The Incredibly Clever Quote of the Day

Very "The Far Side-Esque", courtesy of the D-Listed...... If only I could have thought of something so clever as this! (Tee hee hee....) Kudos to One-Trick-Pony.....

While he followed the assembly instructions to the T, in the end, Bill's new bookcase just didn't look straight.

Today I Did Nothing

And I feel totally guilty about it. On any free weekend, I feel like I should be furthering myself creatively - there's two screen plays to complete, feathered fascinators to make, photoshop and photography skills to learn, and my Irish tax to sort out..... And then I wake up today (around 8:15am) and bascially spend the whole morning until mid afternoon aimlessly surfing the net, and watching nostalgic re-runs of my childhood ABC Canadian highschool kids' show. I'm not going to say which one it is but anyone born in the early '80's will know which show I'm talking about. "All the way with Stephanie Kaye." (I currently have the movie on pause on Youtube. Never even realised that they made a feature-length movie to continue off from where the last season ended - score!) And somewhere mid afternoon, I took a cat nap - falling asleep while watching one of the many re-runs. Sometimes I wish I were a cat. That way I could legitimately sleep a third of my nine lives away and look absolutely adorable doing so too.

In between, I have eaten some Maggi curry instant noodles (the ones in Ireland don't quite taste the same as the ones back in Oz or Singapore,) four crackers with haloumi cheese & sundried tomatoes, and a bowl of cereal with soy milk. There's also been cups of tea and apple juice diluted with water. The motivation to eat isn't even there - although what I've eaten is nearly all fat (which is not a good thing as I'm trying to get rid of muffin top), combined with the fact that I've hardly done any exercise; let alone moved. I am the epitome of sloth this weekend.

I considered going to the gym for my 11am class, but ended up not going as over here in fat-arse Ireland, gym classes are usually cancelled because nobody turns up. (Meanwhile in Australia, you need to book as classes are always full, and the gym instructors are tanned, lean, mean machines who yell at you when you fail to keep moving your lardy arse.) It's just been an unmotivating day. It's also depressing to know that no matter how much exercise you do, cellulite doesn't disappear, and neither do muffin tops. You're just more likely to lose everything around your boobs (and in my case, this is dire as I have none to speak of :p). The good news is, I've dropped a kilo - although I'm not entirely sure whether this is just because I've lost the big coat and one layer of clothing. I'm still not quite at the "I don't weigh enough to donate blood to the Red Cross" yet. Women always say that I'm not fat and that I don't need to lose weight, but that's only because a) they're fatter than me (it's all relative,) and b) everybody's taller than me so of course they're going to be bigger than me. The day I hit fifty kilos, I'm going to send myself to fat camp.

Well, I did do a load of washing (changed my bedsheets and pillow cases), and did a load of handwashing (basically the last of my beanies, scarves and gloves) - so it better not start snowing again in Ireland. The big coat went for dry cleaning two weeks ago and I refuse on principle to remove it out of its plastic dry cleaning cover. It is April after all - where the hell is "summer"?! Meanwhile, my dad tells me that it's 30 degrees over in P town.

Then comes 9pm and then I panic. I've basically wasted a day of my life. Then I vacuum the whole house to try and make up for it. I'm not sure whether I should permit myself to be so unproductive. Is this normal? Currently making myself chips (fresh cut potatoes drizzled in olive oil, oven baked until a crisp). Add chilli cashew dukka to the mix - mmm, almost as good as McDonald's fries with the soft served icecream cone.

Come Touch the Sun: The Easter Long Weekend

I step off the plane and it's snow capped mountians, pretty litte picturesque towns, good percolated coffee and alfresco dining.

It's amazing how scenery, temperament and culture can change with a plane ride of just over an hour.




The sunshine of the long Easter weekend was just what I needed after a week of nearly bawling out my eyes on the phone to the hospital OT (who I dare say wanted to in run the opposite direction).

