nursery in China.

Dear baby pandas,

Major cuteness fail. Try again.

Yours,

{Image source}

Haven't you heard? I'm an idiot.

2011-10-06T12:54:00.001+08:00

Oh yes, it's true. I plead guilty to my own idiot-ness. I figured it out this week while I was watching Glee. Not because I copped a proverbial slap to the face when I realised (a) I was not born in 1994, I was born in the SEVENTIES and (b) I shall never, ever sing and dance as well as those crazy kids.

No, I realised I was an idiot because I really liked Glee. Allow me to explain.

When Glee first came out, I hated it with a venemous passion... people would gush to me, "did you see Glee this w..." - and even though their mouth was still functioning, my ears had totally shut down and were already erecting protest signs.

That stupid show Glee, I would think to myself... I hate that show. American high school kids singing and dancing, urgh.

Which is all good. The free world says I'm allowed to hate Glee. If I've (*cough*) actually seen an episode.

You see, I was avoiding, bad-mouthing, downright despising a show I had never seen. And it's not just Glee. I did this to that darn Da Vinci Code book too, just because it was such a monster hit. Throughout 2004, while attempting a conversation with my friends, I remember their eyes would slightly glaze over before they'd reach into their bag like a Dan Brown-controlled zombie and drool over the latest dog-eared page.

I may have exaggerated just then, but then again, I may have not.

After years of wanting to scratch my face with the words, "I hate all codes pertaining to Da Vinci!" I found myself picking up my sister's copy when I literally had nothing else to read, defiantly turning a page. And then I turned another page... pretty soon I had turned wild and was spotted bellowing from the rooftops to the streetwalkers below, "Haven't you heard??? Jesus was MARRIED!! What are you all DOING just going on with your lives, like this hasn't happened? Look at that darn Da Vinci painting!!"

I may have exaggerated just then, but then again, I may have not.

And then the movie with Tom Hanks came out and I pretty much declared it a farce.

But back to Glee. I have a habit of doing this... rejecting something I've never seen or read, just because it's popular. I've been sick recently, and therefore sentenced to watching TV series on iTunes because Hong Kong television is so bad it's literally un-bloggable. I'd burned through pretty much every series I'd ever heard of, until my rebellious hands gave my attitude the finger (the perks of being a hand) and typed in Glee season one. Screw it. What really turned me was when I found out it had been created by Ryan Murphy, who gave me one of my favourite shows of all time - Nip/Tuck.

And, what do you know, people, I loved it. I watched the whole first season in less than a week. I love the talent, the singing, the dancing, the message, the sweet high school teacher, whoever plays that Finn guy because he's really cute, Lea Michele who is an absolute delight, and I want to have Appletinis with Chris Colfer.

So there you go. The Da Vinci Code is actually a really stellar book. Glee is a seriously well-made show.

And I'm an idiot.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-10-05T10:10:00.000+08:00

Window shopping, HK style.

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The A to the Z.

2011-10-03T10:22:00.000+08:00

I've seen this rather delightful little list floating around various blogs lately, so I thought I'd saddle up and get on board the A-Z train.

A. Age: 32

B. Bed size: Queen (with delusions of being a King)

C. Chore you hate: Ironing (gag)

D. Dogs: Ted (toy poodle, 2 years), Otto (schnauzer, 1.5 years)

E. Essential start to your day: Coffee, check news websites, social media and blogs

F. Favourite colour: Pink

G. Gold or silver: Silver

H. Height: 160cm

I. Instruments you play: 1 x failed attempt at keyboard, 1 x failed attempt at bass guitar... end result = none

J. Job title: Director of English Editor Asia

K. Kids: Yes, please

L. Live: Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, People's Republic of China

M. Mother's name: Eva Maria

N. Nicknames: Currently - Nat, Nats, Natbags; Past nicknames - Long Grain (because I was tiny and white, like rice) and Killer (because I was tiny, like rice)

O. Overnight hospital stays: when I had pneumonia as a child (the sheer terror is burned into my brain)

P. Pet peeves: People being inconsiderate of others, burping, bad drivers

Q. Quote from a movie: I'm the patron saint of mediocrity - Antonio Salieri, 'Amadeus'

R. Right or left-handed: Right

S. Siblings: One older sister

T. Time to wake up: Usually 7:30am, currently 8:00am

U. Underwear: Wha? Of course!

V. Vegetables you hate: Celery (gag), mushrooms (gag), generally untrusting of capsicum

W. What makes you run late: Watching TV series DVDs

X. X-rays you have: Broken finger, sprained arm, chest for asthma

Y. Yummy food that you make: Sticky date pudding; caramel cupcakes with butterscotch frosting; spaghetti with rocket, parmesan and cherry tomatoes; peanut butter cake

Z. Zoo animals: Monkeys and turtles (bless them ALL).

Gifts are glorious.

2011-09-30T11:01:00.000+08:00

Back when I used to be an entertainment reporter, my colleague and I suffered a severe case of desk space lack-of. That is, we had none, because every drawer, nook, cranny, centimetre and crevice of our desks were stuffed to the brim with either music videos or gifts.

Oh yes, the gloriousness that is 'the gift.' Because of our horrible job, we got sent everything, turning our poor newsroom counterparts (who didn't get flown to LA to interview Angelina Jolie) into green-eyed monsters with LOTS for desk space. For the three years I was there, I didn't buy one CD. All the latest albums were couriered to us every week. The newest magazine issues arrived on our desk the same day they hit newsstands (including Zoo Weekly, which was just downright embarrassing). There were knickers, bottles of plonk, random articles of clothing, and beauty products. Drool. Makeup, face creams, hair elixirs, fragrances, lotions and potions.*

*n.b.: we did share a lot of this stuff around the newsroom, you know, when it wasn't, like, Chanel. I happily gave away my twenty-thousand sea-salt hair spritzers and disposable razors, I'm not selfish.

BTW, I still have no idea what tangerine lipstick has to do with entertainment reporting, but I wore it on the red carpet - does that count??

Call me a freebie junkie or a downright materialistic-whore (whoa, settle down there, reader) but I miss those weekly surprises almost as much as I miss body contact with Matt Damon (someone call the 'drool' back in - we're not done here).

So, getting to the point while we're all still young, I was thrilled to discover MyLuxBox has just opened in Hong Kong.*

*n.b.: This is NOT a sponsored post in any way... I'll just as soon tell you if I think MyLuxBox turns out to be a bunch of (expletive!) if they do turn out to be a bunch of (expletive!)

I've seen similar initiatives in the USA and I've been looking for something similar in Hong Kong for the loooongest time. Basically, you pay a small amount of money each month, and a little gift pack featuring the latest beauty and cosmetic samples are couriered to your door once a month! You first complete a beauty wish-list of sorts, so your kit is slightly tailored to your profile, and then- viola! (not the instrument, the French fancy word thingy, although a little viola tune would work here too) - a little beauty gift pack is all yours for the devouring each month.

It's genius. And, it feels like a return to the gift-receiving days of the entertainment desk, even though I'm, like, paying for it. Shhhhh.

T-8.

