Bonne Anniversaire!
Bleargh! I must be horribly mistakened when I said earlier last week that I wouldn't feel any different from any other day, on my 26th. Horribly horribly mistaken. I feel like a ten-tonne anvil had just dropped from the hideous Pearl Tower, and into my waiting and opened mouth on the ground level.
Hangovers and somersaulting stomachs aside, the bash (oh now we know why it's called a "bash"!) was actually fantastic. And long enough to be made into a soap opera, really. The weekend of hedonism started on Thursday (note how hung over I am: Thursday being the 11th of March!) - well, not a celebration of the Ides of March per se, but I was at a housewarming party thrown by some fabulous people from Montpellier. Malibu Orange and funky R&B dance lessons in front of the TV. Very strange. But chockfull of fun. Makes us look like backup dancers for the Jackson 5. More translating needed - this time with the security of the building. Too loud! I had to pacify the men in blue, and told a fib: it was the French national day, the party will clear out by midnight…crossed fingers that they really thought they were in July and not March.
Friday night…and I’m talking about the 12th…finally met the rest of Angela(h!) mates from school at the Mural. Methinks they were more excited to meet the open bar at the Mural than the “birthday girl” but it’s all good. Hailing from all continents and oceans, it was an educational experience (and hilarious) getting smashed whilst attempting to speak Spanish, French and Dutch. Of course, there was American English as well (no offense Eric and Laurel!). I mean, the 25th birthday party back in Melbourne was a drinking binge as well, except that getting pissed drunk in your own living room and having to pacify an even drunker housemate is far less embarrassing than pissing in the male toilet at a chic club or knocking over other people’s drinks while you’re stumbling to get to the male toilet at a chic club. It’s all right…it’s my party and I’ll get silly if I want to. Turned out I was sober enough to drag UF back home, despite my silliness. He dunked more margaritas by the jar than I had with my 9 ounce glasses.
Saturday - the eyes opened to the stream of sunlight forcing its way through the frosted windows in my bedroom. Instant wake up. Sat up and waited too, for that hangover. Now, I knew I was supposed to be groaning in pain but strangely, the groans came from UF next to me, obviously annoyed by my stirring and the light. Sorry, but I should have gotten curtains as birthday presents but I didn’t. Dunked water. The usual routine of combating a hangover. But I swear the best way to keep the headaches away…watch a Stephen Chow movie on DVD in your PJs. Cat and Angelah were on their way to pick us up for brunch at a Hongkong-styled café but UF was still lazing in bed, laughing his guts out at Sing Yeh’s antics in “Shaolin Soccer”. Did he understand Cantonese? No! Did he need a translator? Not really. But I was there all the same. By the time Cat and Angelah got to the gate, we were still scrambling with our socks and a last shot at dunking more water. Dinner at Banana Leaf in Hongkong Plaza with the SIS-ters (Southeast asians In Shanghai) - sounds like fish head curry right? No, it was Thai food. And best part is, Filipino performers! So who says Singapore’s confused?!
Sunday - hm?
Monday - work. Hm? UF got sick because he went out walking the entire afternoon in just a t-shirt looking for the Singaporean/Australian consulates. He wanted to ask them diplomats where to find sambal belachan and stuffed kangaroos in Shanghai. He ended up on Nanjing Xi Lu (and at Lacoste, bumbling into a potential internship), getting me FIVE pirated DVDs. Now, THAT’S romance for you.
I could go on and on in detail about the birthday weekend + actual birthday but it’ll just bore the hell outta everyone, especially ME! No, I swear, it was fantastic…eating, drinking, laughing (oh yes, KTV turned out to be a stand-up comedy instead, courtesy of Carl and Bryan, from Texas and Massachusetts). However, most importantly, everyone needs an extended period of excess to numb them from the revelation of being one year older but not necessarily wiser. But I’m glad that I’m still learning…that means I’m still alive.
Here’s to my mum for that 12 hours of labour at the Kadang Kerbau Hospital on March 15th, 1978.
P/S - Tip of the week: always keep your receipt when you get out of the taxi in Shanghai. UF left his backpack in one (how in the world) and by the time we realized it, the taillights were disappearing into the dark alley. Whipped out the phone, called taxi company, quoted some numbers, retrieved lost item within 15 minutes. Nice one, on the eve of my birthday.
