Mrs Boo - 30 Lifer Crisis

Something rare happened after this movie. Mr Boo and I actually launched into a post-movie discourse to discuss and dissect the “morals” of the story - which in a nutshell is “Man playing God to no good end”. Mr Boo and I seldom have deep discussions like this (I mean, why talk when we have other better things to do? ) - so I normally reserve my “deep and soulful” discussions with close girlfriends.

“The Island” is one of the few movies out there which actually successfully combined blockbuster action with thought-provoking questions (unlike say, Spielberg’s draggy “AI” which tried to be too intellectual and made everyone fell asleep). This is important especially to audience like Mr Boo, who has little patience in arty-farty bullshit, and loves action and war battles.

“The Island”’s success can also be credited to its two main leads - Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johansson. They are no Brad and Angelina, but there is plenty of chemistry between the two leads (kissing and love making scenes, though short, are fairly explosive). Although Scarlett is not asked to do much acting, except run around and look pretty, she somehow manages t0 convey a certain amount of levity to the movie’s tone as opposed to being a cursory “to be rescued” bimbo. Ewan, that sly dog - I think I may be falling in love with that man. He is not the handsomest man around, but there is this innate playfulness and depth around him that you cannot help but be attracted. And he plays his character, Lincoln Six-Echo, very, very well indeed. A thinking woman’s man, if there is such a thing.

The story works for me because it is very realistic. Although the settings are futuristic, they are not over the top futuristic, until it seems cut off from our current world. Already there is on-going stem cells research, and scientists have successfully cloned animals. So the possibility of cloning humans as insurance policies to sponsors (i.e. us) to harvest their organs, or to carry babies, is not at all difficult to swallow. Even now, without the existence of clones, the rich are buying organs via syndicates who buy them from the poor (legally or forcefully). What is stopping these people from cloning themselves and having their clones killed after they serve their purpose?! Is the act of self preservation stronger than our moral code?

Interesting questions - all of which Mr Boo and I have gone through - without any conclusions.

Rating: 4 out of 5 boos

In my everlasting quest to become fit and slim, I have started going for yoga classes with a colleague of mine. This fit and slim quest happens like twice a year, when my clothes feel tight, or when I can see a double chin forming in the mirror, or when I suddenly feel like a whale next to my unbearably skinny and fitness freak friends (the “FFFs”). It (the F&S quest) would have happened more often, except for the fact that I have stopped weighing myself since…hmmmm when I tipped the scales at 54 kg, me thinks. In case you think 54kg is light, let me tell you that I am rather vertically challenged i.e. no long Julia Roberts legs for me, so my then BMI was floating around the “normal” upper BMI range. (If you don’t know, BMI stands for Body Mass Index - duh!) And I am Asian, Asians are meant to be skinny.

Most of the time, I am happily leading a sedentary lifestyle - lying in bed reading books, sprawling on the couch watching TV and DVDs, lazing in my beanbag reading magazines, slumping in the chair writing blogs like this - well you get the idea. The most strenuous workout I get is probably having sex and going shopping. Even during love-making, Mr Boo probably spends more energy than I do, you know, with all that gyrating, pumping and what nots - sorry too much information here!!! Hehe.

Back to my main topic of the day - Yoga. I am not a virgin yogist. No sir, I have gone for yoga classes on and off (mostly off) over the last 2 years - so hey I know what they are all about. Sun salutation: cat pose, cow pose, downward facing dog, warrior, and the list goes on.

For someone as inactive as I was, I sincerely believed that I was quite a flexible creature (a result of all those contortionist kama sutra positions). So when one of my “FFFs” approached me to go for intermediate Hatha yoga classes, which nicely coincided with one of my “I need to slim DOWN!!” inspirations, I pounced on the opportunity to, ahem, show off my flexibility. Besides, I have done this before and it really wasn’t THAT difficult.

Last evening was my third session. Once again, I was humiliated in a class of pros. And once again I felt like dying mid-way through the session. Did I mention that my friend has been doing yoga relentlessly for the past 2 years (3 - 4 times a week), and now she can almost qualify to perform in Cirque de Soleil???

Our yoga instructor is a also slave driver:

“Go to plank, use your core strength, stay, move to upward facing dog, downward facing dog - lift one leg up, go to half lotus, warrior one, warrior two, sleeping warrior, balance, feel your biceps, triceps, stomach muscles contracting, challenge yourself stretch further, lunge at 90 degrees, do the binding, continue to breathe in and out naturally, relax yourself into the pose….”