2011-09-29T11:14:00.001+08:00

Now he's done putting out fires in California, please let Arnold Schwarzenegger NOT return to an eighth Terminator film called 'T-8'. I loved the whole "I'll be back" thing as much as the next sucker, but truly, please don't come back. Anymore. Plus, a T-8 movie would mean seven before it, and we've got enough Rockys, Die Hards and Indiana Joneses to take us well into the next century. (Retract comment about Indiana Jones: the man has a whip and a hat, which qualifies him as an eternal babe.)

Luckily for me, in these parts, a T-8 translates to a 'typhoon warning signal #8', which is what's going down on China's chin today.

Typhoon Nesat is its name, and it isn't hitting us directly (because that would be just rude), but instead, is squeezing past us somewhere to the southwest, carrying in its knapsack gale-force winds that have already reached local speeds of 115 km per hour. I'm not a wind expert (or expert in anything, really) but apparently that's really friggin' fast.

While a T-8 is a serious panic for those living in beachfront mud huts, it's admittedly a bit of a party for most city folk who get an automatic day off work. Oh, except for my precious B, because he works in media where the show must go on - rain, hail or hurricane. The media's answer to a tyhoon 8? Pffffft. My pen is mightier than your winds, NESAT. What kind of name is Nesat, anyway? *Repeat pfffft*.

To follow T-8 warning signal instructions, I'm meant to lock all windows and doors, and insert reinforced shutters and gates if I have them (I don't.) I'm also urged to not stand near any windows, and move all furniture and valuable objects away from them. Of course, taking a dip at the local beach is advised only for those who are sick of living. Public transport also shuts down, and if I were to make an afternoon coffee I'd planned with a friend today, I'd have to bribe a maniac cab driver to take me there.

But in reality, I'm with the media: Pfffft. All I can hear is the soft patter of rain on the window panes, because we're low to the ground and protected on all sides. There is a serious lack of typhoon action here unlike our last apartment on the 28th floor, where during one particularly bad-ass typhoon, B and I couldn't sleep because the barking winds kept getting in the way.

So, wishing Nesat a safe journey to nowhereland. You leave those mud hut folk alone, 'ya hear, or you'll have to deal with me and my (insert scary weapon device thingy.)

Wordless Wednesday

2011-09-28T09:30:00.000+08:00

Finding Nemo at Hong Kong's Ocean Park.

Click here to play along.

No sizzle? No sale.

2011-09-23T12:29:00.000+08:00

I was born of the female persuasion, which means I'm genetically predisposed to an unhealthy obsession with romantic films... Boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. Quentin Tarantino? Just stick to the formula and stop going beserk with unnecessary bloodthirsty slashings, OK?

BUT... I'm sure the chorus girls will agree that for said formula to work, for the romance to harvest butterflies, tears, memories and DVD purchases, the two on-screen leads must have chemistry. No sizzle? No sale.

This hit home last night, when I finally caught the silver screen adaptation of David Nicholls' page-turning novel One Day. I'm human, which means I loved the book, but aspects of the film kind of annoyed me at first. The transition from each year to the next felt jarring, and the casting of an American playing a Yorkshire girl made me want to throw popcorn at the screen.

But, by the end, the film had redeemed itself. I actually walked out of the cinema a bit gushy about it all... I liked it. And as much as I wanted to hate the two leads at the beginning, by the end, I believed their story and I was moved. Because they had undeniable chemistry.

Which inspired me to make a little list of a few on-screen pairings, which I feel either do or do not produce the sizzle. This is a subjective list of course, and there are loads more, but I enjoyed making it... if you have any to add, please do!

1. As if they didn't hook up in real life.

Brad and Angelina in Mr and Mrs Smith

Oh yeah, except they did hook up in real life and are now growing a small army. 'Nuff said.

Clarke and Vivian in Gone With the Wind

Two utterly self-obsessed people utterly in love with the other. Vivian was so pretty and prissy as the selfish Scarlett; and Clarke was so masculine, and dominating, and just a little bit gross, as the only man strong enough to squash her. Rrrraow.

Richard and Julia in Pretty Woman

How could anyone NOT experience the sizzle with the salt-and-pepper-Gere-force? But extra kudos goes to Julia's dorky, girl-next-door vibe and scene-stealing smile. They were just so gorgeous together we made up the sizzle, whether it was really there or not.

Harrison and Carrie in the only Star Wars films ever worth mentioning

We don't talk about the prequels here.

Leia: "I love you."

Han: "I know."

HAWT!

Patrick and Demi in Ghost

I was tossing up whether to include Patrick and Jennifer in Dirty Dancing here instead, but I just personally loved Ghost. Demi was so pure, so fragile, so wounded. And when Patrick's character appeared to her, he was so gentle and fragile and... wounded. Oh and did I mention pottery? Slam dunk you two, nice work. Now get a room.

2. No sizzle to be seen folks, moving it right along.

Brad and Cate in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Don't even get me started on a film in which an old lady has romantic feelings for a newborn baby... a super interesting idea, truly love the head trip, but visually it just freaked me out. And while I adore Cate, and quite like Brad, together she just seemed like his older sister. I think when they finally kissed I was thinking about if I had any clean socks left in my drawer.

Natalie and Hayden in the Star Wars prequels

Oh crap I broke my rule and spoke about the unspeakable. Nat would have had more sizzle with Jar Jar Binks. JAR JAR BINKS, people, that's where we're at here.

Tom and Nicole in Eyes Wide Shut

Oh yes, the married couple who apparently played all sorts of weird sexual innuendo games with Stanley Kubrick into the wee hours of the morning until they divorced and he died. I really hated it when they broke up, until I watched this movie and realised the heat between them gave me a cold shiver. So I accepted it. And then tried to delete the movie from my brain. Shudder.

Katharine and Gerard in The Ugly Truth

Oh this film is ugly alright. What annoyed me the most was the ridiculous portrayal of live breakfast television, one of my old work hunting grounds. I couldn't help but sit there cringing and saying things like, "nooooo..." and "that would never happen!!" Enter Gerard Butler trying to woo Katharine Heigl and I found myself cringing and saying things like, "nooooo..." and "that would never happen!!"

Wordless Wednesday

2011-09-21T10:13:00.001+08:00

Fave vintage pic of my parents (my mum's hiding behind my dad)

To play along, click here.

Shutting the oven door.

2011-09-20T11:28:00.000+08:00

In many reaches of the world (certainly where I hail from - Australia) most people live for summer and give winter the (ahem) cold shoulder it deserves... What's not to love about summer: the lingering light in the evenings, the giant heater in the sky warming your back, and weekends teetering between the brunch cafe and the beach.

As a self-proclaimed summer junkie, when I arrived in Hong Kong in 2009, I smugly declared, "I love the heat! I laugh in the face of humidity. No such thing as too hot. Tra la la."

Oh, except look over there! There is such thing as too stinking hot, and it's called Hong Kong.

How can I say this like a lady... Hong Kong is bloody friggin' hot in summer. And this past one whipped me incessantly with its fiery tongue. I was sentenced to wearing the same three singlet-tops each day because any form of sleeve was just too much padding - I mean, can you imagine the fashion TRAGEDY??? Rest assured, I merely jest.

But last night the fever finally broke... B took the dogs outside for a walk and returned with his excited face on... "It's really not that hot out there" he announced, with the same nervous twinge of 'potential good things' as if he'd been nominated for an award.

The corner has finally been turned. Summer? Meh. Autumn? Well come right on in, you good thing you.

