Jobs R Sexy & I Should Get One

I have, not for the first time of late, been considerating getting myself a job. I’m thinking of going into advertising, given my amazobobs inspirations and boundless creativity, plus the fact that I love love love Madmen. Awful the way women were treated back then, but awesome how much better everything is now (except the whole getting-paid-less-than-a-man-for-the-same-job thingie, argh can that really be truesome??).

Having reflected upon finding a job for a while, yesterday the idea solidified in my mind for two reasons. Firstly, I bought this incredible old skool Parker pen in hot pink (haven’t even seen a Parker for like two decades). People with jobs use pens, am I right?? So if I got some employment I could interchange all my Mont Blancs with said pink pen, to show how eclectic and interesting I am. Without a job, I’m not sure I’ll ever use the glorious Parker, and that would be a shameful waste of $20.

And B), I know quite a few hot Expaterati ladies who have jobs (like my v hot friend at ANZA and my super hot lawyer girlie), and getting one myself would make me all the hotter. Being a SAHM, even one who doesn’t SAH much, just isn’t sexy. Yes, I make it look like it is, but I’m an anomanomoly, as you are aware, dear readers.

Alora, with these points in mind, I went to a fabulous party for the launch of the Asia Content Marketing Association last night and had the best time everrrr. Met some super nice babes from across the industry, who were smart and funny and totes reinforced my conviction that jobs are sexy. Turns out these advertising folk are a blast! I was pretty much hired on the spot at least four times. Thankfully though, no one begged me to start straight away because I was going nowhere this morning!! It wasn’t so much the sixteen glasses of wine (and actually my memory can sometimes play tricks on me – think it was probably only three), as the current alignment of the planets. I needed a day to just be… To elevate my chi by watching season three of Orange is the New Black in the roof terrace pool. Can’t write anymore because I have to get back to said just being. Sorry, babeses!! I’m not a machine, you know.

LOVE IT!!

LOVE IT!!

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How Much You Spend On Your Kid’s Birthday Equals How Much You Love Them. End Of.

I’ve been feeling quite Maxed out (LOLs, pun totes intended!) after the weekend, which is hencely why I couldn’t get around to writing until now. Yes, my little Max turned the big Zero Seven, and the birthday yacht party organised by moi (and two remote assistants in the Philippines) went down like a house on fire aboard the Titanic, amped up on Veuve Click and Spotify, without the tragic sinking business. As I said before, I knew I had to push the boat out to match Milly’s fabulous yee-haw at the casino in Sentosa last year. And push that boat out, I soooooo did! Go, me!!!

I hired a mahusiv glamorous yacht and invited a few of Max’s little friendses (well, only the ones whose parents I know like to parté), as well as all my Expaterati girlies and our general gang. The catering was a hush-hush high-end arrangement, by one of the awesomest restaurants in Sing (can’t say which because they don’t want to dilute their brand by doing private events, and only did mine as a personal favour because I’m so hot). I flew in a Taiwanese DJ to rock the dance floor and, at Max’s request, had a Transformer costume theme. Because I was doing the donkey work, it seemed only fair that I amend the theme a teensy bit to Bikini Transformer costumes. Lord knows I heart a bikini party!!

So the result, as anyone who was there will testify, was nothing short of

EPIC.

It got to 3AM, and all the kids had fallen asleep on their iPads (which just goes to show that children can exercise self-regulation with Minecraft, contrary to recent flawed findings), but us grown-ups, we were just getting started! I was in Katy Perry heaven, doing my shockingly impressive Transformer moves all over that floating dance floor. Oh yeah, bring da beat back!! It’s amazing how much a little bit of practice can do. I only spent between six and 20 hours last week watching Transformer YouTubes, and yet my physical embodiment was alarmingly on the money. It was like I actually was an actual Transformer, dancing my vehicular behind off on a yacht. I know, incrediblé, isn’t it? My talents do seem to be limitless, but you know that already, of course, dear readers. My gratitude for your appreciation is almost as boundless as my talents.

There were two sliiiiiiightly sticky moments that marred my enjoyment of Max’s party. One was when Angel, our teenage house guest (my step-sister), approached me while I was rolling out my hottest Optimus Prime grooves and said, “Um, EJ, your C-string bikini is getting pulled sideways by your Transformer truck bit, and part of your um, vajazzling is kind of hanging out and it’s… sort of… dangling…”

I was quite annoyed by her abrupt interruption of my dancing, but it occurred to me how hard it must be for her; just a young girl, thrown so recently into a new environment, away from her mother (who can’t cope, hencely me selflessly taking her in), and everything she’s familiar with.

Then I thought, naaaaaaaaw.

So I told her, “Babes, eat some food ffs so that your brain can function properly, grow tf actually up, and get some life experience before you start lecturing adults on how they look. Because yooooo, honey, do not have a cloooooooooo!”

And that made her go away.

The other irksome thing (not that the interactification with Angel was irksome – I just told it like it is, I proclaimed my truth) was Liz. I noticed that, yet again, she was sniffing around after Don. Whenever she went to the bar, there he was. Whenever she went to the loo, there he was. Whenever she went up on the romantic fore-deck, there he was. She was constantly seeking him out, like a plague of husband-devouring locusts. Vile-scented locusts, at that, as you will know if you have read all my posts.

