One of the ,ost difficult things qbout being in france is thqt the letters on their keyboqrds qre different: INCLUDING the punctuqtion: not only qre the letters plqced on different keys; they replqce so,e of the letters qs zell zith punctuqtion: Qs for the nu,bers; you need to press shift to get to QLL of the,: zhich sucks bigti,e: VERY qggrqvqting:

iù, developing q tzictch in the right eye fro, seqrching the keyboqrd for ,y letters: not so fun zhen youùre trying to zrite qn entry for your blog or e,qil friends qnd fq,ily qbout progress zith the ,ove: crqp:

Arrived early this morning in Paris CDG and i take back most of my gripes about customs here. the thing is, in my past experiences, customs clearance at the CDG always led to rage and temper tantrums because of the impossibly painful waiting time and chaos that follow your arrival. Even the french get confused. In one of our earlier trips where two plane-loads of passengers were mobbing their way into the counters sans forming lines, i threw a tantrum and my hubby, who's usually predisposed to calmness and collectedness, almost flew into a fit of rage.

But not today. Today, April 26 2006, was a good day. we breezed right into customs, and then right out of it, in a matter of five minutes.

And the customs guy actually smiled AND spoke english... at 6:30 A.M.

Le official de Customs: "bonjour madame. you from singapour?"
"Yes, i am," I smiled back.
Le official de Customs, avec a twinkle in his eye: "And your profession eez la tai tai? what eez a tai tai?"
"Une madamoiselle de leisure," i replied after some thought.
Le official de Customs, smiling flirtatiously: "Ah! Mais bien sur! (but of course!)"

After some further cheeky chit chat, he cleared me and as i stepped away from the window, my husband stepped forward for his turn.

Le official de Customs (in french): "You are French?"
Monsieur Tonque: "Oui."
Le official de Customs: "But you are in the non-European passport-holder line?"
Monsieur Tonque: "Oui. (and he pointed at me) And that is my wife you were so friendly with."

There are supposed to be two things that any visitor to Paris CDG should be able to count on. One: the customs guy will flirt. Two: gaining entry through customs will up your blood pressure to hazardous levels. Though I must say i'm rather taken with the change to the second count. And I suspect it has more to do with our flying on Singapore Airlines instead of the usual AirFrance.

Besides, I don't care much for fromage... so move it all you want.

with yahoo messenger, msn messenger, sms messaging, super low international calling rates, oh hell, even skype, its hard not to keep in touch these days.

and that's what we're counting on. there are less reasons for tearful farewells and emotional partings, and more reasons to get online and chat away.

but its not a cure-all - webcamming and typing a conversation can only take you so far. and that's the hard part of course. there are many things we will miss, and many people. and while the internet makes things easier, its only the sweet in sweet sorrow.

Sorrow is not being able to grab a roti prata on the way home from work, take the neighbours' kids out to play with the dog, talk cock with family over xiao long baos and with friends over teh ping. Sorrow is not grabbing a drink at emerald hill with plans only to stay till midnight but far exceeding that deadline, is not being able to try pepper crab all over town, scare foreigners with durians at joo chiat, or with a day trip to haw par villa. Sorrow is not trying to convince friends to go to zouk only to be talked out of it, or gab away with taxi drivers who know everything. everything.

this is my last post from singapore for awhile. tomorrow, we arrive in france and maybe i'll post in a pretentious french accent. if you ask nicely.

we got her ready tonight. we showered her, towelled her off, clipped her nails. then we played, we laughed, and we ate together for the last time before they come to take her away in the morning. we won't see her for about a month, three weeks at the shortest. but i admit, it's starting to smart a little, thinking about her being by herself and among strangers.

tomorrow morning they will come and then she will be gone, but family and friends have promised to check in on her every once in a while, and maybe take her out for the weekends if its permitted.

she's sleeping soundly now, completely unaware of what happens in the morning. How do you tell a one-and-half year-old that mommy and daddy will be away for a whole month? simple. u don't. cos no matter how smart dogs are, they can't bloody grasp the concept of long sentences that extend beyond tricks, treats, and toys.

come morning, we will pack in her stinky towel, put aside her favorite treats and then apply her frontline flea protection. The pet movers will be here at 9:30 and will keep her under lock and key in a kennel, with the daily walks and play-time thrown in, until we've found a place in cali. then we'll be reunited and all will be good again. sigh... i can't wait... this is more difficult than i thought it would be.

apparently, apart from being a reference to a harlot or skank of sorts, the word "hussy" in american also refers to husbands.

