reality bites

crazy packed touring yesterday and...

tonight it's off to avalon with this amazing line-up 

2000 - 2045 NICOLE CHEN

2045 - 2130 ANDREW T

2130 - 2230 SANTIGOLD

2230 - 0000 MAJOR LAZER

0000 - 0100 FLO RIDA0

0100 - 0215 STEVE AOKI

0215 - 0330 STEVE ANGELLO

0300 - 0600 ABOVE & BEYOND

sleep is for the weak - and those who don't like above & beyond. foresee us pulling an all-nighter at avalon, and then sending him to the airport (he's off to saigon for the weekend) at 7am. gah. coupled with night class later and dinner with my girls, this is going to be one looong night. thank goodness for defensive sleeping and waking in the afternoon. ready to hit the ground running!

plus there are papers to write, why why why are there SO MANY papers to write. but i'm done with wills, and aiming to finish the 5000 word family law assignment before my 6pm class. just started, so wish me luck aplenty! 

this is defensive blogging, btw, in response to the slew of 'don't you go to class? don't you have work?' well yes and yes, i'm on course full-time, continue to work part-time (as i did through college) and with what residuary time i have, i do the other things that are so much more enjoyable. so sue me :)

i leave you with a photo of the family law assignment in it's 21 page glory. and yes, that's just the QUESTION.

day 33

thursday 10 june 2010 madrid

the world is so small.

bumped into a high school friend and his buddies in the same hostel, and into some college friends on the free walking tour later on. unexpected catch ups are always fun :) and english weather aside, the walking tour was a good call.

in the afternoon, the hostel dude sent me on a wild goose chase to non-existent outlet malls on the outskirts of madrid (1h train ride one-way away). 1 x unhappy camper after that, but nothing churros con chocolate can't solve.

domestic bliss

(credits to W, whom we visited yesterday in her beautiful black and white that we can see from our window)

wish i didn't feel this way right now - but having single-handedly destroyed the washing machine on my first attempt (albeit two months in) at doing the laundry does little for one's already bruised ego.

p/s for the sadists out there, here's my cache of laundry diatribes.

day 17

tuesday 25 may 2010 paris

last day together in paris. walked around, checked out rue st honore (oohlala!) and, um, some jerk stepped on my archilles' tendon and bloodied my heel. nothing a few choice words and exacting demands couldn't solve. to console my wounded pride, he (love of my life, not the clumsy jerk) sat me down at one of the palace cafes, plied me with san pelligrino, cleaned the wound, stopped the bleeding, nursed me back to health and, um, bought me a wallet from CDG. ahh, i'm way too materialistic for my own good.

weather report

like, seriously.

berlin laundry part 2

(continued)

rather anti-climatically, i spent my last day in berlin doing laundry.

the lone instruction my host left me was to launder and replace the sheets so the next guest / the family when they're in town, would have clean bedding when they reach the apartment. he suggested that i leave 1-2h to do this.

good thing i'm hyper-efficient and a little more kiasu than i care to admit. so i thought i'd do laundry first thing in the morning and then i'd have the rest of the day to explore more of the city before my late night flight. so i wake at 0730 and do the first load. incidentally, whoever had stayed in the apartment before me didn't do laundry because the sheets were used and i'd to change them when i arrived. so i was a little miffed that i'd two loads of laundry to do and it's not that i'm charitable or anything, i just didn't want my host to think i was a slob so it was more self-interest than altruism that prompted my industry. don't mind cleaning up after myself, just don't want to clean up after random person, for free! randomly, i'd probably make a half-decent cleaning lady, if given the opportunity. ok so i loaded the machine and set it according to the recommended settings (host had been kind enough to leave an english manual out, turned to the right page and indicated which program to use etc) and waited. two hours later, it was still on rinse. three hours later, it was spinning and only after four hours did it finally transition into dryer mode. by which time, i'd run out of things to do and was anxiously pacing the apartment before resignedly sitting in front of the machine and allowing myself to be hypnotised by the spinning drum. not fun.

when the first load was finally done, it was time to put in the second load. and i snuck to the bakery on the corner to buy lunch and walked around the neighbourhood to cool off but essentially i was held hostage by the washing machine, a prisoner of my own sense of responsibility.

and i thought i'd only be plagued by laundry woes in stockholm!

berlin laundry

edit: turns out my iphone isn't able to type into the blog post box. apparently not one of it's 19284726 functions.

so, here goes.

i spent my last day in berlin doing laundry. and i thought that my laundry woes remained in stockholm.

back safe, will post proper when i'm more awake!

confused cuisine

was feeling adventurous and against our better judgment, we decided to try a japanese restaurant in ostermalmstorg. i say 'against our better judgment' because some guai lo had raved about it and called it authentic, which means it probably wasn't. so as we tried not to turn up our stubby asian noses at the prospect of pseudo-authentic japanese food, there was also niggling doubt at the back of our minds but figured it was worth a shot all the same. the result: cuisine of the most confused kind.