As a practitioner of gratitude and a dedicated yogi, it was not impossible for me to rise above this woman’s persistent, assaultative, uninvited attentions towards my husband, but I did have to take time out from dancing to do some chanting in a private place. Thusly I will forever resent her for taking me away from my only son’s seventh birthday in order to cleanse myself of her disgusting heinous intent. This will no doubt surface in her own chi and, relying on the universe to sort her out, I gave myself up to continuing to have an amazebobs night. Haha, I bet she didn’t! She didn’t even come in costume. So un-classy!

Image credit: http://makinbacon.hubpages.com/hub/transformersmoviecharacters

Image credit: http://makinbacon.hubpages.com/hub/transformersmoviecharacters

Whirlwind Expat Weekend of Hotness and Roof Terrace Yoga

What a whirlwind weekend, babeses! [Apart from yesterday when I needed to get some rest. I’d paid the help to help on her day off because Don left early for NY, and I deserved a day off myself after all the hard graft of fun-ness. So I focussed on recovering my strength for the week ahead.]

The Fashion Week party on Friday night was awesome. Apparently last year Audi sponsored the whole dang thing, but this year it was left to individual brands to come forward so I think it’s awesome that H&M, out of the goodness of their Scandinavian hearts, donated their main shop on Orchard Road to the great cause. The ground floor was transformed into a nightclub, with DJs and a dance floor and a bar. On the other floors there was all kinds of fun stuff to do, so me and my girlies totes rocked the joint. I went with my friends from Oh My Beagle Couture who make gorgeous dokinis and other glam clothing items for trendy doggies. I’m their best customer! There is no dog trendier than my little Froo Froo (well, maybe that dog I did my amazebobs expat stylee rap about, but her momma was too rude, so the hound loses a bajillion trendy points for that).

The highlight of the evening was this celeb dude from Taiwan spinning the decks. The crowd went crazy. They loved the guy! What I loved about him was that he was mainly playing tracks from the Spotify Fun Workout playlist, so of course I knew all the songs from the hours I spend elegantly pounding the treadmill, and could really get my moves activated in full techno-colour glory.

 
 

I also met a lady who reckoned that her hair was naturally red and mine wasn’t. What now, now?? The photos are on my Facebook page, so I’ll let you decide, dear readers.

On Saturday Don and I took the irritants to the Botanical Gardens, the aquarium, the Science Museum, and Universal Studios. Don wanted to pack in as many good dad treats as poss before escaping to the U.S. I had to leave early for my salon appointment in prep for the ANZA Singapore Orchid Ball (it’s really unfair that men just have to shower, shave and chuck on a suit! No wonder there’s all this gender inequality in the world), so I only really made it to the first part of the day. I had to go when we got to the jelly fish. Which was fine because I find jelly fish truly sick-making. Particularly the ones that look like they’re pooping bits of their tentacles all over each other. Ugh. Humans would never do stuff like that.

Don and I met back at home, and went together to the ball, though we didn’t see much of each other once we were there. We’re just both so busy with our own thing, and I believe it’s important for spouses not to be constantly in each other’s pockets. Liz was hanging around like a bad whorey smell – the smell that Lycra gets in Singapore, yes you know what I’m saying. In fact, whenever I saw Don she was there, but I’m totes cool with it because there’s nothing going on, and I am a strong, powerful, independent woman.

The ball was super doops, really well put together, and everyone looked mega hot. I just love it when people make an effort, so it was v much My Scene. Then this guy sidled up to me, and I thought, “Argh, I know you from somewhere, but like, where??!!” That happens to me all the time, and I’m never sure if I actually know someone or if I dreamt them or they look like someone else or someone on TV or what. And remembering names… Ferget it!! With the number of people I meet every day (like most expats do), I can’t realistically be expected to match faces and names. It was a bit embarassing though because he evidently knew my name, saying, “Hi EJ, great to see you!”

“Oh!”, I said, “Yes, hi… you… great to see you too! How… what… where…?”, I trailed off.

“Seth. Yoga. Tuesday evenings? Every week for the past year..?”, he said with a grin.

“Of course! Yes, I know, Seth hi, how the hell-ski are you?!”, I replied, regaining my perfect composure. He probably hardly noticed that I was scrabbling around inside to figure out htf I knew him. In hindsight, I should maybe have joined the dots a little more speedily because he has quite a memorable look. Like me, is the proud owner of a fabulous hairdo.

Pretty cool hair, huh??!

Pretty cool hair, huh??!

He grabbed us a fresh bottle of bubbles, and we got along mega-well. We have a ton of stuff in common, including the unique hair, and it was so nice chatting. We’re both great listeners, and we’re both really interesting and smart and cool and stylish. Turns out that he’s an uber expat too, so he likes doing what I like doing. He’s an expert in Expaterati issues. We spent a long time discussing travel, green juicing, meditation, yoga (of course!!), gorgeous restaurants and hotels around the globe, and hilarious things on Tumblr; and then I told him about what’s going on with our maybe repatting. He was totes sympathetic, and I realised how nice it was to be talking to someone who just got me. It was like we’d known each other for years. Maybe in a past life??

