Feeling Old

So yesterday was a big day for one of our friends, a day that (should) come along once in a lifetime. And in truth, a day that most of us didn't see coming for maybe another couple of years.

Not that I'm saying it's wrong or too soon or anything.

And someone said while we tip-toed at the back of the gathered crowd of family and friends, "Wow, I feel old."

He also said he was sad, which was met with a few incredulous looks, but then he asserted himself with the comment that said he didn't feel sad sad but rather happy sad so I guess all is well.

But yes, as I've mentioned before, I already found the girl I want to marry, and I'm happy for anyone and everyone who can say the same thing (or guys for girls, or whatever you fancy, you know). Watching a good friend of mine get married is really a new experience for me, especially since I rarely go to any weddings at all. I don't like the normal wedding food. But I guess this is an exception for a few reasons, eh?

All in all, a very enjoyable ceremony, though that in itself sounds weird. I'm not sure why. One of the highlights would have been the cake which seemed to be the epitomy of chocolate, while the low point might be the mystery of my socks being stained brown after walking shoe-less for a few hours...

But when is it really time to tie the knot?

Someone once said, "A man never really knows true happiness until he gets married, but by then it's too late." While I obviously take that with a pinch of salt, I guess that comment might be pertinent to some. Being married is, of course, an obvious commitment and one which can't be taken lightly. Unless you're a siliconed-chested pop-star who has a crush on one of her dancers I guess.

So we were talking and found out that most of us felt that the optimum time to get hitched was around the ripe old age of 25. Seeing as how most of us as 21 right now, maybe a year or two yonger, I guess that's reasonable. I'd have been with Khadi for close to a decade by then, but that's OK right? Hehe. Course, sometimes circumstances might retard or accelerate the date, but I won't really go into that...

So... married life. Not much else to say, really. I'll just leave you with the quote of the day from one lost girl in particular.

"You should be more like Naz, he doesn't make any comments!"

Which is almost as good as...

"...I was driving along the road and there was an old woman walking in front of me and I haunted her but she didn't hear me and..."

And followed closely by...

"You know, it just doesn't feel like one of our friends is married."

The above really isn't spectacular or anything, just something to think over, I guess. And I really didn't want to publicly state my reply to that!

So Many People, So Little Time...

I may have mentioned this before, and most of you who know me know this too.

I hate crowds.

No, no. Really. I hate crowds.

This is probably the single most determining factor in me not liking such festivities as clubbing and shopping.

I hate crowds.

Lately, this problem has grown worse, with the onset of the year-end holidays. Khadi wanting to go to town to get stuff or do something aggravates it as well, of course. Let me tell you how it's like.

Take a walk along Orchard Road, Singapore's pride and joy when shopping is the key to your existence. Oh wait, you can't. Can't walk, that is. Yes, there are too many people. Rain or shine, the streets will be packed. That's a guarantee. Zara, Mango, Tangs, Nike, Forever 21, Lee Hwa, Topshop, every single outlet on our little island seems to be packed with shoppers, which is a relief seeing the angry mob outside each shopping centre.

It's a well-known fact that Singaporeans can't resist the allure of a sale, and old saggy aunties with varicose veins can be seen sprinting during the worst weather when a random brochure of 10% off some trivial item is thrust into their jade-fingered hands.

One week to Christmas. You know what that means, don't you? Last-minute Christmas shopping. And even more "Christmas joy" in the central business district. This actually makes the whole situation worse. I know whoever set it up means well, but it's just not practical.

I'll take a moment from my babbling to explain myself.

Recently several booths or stall-thingies have been set up along Orchard Road. Now, that in itself isn't anything new, there have always been booths set up there, but rarely have so many been erected in such close proximity to one another. And labelled the "Nativity Village" if I recall correctly.

What exactly is the "Nativity Village"? Well it's a series of booths and stall, as you might have guessed already, set to the theme of Christmas. Now, that's alright, I suppose, but like I said, they make the problem of overcrowding in the area much, much worse. Firstly, the sidewalk isn't all that wide to begin with, and when half of it is taken up by these things... during peak hours... you can't even swing a cat in there.