Work is a bitch, and I'm starting to wonder whether it's just me, and that I just can't take the pressure. It doesn't sound that bad on paper - I start work at 8:30am and finish around 5. It's the whole trying to see everybody that needs seeing while adhering to my ridiculous mileage cap. I try to book people in who live around the same area, and while delaying to do this, I have people dying on me. Then I get annoyed that they've died. If they're dying so quickly, they aren't a fricking appropriate referral; yes, I'm talking to you LET'S-HAVE-A-KNEE-JERK-REACTION-AND-FUCKING-REFER-TO-EVERYBODY. I am busy from the word "go" and there's no breathing space. There's not even time to do follow up paper work and in the process, I forget what I did, what I saw, and what I am supposed to do. I get ridiculous referrals from health professionals who can issue the exact same equipment as me, but pass the buck as they don't want to do all the follow up appointments and paperwork, or have the future responsibility of following up repairs. I have my colleagues ringing me to ask, "What has happened to so and so? How come you haven't seen them? They are an 'emergency'". I lose my patience and snap, "I've had nine emergencies in the past seven days, do you want to come over and prioritise who I should see?" I want to tell them that nobody has died from not seeing OT. Well, people have died before seeing me, but not because they didn't see me.

There is nothing I can do on autopilot. Everything I do seems to require a lot of lateral thinking and problem solving and correcting mistakes done (to no fault) of inexperienced therapists who haven't had adequate support.

At the end of the day, my head is like cotton wool, and I just cannot think any more. Sometimes I have to go home and lie in bed for two hours before I have the strength to do anything else - like eat dinner. I don't feel like being social on weekends because I'm all talked out, and just want to relax, watch mindless tv and basically do nothing. Worst of all, I don't even like what I do, and I don't feel valued or appreciated.

And then we had R. with her Blackberry, and her senior partners of her firm messaging her and calling her at all hours demanding that she "jump" at like 3am.
Then I start to wonder whether I'm just being a pansy.

Sometimes the best holidays are the ones where you act all English by thinking that 20C is warm, and then practically strip yourself naked (like a lunatic) in efforts to tan your pasty white skin.

That is when you know you're deprived.

This Easter trip mimcked the life I once had which made people say that they missed my crazy antics and crazy stories. This weekend was a toned down version of me, given that I was with people who wrinkled their noses at Fatboy Slim's "Palookaville" and then asked, if you "had to be one drugs to dance to this sort of music". Come on, people. It's as commerical as it gets, and no, while it's not Britney Spears, it's kick ass chill out music for a sunny Sunday afternoon.
I miss you, breakbeat crew :/

First Stop: Salzburg


This pretty little city cannot be done without the Sound of Music tour.

In hindsight, I would probably have never booked myself onto this tour if it weren't for E. who organised the whole thing. Upon boarding this painted thing that screamed "TOURIST!!!!", I found the bus filled with....Americans, of course. Then the tour guide opened his mouth to reveal perfect American accented English (the kind you get from years of learning English from an American teacher), and the jokes....can only be described as his vehicle for working for those tips. (American specific, corny was only the beginning of it.) Eg: "That castle over there is owned by a millionaire," said the tour guide. "And the good news ladies, is he's single and ninety three! He made his money in the cement business, and rumour as it, that he's done away with a few girlfriends....but there's never been any concrete proof."
Somewhere, there is the sound of the drum kit.

Then came the realisation that I didn't recognise any of the places the tour guide was pointing out, not surprising given that my age was a single digit the last time I watched the movie. I only have vague recollections of mountains, sneezing, and a lonely goat.

The highlights of the tour were as follows:

(Below: the front of the von Trapp family's home - yeah, as if I would know... They could have put me in front of a war bunker, and I still wouldn't have known any better.)


The Gazebo

Yes, even I can vaguely recall this one. All everybody is gagging to do is to jump around from bench to bench (just like in the movie), and can't since 9 years ago when some eighty-something year old lady did just that, and then ended up with a #NOF.

