Penguin's Igloo: Life's Little Notebook-The Scribbles

Cross-posting proves to be too much work for me.

So from today onwards, point your mouse here and you'll get to the blog I've been maintaining for the past few months that I've neglect this space.

MSN Spaces have been such a great joy. I still love it but due to functionality, it's not the most feasible options.

It was good while it lasted, though!

So what are you waiting for? Head to the Life's Little Notebook, Wordpress version.

My first complaint in dating an Aussie man: The eating habits.

Being Asian, I want my rice. Being Caucasian, he wants his bacon and egg. Or ham and cheese. Or fish and chips. I’m still trying to find that middle ground. Does rice, bacon and egg sounds weird to you all?

My first complaint might be my only complaint. :)

It’s not that big deal actually. He will eat anything I cook, whatever ethnic dishes that might be. His favourite is still the barramundi fish curry. And after a while I start to develop a liking for fish and chips and bacon and egg. Since I don’t eat meat this year, I get my bacon from Veggie Delights. What he gleefully call “fake meat”.

All complains evaporate after this sweet text

"Just to have you I think is my blessing / gift."

 

There are some more after those words but I’m afraid those who reads this blog will first guffaw at the fact that the sarcastic penguin can be tamed and is sappy when this man is mentioned. Then they will puke at the mushiness at the text exchange between her and her said Hero.

I have reputations to keep.

I’m going to be keeping that text forever! In my years of dating different kind of men, different kinds of characters, I have NEVER received any text like that from any of them. And this is from a man who doesn't usually have a way with words, which is why I treasure it so much more. He doesn’t usually text unless I text him first. Lately he has been texting me a lot because I was so “emotionally unavailable” the moment Uni starts, and I can see he is trying to tell me that he misses me, but don’t quite know how to say it without being too sappy and obvious and un-macho (men!).

In the end when I jokingly mention that I’m not sure if I could come over this weekend or not because I was still busy, he finally pulled on his confessions: he missed me. If I could please come? Even if it’s for one day.

Wahahaha! Bulls-eye!

He is not a romantic person by nature when it comes to words. He is the kind of man who shows you he loves you by doing things for you, not saying things to you. The kind of man who’d endure your shopping trips even though he loathes it because you like it. The kind of man who’d gobble up your salty plums just because he wants to know what you like about it so much, and hating it but still having something nice to say about it because you like it. The kind of man who’d stay up all night listening to you, despite having to wake at 4am to get ready for work just because you’re crying your eyes out about something. The kind of man, who doesn’t want to make you feel like a slave in the kitchen, therefore sticks around everytime you cook to entertain you and clean up after you. The kind of man who doesn’t allow you to do the dishes if you had been cooking. The kind of man who doesn’t believe that little punk dog should be pampered, but resign to let me pamper it. The kind of man who forbids that said punk dog into his room before he met me (and who disciplined it to just stare from the doorway), and now accept the fact that I love having it with me in bed. The kind of man that insist we lie down on the same small couch under the same small throw rug to watch a movie, despite having two other free couch, with an eager punk dog to boot. It can get really tight there especially when the staffi wants some loving too and end up lying on top of both of us.

Actions speak louder than words?

I love it.

When the clock strikes 4pm and Uni is done for the week, I’d be rushing to the train station.

I haven’t seen him for two weeks, and I miss him badly.

So everyone, have a nice weekend and see you all when I get back. :)

I don’t drink coffee. I avoid coffee. I don’t even eat coffee toffee. Everyone in my family depends on coffee to kick start their day but if I drink coffee that will be the end of my days. I think I may be adopted. Or I have gene defects and I’m missing a DNA components. Even Hero needs his fix of coffee every morning before work, and when driving to work. He drinks from a mug-flask while driving!

To illustrate:

This is me:

And this is the rest of the humans I hang out with:

Since I don’t drink coffee, it’s safe to assume that I’m safe from the lure of capitalistic marketing inventions that is Starbucks, correct?

WRONG!

This, ladies and gentleman, is the evil that has lured me to that capitalist establishment. That has made a mockery of my informed judgement. That tells me no matter how much you learn about Marketing, and it doesn't matter if one of your major from your double degree is marketing, you will succumb to marketing ploys. Especially when it involves chocolate.

That's a Chocolate Hazelnut Cake, or Hazelnut Chocolate Cake. I'm not sure which one comes first but who cares, it's chocolate AND hazelnut, and that is all you need to know. If you're so concerned about the correctness of what comes first, go muddle yourself with the "chicken or egg?" question.