Then his wife came over. She gave me a Look (?!), and told Seth that she was ready to go home. So we said bye, and I went off to dance with my girlies. My moves were smoking of course, but at the same time my heart wasn’t really in it. I tried to get into my usual party vibe and it just didn’t work. I felt kind of… empty. Flo noticed so she got me another glass of champagne. That didn’t work either : (

I decided that I must be in a temporary inexplicable funk and that I should leave before I tarnished my party babe reputation. Don didn’t want to go, so I got a cab on my own. Once I was home, I regained some of my resilient lustre via the medium of yoga. I took my mat up to the roof terrace and yogi’d it out under the Singapore stars (difficult to stay upright in the tree pose, but I managed it by holding on to the champagne fridge). I really really dig yoga. It’s so good for my chi. I’m looking forward to the class on Tuesday as I do v much want to advance my practice.

 

 

Expat Baby in a Tutu LOL

On Saturday, between my workout and my night out, we went to our friends’/ neighbours’ house for their baby’s first birthday party. Well I say “neighbours”, but they don’t actually live on Emerald Hill Road. They live in one of the shophouses on Saunders Road, which are for people who didn’t manage to get a place on Emerald Hill. We’re still friends with them though. The couple are both fund managers, so it’s ok. They’re quite nice, plus they’re well connected. When we got to the bday party, Flo told me that Michael Fassbender is the baby’s god father. Pretty cool, babeses!!

Just to clarify for those not so in-the-know, Emerald Hill Road where I live, is a beautiful quiet historic street off Orchard Road (which is Oxford Street/ Madison Ave equiv). EHR has amazing Chinese shophouses on both sides of the road, and lots of fab old trees and birds and stuff. V serene and atmospheric. It used to be a nutmeg farm, which makes it all the more awesome. Saunders Road runs parallel to EHR, and the backs of the Saunders shophouses share an alleyway with the EHR houses. Unlike EHR though, where our view opposite, through a mist of tropical foliage, is more beautiful shophouses, the houses on Saunders look onto… condos. Argh! Sucks to be them!!

We rocked up appropriately late, parked Max in a corner with Minecraft, and sent Mills upstairs to the playroom where the helpers and irritants were. The place was awash with Veuve Click (my kinda party – albeit on Saunders), so I got stuck in. Rude not to. Luke and Joanne, the hosts, had pulled out all the stops for their little baby princess. They had the band from Brix performing in the courtyard pool (!), and they’d flown in Mickey and Minnie Mouses from Hong Kong Disney. Obvioso they were compensating for not living on EHR.

Despite the unfortunate location, their house is gorgeous. I went out of my way to tell Luke and Jo just how gorgeous because I didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable or inferior about not living on Emerald Hill. I was complimenting them therefore thusly, to let them know that it’s no big deal and I don’t mind being friendses with them. I wished I hadn’t been so fervently complimentary though because, when Jo launched into a detailed descriptions of the renovations, it all got a bit dull-ski. She was like, “Yes, it’s so wonderful how the architect… he’s the landlord’s father, did you know that? And the landlord owns Tang’s, you knew that, right?… Well it’s wonderful how he maximised light and air flow, while putting back the original Peranakan features. So many of these houses are dark and overly-reno’d, and we were incredibly lucky to get this one.”

Because I had so authentically feigned interest, Jo then marched me around the house, pointing out the bloody lightness, airy-ness, and Peranakan-ness. Ok so yes, our house is dark, yes there are no original tiles or ornamental ceramic details or whatevs, yes we have the A/Cs running constantly, but hellooo! It’s ON EMERALD HILL ROAD!! So I had to say, “Oh babes, you are so lucky to have found this house! But what a shame it’s not on Emerald Hill! I’m really sorry (did sad face). I’m guessing it was a money thing, right sweets? I totes understand. Nothing to be ashamed of!!”

I backed up these kind words with my best Kate Middleton smile (knowing that Kate was in labour at that v moment, so I was smiling for the both of us, doubting that poor ole Kate was feeling particularly smiley right about then).

“Ha!”, Jo said, “You are too funny! A money thing!! Love it! Have you considered doing stand-up? Your dead-pan is so convincing!”

#confused #baffed

Thankfully, she kept talking.

“I saw a lot of places on both streets, and this one just jumped out at me. Love at first sight. Plus, on Saunders we don’t get so many tourists poking their noses through the gates and taking photos. That’s gotta be annoying, isn’t it?”

[Um, no. It’s AWESOME that people want to see into my house and find out about my glamorous lifestyle, and take pix, and love me because they love my house.]

“OHMYGOD yes, babes!”, I replied. “It is like soooooo annoying. I’m constantly pushing tourists out of the way just to get to my front door! I have to tell them, Guys, I’m just a regular lady trying to go about my bizniz, and peacefully coexist with you people, so will you pull-eeeeze make some space and let me get inside my house to my regular life of chilling by the pool on my roof terrace?? So so SO annoying!! But then they want selfies with me, and ask if I’m a natural redhead, and I’m like YES, boring!! Honestly, some days I think argh, why didn’t we just settle for a place on Saunders?! It gets embarrassing, you know??”