problem #1: asian-looking lady boss who didn't speak a single oriental language. at the door, i'd asked for a table for 2 in japanese, only to be met with a blank stare. i tried again in chinese, same reaction. giving up, i resorted to sign language and held out two fingers, she got the picture. granted, i can't say she didn't speak a single oriental language because i only speak chinese and a smattering of jap, plus malay but she didn't look malay. so maybe she speaks korean or thai. maybe.

problem #2: it was not japanese short-grain rice and hence it was not sushi by any stretch of imagination. have you heard the one about how each piece of sushi should have exactly 99 grains of rice and how expert sushi chefs train for years to get it right with one graceful swoop and shape? yeah. well these little monsters had about 200+ grains each. fake sushi FAIL.

(not) problem: this was the only dish i liked. spring rolls are cheap asian food and they seemed to accept that they were cheap asian food. simple. no pretensions, not trying too hard to be japanese (cf pseudo-sushi above) and upfront about its humble origins. cool.

problem #3: mystery meat dish machiam united nations. there was the mystery meat, which the restaurant can be forgiven for. even closing one eye and letting the meat pass as japanese, what in the world was the kimchi doing on the plate? and my national flower???! it was probably unintentional but i don't go to a japanese restaurant expecting to have a tri-nation plate. good in theory, bad in practice.

but the mysterious origins of the lady boss were later revealed when i recognised the obscure chinese dialect she was speaking and spoke to her in mandarin (why didn't she understand my initial request for a two-top?) and then she became noticeably friendlier and even offered us tea! so we scored some free tea (hey, it was the good stuff! the type mixed with rice grains that you can only find in japan!) and she even refused our tip because she mistook us for poor students. which was sweet :) so hmm, chinese solidarity > my prejudice towards non-japanese run japanese restaurants? the food was passable if you're not too discerning, or if your idea of asian food is kung pow chicken and co. but sorry, my atas palate was none too pleased, the only thing i liked was the tea.

horror

him: i like the photo!

me: what about the poem?

him: oh. that thing? uh i didn't read it.

(insert gasp)

him: OH NO NO NO i didn't know you wrote it! it's great!

(insert bigger gasp)

him: i'm reading it now! i don't understand it though! but it's great! so talented you are!

me: i didn't write it...

him: tcuh. i thought you did.

me: NO! how can you not know???

him: it's poetry.

me: YOU WON THE LITERATURE PRIZE IN RI. TWICE.

him: yeah but it was about books.

incidentally, for the others who aren't in the know, it's by keats.

there you go, daily dose of culture.

dear beautiful

body of mine,

i love you to bits but there's something i feel compelled to draw to your attention.

as much as i appreciate the sartorial advantage that not having to bundle up in my heavy-duty winter coat affords me, it's vaguely worrying and undoubtedly ridiculous that i'm flouncing around in a flimsy cardigan, unperturbed by the frigid chill (3deg celcius at last consultation).

while i applaud your hyper-efficiency, would you be so kind as to cease overcompensating for my being accustomed to living one degree fifteen north of the equator for the past 22 years? i understand it's tempting to immediately store whatever i send your way as insulation for the impending winter but, believe you me, i much rather bundle up and look like frosty's freckled cousin than to look like the michelin man's twin without a coat.

alternatively, you might wish to consider increasing your metabolic rate to generate heat. i'm open to similar compromise, but most certainly and without further ado, this sudden fat formation has to stop.

best wishes,

the inhabitant

trouble in paradise

"what if i become the sort of mother who's so terrible in the kitchen that her kids rather eat out than in???"

"then you'll have truly morphed into your mother."

dear mr. washing machine no. 2

your temperamental nature and audacious refusal to showcase the time has caused me much grief and aggravation.

kindly explain why after letting you run till you stopped at whim, albeit without the time on display, my load was half-dry and did not smell any cleaner. mind you, this was despite the inexplicable disappearance of the washing powder i'd thoughtfully fed you.

it would be nice if you notified me prior to locking the door that you were not in the mood to do laundry. i would have understood, being also never in the mood to do laundry.

furthermore, i would appreciate if you did not rally dryer no. 2 to join you in protest. allow me to bring to your attention that he spat out my wet clothes in half the time i had set. and possibly at half the temperature too. i pride myself on my patience and long sufferance but it is a little more than i can handle when you both decide to revolt simultaneously. if you must fail to work, have the consideration to do so on two separate occasions.

allow me to apologise for the swift kick to your side, i had not intended for K to injure you when he came to my assistance. i trust you are insured for the extent of the dent. if not, you have little chance of claiming against K in tort. i am probably not the first to tell you that the swedish*system is unsympathetic to victims of assault.