Hey, birthday boy.

2011-09-19T16:26:00.000+08:00

You say it's your birthday

It's my birthday too, yeah (it's not, really)

They say it's your birthday

We're gonna have a good time

I'm glad it's your birthday

Happy birthday to you

Dear gorgeous,

Thanks for an amaaaazing few weeks off together. Full of surprises!

Really sorry you had to return to work on your birthday.

I'll be here when you come home.

When are you coming home again?

Happy birthday.

Love you.

It's good to be back.

2011-09-16T11:55:00.000+08:00

Woweeeee!!!! I am back! And blogging! Anyone got a dart gun? That girl is high as a kite.

Forgive my elation outburst, I'm just really happy to be back with y'all, as I have missed blogging so much. And this time, I really hope I'm back for good (cheesy song line alert) as the chaos that preceded today is finally over. For now, anyway.

First of all, I have finally finished university! Can I order a collective high five? A round of tequila shots? A degree served medium rare alongside a bundle of baby potatoes? Oh yes, this degree was the giant thorn that ruled my backside for the past couple of years and it's finally been surgically removed. Thank you doctor, for saving my sanity.

Secondly, we just returned from our 10-night engage-moon in Thailand. If you can think of a thousand synonyms for the word 'bliss', then times that by twelve thousand, and then down three champagnes and ten chocolate-covered strawberries - that's about as much fun as this trip was. Well, for most of the time, anyway. We did pick the wettest month of the year and thus encountered two days of torrential typhoon-esque rain. But, other than those two days of reading in the room and watching movies, it was mostly a menu of such joys as reading, swimming, drinking cocktails, ocean gazing, photographing sunsets, snorkelling, fishing, sleeping, discussing wedding plans, eating green chicken curries, pad thais, tom yum goong soups, lemongrass and chilli prawns, bananas in coconut milk and... (the rest of this sentence has been deleted due to a sudden shower of drool on the keyboard.)

But, life isn't all pad thais, sunsets, diamond rings, fluffy pillows and blanco sangrias. So, now we are back in real life. Back to Monday work, much to plan, early mornings, dogs to walk, and reality to live.

But a few days of fantasy never hurt anybody, right? ;)

p.s. Thank you so much for all your lovely engagement congratulations! Please include your blog link (if you have one) with your comments as I'd love to check out your blog!

Signing off friends, with pics from paradise.

We interrupt this short break to bring you some news.

2011-09-02T10:22:00.000+08:00

I know, I know, I'm not meant to be blogging at the moment. My bad and all that.

I'm meant to be far away on a distant tropical island, engaged in a fierce battle over whether to read the last few words of One Day by David Nichols, or slurp the final few drops of that mouth-watering pina colada perched by my side. Oh wow it sucks to be me this week.

It really doesn't actually, because something truly wonderful, unexpected and downright euphoric has happened. I'll give you a visual clue.... is it...

Could it be?

No, don't tell me that's...

Yes it is! A beautiful diamond ring, which can only mean one thing. The glorious, divine and downright hot B has proposed. On bended knee. In Mandarin Chinese. Yes, you read that right. The man is unconventional and we are living in Hong Kong after all. There is nothing about B that's predictable. And I love him so hard for it I could squeeze the life out of him. Except then I'd pretty much be killing my fiance. So maybe I won't do that.

So, that's my short yet sweet news that I wanted to share, and now I must return to packing for my pending engage-moon in Thailand! We leave tomorrow and I CANNOT WAIT.

You know when you have some really crap weeks? Nothing short of 'meh' upon 'meh'? Well I have loooots of those. But this week 'aint one of them. This week, I finished my university degree (a whole nother tale starring Mr Pain and Mrs Suffering), am departing for a 10-night holiday on a tropical beach in Thailand (an eternity for us) - oh and I and got engaged. Oh my GOODNESS, I'm engaged. A fiance. Oh that word sounds so fancy, even when the little diagonal line doesn't appear over the 'e' and it looks more like 'finance'.

There is so so much to plan, but for now, I'm just getting used to seeing the world in rose colours for awhile. Ahhhhh. So pretty.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-08-31T07:39:00.000+08:00

World's best skyline.

Click here to play along.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-08-24T09:03:00.000+08:00

Hottest man alive. Disclaimer: I may be biased.

To play along, click here.

We interrupt this program to take a short break.

2011-08-20T14:30:00.002+08:00

Hello bosom buddies.

Yes, I really did just say 'bosom' on my blog. Someone lock up this wild child, she's out of control!

I'd been planning to finally pull my finger out and blog today about our recent trip to Shanghai. But then it occurred to me that I'd blog about Shangahi, and then likely not blog again for weeks, and that that post would sit there all alone, surrounded by... nothingness. Poor lonesome blog post. Sniff.

You see, I need a wee little blogging break. Until mid-September. Is that OK? The next two weeks are going to be ~~bigger~~ busier than Ben Hur for me. And every intuitive streak I have (I'm never right about anything) knows I just can't blog at the moment. And then on September 3rd, B is rewarding me for all my hard work by taking us to a beautiful resort in Thailand for 10 nights. Which spells more blogging blockage.

So I've decided to take a few weeks off from blogging, and when I get back, I will be fresh and rested and bursting with blog inspiration. I also just joined the Blog Her network this week, so this really isn't the best time to take a blogging vacation. But I will be back in a few weeks soon, I promise. Stay with me?

And what I always find time for is reading blogs. So please keep blogging, you beautiful bloggers.
See you on the other side.

p.s. I always find time for fabulous dinner parties with good friends (right) and the cute man (left). I heart him so.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-08-17T08:40:00.000+08:00

A photo we took during our travels in Far North Queensland... all mothers love their babies.

To play along, click here.

Guilty.

2011-08-10T14:01:00.002+08:00

I won't fight you on it; I confess. I'm guilty. Handcuff me, read me my rights, tell me my wrongs, and lock me up with the other bad bloggers. I've neglected you. And I'm sorry.

I often complain about being busy, even though I know I'm no more busy than anyone else (are we all noticing how CRAZY life is getting?). No petty excuses here, other than I've just been physically unable to blog. Although, I always find time each day to read other people's blogs. So please keep showing me yours, even though I've been pretty prudish at showing you mine.

A few things have sucked the minutes from the hours from the days from the weeks lately:

University. I have FOUR more weeks to go on struggle street, before I kiss the rest of the suffering students goodbye, ~~toss~~ burn my study notes in the garbage, and graduate with my communications degree. These last few weeks have felt like a slow crawl to China on gravel, but I can see the border guards up ahead. And they're still thinking about whether to wave this crazy-eyed woman through.

Rest. I've been seriously knackered lately, and seem to have hit a bit of a 'meh' patch. Life is fine, everyone is well, work and study are busy, the boy is good, the dogs are chewing their bones and doing whatever they do, and I'm over here going... yeah, OK. Now what? I am a person who gets bored extremely easily, and I will admit I've hit a bit fatigued about the general lack of drama and action in my life. Major disclaimer: I am not inviting drama and action into my life. I am simply acknowledging that it is currently elsewhere.

Work. My small business is chugging along and even though I'm trying to stop work from coming in while I finish studying, it keeps on coming in. I am NOT complaining - I love what I do and every new client is a massive win. But between fulfilling bookings and studying I am lucky if I find time to breathe. Is it possible for someone to self-administer CPR?