Jo laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And said again that I should do stand-up. What now, now??

When the baby came down in her birthday outfit for the cake, speeches and singing thing, I started laughing. The baby was wearing a pink tutu!! Have these people not heard of parentally-assigned gender stereotyping?! Lol, and they’re supposed to be such smarty-pantses!! Haha, it just made me laugh. Surely it had to be a joke. Hence my laugh-age…

Until I noticed that no one else was laughing and Flo dug me in the ribs, saying, “Fassbender at nine o’clock”. I glanced down at my hot Rolly to see that it was only 5.50pm, so I shot Flo a piercing look conveying, “Wtf are you talking about, it’s only 5.50, and that baby looks ridic, and my glass is empty so ffs if you see a waitress send her my way, and gosh I hope Kate is doing ok and has a girl…”

Flo totes Got It, as she always does. Within seconds, the staff were pouring me a re-fill. Praise be to the Flo-ster. Then this unbelievably hot guy starts making a speech about “my god daughter” and how fabulous she looks in her tutu. Next was the cake thing.

Just as the baby was about to singe her face, blowing out the candle, someone shouted, “It’s a girrrrrrrrrl!!!!”

So everyone got out their phones, and my goodness, how delighted we all were that Kate had had a girl!! What a great day for Brits everywhere. It was basically the best news everrrr.

Which meant that the bday princess somewhat had her moment ruined, but what do you expect when you live on Saunders? I’m sorry, that’s just how it is.

Luke and Jo tried their hardest to bring the party back to the baby in the tutu, while I realised that I’d only prepped myself for a sweet little neighborhood gathering, and hadn’t known I’d be in the presence of a celebrity hawttie. So I dashed upstairs, took a quick shower, re-did my face with Jo’s make-up, and sifted through her wardrobe for something sexier. I selected a fabulous Donna Karan outfit, and although Jo is a size up on me, it fit perfectly. I looked divine.

When I went back downstairs, Jo said, “Wow, you brought other clothes with you?! Haha!!! I love that, you’re hilarious! OMG, I have that exact same outfit! Donna Karan, right?”

Ya, whatevs babes.

I elegantly sashayed my way over to the hot guy (who had to be Michael) and introduced myself, “Hi! I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Emma-Jane, but call me EJ. I live on the better street. You should totes pop by some time, while you’re here. And I’m going out tonight to a great club with my girlies. Why don’t you come along?!”

He looked v impressed by my hotness, and I could tell that he was a tad overwhelmed when he said, “Hey, great to meet you! … Sorry but I just need to go over there, um away from you. God father duties, you know how it is, so ok, g’bye!”

It was a beautiful encounter, and it made me realise that, as much as he wanted to stay and chat with me, he had to make the ultimate celebrité sacrifice. He really had no choice but to attend to his duties. What an amazing, giving, self-sacrificing man he is.

All in all, it was a great party, and just because Michael couldn’t come out afterwards, it was still a terrific afternoon on Saunders Road. Well done our neighbours for making the best of their difficult circumstances.

 

Emerald Hill Road

Emerald Hill Road

 
 

Saunders Road

Saunders Road

Blatantly Propositioned on Orchard Road

I’m still no clearer on the repat or not situation, I’m afraid, and although it has been getting me down immeasurably, I have nonetheless-so been able to have some serioso fun this week.

On Wednesday I went to the meet and greet with Charli XCX at TopShop. She was so sweet. Just a regular girl called Charlotte, from Cambridge (but that’s London Queen enough for me! That’s one of her songs, babeses). She told me she loved my sunglasses, and the radio chick who was hosting asked if my hair was natural. Charli was totes a pro, but it really highlighted for me how hard it is to be a celebrité. I face that kinda stuff myself, when lovelies ask for pix with me, and you know, sometimes it’s not that easy to be in receipt of all that adulation. I make it look easy, of course, but I’m so starting to realise that underneath every star there’s actually a real person, just trying to make their way in the world, being fabulous.

Charli XCX saying she loved my sunglasses (she's the one in the orange top & I'm the one in the gold jumpsuit)

Charli XCX saying she loved my sunglasses (she’s the one in the orange top, Eva my new PT is in the middle  & I’m the one in the gold jumpsuit)

Me with the radio chick

Me with the radio chick

Then that night I went to the concert with my Expaterati girlies, including my new personal trainer/ body guard, Eva, and the fab hottie who won my contest to attend. She won because her answer to why it should be her was, “Because I think you’re awesome, babe!!!!”, so that was a non-brainer. We all had the best time eveerrrrr, and danced our behinds off, looking amazebobs. You could tell we made a mahusiv impression because we stood in the middle of the venue, and other people left a big space between us and them. I have to say, I totes heart the Coliseum at the Hard Rock Hotel. It’s intimate, it’s outdoors but under cover, the staff are fab, there’s lots of room to dance, and best of all, no lines at the bars!! Don’t tell anyone about it though because I feel like it’s sort of my venue, and I wouldn’t want it to get booked out next time I’m after tickets.

