Alcohol’s a Bitch.

You think when you’ve reached your twenties, you’d be more sophisticated, worldly and knowing. Well, you just can’t be more wrong. Twenties are just an extension of your teenage years except that you own more money. Insecurities, social acceptance, peer pressure all of them are still there, those old mean bastards. It might be even more dangerous since in your twenties you have a lot more points to prove and much more ambition. Yes, I can get a raise and promotion next month. Yes, I can totally buy that (put any one word designer’s name here) handbag even if it cost me four months salary. Yes, God is my witness, I’ll be married by 27.

Back to the alcohol thingy, I spent this beautiful Saturday being drunk. I missed a late brunch by the river and a good wonderful company, because I’m too hammered to even wake up from my bed. I don’t think I’ve ever been this drunk before although there were few close calls. I’m not a party animal or those hipsters who thinks being tipsy and slurred are the way to go. There is nothing mildly cute or graceful in being drunk. Last night, I was simply having a good time and got a bit carried away. I had two fantastic, fun loving girls with me and a really sweet guy as the designated driver since we all knew deep down, the three fantastic, fun loving girls (yes, I counted myself in) would be three raving intoxicated girls as the night grew old. Fast forward to around 3 a.m, one was having a serious make out session with a toilet bowl (yes, missy I know you’d be reading this) and another two was taking over the dance floor. Then we went home. It was a beautiful misty morning as we passed few determined joggers, market shopping housewives and high school students on the way.

I was quite sober when I reached home but by the time I woke up after an urgent phone call (BRUNCH! WAKE UP!), a deep unsettling nausea hits me and the next thing I know, I was on the toilet floor, throwing up everything I swallowed the night before. I never knew our body don’t digest vodka that well. To make things worse, the nausea didn’t come in one big tsunami so I can just get it done. Oh no, they came in ripples. Six sickening and horrifying ripples which was the very reason why your parents told you not to get drunk. It is now 20.52 laptop time, when I’m writing this in a much better state and finally able to hold food in my belly.

I learned my lesson today. It cost me a splendid Saturday. As God as my witness, I’ll never be drunk again. Ever.

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Sous Le Ciel de Paris

It is very rare for me to find a character in a film that I could relate to. It perhaps has to do with the films that I watch anyway. I don’t think anybody could find it easy to relate with Princess Leia or Sookie Stackhouse or Hermione Granger fighting off Death Eaters with Petrificus Totalus. I’ve seen a lot of fantasy, comic based blockbusters lately and not much of real drama. Therefore I decided to watch An Education the other day. I’ve been meaning to see it since last year but I kept putting it off, saving the best for last sort of thing.

I’m so charmed by the film I’m now blogging about it. For you who haven’t seen it (shame on you!), the film is about Jenny, a charming and intelligent teenager on the late 60s London, who was bored to death by her school and strict parents. In an eventful rainy encounter, she met a charming older guy played by Peter Sarsgaard, who then managed to seduced her and her whole family with his wit, glamour and worldliness. Who the hell in the world doesn’t want to to picked up on the street by a Peter Sarsgaard anyway? I don’t blame her at all.

I’d like to think Jenny is every women. Aren’t we all at one point in our life must have dreamed about being seduced by a charming older guy who takes you to expensive restaurants, concert even Paris and woo you with flowers and gifts? The fact that this film is based on true story and a memoir by Lynn Barber made this even more incredible and heart breaking all at once. I’m blushing like a school girl when Peter seduced Jenny and grimaced upon recognizing myself on Jenny’s remarks about ‘going to Paris, wear blacks, smoke cigarette in un cafe’. She’s a Francophile much like moi.

There’s one scene where Jenny lying on the floor, singing and humming to Juliette Greco’s Sous Le Ciel de Paris playing on the portable gramophone. I was She. I was, not many years ago, that girl who always dream to get away and be magically transported. I am still that girl who can’t wait to grow up, live the world and be a glamorous vixen who smokes and putting on red lipstick. Reading Fitzgerald and too much Jazz ruined me for life, I’m afraid.