Nip/Tuck. I have discovered a new TV show that is as addictive as any habit-forming thing I've ever tried. It's actually a reasonably old TV show, which is already off the air, but I managed to burn through seven seasons like wildfire. I simply HAD to know who would end up with who, whose plastic surgery would fall off, who was really the dad of who, whose cancer would go away, whose fight with who would be resolved, who would really turn out to be a lesbian, when Julian McMahon would take his kit off again and... you get the idea. So consider this a warning: if you have an addictive personality and are partial to doctors far too good looking to ever be real doctors (even though my mum had a brain surgeon once who was a total babe) then please stay away from Nip/Tuck. Oh, and can anyone recommend another addictive TV show?

Right. So that's my update. Underwhelming, I know! I'll try to blog more soon, but until uni finishes in September, this kind of wafflish baloney may all be I can offer. Sorry bout that... like I said, guilty.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-08-03T08:37:00.002+08:00

Inside the Po Lin Monastery, Lantau Island, Hong Kong.

Click here to play along with the lovely Faith.

Thank you FTLOB!

2011-08-01T12:08:00.000+08:00

I've been more of a stranger than a friend this past week, haven't I... no blog posts except one without any words. Sorry (drops to bended knee) I've been working hard for da' money and all that.

We also spent the past weekend in Shanghai... I'd like to have said I breathed in its grandeur, but I think I must have blinked. It was such a whirlwind trip, and as soon as we arrived we were leaving again. But I did love much of what little I saw, and I promise to blog about that soon.

BUT - this post is actually one of gratitude. I logged into my favourite blog listing site For the Love of Blogs today, and saw my blog picked as a second-place winner in the 'best travel blog' category! I was honestly very surprised (particularly because I often think this blog is more about me publishing random rambles than travel stories) but truly very thankful.

I've been checking out some of the other listed blogs and they're all amazeballs; particularly Lindsay's best-in-travel blog, My Life as a Foreigner. Please check it out if you haven't already.

So, after surfing the blogosphere for a treasured few moments, I have to retire to my work-cave again... I hope to post some Shanghai photos* and stories this side of soon.

*When I pulled out my camera at Shanghai's face-slapping gorgeous Bund area, I noticed the battery was not only not in the camera, but it was all the way back in Hong Kong having a party inside the charger while we were 1229 kilometres away. Really NOT good form, Nat. So I'm hoping to steal my friend's photos when she posts them to Facebook, hehe.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-07-27T08:47:00.002+08:00

Leaving our mark on the Ponte Vechhio bridge in Florence.

To play along, click here.

Someone's having a birthday today...

2011-07-25T16:46:00.000+08:00

And that someone is... Me!

Am I allowed to out myself on my own birthday? I'm not fishing for birthday compliments, just casting it out there as it's all the news I have.

Today I turn 32, and so far I spent the day ~~shopping~~, ~~eating~~, ~~drinking~~, ~~dancing~~, ~~romancing~~, ~~reading~~, ~~watching Julian McMahon on Nip/Tuck~~... studying.

Urgh. I was up at 6am to finish an assignment due this week, followed by the onset of some feverish symptoms and the hope that I can be in bed by 7pm tonight because I'm actually feeling quite sick.

Is this acceptable birthday behaviour?

At least I got to celebrate on the weekend... B and I are currently burning our way through the Harry Potter franchise like there's a fire on our heels... we watched two of the films this weekend (Are they all over 2.5 hours long? Doesn't JK Rowling know kids like us need to get to bed? Oh and when do they start getting good?)

Saturday was lovely though; on a beautiful morning we were up at 7am to go hiking before the Hong Kong heat set in at this gorgeous location:

... Except at 6:45am I received a text from the Hong Kong Observatory, which read:

Very hot weather warning was issued at 6:45am.

6:45m and already stinking hot! Hong Kong, you cheeky little bugger, you. 7am not good enough for you, eh?

So despite our crack-of-dawn efforts on a Saturday morning (dogs - I hope you sacrifice a bone for us or something one day in return), within ten minutes were all sweating and gasping for air; little Otto eventually foaming at the mouth so we had to take him home before he, you know, DIED.

That night we hooked up with great friends and caught a ferry over to Lamma Island to share in some seafood shenanigans, before ferrying it back to a few bars for some dancing.

How did it all end? A 4am trip home and the hangover from hell on Sunday. The postscript reads I'm just a little too old to do that at the age of 32. But at least I gave it a go, right?

The Big Bad.

2011-07-23T14:32:00.002+08:00

Sorry, it's not really the cuddliest title is it, but then again, this is not really a warm n' fuzzy type of post. I guess I mean that as a bit of a warning.

When I talk about The Big Bad, I'm talking about something you find utterly terrifying. Your greatest fear. (Or at least one that lurks in your top five.)

I was thinking about fear recently... about Big Bads and how paralysing they are. I was working with a Chinese student this week; helping him with his communication skills. During an exercise I asked him to name all sorts of things that represent the best and worst things about Earth. I won't bore you with the finer details, but one of the categories was 'emotion'. He had to name an emotion that he thinks represents the best of our world, and one that represents the worst.

For the best, he chose happiness. A beautiful emotion. There is nothing quite as optimistic as happiness, for even love bears it's sadness, doesn't it. Happiness doesn't. It's just... happy. Wow, someone give that girl a degree. She's brilliant.

For the worst, he chose sadness. Happiness's nemesis. (I realise there are way too many 's' letters in that sentence. Rest assured: I'm working on it.)

His answer wasn't wrong; it was his, and it made perfect sense. Sadness isn't exactly a day at the beach and humans will do whatever they can to to steer clear of it; always have. Just ask the guy who invented cocaine.

But, as I read through his answers, I couldn't help but silently consider what my own might be. And I decided, for me, fear is worse than sadness. I find fear to be perhaps the most appalling and debilitating emotion of them all.

I know what fear is, and I know I'm not the only person who can say that. Too many of us can. I've lived in fear since I was seven years old. I think I was seven anyway, I pretty much try and block out the ~~day~~ ~~week~~ ~~month~~ year of my life when fear tattooed itself to me. I won't go into detail, and it's all really kind of private, but let's just say someone tried to get me. And he did - for a short time. And a lot changed in that short time. I changed completely. Sometimes I wonder if it was all meant to happen, however horrible... that if it hadn't, I just wouldn't be me.

After the event, it took years before I could walk down a street without an adult family member by my side. It took years before I could sleep over at a friend's house without waking up crying in the middle of the night. It took years before I would let my mum leave me in the car alone while she paid for petrol without me checking ten times over if all the doors were locked. I still can't walk down a street without looking over my shoulder. I know I never will, and sometimes I'm glad for it: it keeps me safe.

But these are the obvious disfigurements of fear. The more complicated ones live inside. And they manifest in far more obscure ways... being unable to make otherwise innocuous decisions because of anxiety, constantly performing microsurgery on your own choices looking for mistakes, wondering when the perfect sphere you spent years sculpting might turn pear-shaped, considering if the man who popped over to fix the plumbing might be a serial killer. This is what living in fear is.

