Be-Will-Dered

Today am feeling flummoxed and bewildo’d. Be-Will-dered, in fact, lol. But no, not lol, because I am not laughing. After our amazebobs evening, which may or may not have been a dream, I messaged Will to say thanks for his support, and for a lovely night. Now I know he is sometimes busy, but he is v responsive with his phone, so I think it’s a bit odd that I haven’t heard back from him. It has been three days argh. I hope there hasn’t been some sort of problem with him getting home so late afterwards : (

Or maybe I really did dream the whole thing..? If so, it was a v vivid dream. This doesn’t usually happen to me.

If it did happen, he probably didn’t get home much before 5 AM, and that’s not a good look for a married man. Then again, Michelle was no doubt unconscious, in a booze-soaked oblivion following her success at Mrs Expat Singapore. I saw on the event website that she came second!! Ha! Pipped to the post by a younger woman. A divorced younger woman, at that, so I don’t know how she was even allowed to take part. Not really a Mrs, pageant people! Argh, how embarrassing for Michelle. Beaten by a divorcee… Thank goodness it was beneath me to take part. If I had won, with Michelle as runner-up, I am not sure our friendship could have survived the brutal truth.

As it is, I feel we may be on shaky ground. Not because of anything I’ve done, but because I know now what a nasty person she is. Deep down, behind all that outward Angelina loveliness. I’m just not sure we can stay friends. I totes know too much! It’s a real worry because later this week we’re all going for dinner at Luke’s (YUM!).

Liz organised the night out, and although I don’t much want to hang with Michelle, I do want to go so that I can show Liz my impressive authorship portfolio. She must have a lot of contacts from her days in publishing, and I’m sure she would find my writing stimulating; full of exciting possibilities for my future media career.

Don is around this week, so we’re both going. Will and Michelle are going, I can see from the FB event attendance list. Liz is bringing her husband, Matt. Then there’s another couple I haven’t met. Sarah, I think her name is, and her husband. I don’t know much about them, but from what I hear, she wears the pants and he’s the trailing spouse. So, that will be interesting! I never really meet those types of couples. I seriously wonder how that affects his manliness. Is he active on the mums and tots scene?? Mega-LOLs. What a sight that would be. If he’s a bit of a hottie, does that mean all the mums are drooling into their bubbas’ muzzies, and neglecting the little ones while they fawn all over him and his weird new-age metrosexiness? Hahaha! Luv it!! Can’t wait to meet that couple.

Upon reflection, it would be a great project for me to write a medley of interviews of these men. I feel certain that the world would like to understand how they can possibly agree to that lifestyle. I, for one, have zero clue why they would, so I am the chica perfecta to communicate it to the Global Expaterati. And beyond.

What I’ll do at Luke’s is position myself between Liz and this non-pants-wearing chap, and lob metaphorical idea balls back and forth. I’ll be both Hermes and Zeus, extracting the data from him, and delivering it to her, filtered through my spontaneous creative processating abilities.

I am not sure where I would like Will to sit. Opposite would be intriguing, but I don’t think I could keep a straight face if there was a repeat of the footsie night. So, much as he will probably try to sit opposite me, I plan to avoid that.

Between talking to Liz and non-pants guy, hopefully it will just be a lovely agenda-free evening of bloody steak and nice expat chat.

(Hmmmmm, where is he??)

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Me & Malcolm X – We Both Had a Dream (I think)

Ohmygoodness, what an exciting and meaningful evening it was on Friday! True to my word, I organised a passionate feminist mission to address the Mrs Expat Singapore beauty pageant.

Will gave me a hand and was abso amazo. When we met up last week (nothing happened! just a v nice evening between friends, dear readers), he told me that his wife, Michelle, was a participant (LOLOL, she kept that one quiet!!), so he needed to wear a disguise.

Enlisting the help of Max and Milly, I produced some powerful placards – just like the suffragettes in whose footsteps I am honoured to tread – and together with Will, we made a spectacle of ourselves. We definitely put my point across!

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 We arrived at the venue entrance at 6.30 for the beginning of the event. Will disappeared suddenly, but I marched up and down with my placard as people arrived. I got moved along, to a point farther away from the entrance, but I continued to march.

Next thing I noticed was that Doom and Gloom Expat Wifey had turned up, also with a placard! What now, now?? She attempted to march alongside me, but, not wanting to be associated with her dullness, I zigzagged my way around her path, doubling back on myself where necessary.

Once everyone was inside, Will came back, still wearing his excellent disguise. He explained that he had needed to take an important work call. His dedication to his work is impressive. It reminds me of how I was, when I had a job.

Still avoiding Mrs D & G, Will and I continued to make a statement, loud and clear.

Then an official-looking chap came over and said, “Sorry, but if you persist in this behaviour, you may be fined or even arrested.”