I don’t know if this entry should be tagged under ‘film’ or ‘personal rubbish’. Maybe I should just put it under ‘bric-a-brac’ to suit the French mood.

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Le Parapluie

Un p'tit coin d'parapluie
Contre un coin d'paradis
Elle avait quelqe chos' d'un ange
Un p'tit coin d'paradis
Contre un coin d'parapluie
Je n'perdais pas au chang', pardi

A little corner of an umbrella
For a bit of heaven
She had something of angel about her
A little corner of an umbrella
For a bit of heaven
I wasn’t losing out on the deal, of course.

Chemin faisant, que ce fut tendre
D'ouïr à deux le chant joli
Que l'eau du ciel faisait entendre
Sur le toit de mon parapluie

On the roof of my umbrella
As we went along, how tender it was
To hear together the pretty song
Which the water from the sky played

J'aurais voulu, comme au déluge
Voir sans arrêt tomber la pluie
Pour la garder, sous mon refuge
Quarante jours, quarante nuits

I would have liked, as at the great Flood
To see the rain fall without ceasing
To keep her, under my refuge
Forty days, forty nights

Trust it to the Frenchman to write a song like this. It reaches you deep and down even without you understanding the lyric. However, when you do, you get to be like me. You keep playing it over and over again; in the car, on your iPod before you sleep, trying to pronounce the lyric unsuccessfully. I love the original version by Georges Brassens which sounds very cheeky and classic but this version by Yann Tiersen and Natacha Regnier is harrowing.

I sure miss Paris.

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Bad Romance and Scarlett O’Hara’s Wisdom

I haven’t blogged for a while. Or ever. I’ve been so lazy all I did was putting another blogger’s post (with source stated, of course) just for the sake of posting. This blog named Sapi Malas not for nothing after all. 2010 has been quite a ride. Up and down the merry-go-round vertical tower of terrror like that scene in Zombieland, minus the zombie.

Since 2008 when I had two beloved leaving me for Hereafter, I’d like to think my life mirrorred Scarlett O’Hara post-Civil War. Ok, I didn’t have to dig my garden to find a piece of dried carrot (or kill a scoundrel) but now I do get why Scarlett became such a manipulative bitch and fierce business woman. Both of us need a security. Money, family, social standing. I’ve spent three years now doing business. Playing adult, trying to be slightly manipulative. Experienced my first global economy crash. I didn’t pass with flying color but I managed to keep the company floating, family fed and bills paid. Gone were the days when Scarlett I wore light green dress, battling my eyelashes and think of nothing except Ashley boys.

Except now, more than ever, I seriously need a Rhett Butler. With moustache or without, I need a big, tall, dark, worldly, humorous and kind guy who will envelopes me with love and said things like “You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.” Aren’t we all? Despite the popular belief, made even more popular by Julia Roberts who got hit by a dashing Javier Bardem in the middle of nowhere in Ubud, Bali is not the perfect place to fall in love. I think it is the perfect place to be in love or have a mind blowing “From Here to Eternity” moments by the beach, but that’s it. For you who magically found love in Bali, you can stop reading now because this post is just a dark, twisted and cynical (albeit true) rambling of a depressive single near Valentine’s Day. For you who doesn’t and have no date for the upcoming Bloody Valentine, do continue reading.

Bali is being promoted as The Ultimate Honey Moon Destination. I went all the way to Chengdu, a nice city in Sichuan Province, China and told a teenage receptionist at a hostel that I’m from Bali. Her immediate gush is: Oh, I want to go there for honeymoon! (to which I just cringed). Grown up in Bali, I’ve seen love in all shapes and reasons. Newlyweds holding hands even when they shopped or eat, holiday flings that started in a foam party fuelled by 10k Bintang beers, Opa and Oma walking with their strollers and Birkenstocks by the beach, desperately lonely older gay man riding a scooter with a dark handsome youth, tanned and young and lovely girls meets a thick belly and even thicker wallet guys one night at a bar. Occassionally, if I’m lucky I witness a devastating love like the one I saw a few weeks ago at the airport when two lovers didn’t want to let go. Do I get bitter by witnessing all those “ loves”? Perhaps.