I do want to include a disclaimer here... I'm not an unhappy person, I'm not a frazzled ball of worry, and I do live my life with joy. Most days are more than fine. And sometimes I feel glad for fear: maybe it's endurance has pushed me further in life than chase innocence would have. For fear challenges me every day to become ~~brave~~ braver.

So.. what's your Big Bad? Or am I the only one looking over my shoulder?

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-07-20T07:43:00.001+08:00

My favourite photo from my travels in Peru.

To play along, click here.

Ni he sheh me? Wo bu he.

2011-07-15T09:43:00.001+08:00

No, I'm not drunk (right now, anyway), nor have I had my wisdom teeth out, nor have I lost my marbles (now really... Do any of you adults really own any marbles to lose?)

What I am doing is FINALLY learning Mandarin; the mother tongue that hails from the mother land of China... The language I should have started learning when I moved to Hong Kong in, I dunno... 2009.

Of course, Hong Kongers don't speak Mandarin. They speak Cantonese, which is nothing like Mandarin (they can't understand each other at all). This is admittedly bothersome for me, as it means I can't practice my Mandarin with daily street folk here. And I'm pretty sure it's easier to make a marriage work than it is to become fluent in a language you can't speak every day.

So then, why didn't we decide to learn Cantonese given we live in Hong Kong? Glad you asked.

Well, there are two reasons:

- China is the future of the world. There, I said it. I'm not trying to upset any Americans or Europeans here (Australians, let's not delude, we were never in with a chance) but if you are keeping up with what's happening economically, China is where it's at. So, professionally, Mandarin is about to make the world go round in a serious way.

- There are only four tones in Mandarin. There are NINE in Cantonese. Do you know what I mean by tones? It means the exact same word can be said four different ways and mean completely different things. The tonal differences are also very subtle. The first is high and flat, the second rises at the end, the third dips down and up, and the fourth falls down and is very blunt.

This booby trap baited me when I proudly said "goodbye" to my teacher in Mandarin, and she looked at me like I'd said "emu folds spike on." She had no idea what I was saying, even though I'd said the right words for "goodbye". I hadn't done that down and blunt thing.

I also discovered the words for "what" and "water" are very similar... so, instead of saying to B, "what is your name?", I asked him, "your water is called?" Which is really rather zen, isn't it.

Oh yes, this is gonna be fun. Well, imagine nine of those darn tones and you have a language that will send a shiver up any linguist's spine: Cantonese.

But, there's hope for our Mandarin... I'm told more and more Hong Kong Chinese are now learning Mandarin, and many retail and restaurant staff already know how to speak it. And let's face it... I have been spotted in the odd Hong Kong retail store (shhh) and if you're wondering whether I love a feed, just take one look at my hips. They don't mince words. Or tones.

So, here's a bit of what I learned in lesson one:

Ni jiao shen me? Wo jiao Natalie. Ni you shui ma? Mei you. Ni he sheh me? Wo bu he.

It may look like alphabet soup, but the one thing that surprised me about Mandarin was how beautiful it is... it may lack the smokin' hot sex appeal of French or the blazing richness of Spanish, but Mandarin is musical. Speaking is like singing. And if you don't hit the right note, the message falls flat. I can live with that.

Wordless Wednesday (even though it's Thursday.)

2011-07-14T08:26:00.001+08:00

Creepy message on our neighbour's door this week. Apparently a warning from Chinese debt collectors. Yikes.

Snakes for sale... anyone?

2011-07-12T09:48:00.005+08:00

Making friends in Thailand earlier this year

I have seriously hot dreams about my boyfriend waking me up on a Saturday morning, passing me a freshly brewed coffee and my laptop, running his hands through his bed-hair and saying... Honey, would you like to go shopping today?

Well, I can't quite believe I'm saying this... on Saturday that actually happened.

Open-mouthed, I was tossing up whether to leap out bed for joy or telephone the front page of the New York Times, when he continued to speak (oh why do they have to do that?)

I mean snake shopping. Do you want to go snake shopping today?

I KNEW that first perfect sentence had a dodgy sequel.

I've confessed on this blog before, that we are not first-time snake parents. Before moving to Hong Kong, B and I owned a slithery, slimy thing called Reggie. An Australian Stimsons Python. I'd like to say I hated him, was scared of him, couldn't stand the sight of him, but the truth is, I fell a little bit in love with Reggie. What can I say? He had the X-Factor. Can't deny it when it's there. But, when it came time to leave him behind for the bright lights of Hong Kong, I can't say I really cared all that much.

But I can tell B has missed his "living work of art" that does things like... sit under a rock. Eat frozen mice. Sit under a rock. Did I mention sitting under a rock? So, when he asked me if we could go shopping for a Bull Python on the weekend, I took one look at his wanting eyes, and just... couldn't say no.

We'd heard about a reptile store over in Mong Kok, which is a very local Chinese area, and literally, the most densely populated place on earth. Just ask the Guinness Book of World Records guy. Translation? Unless crowds give you a happy, you do not go to Mong Kok unless you really have to.

A typical street stall in Mong Kok

After wading through a Mong Kok-mosh pit of people (except without the cool rock music and Jack Daniels) we finally found the stinky reptile shop. Is it any surprise we had to walk up these beguiling stairs to get inside?

These steps scream "snake pit"

I got in trouble for taking photos inside the shop (really, dude, are you worried I'm gonna like BLOG about your reptile store??) but I did snap a few pics of the babies... aren't they, uh, cute?

B set his eyes on this guy below; the Piebald Python, also known as "the rockstar snake". Bit hard to see here, but they're genetic mutations; part pigmented, part completely colour-free. They also cost about as much as a pair of high-end designer shoes. And they're just about as cuddly.

But, before we seriously discussed wether we were up for filling our freezer with frozen rats and scaring visitors all over again, I asked to see a full-size Ball Python. You know, just to see how big my new child would get. So reptile-guy pulled out this uber-expensive albino guy.

WTF??

DO YOU SEE HOW BIG THAT SNAKE IS????

Reggie would only grow to that size in his wildest dreams.

Our little Reggie

Given that we have a tiny dog and hopefully will have real, human babies one day, I asked the reptile dude if a full-size Ball Python could ever attack one of those if it got out of its cage.

"Hmm..." he frowned. "Cannot guarantee. Cannot. Better keep cage locked."

Oh, you mean, if for some reason we had a brain fart or perhaps a glass too many of wine, and one didn't quite click the lock right, the snake could potentially strangle Ted or our newborn baby?

Well colour me happy and sign us up.

I marched B right out of the shop and bought him a rolling pin for our kitchen instead. Sorry B, sorry Piebald, sorry reptile guy. Rolling pins are just so much sweeter.

Video post: Meet me

2011-07-07T11:46:00.001+08:00

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-07-06T11:57:00.000+08:00

So Hong Kong: Fashionista meets dancing dragons.

Click here to play along.

The dim sum diaries (part one).

2011-07-05T09:40:00.000+08:00

Which genius invented dim sum?

Is he or she still around? Can I send them some flowers? A thank you card? Perhaps some money for their grandchildren? An emu?

I think there's nothing more fun and tasty to nibble on than little packets of tightly-wrapped steamed dumplings; each one a mini-present to open with your tongue.

Oh yikes, I should really think about work in the erotic novel genre, shouldn't I.

My absolute favourite place to eat in Hong Kong is Crystal Jade La Mian Xiao Long Bao... a mouthful of a name, and a mouthful of an experience. Boom tish.