I was asked about "my hussy" by two friends yesterday, one a US resident, another a green card holder, while we were catching up after some time apart, and was completely taken aback by what appeared to be an extremely inappropriate word to throw into a civilised conversation about the man who decided to make an honoUrable woman out of me. after some to-ing and fro-ing, it emerged that the word was american slang for husband. what? they calling my husband a female skank?

I'm not sure what's worse, that its a damn crappy and offensive slangword or that i was made to feel like i should have known because, gasp, its american and EVERYBODY should speak it.

ADDENDUM: apparently, the term is hussie and not hussy, thanks to Preethi Scoopamanistoree who googled the term and pointed it out to me. still, it sounds the same when u speak it.

i'm not one to try and intervene in the matters of the heart belonging to others, but we were chatting with a friend the other day about her recent break-up, about lousy fish in the sea, about good men being all taken or batting for the other team, that sorta thing. and then it struck us. let's see what the men out there on the other side of all these computer screens are like. afterall, apart from the occasional psycho, stalker, and pedophile, what's there to lose?

So here's kicking off Project New Man to help find her soulmate, or failing that, a mate would do just fine.

The Client:

Single Japanese Female, 5' 2", seeks Single White Male above the age of 30 and above 5' 2". Must have job. Must have tertiary education. Must be financially stable and of sound mind. Must have interest in Japanese and general asian cultures. Ability to speak more than two languages a plus, one of which should be French, which she speaks. Conversational english proficiency is a bonus though not a requirement (so if you have a French-speaking friend who can't read this entry, you can enter on his behalf). Likewise, being a diving fan herself, the ability and passion for diving is a major plus. though in my opinion, you should at least be able to doggy paddle.

The Proposal:

1. No picture. No real names. This protects everyone, including you.
2. Interested parties are requested to provide a brief description of yourselves in the comments section below this post.
3. Confessions of an Accidental Tai Tai is only providing this as a service to a friend's request, and takes no responsibility for any idiotic behavior or contact in real life. So if you leave your phone number here and strange people start calling you, its not my fault.
4. Do NOT leave your phone numbers.
5. If u must leave contact information, leave an email address at your own risk.
6. Play nice.
7. That means NO porn, foul language or skanky propositions. (but u can try to sound sexy and alluring if you think that's a strong point for you)

This could be the start of a romantic relationship, a true friendship, or your worst nightmare. The ball's in your court (pun completely intended).

The search begins... NOW.

A wise friend once told me: dating is like fishing. early in the day, you hook the bait, throw the line, and wait. When a fish bites, you tug on the line. Then you release. Then tug, then release again. Once you're certain the fish is so hooked it won't break free, leaving part of its mouth behind on the hook for the sake of freedom, you reel the sucker in.

i think the strategy has worked well for me as i've managed to hook myself a prime piece of poisson, for whom i try to make breakfast for most days, but it hasn't worked for many a lonely heart out there. And one has to wonder why.

I met another friend tonight for dinner who revealed that her boyfriend of over two years decided to forego the entire relationship and all its possibilities after she gave him the wed-or-walk ultimatum. Why didn't this fish bite? Could she have laid the bait wrongly? Tugged the line too hard? Reeled it in too early? Counted her fish before it flopped onto the boat, writhing in agony and protesting its entrapment?

Or maybe he just wasn't that into her?

Naturally, that's a really tough one to swallow but its a possibility. And one that seems to happen a lot. Imagine, all these potential hubbies out there who could possibly be just not that into you. And we're supposed to just sit back and accept that as a reason, albeit a stupid one. ya right. Chances are, they're not that into you because most men just don't get it. In fact, many can't even tell bait from balls. I used to go to school with young men who likened the prospect of marriage and all its trimmings (bait) as cutting off their testicles (balls) and handing them over for custody. boys these days have so much imagination and so little sense.

Here's another example of how most men don't get it. look at all the guys out there with girls that seem so unlikely. Our best guy friends hook up with our worse gal acquaintances and we wonder which stupid cupid is taking the piss. Then we pretend to make nice with the couple when they announce their wedding plans and sometimes, sometimes, we welcome the chick into our open arms and think hey maybe it might work... as long as he's happy, right? Besides, its really none of our business.

But fast forward 3 years and suddenly, he's lost 10 kg and dispenses with all hygiene practices. He philsophises about the existential similarities between shaving and sisyphus' rock and hill, questions the concept of the irreversibility of frying an egg, and surmises that happiness is a manufactured product of capitalism. like santa clause. And suddenly, its your business and he thinks your looks of surprised concern is an invitation to continue with all that crap. And you have to pretend (once again) to agree to the nonsense.