To be honest, Bali is all about sperm released. Some found their pre-destined place and nine months later, a baby made in Bali will be born. Some are just being spent and dumped. Ask the next sweet couple you met on the street where did they fall in love. Eight out of ten it won’t be Bali.

I’ve kissed some frogs. None of them turns out to be a Prince. I’ve given up those Disney crafted illusions and put it in a box named ‘childhood’. The frogs that I’ve been kissed are mostly commitment phobic or only interested on what I wear behind my fabulous flowery dress instead of inside me or simply a nice guy at a wrong time and wrong place. Why is it so difficult this whole dating things? Seriously. I’m easy. Just romance me, make me laugh and I’m yours.

-------pause------

---------gulping down chai tea---------

Sorry. I sounded desperate in that last sentence, aren’t I? Well, I do. I need my freakin’ Rhett Right Now. I saw a French movie few years back. Russian Dolls was the name. In the last part, the narrator said something that got me thinking. It went something like this: “ Do you know Russian dolls? At first there’s only one big doll then you opened the lid and inside you’ll find another doll, then another doll then another doll. Just right at the moment you got tired of it, you’ll find the one and last small doll that has no lids. That’s it. That’s the one for you”.

Which means that tonight I’ll dress up and go out. I’ll order some drinks and have a swell good time.

Afterall, tomorrow is another day.

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Recent Things

+ Recent treasures acquisition: John Irving’s “A Prayer for Owen Meany” and “Until I Find You”, Laura Restrepo’s “The Dark Bride” and Amitav Ghosh’s “Sea of Poppies”. Red kitten heels. Plane tickets to Penang.

+ Recently acquired favorite activities: bikram yoga.

+ Recent virtual obsession: tumblr blogs and twitter (still).

+ Magazine crush: Frankie. Etsy meets life reaffirming articles.

+ Online shop wish list: iwearup.com

+ Political concern: the rise of radically violent group and the unfair conviction for Ariel Peterporn

+ Miss them like crazy: a proper cinema, giant popcorn (half butter, half caramel), bookshop shopping, concert by seriously talented musician, Nasi Gila, flea market, my preggers BFF in Bandung, late night phone calls, cigarette, staying up late doing nothing, Godiva chocolate, snorkeling (damn this rainy season), manga, heavy make out session, crossing the street with my Dad holding my hand, Monopoly, hot stone massage, museum, ZARA sale, my gay German brothers, flipping the Lonely Planet guide while being lost in translation, croissant for breakfast, Nasi Warung Pojok, Kompas’s Sunday crosswords, Erdinger Weissbier, my cousin The Octopussy, Green Tea Frappuccino, Terang Bulan Tipis Ekstra Keju, Die Hard marathon night, Winona Ryder, painting, blueberry scones, Truth or Dare with Cupuz, hot steamy pao on the street in China, ITC Mangga Dua.

+ Recent family discovery: apparently my Auntie has been hiding a secret talent, she can cook and she still amazed when she perfectly able to create a yummy fettuccine carbonara and butter prawn.

+ 2011 will be: Four Weddings and (hopefully) only One Funeral. Lots of new born babies. Lots of traveling (Perth, Penang, Singapore, Vietnam).

+ Current Muses: Kelly Wearstler. Maggie Gylenhaal. Auntie Mei Lan. Nicole Richie. Danielle LaPorte. Caro Emerald.

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Kiss Me in the Library

via This is Happiness

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A Night Like This to Make You Smile

This is the first song I currently hear in the morning and the last song I hear before going to sleep. Don't you feel like being in a holiday when you listen to this?

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