The church where Maria and Captain What's-His-Face got married in; (you mean they got married in the movie....?)

The best thing to do when your memory fails is to make a whole lot more wonderful memories involving sitting in the sun while eating apple strudel with three large scoops of vanilla icecream, and the "Heart Attack" aka cheese strudel with hot vanilla sauce.

Hmmm... Bliss.

If consuming a thousand calories in one go isn't your thing, you can always wander off to one of the many touristy stores and buy yourself a stuff beer and belches and yodels when squeezed.

(All I can say is thankfully E. was the designated driver with the manual car. You can't repetitively squeeze something like Mr Belching Beer when you have to negotiate a gear stick :p)

The wonderful thing about this Easter trip were the people and new friends met, much to the disapproval of some of the other girls who would have preferred if I hadn't been so friendly and were more of the "let's stick to our own group". It's interesting seeing different perspectives of what travel means to people. For some, it's all about checking out the sights, taking a few pictures and then going home. For me, it's an opportunity to meet people and to expand social circles that otherwise would never have occurred without coincidence or chance. Life is meant to be random. Some of the most wonderful people I have met have been by chance. Sure, in another parallel universe I have probably been raped, killed and murdered and left on the wayside, but for now there's a firefighter in Madrid and a photographer who's offered to be my guide if I ever make it to Shanghai :)

After eating away another two months of our lifespans from the strudels, icecream and "heart attack", it was time to try and burn it off by exploring Salzburg.

First up, we went prancing in the beautifully manicured gardens as per the "Doe Rei Mi" song - apparently. Not that I can remember....

(Above: B gets a little flirty with her new man)

Much more significant was Mozart's place of birth (yeah, Salzburg milks this child prodigy for all he's worth even though he spent his life trying to get out of the place, sort of like how it is with me and P town). Mozart and I are old pals given that we both have small hand spans (and I couldn't play anything else once I got up to piano forte grade 8 exams). Damn you, Bach & Beethovan.

And even more significant were the Mozart balls -

The original recipe is made from pistacio marzipan coated in nougat, followed by an outer layer of dark chocolate. (The ones I bought from the supermarket had praline instead of the nougat layer.) They are delicious, but a tad too sweet. It's the kind of the thing you have maybe one with your afternoon coffee.

After all of touristy sight seeing and prancing around the park, our group + one new found friend headed to the top of the modern art museum over looking the city to watch the sun set....


....followed by the walk down into the old town.

Then, we disbanded with half of the girls returning to the hotel to rest. Meanwhile, me, R. and my new found photographer friend heading to the local beer garden for some beer and cultural immersion. This is where the fun really began.....

(Above: In the beer gardens of Augustiner Braustubl)

A few quirky cultural observations from yours truly, Closetblonde:

1. An Asian in Salzburg is considered exotic, and if you are in a small cluster, everybody wants to talk to you as you are somewhat of a novelty. Somewhat surprising given how touristy Salzburg is. Maybe most of the Asians are stuck in the "Mothership" (aka Louis Vuitton, Paris). The same thing happens in Ireland, but for some reason, it's fucking annoying in Ireland, but extremely cute and endearing in Salzburg. To the Australian-Brunei-Boy-Living-in-London who wanted to be "exotic" in London, this is your chance. Move! As soon as we found ourselves a table, we immediately had one Austrian guy strike up a conversation with us. Then he left, and then came back again (round two,) with his friend in the Austrian version of "hot pants". He then left again, as he was finding it difficult communicating with us (with our non-existant German and his not very good English), and for the third time round, he came back, armed with a female friend who became our "interpreter", (and looked somewhat terrified by the prospect of this). It was almost like musical chairs - as soon as one group left, we had another group/person come and sit at our table. Apologies to the final guy who sat down with us for a total of five seconds - honestly, it wasn't you, but we were hungry and wanting schnitzel.