But its a rite of passage, perhaps. Maybe these guys are not so into you because they're too busy being into that other chick who's mastered the art of the pull and tug. ya we all know her... the one who either doesn't reel it in and takes pleasure only in the chase and the tease, or reels it in but throws it right back out, cos, well, they're just too small.

It seems most guys have to go through this before they wake up and smell the dead seaweed. They grow bigger, better, and then they swim out to open water to pasture. And that's where you throw your bait... in the open water. The problem though, is that the little ones also sometimes venture out there, and if the gulls don't get them first, chances are, they're the little ones who end up taking a chunk out of your bait and then prematurely ejecting away before the line is drawn.

So fisherwomen, sometimes, it's better to let the little fish go and grow instead, cos they're probably just not that big enough. Even if they bit a teeny bait, you'd have to put them in a bowl, feed them breakfast, lunch and dinner, and sing them to sleep for some time before they're ready to take the plunge. and that's only a maybe. As for the fish, don't play in the big pond if you can't take the heat. Otherwise, pick a good bait and bite the bloody thing already.

speaking of books, the gospel of judas has been interpreted and published, and the national geographic society is televising it around the world. fascinating stuff about the dude and The Dude. and naturally, lots of people getting knickers into bunches over this. missed grey's anatomy last night, but caught this. was worth it.

they say that you can't judge a book by its cover, and in very much the same way, you can't judge shoes by the way they look before you put your feet in them.

we came across the pair of shoes at maxstudio in paragon, and at first sight, i was afraid of them. as in recoil-in-horror-afraid. mixing a pretty daisy-like motif with animalesque detail seemed, at first glance, like matching a movie about japanese geishas with ethnic chinese actresses and an american director. and we all know what came of that.

so in a move to take the piss, i pulled my husband into the shop and asked to try on the shoes with the scary faux miniscule leopard-printed flowers, sashayed to the mirror, and wouldn't you know it... i stood corrected.

no. seriously.

the shoes blended with the tan and wrapped itself ao nicely around my feet that i was reminded how good high-heeled shoes should feel. engineering genius, i tell you. the last time i was struck by love at first fit of this magnitude was 3 years ago, with a pair of kenneth cole rubber-soled mary janes that defied the laws of physics.

goes to show how little you can count on appearances. these shoes have nothing poking inward that could irritate any part of the feet... no straps snatching bits of flesh between them, labels blistering the heels of your feet, or lopsided heel attachments pushing most of the weight of your body towards the tips of your feet or forcing you to walk like a bull terrier.

I LIKE.

Pronunciation: "me-t&-'mor-f&-s&s
Function: noun
Etymology: Latin, from Greek metamorphOsis, from metamorphoun to transform

1 b : a striking alteration in appearance, character, or circumstances / 2 : a marked and more or less abrupt developmental change in the form or structure of an animal (as a butterfly or a frog) occurring subsequent to birth or hatching

today, at 6 pm sharp, i reverse-metamorphosized into a taitai after working for two days. from now on, shy of someone at the office turning sick or a major news event occurring in the petrochemical industry that could affect the lives of billions, and short circuit the powers that be into thinking i'm the best person for the job of bringing truth and justice to the world, it looks like i'll be a taitai indefinitely.

kafka's end-product to this type of a transformation may have been a giant cockroach, but i will not let recurring visions of a stupid fat bug get in the way of my motivation to use this renewed post-work energy to try and be a good domesticated wife to my darling hubby.

i began my transformation this evening with gusto, running errands straight after work. tomorrow, my day will begin at 7 a.m. with a cup of coffee and a walk with the dog. there will be more errands and then laundry (yucks) and folding (eek) and ironing (gag) that have not been touched since sunday because we were both working the past few days. there will be a kitchen to clean (argh), floors to mop (groan), and toilets to wash (sigh).

ok i confess. someone DOES come in to take care of the floors and the kitchen and the toilets but it makes me feel so guilty that i actually try to clean up before she gets here. i know... so loser, right.

either way, i'm stuck at the service apartment because of tomorrow's errands and cleaning, so where got time to go for reflexology and pedicure? and even if i had time, i can't even go shopping cos can't buy anything while living out of suitcases because we scared of excess baggage. being in limbo sucks. and i need a facial... my eyebags are so heavy its hard not to think of the giant cockroach when i look in the mirror.

giant cockroach with eyebags.

i'm telling you, cinderalla had it easy with her metamorphosis. she had till midnight and a fairy godmother as a sideckick. and a new dress.

me, i poofed into a pumpkin at 6 pm and all i got is one hairy french man who won't ask for directions. and eyebags.

enough is enough. i'm going to work tomorrow.

in Good Wife 101 this week:

1. when cooking on those electric hot-plate-type stove thingies, DO NOT place paper towels or anything that can burn onto those hot round stove thingies for the simple reason that THEY WILL BURST INTO FLAMES.