Urrrrrrgh. What crap core stength?? I have no bloody core stength whatever. My arms and my thighs are burning and trembling, I am shaking like a Richter 9 scale earthquake, and you want me to balance on one foot??! Are you out of your freaking mind!? And my friend next to me, she is posing so naturally, a picture of poise and peace and twisting herself into unbelievable positions. In contrast, my face is red and I’m heaving like thunder, natural breathing go to hell! My muscles are tearing - I can’t twist anymore - I can’t reach my hand to touch my ankle - HELPPPPPP!

Thankfully the instructor did not single me out when I collapsed away from my pose out of sheer exhaustation (which happened often). I would have smacked him on the head, stalked out of the class and bawled my eyes out.

So all those pictures you see of happy shiny people doing yoga - it is a BIG FAT lie. If you think that yoga is for the pansies, go try it out yourself and tell me your experience. Now, I need to get a nice long massage from Mr Boo to soothe my aching body.

Mr Boo and I have an unusally large number of gay (not happy, homosexual) friends. Whether by chance or some unholy intervention, our immediate circle of male friends are all gay. Some we knew since university days, others we knew through close friends/colleagues, and yet another group comprised of old friends who came out of the rainbow closet. And of course when gay friends introduced their boyfriends to you, they too, become our good friends. All of them clamouring to become the “fairy” god-fathers of my unfertilised and unborn child/children.

So my country is small, and the gay community in my country smaller (but thriving), so that probably explains why all my gay friends know one another. One happy coincidence saw Mr Boo’s old college friend (who came out of the closet, and shocked Mr Boo, although he claimed he suspected his sexual leanings all along), hooking up with an ex-colleague of mine. They have now been together for years, and have bought a private apartment near our home. We have become the unofficial “caretakers” of their home and fishes when both are jet-setting around the world.

Another couple, let’s call them S & J, are Mr Boo’s and mine favourite travelling partners. Thus far, we have been to Bangkok, Egypt (my favourite holiday ever!) and Bali. Because our anniversaries are quite close too (in early August), we have also been celebrating them together for the past 3 years by staying in luxury hotels in the country. They are hilariously funny and we get on famously. S is also a great shopping partner, better than many of my girlfriends actually!

Being surrounded by gay friends is like submerging oneself in a constant bitchfest party. Vicious bitches, these gay people, but they are fun, and I like to bitch too. And it is such an eye opener each time they tell me about their sex lives, their Thai boyfriends, and god knows what other titillating nonsense. They also educate me on how to satisfy Mr Boo, and I must say their tricks work too!! One of them, a closet transvestite, who used to park his female clothes. wigs and make-up at my house, also taught me some make-up secrets, and how to look really vampy (although I never really tried to vamp things up - what for right? All I need is to throw off my clothes and Mr Boo will be hmmm… UP.).

My close association with the gay fraternity has allowed me to refine my “Gaydar”, so much so that I can tell if a man on the street is gay or not. Of course, my “Gaydar” has failed me occasionally too - I thought a colleague was gay but he had a girlfriend!!! But maybe he is a closet - so I may still be right after all. But until then, I shall continue to work towards perfecting my “Gaydar”.

I must state here though that while I am religious - and according to God’s Word, homosexuality is perverted and un-natural - I do not judge my gay friends nor do I try to convert them back to the “straight road”. Ultimately, only they can answer to God. Some though might accuse my closeness with them as a sign of approving their lifestyles, and if that’s the case, I am guilty as sin. I really, truly enjoy their company, and I am confident God does not hold it against me.

So today I ask you: Are you Gay? (P.S. I have no lesbian friends, so if you are lesbian, feel free to drop me a note here!)

Only after I started blogging (damn recently some more) that I became more in tune with the blogging community in my tiny puny country.

Contrary to my previous perception that only Mr Boo’s students blog (because students naturally have nothing better to do, and thus all their blogs are about complaints of mean teachers, boy-girl relationships and what nots - wake up kiddos, there is much more to life than your own growing pains!), there is a hell of an active blogging community out there. In fact, some of them are so famous that they are consistently in the newspapers - imagine that! Of course, not all of them made the news for the right reasons - some stripped themselves naked (really!!), others made racist remarks and got spanked by our authoritarian government, others had hilariously crude and vulgar commentary (I admit it - I enjoyed those).