i think it would be appropriate for us not to see each other for awhile. trust the desire for some time out is mutual. future use will be done by my proxy in approximately three weeks. i hear he is good at laundry and perhaps you two will get along better.

no hard feelings,

disgruntled resident with sopping wet laundry

hellsinking

possibly the worst night of my life to date.

i am never ever eating swedish meatballs again. ate them once, but tasted them eight more times, if you catch my drift.

am still rocking now and my eyesight's blurry.

will post proper when i've found my land legs.

oh. and some old man actually elbowed me at this upmarket cafe in helsinki. for no apparent reason. was pretty darn appalled, wouldn't you be? i thought that sort of thing only happened in china. haha. well, another story for another time.

mid-day angst

have i mentioned how much i detest sweden? like, Detest. i don't understand why why why they're so so so sticky. i got a note saying i'd a parcel (yay!) that couldn't fit into my mailbox (boo.) so i'd to go to the gas station (???) (boo.) to collect it (yay!). the notice was in swedish, by the way, so i obviously understand swedish and knew exactly what to do.

at the gas station i presented it to guy behind the counter.

uptight swede: can i see some ID

me: here (passed him stockholm uni ID card and photo ID to check against)

uptight swede: i need your passport.

me: i don't have it.

uptight swede: well you need your passport.

me: and i don't have it.

uptight swede: i can't help you.

me: the university said i could use this is ID in sweden.

uptight swede: yeah but not here.

me: this is sweden.

uptight swede: well, you can't use it here.

me: where does it say i need my passport?

uptight swede: it says you need valid identification.

me: yes, this' my valid identification.

uptight swede: no, you need your passport.

me: ok, i don't have my passport. can i see the parcel?

uptight swede: no.

me: i won't even touch it.

uptight swede: no.

me: i just want to see the size and handwriting. you can hold it behind the counter.

uptight swede: i can't.

me: but i'm leaving town for awhile and i'm afraid it's perishable. could you make an exception?

uptight swede: no.

me: why?

uptight swede: because you need your passport.

if the notice clearly stated 'bring your passport, or else.' FINE. but it didn't. so don't read terms into the contract, ya know. don't understand why they're so particular. to get into a club i need my passport. to buy alcohol from their silly monopoly i need a passport. i'd probably need a passport to ride the bus next. mid morning angst. i don't like their immigration officers either. put you through third degree when i've all the necessary documents and VISA. when will they realise that i come from a country infinitely superior to theirs in so many ways (except, maybe, air quality) and am absolutely uninterested in overstaying my welcome. it's so presumptuous to think that everyone will want to remain here. i'm liking stockholm for the scenery and my friends on exchange, by proxy the university, and i've a lovely room. but there's most definitely no love lost between the swedes and i.

mornings*

this' our coffeemaker

this' how it's plugged in

this' the knob to turn if you want power**

**except that even after an hour's tinkering, i couldn't figure out why the coffeemaker wasn't cooperating. and i thought it was only me who wasn't a morning person! so i ingratiated myself yet again to Kj, my swedish corridormate, who came to my rescue by telling me that stockholm still has electrical relics of this sort that need to be wound before the power mains come on. who'd have guessed that it isn't as straightforward as plugging in a plug!

"you're not just a walking circus,

you're a high-maintenance walking circus!"

and the most embarrassing end to this story is that i never did get my coffee because the water didn't percolate through the filter but the grounds made their way to the pot and it was an absolute disaster i poured the pot down the sink. coffeemaker FAIL (coffeedrinker FAIL, too.)

now what does a girl have to do to get a decent cuppa around here!

*maybe 'afternoons' would be a more appropriate title

grubby paws

some of you may be acquainted with 'throw away!' both the war cry and subsequent nickname of a crazy corridormate of mine. and today, she really got to me.

i'd left my brand new cosmo on the dining table while cooking lunch because, well, who puts a flammable magazine on the stove?! and then suddenly there she was, blowing her drippy nose into her bare hands and then licking the tips of the fingers as she causally flipped the pages of my magazine. lest you think i'm equally psychotic, i usually don't have issue with random strangers browsing my ever-important periodicals. just that i'd prefer if the sickie exercised proper hygiene (it's called kleenex) and some modicum of courtesy ("oh hey, is the magazine yours? mind if i have a look?") but nope! muscus-coated hands trawling through my cosmo. i swear it's got sticky pages now. truly the stuff of nightmares.

when i finally brought my lunch over to the dining table and sat down in ostensible silence, she didn't even bat an eyelid. oh, but after establishing that it was mine, she asked if she could have it when i was done. and then she asked me what my name was,

HAHA.

i'll have to think about that one.

f12

fail max.

talk about crazy swedish queues on saturday night.

