Signs that i have been partying waaaay too much.

To be captured on mumtazz.com TWICE in less than a week, at the same location.
SUBA is located at Millenia Walk.
Wednesdays are ladies’ night, free flow cosmopolian martinis from 6-9pm and strawberry fondue! Just ask the very handsome bar manager vincent lah.

Seated: cant remember who, chef-for-hire yuan, lina?
Standing: gorgeous esther, the big guy michel, me lah.

I looked like a complete bimbo with curls in my hair and orchids tucked behind my ear because we had a press conference that morning for Miss World 06.

Just last night, my very beautiful (and teenage!) friend from hongkong, michelle, who hosted me when i was there last year, together with diana the babe men swoon over.

Ok now, stop staring at my boobs.

Headed to MOS around 1030pm, had to show the place to Mich, and then we went to butter factory with Gene, Song and Kel. Bought a bottle of TEN HIGH (wtf?!) whisky for $68 complete with mixers and they drank themselves silly.
I’m getting old. All these clubhopping is taking its toll on me.
 

Can i start talking on a serious topic now that i’ve cleared the pictures out of the way?

I just want to talk about, well, talk.

“We need to talk.”

That simple line, 4 words, strikes fear in all men’s heart.

Did i do something wrong? She found out?
Or worse, are we gonna talk about committment?
*insert other committment related words like children/marriage/gowns/CPF/HDB/MRT*

Truth is, we don’t talk anymore.

At least, not face to face.
 

I’ve just received my Singtel bill for the month of May-June and my mom could not fathom how her daughter could chalk up 1139 sms.
(even though she don’t quite grasp the concept of sms in the first place.)

But honestly, neither could i.

With 657.5 minutes of free incoming calls and 173.0 mins of outgoing calls, bundled with the 1139 sms, i must have practically lived through the last month with my K700i glued to my hands.
 

Over at SUBA on saturday, all of us were sitting outside with Michel just beside me and i received an sms on my handphone.

“Text Message received from Michel Lu”

Trained through many bitching sessions with the girls, i knew better than to look alarmed. It must be some information not to be shared around the table.

*hits read button*

“What do you wanna do after this? I just want to sit and chill somewhere.”

So i replied, “Eh, you can just whisper to my ear why must sms? You send wrong person isit?”

And he text, “I shy lah.”
 

Text messages have turned us into extroverted introverts.
It is a less intrusive way of communication that doesn’t demand an instant facial reaction or verbal answer.
Our instinctual body language is not exposed for judgement and our hearts not laid bare for rejection.
We can take time to formulate the words we long to say but dare not speak.
Perhaps become a little bold to indulge in some flirting.
We even lessen the guilt, weighing on our conscience, when we turn down yet another dinner date from that persistant admirer. 

I am guilty of the sms syndrome. all 1139 of it. Because i am too chicken shit to tell the person in his face that i long to be with him. Or simply to tell him to fark off.

So i do it, armed with my mobile phone and quick fingers, bluntly and brutally, when i could have said it in person and give him a hug afterwards.

This is my motivation for the month of July. Say it with my voice. And save the handphone bills.