It's actually a chain of restaurants across Asia, and thus totally un-unique (I'm making up words again), but that doesn't detract from the fact that it's a piece of heaven with every bite. And locals know it... there's always a queue to get in, managed by a ticketing system at the door - sort of like waiting at the post office.

Their speciality is these Shanghainese-style dumplings that are filled with hot soupy water which bursts into your mouth. They're just... gah.

Every Sunday boyfriend takes me to Crystal Jade is a good Sunday. I had a seriously good Sunday. You?

Crystal Jade's to-die-for fresh watermelon juice

Double-boiled chicken soup... food for the soul

The extra-spesh Shanghainese-style dumplings... (gah again)

Breakfast with Audrey.

2011-07-04T09:02:00.001+08:00

I'm a bit snowed under again peeps, although I have much I want to blog about!

But I wanted to kick off the week with some of my favourite pics of the deliciously graceful Audrey Hepburn.

Just to remind us that, even on manic Mondays, there's always... Audrey.

I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.

- Audrey Hepburn

I hear ya sista.

{Images}

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-06-29T11:04:00.000+08:00

I snapped this while we were driving through the Rocky Mountains of Canada, which my boyfriend took me to a few years back. He's Canadian. And Canada's gorgeous. Just like him.

To play Wordless Wednesday, visit the divine Faith, Hope & a Whole Lotta Love.

I love a saucepan.

2011-06-28T12:46:00.000+08:00

That's right, a saucepan. It aint sexy, but it sure is practical.

Can you think of a word less sexy than 'practical'?

Even though this saucepan is ginormous, it holds a heck of a lot more than sauce. I actually bought it so I could make Hainanese Chicken Rice properly. It's a delish dish (try saying that ten times after tequila). You should try it.

But Hainanese Chicken Rice really isn't my point.

My point is, I love a saucepan. I was thrilled when I saw it, I did a little happy dance of joy when I noticed the price tag, and I carried it all the way home in the rain like a devoted mother.

This isn't lost on me, that I have developed an unsexy love for kitchenware. While strutting home with my new pan, I may as well have walked past a signpost that declared, Look at you Nat! You are getting old! You happily bought a saucepan instead of shoes, makeup, hair products or vodka! Way to go, nanna!

I'm not quite sure how this happened, but somewhere in the recent past I became domesticated. And now I find myself wanting things like saucepans, and one of those mortar and pestle thingys.

When I was five I wanted a toy kitchen set (oh the full-circle-ness of it all)

When I was ten I wanted a hot pink Barbie car (I never got it, thanks mum)

When I was fifteen I wanted desperately to be cool and have hair that stood up (it never did)

When I was twenty I wanted as many glasses of Jack Daniels as I could stomach (which was a lot)

When I was twenty-five I wanted a husband (I found only frogs while the prince was still stuffing around with some other bird somewhere)

When I was thirty I wanted... a shiny new saucepan (and here it is).

I do wonder what will I want when I'm thirty-five... Most likely a mini human.

When I'm forty? Most likely time away from those mini humans.

When I'm forty-five? Yikes, that sounds so old. Can we stop here?

Ahh a shiny new saucepan... tra la la.

"It's all good." Poppycock.

2011-06-27T16:07:00.003+08:00

Sometimes I have a fear that my blog is a bit too rosy. That those who read it might get annoyed with my endless I heart Hong Kong! I heart my boyfriend! My job! My life! posts.

Because, while I do love a lot of things in my life, that life leaks happiness and smiles from just as many holes as the rest of us. I don't know about you, but I haven't reached My Perfect Life. I know I never will, because it's a place I made up and it changes as fast as my taste in male celebrities.

But, I do know I am a positive thinker. I can see that through reading this blog. I guess rose-coloured glasses just tend to go with my outfits better. I'm just not that good at posts that rip things apart and dish out tales of woe, even though I'd like to be, as I find them the most compelling to read.

So, for the sake of balance, I thought I'd list a few ugly truths from my life that remind me that I'm not in My Perfect Life; I'm still caught somewhere between Birth and My Imperfect Life.

n.b. these are not necessarily the worst admissions of my life I could make and some of them are just plain shallow, but they're meant to be just a random mixture of things that remind me it all pretty much sucks sometimes.

♥ When I grew up, all I ever wanted to be was an actor. When Australia's most prestigious drama school NIDA (which trained the likes of Cate Blanchett and Mel Gibson) invited me in for a very rare call-back when I was in my early twenties, I got lazy and didn't show up. I've spent most of my years since wanting to reach into the past and box myself around the ears for that.

♥ I can't sleep unless the room is darker than dark (black is too light), there is no trace of sound at all (silence is too loud; snoring is absolutely out of the question) and the sheets aren't all bunched up. B calls me 'the princess and the pea'.

♥ I'm pretty lazy, even though I really wish I wasn't. Generally, I hate getting up, cleaning, exercise, and too many nights out. Sometimes I feel like I'm an 80-year-old in a 30-year-old's body.

♥ I'm short, I have flat hair and small eyes. Given that hot people generally have long legs, voluminous hair and big eyes, this is definitely one for the negative column.

♥ My relationship, while friggin' excellent, didn't kick off with love-drunk weeks of being unable to eat, fireworks and declarations of love at first sight. Sometimes I wonder if that's a bad thing. But mostly I just want to kiss him and just accept that every couple has their own story.

♥ I am pretty much scared of everything. Oh, except snakes. For some reason I can handle those. Sharks? Spiders? Bears? Owls? Butterflies? Torches? They all freak me out. Yes, owls (their giant nighttime eyes are creepy), butterflies (I don't like anything buzzing around me) and torches (to me, they symbolize crime).

♥ I can never, ever make a decision without worrying about what I might be missing out on.

♥ Sometimes I feel like I have too many work avenues going on, and that I'm in danger of being a jack-of-all-trades, and a master of none.

♥ I am incapable of eating without food ending up somewhere on my face or in my hair. I can't tell you how many times someone has joked to me, "saving some for later are we Nat?"

♥ It doesn't matter how careful I am with my handbags, they always end up a filthy mess on the inside with crumbs, crushed old receipts and gum wrapping papers. When I peer inside, I remember that I'm really not all that classy.

♥ My Facebook comments and status updates will never be as funny and witty as my boyfriend's.

♥ I find it hard to accept what I have, and always seem to want more.

But friends, I couldn't finish this post without inserting this photo... a lovely handwritten little note that I found on my computer this morning. So, rather than leave with a taste of the negative on my tongue, I'm switching back to the positive. I consider myself a very lucky girl. And the endless road to My Perfect Life may be scattered with bumps, mosquitoes, bad eighties road trip music, excess baggage and the occasional traffic accident, but - all in all - it's really not all that bad.

I see people. All the time.

2011-06-24T13:38:00.001+08:00

I used to think downtown Sydney was busy... Get out of the waaaay, I would bark in my mind, as I'd dodge passers-by and - heaven forbid - actually have to take a step out of my straight line. Geez, Nat, could you be any grumpier at 8am on a Monday morning?

You understand, right? Monday morning... 8am... who invented that anyway? It's utterly shite.

But a few suited-up Aussies wondering down a Sydney path just doesn't compare to an average stroll down a Hong Kong street. Nuh-uh. In Hong Kong, there are no straight lines while walking.