Sorry about the crappy quality, this was taken with a camera phone. I'm not sorry about the crappy quality of this entry though, even if I typed it with my phone. If.

It all started one rainy day.

Actually, no. But I needed to sound romantic and dramatic since winter here is not the remotest romantic.

I was waiting for my bus home after work. The stop is just behind the mall, where Starbucks is. I thought I’d take a look at Starbucks just to pass time, you know, since I have to wait half an hour for my bus. I wasn’t planning to buy anything. I mean, come on! It’s Starbucks. It’s coffee. They have cakes, but I don’t even like cakes that much.

Ohohohoho! I should learn to keep my mouth shut, don’t I?

I used to snigger at people in Starbucks, being all high and mighty about Starbucks retailing and marketing points because I am, after all, a Marketing student. I was so holier-than-thou-caffeinated-people and wonder why anyone would bother paying premium price whenever “cino” or prefixes “o” is added into the beverage name. Cappucino, mocchachino, expresso, you name it. I wondered if I lemonade, sell it as Lemonadino and charge $8 per cup for it, would I be the new retailing genius?

Oh, I was so, so, so naïve. So, so misinformed!

The moment I stepped into Starbucks I saw an enticing piece of cake. FULLY COVERED IN CHOCOLATE. The selling point: Hazelnut Chocolate Cake. HAZELNUT!! CHOCOLATE!!

I stood there for a long time, trying to make up my mind whether I was going to have that, or just get a fillet-o-fish for much, much less that price. A filet-o-fish could fill me up and I won’t need dinner. 

So, as expected of someone with rational thinking, a lot of wisdom, unparallel street smart, and plenty of information about how retail geniuses like this lures customers…

…I bought a slice of that damn cake.

And it has transformed my life forever.

I sank my teeth into it and oh, the joy! The happiness! The world peace it could bring! You know how some cakes are topped with chocolate icings, but underneath they’re just plain sponge cakes? Not this one! It was chocolatey from top to deep, deep, deep down inside. Oh mama mia! Excellent! Great! Amazing! And all other positive adjectives in the English speaking world that I can’t possibly mention unless I eat an Oxford Dictionary! Where have I been?

Chocolate is much better than sex! I’m just quoting, you know. I don’t want to say whether I agree to it or not. Ex-boyfriends do read this blog. Hero does not know of this existence yet but I don’t think he’d appreciate chocolate being better than him. I’m just going to say, a lot of people says that chocolate is much better than sex. So in order to promote abstinence, I think those who campaign for it should give out free chocolates everyday. Agreed? Let me hear you say, “YES!!!”

As I cleared some of my junks for the new Uni semester, I came across receipts of purchases I made in Starbucks. It records nothing but that very cake only. All in all, since May, I have spent $104.50 on Hazelnut Chocolate Cake, including the one in that picture. This is now the end of July. One slice costs $5.50. You do the math. (I bought two today, one intended to be eaten tomorrow. Who wants to bet that it will NOT last til tomorrow? Huh? Huh?)

Hazelnut Chocolate Cake has humbled me.

I’m sorry Starbucks. I've misunderstood you. I've misinterpret your love. I've undermined your worth. I love you.

My Marketing major ego is bruised. My retail marketing knowledge is useless. Hazelnut Chocolate Cake has seduced me into the sin of capitalism retailing. I am so ashamed of myself. I feel so dirty. I’ve been naughty. I’ve been a very, very bad girl.

It feels so good to be bad!

I still hate coffee so I still win against the Starbucks establishment. Hah! Take that Starbucks!

I think.

I hope.

Say, yes?

(This post was inspired by Mandi Kaye (Imago Dei's) titled "Who Knew?". Indeed, who knew!!)

Everyone have been talking about Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It's becoming claustrophobic, especially for someone who does not understand the concept of obsession. I like Harry Potter. That is the keyword there. Like.

I still don't understand the hype. I stopped watching the movie after the third one, and I read book 6 almost flippantly. I like the movie enough to not turn away when it is on and I like the book enough to not let it go unread. But then again, it's the same policy I apply to any good movies or books. I'd watch anything. I'd read anything. Doesn't say much, huh?

I'd still be buying the books because I'm collecting them for my future kids. Besides, the premise of the story is cool. But I'll let the loyal fans have it first and I'm happy to take any leftovers. I'll be buying the movies after the number 7 is released for the same reason as the books.

