Navel Gazing

Apparently Singaporean bloggers navel gaze too much (source: mr brown's blog). That's according to the dumbass journos at The New Paper. Like anyone cares what they think. When they finally have something credible to say about something more important than the rising prices of chicken rice and mee siam in Singapore, maybe people will start to care. I certainly don't care. In fact I don't give a flying fuck about what anyone thinks. EVER.

It's not always been like that you know. When I was younger I cared alot about what people thought. Then as I grew older life became too complicated to live by other people's opinions. So I threw caution to the wind and dared to live by my rules. Then I hit the big 3-0 and I truly emancipated myself. Money helped do that of course. In fact, money helped me do MANY things. Have no illusions - Money buys pretty much almost everything in life.

Now I do what want, when I want and how I want. The only things that tether me to some confines of conformism are Chiara, Cosmo/Glamour and Gloria-the-fashionista extraodinare.

Back to navel gazing then.

Despite the shitty Friday I had, this weekend was pretty action-packed and fun-filled. It was long weekend here in yodel-land - yodellers celebrated National Day on August 1. Everyone please take note of the date. I once picked up a verrry hamsum boy in Elvis bar many years ago all thanks to this precious piece of knowledge about the 1st of August. His name was Patrick and boy was he a cutie. For you youngun's reading this, Elvis was a really funny bar in some building near the Plaza Hotel on Beach Road. They played retro music and people used to dance on the bars all night long. Drinking. Picking up. Taking off clothes. My kind of place. Back in the mid 90's. Wah, machiam sooo long ago.

Anyway, back to this weekend. I did family things all day long (swimming, mountains, park, walking, La Reserve) and went out partying at night. By Monday night was so exhausted I couldn't make it to the big outdoor party by the lakeside. But it was really nice. And I think Chiara enjoyed herself immensely depsite having a disorganized Mum who brings too many changes of clothes and zero toys for her to play with on a day out.

Have begun smoking in front of MY mum. I know, very shocking right? But guess what? I DON'T CARE, REMEMBER? 33 years old, haven't lived at home since 1995, 39 hours of labour and now a working mum, you think I have earned the right to smoke whenever I damn well please. And if you think I haven't, well, guess what? (SAY IT WITH ME EVERYONE) ... I STILL DON'T FUCKING CARE!

On that note, I am feeling better about my life, because over the weekend I counted my blessings (something that I normally do regularly but been slack about of late). And put things back in perspective. I could have worse problems, like this poor sod below:



You see what I mean?

So, fuck him (the cause of my heartache lah, not the unnamed uncle above) and his sorry little life. My life is beautiful, Chiara is beautiful and I am beautiful. That's all I give a shit about.

(okaaaaay, you all dun start jumping up and down - of course I also give a shit about my family, friends, char kway teow and the next couple of episodes of Lost...)

HMPH!!!!