I also TOTES heart this app called Songkick, which syncs with your iTunes library and tells you when concerts are on. No, I’m not being paid by these people, dear readers. I’m just a really generous person who likes to share great stuff with loved ones. It’s ok, don’t thank me : )

And here are some awesome hot pics of me at the concert:

Hot me 1

Hot me 1

Hot me 2

Hot me 2

Hot me 3

Hot me 3

Hot me 4

Hot me 4

So it was a great night, and yesterday I did NOT feel like working out, when I awoke to find Eva standing at the foot of the bed, firing at my face with a water gun (the help let her in, argh!!). Damn, Eva’s good. I’m lucky to have found her. Unfortunately I have had to part company with the Hyatt gym. They just kept on giving me locker key number 69, and frankly it got too much. I can’t bear locker-based innuendo, you know?

Eva & me at the concert

Me & Eva at the concert

After a gruelling workout, a power brunch, and a long nap, I was glad that Eva had gunned me out of my slumber. I had such a glow about me later, as I sashayed along Orchard Road to do some shoppage. I took my lovely designer trolley with me because I wanted to go to Ambercrombie, so I needed to bring my heavy spelunking gear. Trolleys used to be mummsy, but if you still think that, where have you been?! You’re nobody in Singas if you don’t have a trolley.

Trolleys = hotness

Trolleys = hotness

As I passed the Paragon, a fine ang mo gentleman, who must’ve been at least 70 (but had a full head of sandy blonde hair, and was a dead ringer for Robert Redford), sidled up beside me and complimented me on my trolley. As I am always friendly to strangers, I indulged his apparent desire for a little small talk, entering into conversation. I just love older people. They’re so nice.

I asked him if he lived here, and upon confirmation, I questioned whether he had a trolley. He responded, “No, I have my backpack. And I have great muscles. Do you want to try me out?”

I was a tad taken aback, and for a moment I wondered if he was offering to carry me to Abercrombie. When he winked, it clicked that this was probably not what he was offering, so I said, “Oh old babe, that’s like totes lovely, but no thanks”, and then grabbed my phone, pretending it had rung.

“Sooooooo soz, nice old man who is so nice, but I’ve got to take this call. It’s the help”, I told him, and gave him the final honour of my beautiful Kate Middleton smile.

I get propositioned all the time, naturally, but this was the first occasion where the propositioner was of such an advanced age, and therefore so very wise. It just goes to show that a good workout will bring all the boys to the yard.


O

EM

GEE

I was just going to click publish on this post when one of my girlies sent me this link to a casting call Diva TV is doing for the show How Do I Look Asia. I’m impeccably dressed at all times already, but I’d love to do more telly. I should totes do that, am I right?? Anyone want to nominate me?

Win a Night Out With Me & My Expaterati Girlies!!!

To celebrate my birthday month, I am inviting one awesome reader to join me and my Expaterati girlies at the Hard Rock Hotel Singapore venue, the Coliseum, to see my London Queen Charli XCX (you know, that Boom Clap song), on the 22nd of April. Boozeness in this lovely intimate venue is on moi! For a chance be That Person, contact me at emmajane.austenjones@gmail.com, or tweet @expatEJ, telling me why you are the babester, guy or gal, that I should pick.

The deadline to apply for this incrediblé fun-ness opportunity is the 15th of April, so get those fingers typing! For dear readers who don’t live in Singapore, I’m so soz, but flights and accommodation are not included : (. I will, however, pick you up from the airport in my soft-top Maserati, bring a mahusiv welcome sign with your name on it to the arrivals gate, and shower you with a magnum of Veuve Click.

Can’t wait to hear from you!!

EJ x

(NB. This is a genuine offer, but you must be willing to have a wild night out with a fictional character in a red wig and her non-fictional friends.)

Partying with the Hottest Guys in Singapore

Fabulous weekend, babeses! Hope you too. The highlight was that on Saturday night I had the mahusiv honour of partying with the most hottestest guys in Singapore. It was my gay BFF CJ’s bday par-té, and serioso peeps, the finest gentlemen in town were there. I went with a single straight Expaterati sista of mine, and crazy upon crazy, she totes failed to pull! What now, now?! Bizarro because the chicos majorly outnumbered the chicas, so the odds really should have been in her favour.

 

Bday babe & blonde boobtastic DJ

Bday babe & blonde boobtastic DJ. I brought CJ a cutting of my fabulous bush as a gift. Who wouldn’t want that?!

I danced on a stony stage (a raised foliage section in CJ’s awesome condo) with two mega-buff guys, dressed as bunny rabbits. Thank phew I planned my choreography so precisely in advance or I’d have looked ridic!! A ton of people asked me afterwards if I’m a professional dancer, so I’m totes thinking that all those years of childhood tap classes finally paid off. Yee-haw!!

 

Dancing with bunny hottie

Dancing with bunny hottie

 

I know, my choreography is incrediblé

I know, my choreography was incrediblé

 

I had fabulous chats with so many beautiful hot-skis. I met a dude from the business end of PS Café, but he could neither confirm nor deny that they’re planning to name a dish after me: the Eggspat Somebody, perhaps. It’s likely to involve eggs. Beyond that, it’s totes hush-hush.