Daniel Radcliffe turned 18 two days ago. With this coming of age, he will have access to his $40million fortune. My God! $40million at 18!!! Know what made me went "awwww!" ?

“I don’t plan to be one of those people who, as soon as they turn 18, suddenly buy themselves a massive sports car collection or something similar. I don’t think I’ll be particularly extravagant. “The things I like buying are things that cost about 10 pounds — books and CDs and DVDs.”

And this kid has got his head screwed on straight!

“People are always looking to say ‘kid star goes off the rails. But I try very hard not to go that way because it would be too easy for them.”

Good for you, kid! Lets hope you remember your sage words here and let's not have you in any rehab or shotgun wedding, alrighty?

(Read the article here)

I remembered him in David Copperfield. It was aired in Hallmark Channel. I thought the little boy was so cute and so talented. Years later I see him as Harry Potter. Never would I imagine he'd play one of the most celebrated role in cinematic history.

This was Potty as David Copperfield. Cute kid, no?

This was Potty as...well, as young Potty. Angst-ridden and so magical. Still very cute.

This is Potty without his wizard robe. Oh my goodness. Not cute anymore. No, sirree! More like...*drool* Potty has great abs! Uwaaaaah!

This is the Potty that made me dump Johnny Depp. All grown up, with a man-'tache and smoldering looks in his eyes. Oh, be still my fluttering heart!

(Picture source: DanRadcliffe.us)

Harry Potty Danny, will you marry me? Pretty please?

Please?

Puhleeaaaaaaaassee?

I love to cook and bake.

And I think I do a good job at it.

I mean, I handle dinner everyday for 3 years when my mum was teaching afternoon session. No one complained. Maybe they can’t cos that is their only cook for the year, and complaining will drive me to sulk and then they will have to eat noodles, cos no one in their right mind will dare ask mum to cook when she’s tired. I have fed all boyfriends with my delicious (and not so delicious) creations that earn me a spot in their heart forever, no jokes. My last serious boyfriend remembers my cooking most, which I swallow with a bit of complexity. I mean, come on! Can’t he say he remembers me most for being the most beautiful, compassionate, loving girl he has ever been with? No! He has to say he missed my cooking most! My cooking, not me. Like, hey, am I your mother or something?

And current sweetheart happily lets me takes lead in the kitchen for the weekend, banging pots and pans and oven doors while he laze around watching TV and drinking beer in the lounge upstairs.

Ok, actually, no. He helps a lot in the kitchen. While I’m cooking, he usually cleans up after me. I peel, season and stir. He trashes, wipe and wash. He’s amazing. Currently the only man I’ve been with that I could have a conversation with while I’m cooking, so that makes it wonderful. And he does the washing after too! Woo ha. Jackpot.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yeah, cooking.

One thing I know for sure, I will never cook for an Italian. Ever. Again. Or cook near one. Or announce that I do cook. At all.

Italians are such stickler with their food. At least the ones I know. God help you if you cook Italian the un-proper way. They will glower at you and serves you a 2 hour lectures on how Italians will never do that, how it should be done and why you have committed the biggest sin in Italian community.

The fact that I am no Italian seems lost on them.

Ok, so maybe I like cutting corners while cooking. To the uninitiated and un-cooking-ducated, it can appear as if I’ve slaved for 3 hours preparing a meal when I only took 30 minutes. It’s all in the presentation. It’s a talent I inherited from mum. It’s hereditary.

Italians seems to have this built in mechanism for sensing a counterfeit cuisine. Even when they weren’t there to see you cook. It’s worse when they are actually there to see the whole process. Then they know you’re cutting corners and…let’s just say, I’d rather listen to Britney Spears when this happens.

Recently I served spaghetti bolognaise to someone of pure Italian descent. Not giving out names here, people. I served spaghetti not because he was Italian and I thought he would die if I served any un-Italian food. It was because that is the easiest to whip up and we won’t starve for long.

I substituted minced meat for curried hot dog. The imitation variety, made from vegetable produces because I don’t eat meat.

That was not his problem.

His problem was I substituted meat for hotdogs. To make matters worse, I was running low on spaghetti sauce I had to pour a bit of ketchup into it. He screwed his face but he ate it anyway. With a screwed face. And later proceed to educate me in the fine points of Italian food and why it is blasphemy to substitute meat with hotdogs. It's not even remotely similar.

Argh.

Never again.

Next time I’m ordering pizza. Then he can lecture his head off about how Americanized/Australianized retail pizzas are.

At least it ain’t me. Yeah?

Ciao, bella!