You know you're a damn blogger when...

1)It's CNY eve of the eve and you're supposed to be busy spring-cleaning your room but you're checking out your blog stats, once again proving what a no-lifer you are.

2)It's CNY eve of the eve and you ARE busy baking and kneading yet manage to find time in between to run to the 'puter to check out blog posts like *Monetize your Blog NOW*, once again proving that you're a good-for-nothing, n'er-do-well bum.

3)Your kitchen is on FIRE and when you get your butt off the chair and dash madly to said fire, the first thought that comes to mind is, "Omg, this is going to be such an awesome thing to blog about!", therefore affirming the irrefutable fact of your bloody blogger-ness.

So yea, the kitchen was indeed on fire but did I notice the creeping burning smell that was even then making it's way into my room? OF COURSE I did, what, you think that apart from being severly myopic, I've got no olfactory sense as well?

However.

I dismissed it as some yahoo burning *paper money* downstairs and the odour was simply wafting up all the way to the 9th floor of my apartment. (You CANNOT fault me for getting CNY and the 7th month *Ghost Festival* mixed up, I swear that I know not the difference except that on CNY, you get fed more while on the 7th month, you feed The Others (read: the dead), oh and of course there's the REAL cash that's being given out to the kids and unweds. And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that I happily accept all red packets with open palms even if I'm *supposedly* too old for that shite. At least I'm honest about it. What about you?).

Suffice to say that I spent the next half an hour (that I could have better used to do research on SEO tactics) putting out the fire, placating a mother who was almost in tears and scrubbing p the stove, the floor, the table, the island top, the EVERYfcukingWHERE. And where were YOU when I needed your help?

Not being the most placid and calm person on earth, I remained surprisingly unflustered and dare I say, even slightly thrilled, because YES, I get something fun to tell you people about. There is never a day that goes by without me being concerned about alleviating your boredom, because I recognize in you the same craving for my supremely delightful chatter as I do with my other 309485596 adoring, fawning fans from this planet and beyond.

Yoda, despite his habitual spewing of crap and busy with Starwars IVV, happens to be one of my most ardent supporter and I, his. And I quote him, "Less droopy my skin the Placenta mask makes".

I am now, though, so sapped and drained of all physical strength after mopping the floor 19 times to remove every trace of ash that I can barely type. So you'll just have to make do with pictures (NO, not of the fire you crazy lot, how sick do you think I am?!) that I had taken while slaving away at the stove BEFORE said fire. There was much that I wanted to share with you, like how at 2a.m I am still cooking and frying flour (you'll understand why when you see the pics) while most of you are probably out getting wasted.

This is how sad my life has become. Really.

Big-ass pot of grated pineapple cooking and stirred every 3 minutes for 4 hours. Sounds like fun?

Big-ass wok of tapioca flour to be fried until super-airy and super-flyaway and super-light.

Looks super easy I hear you say. BUT WAIT.

Until....THIS

Imagine having to fry flour and stir thick pineapple paste at the SAME time. Seriously dudes, you have to actually be DOING it yourselves to fully appreciate the aching of the arms and pounding headache from the heat (yes, I cannot tolerate temperature that's above 25 degrees, well NOW you know).

In case I made you think that I'm alone in the torture chamber, you can rest easy tonight, knowing that I'm no martyr nor Martha Stewart [not only coz I can't cook without specific instructions but also coz I've got NOTHING taxable and thus need not evade taxes. :-(] and that my ever dedicated Mom, who with her can-do spirit is busy with THIS.

It's impossible for me to even articulate how fcuking labour intensive making pineapple tarts and kueh lapis is. Mom is right now sitting on a stool by the oven baking the Kueh lapis layer by layer. And because she's such a perfectionist, unlike the sell-out Bengawan Solo who now *manufactures* evrything in a factory and thus make crap-tasting Kueh Lapis, she painstakingly applies a thin layer of batter on each baked layer before putting in into the oven and starts the process all over again like 23435 times for EACH cake. And that is why her Kueh lapis is renowned amongst our relatives and friends and everyone clamours for one come CNY. Unfortunately, both her daughters being slothful and baking illiterates cannot render the help that she needs to fulfil all the many orders. So only the select and priviledged few will be bestowed this beautiful creation.