To show you what I mean, I captured a short little video yesterday while walking home. This is just a normal street nearby to where we live: it's not even downtown Central. And, as you can see, we're in a serious crowd crisis here. Who are all these people? And where are they all going? That little kid in the Sixth Sense saw dead people. In Hong Kong, I just see people. Everywhere.

p.s. This may come as a shock after watching this video, but I used to work in television. No, an earthquake didn't strike while I was filming this, and no, it wasn't my first time holding a camera. For some reason I just couldn't hold the darn thing straight. Clearly much to learn about iPhones. Sorry 'bout that.

p.p.s This marks my first video blog! Perhaps I shall try more. Would you like to see more?

Glamping in Hong Kong. How is it possible?

2011-06-23T15:31:00.003+08:00

Last weekend we went camping (or 'glamping' as I prefer to call it)... in Hong Kong.

n.b. Those italics-y things there are because I want you to understand the sheer improbability of this, in my mind at least... which is kind of mean because, after all, Hong Kong is something like 80% green mountains and beaches.

So why wouldn't one camp?

I guess I just never really thought of it as a camping place. For one, I come from Australia, where an episode of Man vs. Wild is pretty much your average camping weekend. It's a camper's paradise.

Hong Kong is more like a shopper's paradise. There are very few visible campsites. Most are impossible to get to, except via helicopter. The beaches are polluted. And it's just so darn friggin' hot.

But, then my friend found this little gem of a place called 'Treasure Island'. No, not a ride at Disneyland, not a mini-tropical island, just a little campsite in downtown Hong Kong called 'Treasure Island'.

You can see how this could go very wrong.

But, we were desperate to feel like we were still on holidays in Thailand, so we just went ahead and booked it. Not sleeping in our own bed? Wearing shorts and sunscreen? Bringing a book? Well, that's a holiday, right?

I have to say, it really was. We were more than pleasantly surprised.

For a start, we didn't need to bring our own tent. They're already all set up at the site. It's a 30-minute ferry ride from where we live. You can leave at breakfast, and arrive in time for, well, breakfast. There were no other campers there but us, so we had the whole place to ourselves. There was a restaurant right on the beach, which served coffee, cocktails by the jug, burgers, ribs, nachos and other straight-to-the-thighs food. It didn't rain once, despite warnings of torrential downpours and tropical storms. The tents were just a short walk to the beach... And that beach, Pui O, was simply gorgeous.

We swam, lay in banana chairs, bathed in the sun and lazed around. There were even wild buffaloes on the other side of the tents! At one point they stampeded across the field, like a scene from Out of Africa.

I am seriously not kidding. Pinky-swear.

It was pretty faultless... until it came time to go to sleep in tropical temperatures and none of us really managed it. Perhaps next time we'll pick a time of year when the sun isn't trying to kill us.

Hong Kong? You've outdone yourself again. Now if it would just stop pouring this week I might feel tempted to tell you I love you.

But, you see, you just keep raining down. So, you miss out again.

Now, over to you... I do far too much waffling on this blog. How was your weekend? What did you get up to?

See? I wasn't lying about the buffalo!

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-06-22T07:55:00.002+08:00

Fragrant joss sticks burning outside the Po Lin Monastery at Ngong Ping, Lantau Island, Hong Kong.

To join the Wordless Wednesday game, head over to Faith, Hope & a Whole Lotta Love.

p.s. More written blog posts coming soon, I promise! So much to write about... so little time, sigh.

Abroad in Thailand.

2011-06-17T19:40:00.005+08:00

Oh my god, someone call CNN... is this really happening? Am I really blogging?

Yes, it must be true... I have finally lifted up my lead-weight butt to put fingertip to keyboard and drum out a blog post. True, I did disappear to Thailand for a few days, but I've been back almost a week for goodness sake. I've been mostly busy, but also a bit lazy.

But it's time to get back into it.

I'm not going to waffle on and on about Thailand, because that would be, well, showing off, wouldn't it? Can one write about their adventures in such a beautiful, free-spirited place and not sound a tad boasty?

So, instead, I'll share a few pictures from our delightful but lightning-speed visit to Chiang Mai; a lovely little pocket close to the border of Burma (or Myanmar, depending on where you stand on the whole junta thing) of green mountains, massages, ladyboys, kickboxers, tigers, elephants, snakes, mojitos and fire-hot chilli.

Here are a few highlights before I kick off the photos:

- Seeing family. It's just all there really is, isn't it.

- Getting a massage every day. Isn't that illegal in some countries?

- Having dinner and dancing with the Prince of Malaysia... totally unexpected! He was a guest at my dad's conference. Of course dad never mentioned it until it was like, "that's the Prince of Malaysia". Okay then.

- Cuddling baby tigers... BLESS THEIR TINY PAWS AND BABY TIGER TEETH. Mega heart stoppage. My dad was brave enough to enter the pen with the large tiger, who they say is trained and comfortable around humans. So the twelve-thousand kilo tiger with the razor-sharp teeth and claws told them that then? Maybe even wrote it down and signed it?

- Visiting the 'long neck people' (see photo at the top of this post). Bizarre, yet beautiful women.

- Riding an elephant. Likely cruel, I know, but something I honestly wanted to do once in my life. Plus, I think our 27-year-old lady-phant could handle me and B perched upon her gracious back - neither of us weigh that much.

- Experiencing the sheer freedom of the Thai people. Asia is generally made up of such restricted cultures in terms of what's considered acceptable behaviour and what's not. In Thailand? Pretty much anything goes and noone bats an eyelid. Hence the plethora of ladyboys. Love it.

Farewell.

2011-06-07T19:41:00.016+08:00

Farewell for five days, that is.

Tomorrow we fly to Thailand; Chaing Mai to be exact, where my dad is at a conference and the noise of Hong Kong fades into history for a few sweet moments.

I'm looking forward to...

♥ Spending unhurried time with B, my dad and his partner

♥ Turning off my phone for five glorious days

♥ Forgetting about the internet and what the world is up to

♥ Baking in the sun like a Christmas turkey (with sunscreen, of course)

♥ Losing myself in the twists and turns of romance novels

♥ Sipping iced drinks with umbrellas in them

♥ Cooling my scorching body with the refreshing hug of water

♥ Inviting the musky flavours of Thailand to dance upon my taste buds

♥ Gazing at the green mountainous landscape without looking away

♥ Having my limbs beaten to a pulp by strong, massaging hands

♥ Sleeping like only the truly free can

Yup... that'll do me.

Have a wonderful week and weekend, peeps... thanks so much for visiting.

Analysis Paralysis.

2011-06-06T12:31:00.031+08:00

Hands up if you're a 'thinker'.

I think I am. I think I think too much. What do you think?

I believe thinking is truly a wonderful thing... I'm all for it. Like our own mini 'time out', it keeps ourselves in check, prevents us from going off the rails, and enables us to make decisions. Thinking is all good. Except when it becomes paralysing and counterintuitive.

The opposite of over-thinking is surely being 'comfortably numb'... when the analysis paralysis jets off to the Maldives for a cocktail and a well-earned rest, and the mind is left behind with the sweet quiet life... accepting it. Embracing it. Not worrying about it. Just living. No questions asked.