That, and the whole idea is a little tarnished by the fact that little old women are playing "children" and pimply schoolkids are dressed as Greco-Roman soldiers, broom-helmet and all. Oh yeah, spectacles too. Can't forget the glasses!

Sigh, I hate crowds. At least I won't have to deal with the town crowd this weekend, seeing as how most of us will be busy with a common prior engagement.

And I do mean engagement, eh? Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

Hey Ladies

So this has been on my mind for quite some time. Something that most guys and girls do in public places. Riddle me this, ladies, what do you do in there?

I am, of course, speaking of public restrooms. The fact that you ladies spend an eternity in there while us guys walk in and out. I mean, you have to queue for crying out loud. What's taking so long? I do realise that some ladies are a little more "high-maintenance" than others, with them having to redo their eyeliner, foundation, etc etc every chance they get, but this still borders on the ridiculous.

Take guys, for instance. We find the lil' boys room, walk in, whip it out, take a whizz, zip up, (usually) flush, wash up, f*ck off. But our female counterparts seem to use the restrooms for other matters. It's a mystery I feel will never be solved. Especially when I try asking a girl what took them.

"Can't you see the queue?"

Indeed, I can. Which is why I'm asking you in the first place! The presence of a queue obviously means that there's more than one female in there who's taking her time. And this phenomenon looks like a global one. Certain towns in America have made it commonplace to install at least twice as many female restrooms as male ones in high-traffic areas, in an attempt to ease the congestion.

Yes, congestion, because that's what it is, a human gridlock. Reminds me of a petrol station giving away free car-washes, you see all sorts of models and makes crawling towards to scene, end-to-end. The slim and sporty ones, the old and vintage ones, the new and funky ones, the obviously too-big-to-attract-anything-but-an-eww ones too.

So I'm begging for someone to enlighten me here, what is it that causes the ladies' room to be the hot-spot in the majority of public places. And don't give me the crap about the queue. That's as useful as a c*ck-flavoured lollipop.

Meet the Parents, Part II

So, this past Sunday I traevelled all of 300 metres or so, by car, to Khadi's house. With my family. For the return leg of the first encounter. How'd it go?

Well, it went well, for the most part, I'm very happy to say. We got there more or less on time, and I looked supposedly dashing in that shirt I tend to wear for "important" events. At least that's what she told me.

I've been there before, several times, in fact. I've been there to eat, to take random stuff, take a look at a sick cat, even feed a toddler. Who I didn't even kick. But this time was different, of course. It was to Meet The Parents.

Although, that might sound a little redundant as it already took place. So yeah, the away leg, as it may. First leg was a success, now all we need to do is to stay steady...

Dinner was great, surprisingly. I'm not saying they're bad cooks; on the contrary, I've never tasted anything less than delicious spewing from their kitchen. But this time it was briyani. I don't do briyani. But it was alot better than expected, and a real smile eclipsed the half-cringe I had plastered all over my face when I took my first bite. She was, of course, staring at me the whole time, probably admiring how dazzling I looked, but I think I mentioned that already, eh?

But back to reality, the only downside would be that my bratty little sister behaved well, brattily, for lack of a better term. Now, she's someone who deserved to be kicked. Even the best efforts of Khadi's grandma, bribing her with kittens, could only garner a silent nod. Fazlee, of course, provided one of the highlights of the night when "confronted" by Khadi's grandma.

(Conversation in Malay)

Grandma: So, you're still schooling?
Fazlee: (Pause) Oh, yes. I'm studying in a polytechnic.
Grandma: Oh, I see, I see... Finished with your exams for now?
Fazlee: (Less brief pause)
Grandma: (Being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee Uh...
Grandma: (Still being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee: What?

I guess it goes without saying that my brother needs to brush up on his Malay if he wants to speak to my future grandma-in-law...

So that's how it went really, nothing "bad" happening, alot of laughing filling in the gaps in between dinner and random chit-chat and cat-sightings. I must say, the fact that our moms hugged each other bodes well for the future, eh?

To Khadi: Love you babe.