May 2009


Except that he’s really sizzling hot.

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Woah, it’s Johnny again.

I certainly cannot wait.

I hope that it will be a great movie so that I’ve no reason not to catch it because I’ve already found three reasons to watch it: Johnny Depp, Christian Bale and Channing Tatum.

Just nice: breakfast, lunch and dinner. Pass me the salt and the pepper. Where’re the knife and fork?? And I can’t decide who to eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner. I think I shall just have all three of them three times in the day.

Seriously, Johnny Depp, and now Channing Tatum?

AND Christian Bale??!

I’m going to hyperventilate. Pass me that brown paper bag. Quick.

It’s official.

Well, more or less.

I think I’m finally too old for clubbing.

Yes, you’ve heard me correctly. I’ve finally spoken the unspeakable.

Just came back from a night out at Butter Factory and it certainly couldn’t be counted as a totally enjoyable clubbing experience.

I think it’s the crowd. I no longer fit into a dance floor full of youngsters – boys who are more concerned with checking the girls out and picking them up, and girls who are too busy being checked out or behaving like complete sluts, throwing themselves at boys. No one is seriously listening to the music anymore. No one is really just wanting a good time enjoying the music and dancing with friends. Everything is about sex.

It’s kind of sad having to finally lay my clubbing life into the grave. But when something no longer feels the same, it means nothing to hold onto it stubbornly.

So, rest in peace, my beloved, a fragment of my old self. At least I had been young once.

 

On a sidenote, I thought I saw the most beautiful man outside the club. He seemed to be part of the club staff and was manning the reservation queue. A uncanny resemblance to Daniel Henney. So hot.

I am simply not someone who can be married to my work.

It’s not that I do not enjoy my work. I do, but I also enjoy time with my family and friends, some “me” time, watching movies and TV shows, reading books, making stuff, amongst probably a hundred other things. I like to go for my routine yoga classes on Saturday mornings, grocery shopping with my family on a lazy weekend afternoon/evening, occasionally shopping on my own after work on a weekday, or listening to good live band music with a Corona in my hand with the girls on a Saturday night. I can read a protocol or two over the weekend, check work emails on a Sunday, but I simply cannot and will not allow my work to occupy my entire non-work days. The thought is just absolutely disgusting and unhealthy. Despite my unbalanced diet which revolves only around Seasons Ice Lemon Tea, I actually like to keep the rest of my life balanced. I need to keep that microgram of sanity within my cranium.

I certainly don’t mind being married to Johnny Depp or Daniel Henney, but that’s totally going off the tangent.

I don’t make work the centre of my life – wait, no one can – which is why I hate it when I get disturbed with work-related issues on my off days. Or even more preposterous, during my sick leave.

It leaves me to wonder which part of the word “sick” people do not understand. Is it the “s” or the “c”? “Sick” means cough, cough, sniff, sniff, ah-choo, popping pills, feeling drowsy, needing lots of bed rest, drinking plenty of fluids, seeing a doctor and that’s not just watching Patrick Dempsy on “Grey’s Anatomy”. “Sick” doesn’t mean “Yes, I am checking my emails right now! Wait, just give me a moment as I release my right hand off the mouse to stuff my running nose with tissue paper!” or “Yes, I’m going to submit the report this very moment! Never mind that my brain is so groggy from the medication and I cannot tell the letters apart.”

Next time I should just put my annual leave or sick leave as “Please kindly fuck off” days.  

 

Post-note: Sigh. Forgive my angst. I’m short-tempered in a totally unbashful, self-righteous way. I’m also physically sick and mentally stressed out by piling work from my new study. It is not certain whether I fell sick because of the stress or the physical unwell worsened the stress level.  I actually dreamt about my protocol numbers (each research study has a protocol number and I’ve three) that night. It would be better if I had dreamt of Toto or 4D numbers. That was when I realised that I truly need a good break. I need to be alone to read my new book, listen to radio, scribble in that lovely journal I bought some while ago but never have the time to do something with it. I need to stay away from that laptop, the emails, the handphone, the colleagues and the boss.