So I decided to check out these “famous blogs” to see what the fuss is all about. The first thing that caught my eye was the site counter - these people had HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of visitors/readers!!! Granted many of them started blogging 2 - 3 years earlier (considered eons in cyberspace), but this is ridiculous! Currently my counter is at 49 (most of which are my own visits)….. How very pathetic.

How to become a successful blogger? Let me run the list:

1) Post naked pictures of oneself (T&A to be exposed for maximum effect) - but I can’t - not with my current body anyway. Also Mr Boo will absolutely flip - “Fertile water shall not flow into others’ fields” - translate that to Chinese please;
2) Be vulgar and hilarious at the same time, perfect English not included - but I am too grammatically conscious, and I do love writing good English, even if it’s not perfect;
3) Be politically incorrect, say all the wrong things and get authorities to descend upon me (and probably sue my ass off) - I am a coward ok?? I like to rant, but I am a closet political activist, bitching mainly to my fellow closet activist, Mr Boo;
4) Say something controversial/scandalous/taboo - Can do - but how many times can I write about my orgasms before I get so tired of it I won’t bed Mr Boo no more in real life;
5) Pray for a miracle that the blog will somehow be a hit - I think we may be onto something here……

But I guess I should be grateful for my current state of anonymity. Successful bloggers, like all normal celebrities get hate mail, crazy fans, and whankers thrashing their sites. Prior to my success and showing my face to the world, I should just take the time to slim down, do a little plastic surgery, and then limelight may not be so bad afterall… Alternatively, I should just stop whining and enjoy my little piece of cyberspace heaven!

Just got an SMS from a close friend. She is pregnant again. Had a boy some two years ago, quit her job as a teacher to become a full time mom, and now she is expecting number two.

And here I am waiting for my stupid period to flow big time. I have been spotting the last three days, and thought today I saw more mense - but alas, the stomach remains bloated i.e. tide remains unreleased. Major PMS….

2 years ago, such a situation would have resulted in a major meltdown from me. Every month, every cycle, that rush of expectation that Yes, this would be it, and the realisation that No, there would not be the pattering of little feet as the red tide gushes and mocks at me. I think I would have fallen apart if not for Mr Boo, the wonderful pillar of support, strength and understanding, and God, whom I know has been with me every step along this difficult journey.

Who knew that trying to conceive would be so damn difficult? Not me, particularly since my cycles were so right on the dot. To think that in the first two years of our marriage we were still using condoms - on hindsight that was SUCH a waste of money!

Backtrack a little bit for those not in the know: Medically speaking, both Mr Boo and I are in the sub-fertile group. I supposedly have blocked tubes - both of them, and Mr Boo has more “abnormal-shaped” sperm than most men. I have undergone one cycle of IVF, resulting in 2 attempts in late 2003 and early 2004, both of which failed. Thereafter I have gone to Traditional Chinese Medicine therapies for a few months, and then nothing.

Those were hellish times. Physically, it was tiring, and painful at times. Mentally, it was a torture. What was worse were people getting pregnant around me left, right and center - my sister in law, my close friends, my colleagues. I thought I would die. I wailed, I cursed, I screamed. I hated pregnant women with a fervour they didn’t know. If thoughts could kill, I would have killed. Outwardly I tried to show that I didn’t care, and succeeded most times. Children are brats anyway, I don’t need them, who cares?

I cared, and still care - deeply. I would give up all my money, my career, my business just to hold my child in my arms. But I am no longer tormented. But I won’t lie that each month as my period comes, I still feel a painful twinge in my heart, but it is just that, a twinge. And when I hear someone around me becoming pregnant, like today, something gets stuck in the throat, but it is cleared away soon.

The reason? God, and God alone. At the lowest, darkest point in my life, I went back to church (together with Mr Boo who got converted then), and felt His immense love surrounding me. I held on to his promises “Your wife will be like a fruitful vine, and your children will be like olive plants, all around the table.” Since then I have felt peace, and everytime sorrow threatens to overwhelm me, God holds it at bay, and the tears never fell again.

I believe myself and Mr Boo to be completely healed, and that the child we both longed for would come, without any medical intervention. In fact, I have a vision of this child which I hold strongly to my heart. In the meantime, I will be like Hannah in the Bible - “Sing you oh barren, you who do not bear!” until my baby comes….

