No sweat

8 Carol stomps in to the flat and starts the cleaning
8.30 I m in the shower still having nightmares about this food court guy that put his pubes into my noodle soup
10 Taking a cab to the city
11 The makeup artist is shaving my eyebrows
13.57 I am half naked and making a "natural" jump in the air while the photographer is telling the stylist to put on some more glue on my right eyelash
15.42 My phone rings and it's my tennis partner. I scream " It's a wrap!.....?" And look like a question mark to the photographer
16.25 I am in a taxi washing away my makeup and putting on my tennis shoes at the same time. And I am 25 min late
16.45 Hitting balls with Mira in the court and trying not to faint and not to mention to anyone that I only ate a banana cake today
18.00 Looking through AJs bag for cigarettes
18.45 Shoving pizza slices into my throat like a mad man
19.55 Looking through JPs bag for cigarettes
20.15 Mum calls and screams on the phone about some legal documents I should have emailed her this morning
20.45 I am home emailing Mum-from-hell the documents she so much needed
21.25 Mum-from-the-hell-of-the-hell calls me and says she doesn't need the documents actually because it's too late anyways
22.00 Packing my bags for my 9am ferry tomo to Indonesia

Whenever my Fridays will be more sane, I promise to quit smoking - for good. I MEAN IT

*call me*

+ 65 9832 4213 This is my Singapore cellphone number.

I am expecting drunken middle of the night calls from all of you from now on.

Hate is just a feeling

Hate is just a feeling, feelings does not exist but Singapore does and I do hate this place from time to time - more like ALL the time. I usually wake up in the morning with a nasty taste of yesterdays hate in my mouth, it is a bitter-sour taste that kind of makes you want to vomit a bit in your delicate mouth. This feeling grows expotentially the minute I tries to get a cab outside my condo ( no fucking cab at rush hours) and it always grows towards infinity when I arrives at work (the bastard driver tries to scam me by taking the longer way).

At work it is usually okay, I sit infront of my screen and pretend that I am happy and that all my co-workers are beautiful, interesting, educated people. I try to stay in my coma as long as I can but around 7pm you will find me in a stinky bus ful of Bangladeshes. And this is when I create imaginary A-bombs in my head and detonates them like it was the frickin Jihad of the century.

But seriously, if I have to tell another taxi driver that he needs to take the AYE instead of the frickin motha-fucka-slow-and-congested PIE I am going to crack his head up with my platform patent heels.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a MOUSE

My Swedish insurance company arranged a medical appointment for me this afternoon due to the "lump" I got in my right boobie. The doc. was a small Indian man in his mid-50s who is a specialist in Urology(!). SO there I was in his office staring at these pictures of all different kind of penises, he had numerous brochures about Erective problems and I managed to read them all. I still wonders why they sent my to him considering I got a lump in my breast and does not even got a penis issue or a penis for god sake. Anyways, there I was naked on the clinic bed with a old Indian guy touching my breast. This is actually the second time a Indian man caresses my boobie, last time I got molested by a Indian it was on a beach in Goa on NYE 2007...although it was the left one that got attacked.

Dr Bombay - "So, let's see if we can find the lump"
Me- "its close to the nipple"
Dr Bombay - " A-HA! It moves. This is usually what we calls a MOUSE!"

So now I have to arrange a time to have my "Mouse" removed. Lucky that I got another one down-under.

xoxo

12:54am

Damn it feels good to be a woman

me working the camera long time ago somewhere in hk

This week my work arranged Excel training course for me and today was the the last day. I have spent one week sitting in class learning how to copy and paste with a singlish speaking guy named Shairy,(pronounces with a silent S...) The best thing with the whole course was all the nice cookies and sweets they provided during breaks, which can not be more perfect considering I am having a frickin bloodbath between my legs this week...yeeeeew u guys must say now. Shut up and bear with me.

Last wknd I went to Bintan, and last night I got a email from the MD of the resort we stayed at and guess what, he invited me back. Is that being too presumptuous? Yeeeeep, I would love to see Alex face when I tell him that I am going for a wknd by myself to a tropic Island...or that some random guy that "kind of" works at the resort gave me a big discount because I am such a loyal customer. If loyal means you been there once per se.

So if there is anyone out there that would say yes to a weekend "with nothing but distant memories of the absolutely fabulous time you had visiting your favorite Chef de Village.." ...whatever that now means.... You are welcome to take my place and soon you shall be sipping Pina Colada on a sandy beach ful of brats.

Ants in my pants

Last weekend I did a shooting in the Botanic Gardens, the photographers name is Romeo and it’s not his artistic name. When you got a name like that you have be in the showbiz or in the prostitution sector, damn –Sector- sounds so governmental. It was so bloody hot that day and Romeo kept taking “backstadge” shoots, I will be like scratching my ass and he would scream “STEADY!”, me *pose* still with one hand scratching. The makeup artist was anorectic and shared her stories about the best way to loose the kilos, one meal per day but you might end up with acid problems…the whole team went to Pizza Hut afterwards and I still wonders if that was her first and only meal of that day.

I and the stylist shared a cab ride back and she’s been in the business quite long so there was a lot to bitch about. Models showing up for work late or drunk or both, the language barrier – Da(Russian) and Sim(Brazilian Portuguese) suddently becomes the universal words of this business, backstabbing photographers, fugly white guys with crappy agencies or even better, agencies that doesn’t even exist.

This weekend I went to Indonesia with a friend of mine without the boys, actually it was more like leave the ones at home tp get some new boys at some exotic island. We arrived Friday morning into the paradise and after 5 gin and tonic I realized how pathetic my life is, the only friends I got in Singapore is a 40 year something housewife and a 15 year old stylist that speaks like Norwegian rockabilly music. The weekend was basically; get up – gin and tonic – tennis – more gin and tonic –lunch – gt gt gt …. Throw in 5 packs of cigarettes there between and u got my perfect get away holiday.

In month I am going to Portugal, I wonder if they drink before noon. They must do, they basically consider wine as juice. Tropicana and vodka never tasted better in the morning.