Somehow I ended up in the pool, floating majestically on an inflatable swan with one of my Expaterati girlies, and a Divine Youth from Guildford who had the dulcet tones of an actoooor. (We can’t have crossed over at RADA as he was at least a decade my junior.)

Painfully, I couldn’t attend the after-party because the next day was helper’s day off, and on top of that, Max has started displaying rage towards Froo Froo dog. It was bad enough with the Millster, but Don texted me at midnight to say: “Come home now, Max is awake and beating up your stupid dog”. Rude.

So as a good parent, and a good dog mutha, what else could I do, but make haste to my glamorous Emerald Hill shophouse home..?

When I got there, everyone, Froo Froo included, was fast asleep.

Well, happy birthday, CJ! You ARE the most majorly smokingest hawtie on the island of Singapura. Even the moon blushed for you that night.

If any dear readers were at the party and got pics I can add below (with facial blurrage), please tweet them to me @expatEJ

 

My natural red hair looked fabulous. Thanks, keratin!

My natural red hair looked fabulous. Thanks, keratin!

In the Heat of the Expat BBQ Moment

Stoke logo

Well, thank eff it’s Monday. It has NOT been a fabulous expat weekend. Happy Mother’s Day?? I don’t think so.

Saturday’s BBQ for Don’s birthday was technically awesome, thanks to moi. The Stoke BBQ delivery people made me look like the hostess with the mostestes, as did the caterers, dressed up in gourmet sausage costumes. The chunes were bangin. Michelle’s vajazzling was a tad blinding due to her (frankly excessively) low bikini pant, but no one complained. Quite the reverse, bizarrely. I saw her handing out her business cards. Shameless self-promotion just sickens me, as you know, dear readers.

Froo Froo Dog looked stunning in her dokini. Now that she has learned to assert herself, thanks to the dog therapy, she has really come into her own. I looked as amazebobs as the dog (if only Don could have seen beyond Liz. OK, Don my love, you want vagenitical cunticulitis, you can have it!!).

It was all perfect until late in the night (so I am told, but it can’t be truesome), when I supposedly grabbed Liz by the throat, and growled, “You filthy beep with your gaping infected beep! I know what you’re up to!!”

Allegedly, I then proceeded to use language unbefitting of an expat wife in polite company, informing her that she was not welcome in my home and that she must depart tout de suite.

This sounds so unlike me that I am certain it didn’t happen. Having no recollection of the night (just a spot of totes normal amnesia, nothing crazy or anything, and I only had a teensy bit to drink), and not wanting to ask my friends, or god forbid, the caterers, I messaged Will yesterday. He came up with these ridic assertions.

So it was Will who reported them to me, and it was Will who told me about Liz and Don in the first place. How can I possibly trust his testimony when he is such a filthy philanderer himself?? By the sounds of it, he is making a foul and deliberate attempt to scramble my brain, but hear me now, this brain is not for scrambling. No!!

Anyway, for some reason Don isn’t currently speaking to me, and has instead immersed himself in helping our new house-guest, Angel, to feel at home. Oh how noble!! Because I was unfortunately unable to rise yesterday morning, he took the kids out to show Angel around the local area, ie most of the island. I believe they brunched at Dempsey, and dinnered in Tiong Bahru, but I don’t know what went on in between.

The fact that Angel eats at all astounds the hell out of me. She’s a 5’11 bamboo pole. I’m totes not jealous, but what a 16-year-old is doing in possession of legs like hers is utterly beyond me. (What has she done to earn those legs?! Nothing!!!) According to what she told me today at breakfast, as she ate the white of a single boiled egg, she had “a nice day yesterday”, and “kinda” likes it here. She has said nothing about the events of Saturday night, so I’ll assume she must have gone to bed and missed my alleged outburst, if it occurred at all, which it probably didn’t.

She started at the Australian School today, and hopefully she’ll just make a ton of friends, get on with whatevs these kids do, and stay mostly out of my hair for as long as she’s with us. I totes don’t need another stress in my hair at the mo, dear readers. I’m at the salon right now, having my colour boost (colour that just enhances the natural colour, so it’s not like my hair isn’t naturally this colour), and keratin treatment. After my five hours here, I’ll be “going to the dentist” wink wink. Expat Dental does Botox now : )

I’m ahead of schedule for my usual appointment with Lady B, but there’s something super-unsettling about having a wrinkle-free teenager in da house, and much as I tried, I couldn’t chant or yogue my way through those feelings. (Come on, Yogue! Why didn’t Madonna go there? I should totes do an awesome yoguing vlog, if only I had the time.)

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Froo Froo & her Expaterati Dogerati girlies in their dokinis

Hottest Expat BBQ in Singapore City

It’s Don’s birthday in two weeks, and I have taken it upon myself to organise the hottest part in Singapore. It’s the least I can do to divert his attention from the tax money I spent on bringing back a ton of Vic Beck and Alex McQ from London. The theme I’m going with is Hotness, for one: because I am hot, for two: because our Expaterati friendses are hot, and for threely, because in Singers it’s just like totes HOT. Like all the time!! YAY!!!!

So. What I’m going to do is host an awesome BBQ on our roof terrace, with the caterers dressed up as gourmet sausages, and have the guests come in their most scorchio swimwear. Don loves to see me in tiny bikinis (he hasn’t said as much, but who wouldn’t?), and it is his birthday, after all.