2. when its time to do laundry while you're living out of suitcases, DO NOT wash all the clothing when your husband's in the shower including the shorts that he would change into because it means he will have to drive you to your pottery class in his underwear and as much as u'll think that might be fun, he will NOT DO IT.

3. there is NO surefire way of putting on a sports bra seductively. any attempt would only result in your partner falling off the bed and convulsing on the floor in heaps of laughter. do not try this at home. or anywhere else for that matter. very bad for ego one.

my hypochondria began to manifest itself just around the time i began college in the states, when the first things they distributed to you upon your arrival were your dorm keys, your term schedule, a box of condoms and pamphlets on a variety of sexually transmitted diseases complete with all the icky pictures that went along with them.

at that time, sex education in singapore was limited, and largely academic, so i wasn't quite prepared for this. but like all teenagers under the impression we were indestructable, i held the belief that this did not apply to me. after all, stds were supposed to be reserved for highly promiscuous individuals from western cultures far removed from all that was familiar to me.

when i went back to singapore for summer that year, i told my friends about the stats i read.

"did u know that one in six people have herpes?"

there were six of us at that slumber party and we started to look around at each other.

"i have herpes," one among us confessed.

before long, i found out that a dorm-mate had contracted gonorrhea... on the same night she lost her viriginity. a year later, i ran into a friend who had mysteriously dropped out of school after the second semester. he had lesions on his face.

suddenly, i stopped feeling so indestructable. i started reading about viruses and bacteria and stopped eating peanuts at bars and refused to hang on to hand rails or touch door knobs.

and now, a vaccine for the human papilloma virus (hpv) is apparently on the way. yay. so the good news is that the next time that drool-worthy hpv-infected dude at the club wants to get jiggy with you sans preservative, you'll be in the clear.

bad news is you still gotta worry about syphilis, herpes, chlamydia, HIV, viral hepatitis, trichomoniasis, and last but not least, gonorrhea, which u can also get in the throat if you're not careful where u put your mouth. gross.

best solution? get your sights set on a prime target, make your move, close the deal, get multiple blood tests and clear all potential bugs, then make like lobsters. i hear they mate for life.

i caught my very first nigella programme on discovery travel & living and that woman sizzles beyond the food man. i hadn't realized how suggestive the programme was and how much that woman really knows how to work it.

infused with close ups and long shots, the camera dissolves around her other assets as she whips up her dishes. and while the camera zooms into her stirring whisked egg whites onto a pan, her ample bosom in soft focus in the background engages in a whole different type of stirring, or so it seems. she drawls out words like "slather" and "pleasurably" as if she's talking about massage oil rather than chocolate pavlova.

and when the camera zooms into her full lips as she puckers up her adjectives, even I wanna pop a plump raspberry into that mouth.

anyway, i had to watch the same episode twice to retain the recipe for seared tuna, which i tried last night. and lemme tell ya, that woman knows what she's talking about. the hubby loved it and it was the simplest dish i've ever prepared.

ingredients
2 tuna steaks (those used for sushi would be safest)
two tbspn of mustard
two tbspn of olive oil
a lot of pepper chips

instructions
"slather" the tuna steaks with mustard and olive oil
smother the "slathered" tuna steaks in the pepper
heat a dash of olive oil in a pan on medium high heat until hot
sear the tuna steaks for about 30 seconds to a minute on each side without cooking the insides
remove the steaks and once slightly cooled, slice the steaks so that u can see the pink insides

serving
serve with whatever else u want but i included salad with soy and sesame dressing and toasted buns. the whole thing took less than 10 minutes.

check out what these enterprising young ladies are doing when they're not trying to become lawyers.

inspired designs that are well thought-out and smartly assembled. although most are one-of-a-kind and selling too fast for the slow-fingered to keep up, i'm sure michelle and clara, the brains and creativity behind www.chillipadi.tk, will be happy to take orders if you ask nicely. check them out and get on their mailing list.