For now, I have happily congratulated my friend, and I will continue to have wild sex until I can’t anymore! Praise be to God!

Against the charity scandal that has exploded in my home country (which has resulted in my first rant), another news relating to something more dire has been hovering at the sidelines. A picture of a kid (not looking like a kid, but rather, a little alien with bulging eyes and a protruding stomach) has just stared at me in the face accusingly. Why is no one helping me? Why are you letting me die?

Due to drought and widespread famine, children in Niger are dying like flies. Yet unlike the Asian tsunami that overwhelmed a good part of the world and saw great acts of charity from all walks of life, regardless of race and religion, the world has barely responded to this crisis in Niger. According to an AP article I read today, it said:

“The warnings have been coming for months. The United Nations first appealed for assistance in November and got almost no response. Another appeal for $16 million in March got about $1 million. The latest appeal on May 25 for $30 million has received about $10 million.”

The Asian tsunami raised more than a billion US$. Of course scores of people died there as well, and the calamity was of an unprecendented scale. Still, one wonders where have all the charitable hearts gone to, mine included.

People like me - we live a very comfortable life in a first world country. Poverty seldom stares at me in the face, and when it does, I try to look away. Sometimes, to assuage my guilt, I make a few miserable donations, telling myself that I have done enough charity for this month, this year, etc., and I cannot save the world. Governments should be the ones helping, or Bill Gates have more money than I do and therefore they should help, along with many other excuses. And every second I try to avoid social responsibility, another child dies somewhere.

It is easy to criticise others for being selfish, stuck in an ivory tower, self absorbed. Just like the elite who can tell us US$400k is mere “peanuts”, we as the elite to the Third World are committing similar crimes or worse by ignoring their cries. Here we are constantly whining about the crappy state of our lives, and not having sufficient money to do this and that, there are people who struggle to peel barks off trees to eat as breakfast.

I feel like I am looking at myself in the mirror, and the reflection is not pretty. Worse still I know that after this blog, I may go donate another few dollars to Oxfam or UNICEF (likely to assuage my guilt - AGAIN!), but very soon I would have forgotten the dying children, and continue to live my comparably luxurious life. The very thought is downright callous, but that too, will be brushed aside quite soon. I am so sorry, kids. I am a selfish, heartless bitch.

What can we do as a society? Perhaps, a better tribute to their suffering, besides prayers and money, is that we should be more contented with our lives, and really, really appreciate what we have right now, and thank God for it every single day. Amidst our constant search for more of everything we need to remember that there are people out there who have nothing, and not even their fragile lives. Thank God that somehow, he has chosen to put us here, where we have education, houses, cars, foods, pretty clothes, because I could just have easily been that kid in the picture.

Oh, and by the way, I have recently added a counter to check how many visitors do drop by my site, particularly, the “accidental ones”. In view that there are millions of Internet surfers out there, I figured I may just get some traffic. Unfortunately, those numbers at the bottom are telling me that the visitors are just “me, me and me, and perhaps Mr Boo”. How very sad. And what a big blow to the fragile ego of a budding author.

I am in a tight bind. Since I am not too keen on telling all my friends, how do I get strangers to come in and read? More scandalous posts?? If you happen to be an accidental visitor, and have some ideas, do feel free to contribute.

Since I started blogging, I have also started reading other people’s blogs, particularly those of a more scandalous nature.

It is so strange how things have changed over the last 1 - 2 decades. I still remember writing journals/diaries as a kid, and fanatically trying to find secret hiding places in the house so that my mother couldn’t find them and read my innermost thoughts (childish and inane thoughts those were). The only time when I was truly exhibitionist with my writing was when I was writing fiction (mostly short novels and poems), and I showed them off to close and appreciative friends.

Blogging, on the other hand, is like stripping oneself naked for the whole world to see (well, anyone who stumbles upon this site anyway). So far, I have written a fair bit about my sex life and some of my personal thoughts under a thin veil of anonymity. I have certainly come a long way since my childhood days!

I wonder: Is it easier to bare oneself to strangers? Of course I have invited a few friends to take a look at this site, but generally I have kept quite quiet with regards to this newfound blogging interest of mine. I am still not too sure how many friends I would like to tell - sharing secrets via the normal channel (i.e. talking) is one thing - have friends read the blog is another, it feels like they can see deep into my soul and dissect my innermost thoughts.