2. The Austrian Germans likely use Naseweis Schnupfpulver at festivals. It's like medic on steroids! omg... Enough said.

3. Pinning a flower on the right side of your head may mean that you're married in Austria. Apparently the flower on the left side means you're single, the flower on the right means you're married. (And all I was doing was pinning it to the side with the most hair.) The custom was explained to me by the Sound of Music tour guide and some other Hawaiian guy on the tour, which made me think that it was some sort of Hawaiian specific custom. Then at the beer hall, the lady cleaning the women's toilet went "ich wein stranzen blah blah blah MARRIED! MARRIED!" pointing her finger at me, so now I'm not quite sure.

4. Pedestrian crossing signs look like "Michael Jackson and child".

5. Easter in this region is a little less crass commerical easter bunny and a more old fashion traditional.

Cute, but I think you'd need many to decorate your home for the full effect.

Next, it was the drive through snow capped mountains to Ljubljana, Slovenia via Lake Bled and Lake Bohinj, a trek up to a waterfall and the occasional roadside stop.

(Below: The picturesque Lake Bohinj)





(Above: Cheese Spam: the Austrian version of the cheese sausage. Heart Attack guaranteed if you stare too long at the goopy cheese bulging from the pores of the spam)

As scerene as the landscape was, not all was smooth sailing, (and could have ended various degrees of disaster). Sometimes, there are bonuses in being girls and looking helpless.

Firstly, our unscrupulous car rental company rented us a TomTom on the premise that it had the map of both Austria and Slovenia, charging us more than the cost of a standard Western Europe GPS. Then came Saturday morning and the discovery that no, TomTom didn't have Slovenia, and we had to trek back to Salzburg airport (where the rental company was based). We lost another two hours with the process of complaining, getting our refund, being informed that the car hire place didn't have any GPS's with Slovenia, and then having to beg to rent another GPS off another car hire company. Good thing B. looks as cute as she is; otherwise I doubt they would have given in, and we would have had to rent a car from the other car hire place as you're normally not allowed to rent the GPS alone. Replacing TomTom was Gecko, which was extremely un-user friendly, and it took us another 45 minutes to figure out how to programme it, with the assistance of the other car rental company guy.

Next, on the way to Ljubljana, we see a cyclist on the road waving his hand to indicate that there were traffic police ahead.
"You better slow down, E," we said.
E. takes heed to our advice a little too literally and slows down from 90km to a snail's pace of 45km, causing a massive backlog of cars behind us. Obviously, we are pulled over and spend the next two minutes engaged in the following conversation:

Slovenian Police: "45".
E: "You mean too high or too low?" (Said with hand gestures going up and down.)
Slovenian Police: "No. 45."
E: "Er... The fine?"
Slovenian Police: "No. 45."
E: "Er.... Is that how much slower I should be going? If I go 45 less, I would be zero and not moving!"
Slovenian Police: "No. 45. Speed."
E: "Oh.'
Brief pause.
E: "So what speed should I be doing?"
Slovenian Police: "90."
E: "Oh okay. Bye bye."

And with that, we perpetuated THE Asian Female Driver stereotype.
Again, I doubt we would have got away without a fine if we had been a group of guys.

After our conversation with Solvenian ("45") Police, we finally arrived at our hostel in Ljubljana around 6:30pm.

(Above from top to bottom: Me at the Hostel; the friendly neighbourhood cat)

B. initially was afraid that we had checked ourselves into a dodgy hostel in an unsafe area - (true, various houses looked like they needed to be renovated and painted, but for me, the parked Audis and Mercedes around in the streets kinda indicated that everything would be okay). First thing we saw were two Asian guys sitting at the computers on the internet - again, perpetuating the Asian Stereotype.

Then, when we got to our room, the girls started to have fears about our two would be roommates in the vacant beds that were pushed together -

B: What if they are a couple and decide to have sex in the room?
Me: Ah, just throw your shoe at 'em.