I thought, hell no, this is far less than the suffragettes had to contend with, so while Will stalled him, I started quietly singing We Shall Not Be Moved. Fumbling through my (Chloë) bag for the roll of duct tape I’d brought along, I proceeded to tape myself to the railings of the nearest taxi stand. Once I was properly covered in tape, I let my song grow louder until I was shouting at the top of my voice.

Next, unfortunately, the official chap called for back-up, and within 30 seconds a bunch of coppas had arrived. Argh!! But I thought, if I’m going down then I’m going down in flames! So I took my top off to reveal what I had written earlier across my boobs and tum with permanent marker: SAY NO TO THE OBJECTIFICATION OF EXPAT WOMEN. Will had gone again because, as he later explained, he had another v important call.

So there I was, naked from the waist up, surrounded by coppas, and the doom and gloom expat wife woman. The oldest one told me off like I was a naughty schoolgirl, while the younger ones cut the tape, and D & G woman wrapped her beige pashmina around me. I struggled during the wrapping – get that effing bla colour off me, bitch! – but she must do more press-ups than me because she forced that thing around me until I was on the verge of suffocation.

Then Will turned up, cool as a cucumber, bless him, and while the oldest coppa was reading me my rights, he opened his wallet and started to peel off $100 notes.

“So what’s the fine, Sir?”, Will asked the coppa.

“$1,500 if she stops now, but you cannot pay in cash. Fill out this form with your payment details. I will need to see your IC”, came the reply.

So, Will gave the charming coppa what he asked for, and filled out the form. Which was sweet, I thought. I put my top back on, batting away D & G woman’s nightmarish pashmina, and asking her to please cease and desist with her interferment of my mission.

Once we were free to go, I felt totes elated with the stand we had taken. So when Will suggested a visit to the casino, I was IN!! I love a bit of roulette. I didn’t particularly want Mrs D & G to tag along, but, annoyingly, she did. Will said, “the more, the merrier”. Hmmmmmm. (Doesn’t he realise how dullsville this woman is??)

Even more annoyingly, she kept winning! Thankfully, after a few wins she cashed out, and said she had to get home. Ok then, G’BYE sweets!!

Will and I went up to the terrace at Sky on 57. He was really interested in hearing more about my blogging experiences, so I shared those with him. Nice because Don is really not interested at all, and Will was v sympathetic about that. He told me a bit more about his marriage and how awful it is. Poor guy : ( Michelle sounds like a truly awful person to have to live with, and parent with, in the long-term, as gorgeous as she is. (Seriously, she looks like Angelina, and I’m not kidding.)

When he put his arm around me, it wasn’t like he was making a pass at me. Not at all. It felt more like we had been through an intense shared experience tonight, battling together on behalf of womankind. And when he put his hand on my thigh, that was just what he felt like doing in the moment, overwhelmed perhaps by my great beauty and feminine energy. So when he kissed me, it didn’t feel out of the ordinary. I am v attractive, so I totes understand. My hair was also looking awesomeness.

All in all, a hugely successful night. I got my point across, and Will learned a lot about WordPress.

THEN, dear readers, the weirdest thing ever happened! I woke up and it seems like maybe I dreamt the whole thing!! Argh! What was super-bizarro though was that there was a fake beard duct taped between my legs. How’d that get there??

Wuzgunna Men

So, Don is not a perfect husband (especially with this new-found stinginess, and the mysterious lube incident), but I would like to tell you a little about an important boxee he ticked when it came to not marrying a man like my father.

I had a Wuzgunna father. Everything he never did for me was what he wuzgunna do.

He wuzgunna take me to the zoo.
He wuzgunna buy me an ice cream.
He wuzgunna help me with my maths homework.
He wuzgunna invite my first boyfriend round to vet him.
He wuzgunna ask his old boys network if I could do a mini-pupillage at any of their law firms (which didn’t happen, so I decided not to go down the barrister route).
He wuzgunna not be away for my birthdays. Every year he wuzgunna do that, until I boarded, and then he still wuzgunna, but had a better excuse not-ta.

He wuzgunna be there when Mummy started her cancer treatment, and when my sister had the twins.

Their whole marriage, he wuzgunna be on time. But was he ever, Mummy?

He was, however, on time for all their appointments with the divorce lawyer, and on the day of his second wedding.

My “step mother” (oh please) is six years younger than me. Yes, six. She’s a retired professional gymnast, and an ex-Miss Australia (vom). When my father exchanged work for golf, they moved to Australia. Mummy went back to England, after 40 years as an expat.

My father and Chantelle (or Chantilly, as he calls her, pronounced Shont-i-lee double vom vom) live in Noosa now, which I’ve heard is quite nice. They have invited us to come and stay, and I wuzgunna, but then I realised something: I totes don’t wanna.

So this, dear reader, is why I married Don. Don is a man of his word. If he says he’ll be home at 7 o’clock, he walks through the door at 6.55.