Work is the curse of the drinking classes.
– Oscar Wilde, In Life of Oscar Wilde, H. Pearson

Do you know that there’s this show on Channel 8 / U featuring famous daddies taking over the household including the kid(s) for a day while the mummies go for a break, with Mark Lee as the host?

Well, I have never watched that but I do see the commercials now and then. Last night, as I was watching TV with my mum, the commercial for the next episode of the show was aired. Seeing how the daddy for the week made a mess of the household chores and failed to pacify the son, which seems to be a common trend for these daddies, I commented with slight disdain how generally daddies suck at household chores and taking care of the children, to which of course my mum readily agreed.

Before you jump into any conclusion, once again a behaviour typical of Homo sapiens (and which I’m occasionally guilty of), that I’m exhibiting traits of an alpha female again, let me tell you that it’s a private joke between my mum and I that fathers generally suck at the abovementioned tasks because my dad happened to be one of these daddies. It’s a joke because even though my dad did not help out with housework or taking care of us when we were young, my dad is a great father and we all love him dearly. He was not a man of many words, could not express his feelings for us openly, never once said “I love you” to my mum or us, but he has always been there for us and took good care of us for years by working very hard and bringing the dough home. Now that he has retired, he cooks, cleans the place, talks to us a lot more, isn’t as afraid to show his affection and takes care of us in a way very different from the past, but no less as loving and caring.

I can go on and on about how fantastic my dad is, except for, again another joke between my mum and I, earning big bucks, and how much I love him, but let’s face it: if you were to ask my dad to take over the household for a day some ten years ago, I doubt my dear dad could even survive ten minutes before dumping my wailing sisters and I down the rubbish chute. So yes, the conclusion is that most working fathers generally cannot handle tons of dirty laundry and plates to wash, diapers to change, hollering kids to pacify and meals to cook, amongst many other tasks, which begin the moment they open their eyes (which is usually when the baby starts crying at 4am) and only stop when they go to bed (which is after they manage to put the children into bed – and then the baby wakes up wailing at 4am, all over again).      

However my mum told me something very sweet about my dad last night. My dad has quite a fiery temper, although he almost never flares up at any of us, which is easily triggered by his lack of patience. To his credit, he has tamed down a lot over the years. Back in those days when he was still young and overflowing with angst, I suppose his temper could be quite scary. However do you know that when we were still young, he would sit by our bedside with a nail clipper and patiently trim our nails while we slumbered on?

Seriously, how sweet is that? I told you that I love that man, didn’t I?

I’m still harping on Harper’s Island, which I think wins “Desperate Housewives” (getting more and more desperate for TV ratings as seasons go by) and “Lost” (I’m seriously lost after the second season) hands down, pants down any day, any time.

I like how people on the show are slaughtered in various gruesome ways. I did not catch the first episode because I’d no idea that the show would be this captivating, and sadly missed the first two victims saying sayonara after their brief stint on the TV screen. 

But three more were butchered on Episode 3 and that kind of made up for it.

Hey, I worshipped “CSI”, so it should not be peculiar that I’m fond of this new show!

Yesterday’s episode was slightly disappointing because only one guest died in those 60 minutes and he was not even murdered. He bloody accidentally shot himself in the leg with a revolver, rupturing his femoral artery, and died due to excessive blood loss in front of his stunned obese friend in the middle of the darkly eerie woods within seconds. It was a little bit morbidly funny and more of a sad hue. Not fun at all.

I can’t wait for the next episode. In fact, I can hardly wait for the last one when the murderer will eventually be revealed. I love guessing the identity of the murderer because many times I would get it right. I’ve a scarily accurate intuition, although I would credit it to plain logic, reasoning and analysis, but intutition sounds more mysterious. I would advise my future partner not to cheat on me. Years ago, I read “And then there were none” by Agatha Christie and could never forget the book ever since. The culprit killed everyone else and then killed himself so that no one could solve the mystery. There was such a sick perfection in this. Reviewers have associated “Harper’s Island” with this very book which also explains my mesmerization with the show.