And then, on other days, analysis paralysis steps back off the plane with a tan and fresh energy. And it's on days like these that I wake up suddenly wondering where I am, who I am, what I'm doing, and whether I'm where I'm supposed to be. Wherever that is. And the older one gets, the more possessions one accumulates, the more attachments one makes, the colder the sweat. This has nothing to do with my life right now; analysis paralysis has been showing up on my doorstep for thirty years asking me, 'Is everything alright?' And whether it is or it isn't doesn't matter: the question is now planted.

Living abroad, away from home, is dangerously fertile ground for analysis paralysis. In fact, it can be wickedly deceitful... one day you can float through life to a soundtrack of 'tra la la', living in some kind of perpetual holiday fantasy in this 'new world'; and on other days you can wake up wondering where the hell you are and if you even recognise your own life. Because so much has changed so fast.

Out of the blue, I have missed home this weekend. I have missed my 'old life'. I have struggled to recognise my new life, which made so much sense just a few days ago. And I'd like to send analysis paralysis on an all-expenses-paid trip back to the Maldives.

What about you? Do you ever 'over-think' it all?

Image

The after-glow.

2011-06-03T13:41:00.040+08:00

My bestie Dan was scratching for brownie points recently when he posted me a lovely book called Conditions of Love by John Armstrong.

It's a sensational read that attempts to unwrap the truth behind that thing we all want: real romantic love. Mr Armstrong attempts to explain what right love really might be, and what wrong love probably is.

One thing he talks about is love in the after-glow. You know, the 'happily ever after' bit... the Forever. After all, who wants to catch love, only to see it flutter away and escape - or perhaps even more true - succumb to a sudden, violent death from our own smoking gun.

The problem with the after-glow is, it's really really hard to compare it to the actual glow: the early period of romance... the warm days of meeting someone, feeling your heart skip, opening up a butterfly farm inside your knowing gut, inviting new lips to rest upon yours for the first time... what I like to call the giddy Glow.

But the fundamental flaw in this God-given high is, How do we follow up? How do we live up to its defective expectation?

Mr Armstrong says that, unfortunately, when the early period of heated passion diminishes, it looks as if love is declining.

Now aint that just an unfair truth: The perceived "genuine period of love" has passed. They honeymoon is over. And then comes... what, exactly? Hopefully more love and happy days of course, but perhaps threatened by increased cases of irritation, the revealing of annoying habits, boredom, disillusionment, and - the worst culprit of all - repetition. No more surprises.

So, when things get hard and love is tested, we often turn to the physically and mentally impossible: we try to go back to the early days. To revive the giddy Glow in order to regain what has been "lost". And, as Mr Armstrong explains, not only is this tragically unachievable, but it bestows unnecessary elevation upon the beginning of a relationship, and thus, stabbing its future in the back.

We all want love that lasts, right? So, according to this view, what we really need to do is accept that love changes its looks with time. It develops wrinkles. It grows a little fatter. It loses its hair. We need to trust that the giddy Glow (no matter how pretty it may be) is not the benchmark - nor the ideal version of love. It's just a lovely little starting-point; an emotionally powerful kick-up-the-butt from nature to ensure things get going and our survival on earth is maintained.

But then, after nature's little "welcome to a new relationship" present - we're on our own. We then need to cultivate a mature attitude towards ever-lasting love, and trust that what comes next is the real test... that we don't need to pull out our gun and shoot, just because we suddenly find ourselves in the after-glow.

But WHY?

2011-05-31T13:28:00.018+08:00

When I turned eighteen, my dad wrote me a lovely letter. Among other things, it listed many things about myself that he said he was proud of. I remember him telling me that even as a young child, he found I never disliked anyone unless I could find a genuine reason for it. I remember being pleased he said that, and I hope it's still true.

I also remember him saying that whenever he would tell me things as a little girl, explain things to me, my head would turn and look towards the sky as I listened. It was my way of deeply concentrating, and guiding his words from my ears into the depths of my imagination where they would come alive. When I read that point, it rung true immediately and I had a giggle; I still catch myself doing that: turning and looking towards the sky whenever someone tells me something new or interesting.

You see, I'm a why girl. Are you a why person? I think a why person is someone whose mind hasn't quite graduated from the curiosity of a three-year-old. A why person is a natural snoop and is forever asking but why? When someone tells me something I often have to know more about it and hear myself rattling off twenty questions to the poor innocent soul.

So you'll *ahem* forgive me if I need to ask... why do I ask why?

By the way, I don't mean personal things... I'm not a gossip hound, although I'm always happy to help a friend when they need advice. I'm just talking about being naturally inquisitive about any subject at all. For example, a conversation with my boyfriend might go something like this:

B: The dogs were barking again last night.

Me: Oh no! Why?

B: Don't know.

Me: Do you think the neighbours were making noise?

B: Not sure.

Me: Do you think when one dog barks the other one just joins in, even if he doesn't know why he's barking?

B: Don't know. I suppose.

Me: Why does one bark so much louder than the other?

B: Bigger voice box, I guess.

Me: Why can dogs hear so much better than humans?

B: It dates back to their survival traits, I suppose.

Me: Why do you think our neighbours are so noisy?

B: NAT!

I think being a why person led me to become a journalist, and now, a writer. I'm like a sniffing dog who always needs to find more. To know more. To get to the bottom of everything and find the story and substance underneath. I need answers. And usually that answer leads to another question. It can be mentally tiring sometimes, and some days I'd give anything to be a surface person and not sink under the weight of my own thinking. But I have heard another term for a why person: a truth seeker, which leads to the path of enlightenment. I'm not quite sure what that has to do with noisy neighbours, but it sounds good, so I'll take it.

Are you a truth seeker? A why person? And if so, why?

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Currently.

2011-05-29T18:05:00.031+08:00

This was inspired by the gorgeous Sarah's post from Sunlight After Rain (and because we all know I love a list).

Current guilty pleasure: Staying home... bliss

Current colour: Pink (I'll always be true)

Current fashion trend: I don't do trends (too lazy to pay attention) but I'm currently loving just a plain loose white t-shirt

Current playlist: Adele (porn for the ears)

Current obsession: Mastering English-language grammar and punctuation (see you in 2097 when I've finally done it)

Current drink: Water... I'm permanently parched

Current food: Tiny, disgusting, smelly, fishy things

Current outfit: Loose white t-shirt, black skirt, hair up (Sunday drab)

Current fave TV show: Sons of Anarchy (who knew a show about motorcycle gangs could be so friggin' addictive)

Current wishlist: 1)

To see my family, 2)

A new Macbook Pro, 3) A trip to Europe

Current triumph: Scoring a FAB new client for my business

Current bane of my existence: Getting up early... and there's nothing current about it (we've never gotten along)

Current iPhone app: Henry VIII (a hangover from my recent obsession with The Tudors)

Current celebrity crush: Charlie Hunnam (that really phwoar guy from Sons of Anarchy)

Current indulgence: Cheap Hong Kong massages (reason enough to apply for citizenship)

Current blessings: A healthy family, a great boyfriend, amazing friends, my own business, and two cute furry puppies

Current excitement: A trip to Chiang Mai in Thailand in two weeks (high five!)

Current mood: Mellow

Current website: My business (www.englisheditorasia.com)

What are you currently obsessed with?