The fact remains though that Don is still a man. And Ladies, all men will, in the end, let you down. The higher your expectations, the further you will tumble. You can’t pin your hopes and dreams on these people, you know. Even the ones who aren’t Wuzgunnas eventually ain’t gunna. Trust me. The trick is not to care too much. (I should also think about becoming a couples counsellor. I could really help people work on their marriages because I understand the male psyche so well.)

I used to feel horribly upset and worried about Don running off with some bit of fluff, but now I have realised that, if that’s the foolish choice he makes, it would by no means be the end of me.

Anyway. I’ve decided to see Will tomorrow. The timing is perfect because Don leaves in the morning for Sydney. Not that there’s anything dodgy about meeting a friend for a drink, just because that friend happens to be a guy.

He got in touch last Saturday:

 

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So, he wants to drill me for WordPress tips because he has started writing a blog about fishing. Yawnicus! I’m happy to share my expertise with him though. (Wish I understood this “SEO” thing! Blogger-luvvies, what’s all that about?? HELP!!) Hopefully he just wants to know my expertise about the basics.

I also agreed to see him because I want some support with my project this Friday. I could do with a man’s input on my important feminist mission. Since missing the deadline to apply for Mrs Expat Singapore, I realised that this kind of objectification of women is simply unacceptable. I cannot, will not, stand idly by while women, be they members of the expaterati or otherwise, are ritually humiliated and commodified like this.

On a final note, I am totes luvvin the furore about Kim Kardashian’s humongous oily bits. Ridic!! You go, girlie! Personally I wouldn’t want to have such an unfeasibly large bottom because I would be afraid of toppling over, but if she likes it, and can stay upright unassisted, then well done her. More power to you, Mrs KWest! Luv ya, babes. When are you coming to visit us in Singapore??

I am not one to stand in judgement over others – that’s not my modus operandi – but anyone who disagrees with my perspective on KK is v silly, v insecure, and just mega bigtime wrong.

I <3 Feminism

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You may or may not be aware that I am a feminist. I have long been an active supporter of women’s causes across the globe, as well as a member of the Fawcett Society, on a rolling annual direct debit. That means I am definitely a feminist, fyi, should there be any unlikely doubt.

I think it’s awful that feminists are so often viewed as moustachioed man-haters, as this is not at all the case. I know some v beautiful feminists, many of whom opt for Brazilian waxing, and that’s ok, right? Of course it is! No one likes being hirsute down below.

I fully support a woman’s right not to have children (god knows, some days I wish I hadn’t!), as well as to choose when the best moment is, or is not. Let’s face it, there are far too many dangerous and stupid people born on this planet every day, and if it is women who ultimately control that, then we must do what we can to take a stand.

I also think that we sistas must not rely on men to take care of us. We must not let them steal our autonomy, and leave us for younger fools when we become post-menopausal angry old prunes. No!

The only reason I am not currently working is that I have to make sure the helper is looking after the children properly, while maintaining my figure and my spirit (for me) via a rigorous and time-consuming schedule of physical training, chanting, meditation, and socialising. Also, with Don’s job and the whole glass ceiling thing, he earns more than 99.99% of women in a similar role, and certainly more than I have ever made. So, you know, what’s the point??

Because of not currently working, I am hoping to join an amazing organisation here called AWARE. A friend of mine (who went to Harvard! Clever girl, you!! And gorgeous too, grrrrrrrr! So unfair!) says they do some v awesome work with women, and that there’s tons of interesting volunteer stuff going on with them (ok, I’m paraphrasing, but she went on and on about how great it is while I was trying to think of fun things to post on Twitter; I really need to raise my profile there).

The only prob is that I am SO busy, as I’ve already said. And a big part of that is educating Milly in feminist principles, so maybe I am already doing my bit for The Cause. Does charity start at home? I dunno, maybe. I am teaching her to stand up to Max and Don, like I do. Perhaps kicking Froo Froo Dog is a form of positive self-assertion practice. Mills certainly is v assertive, on that front.

The Froofster is still mumbling to herself in dark corners, but if it’s all for the good of developing Milly’s sense of autonomy, then the dog’s sanity is, I suppose, a small price to pay. I do feel sorry for her though. I just love that dog. Hard choices! This life is full of them : (

Argh, that feels like a bit of a disempowered downer note to end on, and that’s just not me. So, I want to add a new thought I have had before saying ciao-ciao (is it still cool to speak Italian?).

Alora:
Having discovered that I missed the deadline for Mrs Expat Singapore, I realised that I am entirely against this kind of grotesque objectification of women. I will not have it, dear reader. So, with The Cause firmly in heart and mind, I am planning a demonstration to protest against it. The time slot clashes with lovely Vikram’s yoga class at the Hyatt, but I will just have to make that sacrifice.

¡Hasta la semana proxima, Vikram! It’s always cool to speak Spanish : )

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 : (