You should watch “Harper’s Island”.

One by one…one by one…and then there were none…

The thing about working in the healthcare industry (in the past) or the pharmaceutical industry (as of currently) is that something as small or seemingly insignificant as a flu can hinder our work.

If you are a healthcare worker who handles patients on a daily basis, when you are sick, you risk endangering your patients who are mostly likely already immunocompromised. A flu can make your nose run, your head pound, but the same flu can kill your patients. You need to wear a mask, minimise contact, clean your hands even more frequently, or even absent yourself from work if you have to.

And that’s just the typical flu we are talking about. Now, let’s get down to the important topic.

Wait, don’t be gan cheong and say swine flu yet.

Because hey, it has been proven that this new Type A Influenza H1N1 strain of virus consists of genetic components from the avian, swine and human strains, and the origin of this hybrid has not even been established to be in the Sus domestica. If we don’t call it the avian flu (for obvious reasons), then we certainly should not call it the swine flu. The pigs are probably super offended by now, cursing and swearing Homo sapiens for our hasty accusation and irresponsible finger-pointing, oh so typical of us humans, while rolling themselves in cool mud in their sty. I was born in the year of the Pig and to be honest, I’m that little bit offended.  

So let’s us all wisen up and call it the Type A Influenza H1N1 virus like what WHO has advised. Whoever suggested the “Mexican flu” must have been a supporter of the Bush administration. Yeah, I know, the new term’s quite a mouthful and certainly does not roll off the tongue as easily as the word “swine”. But at least it is scientifically correct and only fair to the pigs.

For commoners like us working in pharmaceutical companies, the MOH website is becoming a staple. With the hospitals at the orange alert status, external parties like our clinical research team and the sales people are banned from entering the hospital for work purposes. The sales teams visit the doctors at hospitals and clinics every day and now that they are not welcomed, I wonder whether their sales would take a dip and who would take responsibility for not hitting targets.

However, honestly, I don’t care about them.

I care when I spend hours and even days sometimes planning my visits to the hospitals, negotiating with the study coordinators and even doctors’ secretaries for available days / timings, only to be outwitted by the damn flu, and all efforts go down the drain without as much as a second look. For me, it’s in reality not that much of a bother since I do not need to look through the patients’ case notes and can still get most of my work done via teleconference with the hospital staff. For my colleagues who need the case notes, they are hurriedly rushing to some of the hospitals who still permit business with us as usual, to do their work before they also put a big stop sign at their entrance.

I think that I’m actually pretty glad that I’ve a perfect excuse not to go to the hospitals because there is no way I’m going to wear that hideous mask which is not only to suffocate me to death before H1N1 can kill me, it is also going to mess up my makeup. Of course, safety is Number Uno and prevention is indeed better than cure, which means when the unfortunate time really comes, the sensibility in me is going to kick away that vanity in me and put that stupid mask on my face (if I could ever get my hands on one since they are all grabbed by kiasu and kiasi Singaporeans and completely sold out) even when temperatures soar as high as 33 freaking degrees Celsius on a typical Singapore afternoon and by the time I take that mask off, the lower part of my face is steamed.

That said, do stay safe, my friends – no, not asking you to use a condom. In the context of influenza, I seriously doubt that a condom over whichever part of your body would never suffice as an effective preventive measure – steer clear of coughing or sneezing individuals, see a doctor immediately if you have symptoms of a flu, wash hands like you have obsessive compulsive disorder, observe stringent hygiene, don’t be spastic and visit Mexico, and continue eating pork!

 

P.S. On a side note, haven’t the butchers been hollering about the drop in pork sales? I ate at a famous Japanese restaurant which serves Berkshire pork (black pig) last Thursday and it was full house.

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