There couldn't have been less grounds for B's fears as later, two (obviously) heterosexual guys walked into the room, looked at the bed(s), and then looked at our bunk beds (which were arranged right in front of their conjoined beds - the set up basically looked as though they would be "on show" to us,) and then started spluttering, "But, but - the beds....."

I then walked in and said, "Oh hi, you must be our roommates."
"Yes we are," said one of the guys. "We are French and we are not together," - and then immediately started trying to push the beds apart.
Honestly, if it weren't for (immoveable) pieces of furniture in the way, I think they would have tried to push their beds polars apart, although the beds did get further and further away from each other throughout the course of the night :p

Ljubljana is a picturesque and cute little town known for it's nice cafes, its three bridges...and nothing much else.

I think Asian people must be a rarity in Slovenia (again, they're all probably stuck in the Mothership Louis Vuitton, Paris,) as on our first evening wandering around the town caused a bit of a commotion. R. & I were approached by a boy (probably of university age,) who acted like he had never seen an Asian girl in the flesh before. What did he want? "Photos puhleeease...." (with a cherry on top). In the end, we gave in (call it pity more than anything else, as he looked so forlorn and downcast when we initially said no). His amusing blunder was his sudden idea to pick up both of us at the same time and instinctively said, "Ugh. Heavy," and then realised he'd put his foot in it and tried to back peddle by saying, "Oh no no no.... I mean beautiful,"
Then things started getting funnier with more and more people joining in the photo, to also include the local homeless man.
"I don't know who this man is," said the boy in a stage whisper. "I think he must be the town beggar,"
By that time, we were all laughing uncontrollably and bade our goodbyes.

After a short while of wandering around the city, it was pretty clear that the affluent people live in the really nice apartments with.....the "Gates of Penis".

Tee hee hee, this photo never fails to make me giggle. (Gawd, I'm so immature :p) But honestly, no matter how nice your apartment is, when you have something like this outside, at the front of your gate, nobody is ever going to take you seriously.
"My house is the one with the penises at the front,"
I mean, surely everybody looks at this and immediately thinks "penises". How can you not, and how on earth did the person who made this not think so?

Or maybe it's deliberate....?

Many people we spoke while in Ljubljana to sounded as though they were really quite bored, but we were just happy to enjoy the sun, and spend our time relaxing and drinking coffee.

And plenty of eating we did.....

Typical food in Slovenia include: cream of mushroom soup (usually served in a bread bowl), horse meat and cold meat platters. There was also plenty of fresh gnocchi on offer, (unsure if this is one truly Slovenian,) and pate (sold in tins as per the billboard pic below). The local beer I tried there had a strong malt flavour to it.

After such a relaxing weekend of chilling, this was all undone by the journey back to Salzburg airport. The incorrect airport was programmed into Gecko - leading us to go the long way around to Austria (and towards Vienna until I spotted the error on the road map purchased by R,). It was by sure luck that we made it to the airport back in time. Then, at the Slovenian/Austrian border, guess who was stopped?

Initially B thought it was immigration and actually asked somewhat excitedly, "Can I have a stamp in my passport?"

It turns out that we had been driving illegially in Slovenia, and should have purchased a car registration sticker. The fine? 120 Euros. (By this stage, we were cursing the incompetent car rental company for not telling us this. Their response when we dropped off the car and complained? "Oh, you should have known." WTF?!!?) The Slovenian Policeman took pity on us, and told us to go over to the nearby store to purchase a six month car registration sticker, (B: "Can't we just purchase a one day sticker?"), and then what do you know, the store only had 12 month car registration stickers - (B: "Twelve months? What the fuck are we going to do with twelve months!"). Finally, the Slovenian Police figured that it wasn't worth all the hassle and told us to just go.

Again, I doubt we would have gotten away with this -

IF WE WEREN'T ALL GIRLS.