I have abso zero clue about BBQs, but I was at a glamorous party the other night, and I met this lovely chappie who’s Kickstarting a business to deliver artisanal meats and apetisers for just this sort of occasion. All I had to do was put in the number of guests, and lah lah lah, it’ll just show up on the day, looking like I spent weeks scouring the planet for awesome stuff. Now I’m not one to promote businesses willy-nilly, as you know, dear readers, (except PS Café: peeps come on! I plug you all the time!! At least name a dish after me!!); but in this case, here’s something I actually need.

After the BBQ, we’ll have bangin’ chunes around the pool and dance in our bikinis and Lebouties. Liz, the husband stalker, will have to be invited because Don likes her douche hus. So Flo and I will have a good old stylee giggle about what’s going on underneath those Lycra bottoms. Argh, get some treatment for that, babe! It’s just not nice!! Dr T will fix you right up.

 

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Bikini Party, Babeses!

Hotness

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GEE, peeps!
I had the MOST amazebobs Thursday, when I went to this seminaked competition at a totes coolio groovalicious clothes shop on Orchard Road. Guess who won, babeses… Yes, moi!!! YAY!!!!!!!!

99 other people also won, but given that there are 5.47 million bods in Singapore who are perfectly capable of wearing bikinis, I think I can safely say: NAILED IT!!!

Hells-ya, I did!!

It wasn’t that easy, actually. I had to get up at ridic o’clock to arrive by 7 AM (I’m only a five minute walk away, but I had to straighten and pouffe my hair.) I chatted to lovelies in the queue, made some new besties (super fun buff gay guys, and finally, more local friendsies!!), and suddenly it was time for the shop doors to open. Then we had to run round in our tinies, choosing clothes. The choosing bit was almost as tricky as getting up before 9 AM! Their clothes are so me, and I looked incrediblé hot in literally everything I tried on. Literally. Totes literalmenté.

New local gal pal

New local gal pal

Anyhoo, I eventually chose something fab, and fought my way through the paps clamouring for my attention (maybe I should become a celebrity instead of a child psychologist, writer, historian and life coach), to the exit. One of my new gay BFFs, CJ, was standing outside looking awesome, and he said, “Like, let’s grab some lunch, bitch!”, and I said, “Like, totes let’s, bitch!”

So, like, we did! And his besties came too. We went to PS Café Ann Siang Hill which is my new fave hangout. CJ is hilarious! I had the best time, just chatting, chilling, and drinking rosé and berries sangria. Then I checked my ludicrously expensive watch – I was just admiring how it glints so nicely in certain light, not looking at the time – and saw it was 6 PM. OOOPSY. I had told the help I’d be home by midday.

While I was having sucho mucho fun times, Mummy’s flight landed. I think around 9.30. Annoying timing, Mutha! I did tell her to change it because Singapore Air is never late, but she said she didn’t want to “go to all that bother”. (Selfish.)

It wasn’t a major inconvenience though because the helper got the bus to Changi, with a sweet sign the children made: “GLAMMY GAMMY” in big letters, so that Mummy would recognise her.

Once I realised how late it was, I gave my new GBFF lots of air kisses and dashed off home. I tried to think of a good excuse for my absence, but then I thought WHAT?? I’m not a kid anymore! Just because Mummy flew 5,000 miles to see me, it doesn’t mean I need to curtail my sosh activities from a prior engagement. Plus CJ knows TV people, so that’s my career we’re talking about.

Besides she’s really coming to see the kids, and they were home before I was, so no prob.

I walked into the house, expecting to find jet-lagged Mummy reclining on a chaise longue in the downstairs front living room, but instead I was greeted by the sound of raucous laughter from the upstairs rear living room. From Mummy, and, get this, the help!! What now, now?!

So, there was my mother with her G & T and chamomile tea chaser, Max playing Minecraft, and Mills asleep on the Froofster (who looked too traumatised to move), while the helper laughed uncontrollably at whatever stupid thing Mummy had just said. Thankfully, I was so overjoyed to see Mummy after such a long time that I was able to ignore the gigantic boundary transgression which was happening under my own roof. I thought she understood about not fraternising with the help!! She had thousands of staff in her expat days.

The helper disappeared as soon as I arrived, looking embarrassed, and off she went to wash the car and clean the shoes. Too right!

I had a lovely catch-up with Mummy, hearing about her aqua aerobics gang and her online scrabble shenanigans. Mega-LOLs. While we were trying to talk, Max and Milly kept interrupting, showing her their artwork and their Mandarin homework. Egotistical little irritants!!

I’m just happy that I’ve signed them up for an awesome speech and drama holiday camp during part of the break, so that they won’t completely monopolise Mummy’s limited time here. My Harvard friend who is some know-it-all about childhood development and stuff recommended it. She says it’s the best way for kids to learn, and this place is fab. Whatevs, sweets. If they’ll take the irrits off my hands for a few days, let’s do this thang, babeses.

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P.S. (not the café lol) As you know, I’m never one to blow my own trumpet. I just wanted to let you know that I made the national paper here. I’m a page three girl! Go me!!!