1 x kitchen duty

was 1 week of perpetual cleaning. i've never cleaned so hard in my life. there was the corridor, living room and kitchen floor to be swept on alternate days, the dishes to be dried and stacked daily, the nightly check of the kitchen before i slept, taking the trash 1938291km to the huge waste receptacles, depositing the recycling in the correct bins and i'd to mop the floor at the end of it all!

i cleaned and cleaned until my fingers peeled and cracked. in fact, i even scrubbed the stoves for good measure (yay me!) and finally i handed over the dubious honour to my iranian corridor mate who's on the warpath of everybody who so much as leaves something lying on the counter for more than 5minutes. maybe she'll be more militant than i was. maybe the place would be spotlessly, sparkling clean. maybe she won't lift a finger. i don't know. neither do i care, really. i'm done with kitchen duty for the next three months and now i just need to clean my room.

sigh.

clean clean clean i feel like cinder-bloomin'-rella.

p/s i'm also a little sad that my corridor squatter has moved out. with his wireless router. who's going to let me leech free internet and teach me (repeatedly) how to chop chicken now? :( plus he was on cleaning duty the week before me (because as a squatter that was his due) and he was always sweeping so happily i actually thought it'd be fun.

the laundry chronicles

can't believe it's that time of the week again.

i had an almost-encounter in the laundry room!

this woman unloaded my laundry from the machine! HOW DARE SHE! it wasn't even her turn! SHE'S ONE OF THOSE LEGENDARY WASHING MACHINE HIJACKERS!!! i was so annoyed! what if i'd wanted to put in another load after my first load was done?!

after somewhat disgruntled-ly moving my laundry to the sole remaining dryer (the other, by the way, was also hijacked by some other inconsiderate poop) i left the laundry room in abject fear that the woman would subsequently hijack my dryer before my laundry was dry. because, she'd already hijacked the machine, what's to stop her from going the whole hog? so i returned to my room determined to make my presence felt in the laundry room and guard my dryer. however, better sense personified prevailed and when i went to pick up my dry laundry, everything was just as i'd left it. and the woman's laundry was waiting patiently in the laundry trolley for my dryer.

whew.

but i still dislike communal laundry.

little commie

wasted a perfectly lovely day queueing to join the students' union. union membership is compulsory and i cannot comprehend why i have to pay good money before i'm allowed to take my exam. shouldn't that be regulated by the university??? why subject me, innocent and unaware exchange student, to the horror that is union membership? ok maybe i'm exaggerating a little but i come from a place where unions are frowned upon and strictly regulated if they're even allowed. yes, i'm not in singers anymore and if i wanted to stay out of a union i should never have come to stocks. but the idea of forcing every hapless kid on exchange or otherwise and extorting sgd96 from them is daylight robbery. this would only be a beneficial relationship (for me) if i happen to get into some medical mishap and require rescuing. which is highly unlikely. plus it might not even be covered, ironically.

but my main grouse is that the instruction was to register between 9am-1pm. as with most other things in stocks, there's a machine dispensing queue numbers. i get there at 1030 and take queue number 294. they were serving number 70. if you do the math, assuming they began at 9, it took them 90minutes to see 70 people. there were 224 more before it reached my turn. if the union registration people worked at a constant rate, it'd take more than three hours till it was my turn (this has all the makings of a bad problem sum)

and. it. did.

so i did what i do best (hog the nearest comfortable seat and stone) which happened to be in the bookshop. found a cushioned armchair and got ready for the long haul. which would've been relatively uneventful if the union hadn't decided that lunch was sacred and some overgrown hippy woman announced that they'd stop work prompty at one (!!!) regardless of whether there were still people with queue numbers in the queue. this was after they switched off the ticket machine at noon, mind you. which's extremely unfair to people who came after because they were supposed to stay open till one and that's presumably refers to the silly queue ticket machine too, doesn't it?

but thankfully our protests got through and overgrown hippy was convinced to let those with queue numbers up to 300 register and the rest had to go by next monday. which worked for me because my number was 294 but not for the other 200-odd people with numbers >300. and then overgrown hippy started yelling at us and telling us that we were holding up the union workers who now had to work overtime because it was already 1330 and they hadn't had lunch yet. so, it's my fault for following their instructions to the T and patiently waiting over 3h to register as a member of a union that i wouldn't ordinarily want to be part of. thanks.

not a positive start to my little commie existence and definitely unimpressed by this union that cannot work through lunch.

on the plus side though, i did meet some cool greeks while waiting my turn. and two pakistanis. and one japanese girl. so it wasn't a complete waste of time because we managed to communicate and commiserate and register our similar displeasure.

.

in other news, i came back to this lovely little surprise on my landing and it stank to high heavens :(