Maybe it is because of this innate fear that most of my posts so far have not been truly self revealing, but hovering around rather “safe” topics like movie and book reviews (the “Female Orgasms” posts the exception), rather than my inner turmoil and what nots. But I would think as time pass this blog would become more intimate - to what level I am not too sure yet.

But I honestly love writing (nothing work related of course). And I know I write well, and love the idea of people reading what I have written. In view that I am quitting and going into business soon, I may have more time on my hands to get my creative juices flowing. I have an idea of writing stories on this site - like a series, and people reading them chapter by chapter. Who knows? Maybe one day, a publisher will like look at my site, discover my prodigous talent and offer to publish my stories, and I will become rich like J.K. Rowling!! Until then this will be just free entertainment for my readers.

Now if only I know what story to write….hehe

She’s bloody rich - that Rowling woman. 250 million books worldwide, and one of the top earners in Britain. And every year for the past 6 or 7 years I have been faithfully contributing to her overflowing coffers. Me, a 30 year-old addicted to Harry Potter and his bunch of weird friends. But of course, being the matured person that I am, I very smartly pre-ordered my book (as did millions of people around the world), did not bother to join the queue at 7.01am, and strolled my way into the bookstore in the afternoon to pick up my copy with the “Adult Cover” (such good marketing people, Bloomsbury).

Still this did not prevent some people from exclaiming “You READ Harry Potter??!?” (yeah, like you don’t sucker…). Since that fateful Saturday I read the damn 608 page book only in the evenings after work huddled snugly in my bedroom. And it took me a grand 4 nights to finish it.

And may I warn those who have yet to read the book - ALL SPOILERS ahead - I am not the typical reviewer who will try to keep plot secrets. So, here goes:

The multi-million dollar question of WHO DIED? And (drumroll please) he is of course Dumbledore. He died a nasty death, poor chap, betrayed by the snivelling, conniving Severus Snape. Albus Dumbledore is a great character, and he has been Harry’s mentor for so long, that there is a great sense of loss (both on Harry’s part and the reader’s) at the end of the book. Unfortunately, the fact that it was Dumbledore who died was leaked out a few months ago in the press as “rumours”, so throughout the book I had been expecting his death anyway, so it was sort of an anti-climax. So I did not burst into tears or wailed like some allegedly did!

The only plot line that took me by surprise who the identify of the Half Blood Prince. I had thought it was Voldermort all along, but it turned out to be stupid Snape!! But that was a good twist in the story as it made Snape’s betrayal of Dumbledore all the more convincing. Also, the tension arising from “is Snape good or is he bad” was well-maintained until the last chapter of the book when it all exploded.

Rowling’s books get darker and gloomier with each additon. What started out as a hee-hee-ha-ha children’s story about a boy wizard and his adventures in his school has descended into a dark depressing fantasy book - I felt like I was reading the “Wheel of Time” with its adult themes of death, destruction, pain, destiny and the Great and Ultimate Evil i.e Voldermort, and Harry being the “Chosen One” - Neo in the Matrix, anyone?! I failed to see how the last two books (Order of the Phoenix) could actually attract its original target group of readers - ie innocent school children, but maybe children nowadays are more morbid than those in my generation (which was bloody long ago).

I began reading Harry Potter because the first book called out to the child in me. Having grown up on a diet of Enid Blyton stories, Harry Potter was a god-send, combining fantasy, boarding school fun, and kiddy adventures. But progressively, the darkness becomes stifling and overwhelming, and Rowling stuggles to add bright bits into the story (to of course placate the younger demographics). The uneven tone does not make a smooth read. Honestly if I wanted angst, I would rather read adult fantasy anytime! Honestly I am glad that Rowling has only one more book to go. The last thing I want to see is Harry turning into a Macaulley Culkin - bleah!

Nothing much happens in this book in terms of real events other than Dumbledore’s death - it really only prepares us for the inevitable showdown that is going to take place in the final book. Good grief, another year (or more) of waiting, and one more chance for Rowling to rake in as much money as she possibly can….

Rating: 3.5 boos out of 5

Sorry for the silence, but I have been pretty caught up with the new Harry Potter Book. Yes, I am quite a slow reader, but between reading, making love to Mr Boo, normal work, and moonlighting for my business, I really don’t have much time to do anything else.

I am happy to say though that I am in my last 100 or so pages, so hopefully I can finish up tonight. And then I can do a review, in the unlikely event that you are not one of the 250 million people who have bought the book and finished reading before me…