Hangovers and somersaulting stomachs aside, the bash (oh now we know why it's called a "bash"!) was actually fantastic. And long enough to be made into a soap opera, really. The weekend of hedonism started on Thursday (note how hung over I am: Thursday being the 11th of March!) - well, not a celebration of the Ides of March per se, but I was at a housewarming party thrown by some fabulous people from Montpellier. Malibu Orange and funky R&B dance lessons in front of the TV. Very strange. But chockfull of fun. Makes us look like backup dancers for the Jackson 5. More translating needed - this time with the security of the building. Too loud! I had to pacify the men in blue, and told a fib: it was the French national day, the party will clear out by midnight…crossed fingers that they really thought they were in July and not March.
Friday night…and I’m talking about the 12th…finally met the rest of Angela(h!) mates from school at the Mural. Methinks they were more excited to meet the open bar at the Mural than the “birthday girl” but it’s all good. Hailing from all continents and oceans, it was an educational experience (and hilarious) getting smashed whilst attempting to speak Spanish, French and Dutch. Of course, there was American English as well (no offense Eric and Laurel!). I mean, the 25th birthday party back in Melbourne was a drinking binge as well, except that getting pissed drunk in your own living room and having to pacify an even drunker housemate is far less embarrassing than pissing in the male toilet at a chic club or knocking over other people’s drinks while you’re stumbling to get to the male toilet at a chic club. It’s all right…it’s my party and I’ll get silly if I want to. Turned out I was sober enough to drag UF back home, despite my silliness. He dunked more margaritas by the jar than I had with my 9 ounce glasses.
Saturday - the eyes opened to the stream of sunlight forcing its way through the frosted windows in my bedroom. Instant wake up. Sat up and waited too, for that hangover. Now, I knew I was supposed to be groaning in pain but strangely, the groans came from UF next to me, obviously annoyed by my stirring and the light. Sorry, but I should have gotten curtains as birthday presents but I didn’t. Dunked water. The usual routine of combating a hangover. But I swear the best way to keep the headaches away…watch a Stephen Chow movie on DVD in your PJs. Cat and Angelah were on their way to pick us up for brunch at a Hongkong-styled café but UF was still lazing in bed, laughing his guts out at Sing Yeh’s antics in “Shaolin Soccer”. Did he understand Cantonese? No! Did he need a translator? Not really. But I was there all the same. By the time Cat and Angelah got to the gate, we were still scrambling with our socks and a last shot at dunking more water. Dinner at Banana Leaf in Hongkong Plaza with the SIS-ters (Southeast asians In Shanghai) - sounds like fish head curry right? No, it was Thai food. And best part is, Filipino performers! So who says Singapore’s confused?!
Sunday - hm?
Monday - work. Hm? UF got sick because he went out walking the entire afternoon in just a t-shirt looking for the Singaporean/Australian consulates. He wanted to ask them diplomats where to find sambal belachan and stuffed kangaroos in Shanghai. He ended up on Nanjing Xi Lu (and at Lacoste, bumbling into a potential internship), getting me FIVE pirated DVDs. Now, THAT’S romance for you.
I could go on and on in detail about the birthday weekend + actual birthday but it’ll just bore the hell outta everyone, especially ME! No, I swear, it was fantastic…eating, drinking, laughing (oh yes, KTV turned out to be a stand-up comedy instead, courtesy of Carl and Bryan, from Texas and Massachusetts). However, most importantly, everyone needs an extended period of excess to numb them from the revelation of being one year older but not necessarily wiser. But I’m glad that I’m still learning…that means I’m still alive.
Here’s to my mum for that 12 hours of labour at the Kadang Kerbau Hospital on March 15th, 1978.
P/S - Tip of the week: always keep your receipt when you get out of the taxi in Shanghai. UF left his backpack in one (how in the world) and by the time we realized it, the taillights were disappearing into the dark alley. Whipped out the phone, called taxi company, quoted some numbers, retrieved lost item within 15 minutes. Nice one, on the eve of my birthday.