All posts tagged: Blog

23,040 Minutes

23,040 minutes. Or, if you prefer, 384 hours.   That’s precisely how long I’ve been staying at Camden Holly Springs.  The place I’ve called home since 22nd August.  Seems so odd to say that.  As is doing things by myself.  Normal, everyday things such as taking out the trash.  Pumping gas into the car, going to the car wash too.  Cooking for one (I still keep cooking far too much but I’ll get the portions right eventually, I know it).  Getting acquainted with a washer and dryer that aren’t Samsung red boom boxes. Realising that I can decorate things however I please (hence the red couch, moo moo cube, tray tables, bedroom furniture, and night lamps).  Yes, in case it wasn’t already apparent, I’m going with black, red and white with touches of grey/chrome 🙂 I shan’t lie, it’s going to take a while to get accustomed to these (shall we call them) adjustments but I know they’re part of the process in this journey towards my new norm.  And I look forward to embracing …

The Girls

Breasts. Tits. Boobs. Whatever you may call them.   Yes, however you may refer to them, my breasts are my most significant area of body insecurity.  Ever so quintessentially clichéd, I’m fully aware.  Allow me to clarify.  Yes, the insecurity pertains to size but perhaps not quite in the way you think.  I’ve never once desired to be a cup I am not.  To provide some provenance, pre-Eve, I was a 34B.  Right after having Eve, I stayed 34D for a long time.  Then I went to being a 36B, and now, I’m at 34AA.  Clearly, lingerie stores have had me to singularly support their existence these past few years, what with all that yo-yo movements of my cleavage (you’re welcomed). So, my bone of contention is that I do not crave more but I yearn to regain what I’ve lost through the years of weight fluctuations and intensive workouts.  I want to be a 34B again. No more, no less. I’ll be the very first one to admit that it IS a lot easier …

What Makes You, You?

Ya, boo. What makes you, you?   A simple prompt from the awesome Jodie, about the versatility of denim, gave rise to the question of what makes you, you.  Is it your external self with its specific composition of water, protein, connective tissue, fats, bones, carbohydrates and DNA?  Or, conversely, is it how that external facade is packaged namely dress style, trimmings (body art, ink, etc), hair colour? Or, as a third alternative. is it how we think and behave that dictates and makes us who we are?  Our moral guidelines, our moral code?  Our beliefs? Could it be all of the above? I rather think so. After all, at the end of the day, our physical selves take instructions from our minds, our emotions.  How we feel manifests itself into how we conduct ourselves, how we appear in the eyes of the world. As I explain myself, I am also reminded of an impromptu conversation with a friend, Michael, just a fortnight ago.  This oh so articulate and creative friend revealed how he’d often …

What’s In A Name

Truly, I ask you. What’s in a name these days?   Cosmetic brands have been concocting all sorts of names for their lippies since the longest time ever. And it makes sense too given how saturated the landscape has become. Everyone appears to be releasing make-up lines from established players kicking out new collections, to names you’d typically associate with garments, not beauty, looking to cash in on a woman’s (neverending) pursuit of that perfect pout. It’s practically a new lippie a day. Actually, more. From a business perspective, it makes perfect sense. I’m as commitment phobic as the next woman when it comes to beauty purchases. Afterall, how many nude shades can one wear at any given time? And you can’t really be walking out of the house with smokey eyes every day because, you know, we crave variety. As such, most of us are hesitant to commit to palettes of colour but think nothing of forking out anything from $5 to $50 for what promises to prime and plump, and take us from …

And The Award Goes To … Me!!!

There are awards and there are awards. There are those which, to be perfectly candid, irk me in their somewhat pesky nature, not dissimilar to chain letters and mass advertisements. And there are still others which appear wishy washy and dubious. Today, however, I’m talking about the Versatile Blogger Award which, my friends, is no insipid title of a suspicious nature. It is, in fact, a credible, prestigious recognition, one for which I am truly thankful to have received, thanks to the incredibly lovely Kirsten of The LIFB Issue. If you have not yet explored her blog, you are missing out.  Really, really. How it works 1. Thank the person that nominated you and include a link to her blog. 2. Share 7 things about yourself (perhaps little known facts?). 3. Name 10 bloggers you’ve recently discovered or perhaps already follow regularly. 4. Nominate those 10 bloggers in turn for the Versatile Blogger Award. 7 things about myself 1. I’m ambidextrous. Growing up, I figured if I learned to write with both hands, should I …

I Am Weak

Forgive me, shoe gods, I have (once again) sinned. Le Objet du Désir. DANNIJO Zeppelin Boots.  Black.  Neon.  Glitter.  Cut-outs.  Combat Style.  Can you really blame me?   Love, SG Footnote:  I purchased these here, they were on sale from $325 and I ended up paying under $100.  Good times.

The Asian Dumpling Goes Out & About

Living up to the nickname I bestowed upon myself (hey, thanks, Poshmark team), I took a gander and braved the -1 Degree Celcius weather on Thursday afternoon.  Here are a handful of the photos I took while out and about. Truth be told, I didn’t snap as many as I’d expected nor hoped, and this was because, as I sadly realised, my Digital Camera (while perfect and wonderful for close, cropped shots) is simply not the appropriate tool for outdoor pictures.  It’s just not the right camera for that genre of photographs. In case you’re wondering, I took a shot of Waverly Place for my daughter who adores Selena Gomez and her TV series, “Wizards of Waverly Place”. After about 45 minutes of sauntering around, the tummy growled and I decided I fancied of a spot of Asian food (I know, right?).  Morimoto, it certainly wasn’t, but here’s what I had for a very late lunch at the Empire Szechuan Village which is located on 173 7th Ave. I had a chip with a dip.  …

My, Oh My, Morimoto-San

Although I did not get to meet you in person, Mr Iron Chef, I experienced the most sublime of culinary sensations at your Chelsea restaurant last night and it was quite the orgasmic nosh.  An affair I shall never forget.  Suffice to say, resistance was beyond futile, and we, my appetite and I,  succumbed rather happily to partaking of as many scintillating offerings as the waistline of my Cheetah print skinny jeans would allow.  Note to self: wear stretch pants the next time. I started with a Clam Miso Soup which was completely forgettable. Granted the molluscs were very fresh and the broth, light, but I was expecting something wow from the Iron Chef who brings his own Ice Cube-esque Smoker and creates furniture out of bread. Next, I had the Kakuni – now we’re talking.  AMAZING. Just AMAZING.  Morimoto’s take on the traditional Cantonese brekker of congee with braised pork belly was delicious, particularly with those light tendrils of crispy fried Sweet Spud.  It wasn’t a WOW moment, it was an OH MY GOD …

Bright Lights, Big City, Freezing My A** Off

New York, New York, why must you be thus cold?  Do you not feel the tiniest modicum of sympathy for this woman from the tropics (and, these days, from Houston)?  You’ve got her all bundled up like an Asian dumpling.  A travelling Asian dumpling, no less. Entering the Fashion District and my Egyptian-born cabbie goes to town with the horn.  Only in New York (and Kuching, and Calabria). Turning the corner into West 28th Street, and you can see remnants of snow from the morning.  It’s all a tad mushy and slippery and grey outside though. Think what you like, say what you think, but I do firmly believe this is the most important bit/tool of any hotel room. The wallpaper in my hotel room.  Trippy or what? First night in NYC and I pig out at Morimoto’s.   In fact, I think the other patrons around me were taking bets on where I was packing it all in.  Oink, oink.  Can you blame me?  When you’re in the same vicinity as the restaurant of an …