From yesterday's The New Paper : )

From yesterday’s The New Paper : )

More hotness

More hotness

Life Has Given Me a Lemon

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I’m feeling good, but bad today. Good because this morning I started a wonderful new ritual that everyone should really do. Every morning when you wake up, you have luke warm water with a squeeze of lemon before you eat or drink anything else. It has always seemed a bit of a challenge, but now that I have done it once, I feel certain that I can integrate it into my nutrition intake schedule. My grandmother has been doing it her whole life, and she is 103! So, there’s some actual evidence for you!

I’m feeling good about that.

BUT the bad news is that even though the Mrs Expat Singapore website clearly shouts these words:

The search for Mrs Expat Singapore 2014 is now on!

… this is, in fact, a shocking distortion of the truth. In fact, registration closed on the 21st of September, 2014. So, that puts me right back where I started : (

It’s lucky that I have integrated the lemon water into my life, or my good/bad balance would be v much tipping over today. Then again, can I be sure that it is fully integrated? The thing is, I am so busy most of the day (Halloween Ebola Fundraiser tickets are sold out!!). I’m concerned that I might not be able to keep it up.

It has baffled me for years, but I have just realised why it is that Asians, well, Northern/ Chinese Asians, get so much done all the time. It is because they have much more manageable hair than other races, including mine and Rrrrrrrrrrra-shon. They don’t have to invest a ton of time straightening it (it’s straight), or dying it different colours (it’s black), so they can spend that time working towards their plan for global domination. Genius, right? Now you know.

Genius, but not fair at all. They should incur some sort of penalty, just for their race, to even it out a bit.

Ebola Halloween Fundraiser! & Mrs Expat Singapore!!

I cannot apologise enough for leaving you hanging, dear reader(s?) (hello Mummy!! Lolol, that’s still funny, isn’t it??). Since Don got back I have been quite busy because him being here means there has to be a meal on the table most nights, rather than me going out for dinner with the gals, or grabbing a quick poached chicken breast at home. So, I have to put a ton of time and energy into scouring recipe books and websites to do the menu planning for the helper. Plus, if I’m in an Ottolenghi mood (love, love, LOVE Ottolenghi!), she often needs the ingredients explained to her (yawn), AND I need to tell her exactly which specialist shops in the various corners of the island to go to.

The other reason I’ve been so outlandishly busy is that I have been organising an Ebola fundraising Halloween party, in my capacity as Events Chair of the Singapore International Women and Trailing Spouses Association (SIWTSA). The response has been phenomenal, even with the ticket price at $600 per head. I think everyone is as excited as I am about the theme of Ghoulish and Ghastly Disease Victims. My idea : ). The Expaterati are positively a-spew with excitement on Twitter. Such a great idea of mine. It’s a wonderful way of raising awareness about a really terrible illness, even if it’s only Africans who can get it.

Anyway, because of all this, I haven’t had a second to myself. Until today, that is, when I went for my colour (though I am a natural redhead), and keratin treatment (an anti-frizz must in Singapore – just ask Vicks Beckham about the ravaging toll this climate takes on the coiffure). As I sat there for four hours, I allowed my mind to wander, and I found that it wandered to… Michelle’s husband. He has sent me another message in the interim: “BTW, please call me Will. That’s what my good friends call me. Michelle calls me Bill lol.”

I didn’t answer, but I thought it was quite a sweet message really. Will is a much sexier name than Bill!

Then I thought about Don, and how he doesn’t say sweet things to me, or listen to much I say. Like the fundraiser, for example. He has shown abso no interest when I’ve told him all my exciting and highly creative plans for the event. He just says, “Yes, dear”, and changes the subject. Plus he’s away for the actual party, so he isn’t even coming. He told me where he’s going, but I can’t recall.

I realised that I was feeling something I haven’t felt for years. Not since the days when I used to have a job. I realised that despite all the things I am busy with, I am feeling bored. Which is depressing, and I refuse to feel depressed (hmmmm, maybe it’s time to relocate to a different country). Not my modus operandi! Depression is for people who have no control over their lives, like that doom and gloom expat wifey I met the other day. People call it an illness, but come on! Ebola, now there’s a proper illness. You don’t see great parties, fund-raising for depressed people, now, do you?? No! Because they would be crap, miserable parties.

When I got home, I tried on the dress I’ll be wearing to the Melbourne Cup in a few weeks. It’s still a little tight around the waist, but there’s time. I looked in the mirror, admired my lovely hair, and had one of those powerful epiphany moments when I realised that I actually look fantastic. I do get a lot of male attention, but I’ve always chosen to ignore it. It’s only since “Will” (awwww) has turned up that I realise my confidence has taken a bashing from all these years of being Yes Deared by Don. I see now that I have been hiding my not insignificant light under a bushel.

And I know what I need to do about it. I need to take control.

Yes. So, I am going to enter the Mrs Expat Singapore pageant! In fact, I am going to win that thing!! Or at least come second. (Or third.)

I have a frock picked out from the Paragon already. Take a look at this tangerine triumph, dear reader!

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One last piece of news (I is on a roll today, innit??). I think the Gucci bag Don got me in Dubai is a fakee. Oh, Don : (