Because me being me and because I rock at multi-tasking, in between stirring and frying I was also able to do this.

AND This.

*gasps* Nicotine Kills and gives you Cancer. (And NOW you tell me.)

But seriously, Do NOT attempt to follow in my footsteps (unless you're invincible and impervious to all kinds of ailments like I obviously am), if you value your lungs and life. And being stressed out is NO excuse either. Which is why I'm not using the feeble excuse of having to finish baking and cooking everything before tomorrow to USE tobacco

You are probably wondering, and where then are the fruits of their efforts?I present to you, The Finest Pineapple Tarts in the Universe. No, Seriously. It's a pity the pictures don't do them the slightest justice.

But trust me (because you know my taste is peerless) when I say that they are the most sublime mix of melt-in-the-mouth buttery pastry topped with a generous dollop of sweet, slighly tangy pineapple jam. If you beg, I might let you try some.

I just couldn't resist showing off what I had for dinner. Once again, the pictures may look crap but let me tell you, there's just nothing like home-cooked chicken buah Keluak and Beef Rendang. So rich, so flavourful, so bloody sinful. What? Like y'all so virtuous and have never indulged in high-fat, artery-clogging, liver-damaging, toxic activities in your lives before. Pfft.

In other MORE important news, new stock have arrived but do you seriously, really expect me to take pictures of them and talk at length about them AFTER all that you know I've been through tonight?

I thought not. You are of a kind and compassionate nature, selfless and understanding, much like myself, which is why you are HERE in the first place.

As digg likes to say while it's digging through your submissions (which we all know it's only coz they're too cheap to buy more bandwidth and more intelligent programmers), Patience my friend, is a Virtue. PAH!

Sleep deprivation serves you nothing but ill will

I fell violently ill on the plane (yes, I know, my body is a complete wuss that CAN'T even put up with a 2 hour plane ride without going limp) and my next door neighbour, a kind gentlemanly Aussie (no they're not all crude and boorish, you judgy lot) was concerned enough to ask if I was alright. (Thanks for being such a sweetheart Matt =)

It could have been me laying my head down on the food tray and sniffling away throughout the flight that led him to think that I was sobbing heart-wrenching tears because of dumpage by some bastard (but since by all accounts, my singlehood is still very much keeping it's status quo, y'all don't have to worry about me being heartbroken and whatnot).

After reassuring him that all was well and that my dysfunctional body that is mystifyingly immune to most drugs if not all (uh huh, even your bloody valium, domicum, xanax, stillnox and what have you (don't look at me like I'm some sort of junkie coz I'm NOT; please keep yourself in the loop of my intimate familarity with said drugs before you start making ASSumptions aye), just will not tolerate re-cycled cabin air (which is still a great mystery to me since everyone else appears to be all fine and dandy), well, coupled with the 0 hours of sleep I got the night before I guess, we struck up a great discussion/discourse on the merits of living in Bangkok.

It's strange, but almost every farang that I've met who has lived there for more than a year is able to see the city for all her blatant and glaring flaws (rats and roaches as dining companions, agressive ladyboys tugging at your sleeve, garbage and insane traffic are but some of the few pleasant qualities of this awesome city), is still unable to let go of her. I mean, sure they gripe a whole lot but to really severe the ties and cut the strings completely, nuh uh, that's almost like asking them to give up their manhood. Or go through a castration of sorts. Jing Jing di, I kid you not. If any of you farangs out there happen to *stumble* upon this post, perhaps you could do me the favour of explaining WHY, why when you lot whinge and complain so much and yet still refuse to go home? *pssst* (Is it the Som Tam?) Or the Pad Ka Prao Nger?
Or has it got something to do with the drop-dead, gorgeous katoeys who can give a regular supermodel a run for her money any day? (No need for shame now, you Nana Plaza regulars, be proud, stand tall and represent your amorality! I will never judge you nor cast aspersions on your fine character because you favour these creatures of perfect beauty. But I cannot speak for others. I am loathed to be judged myself, so fret not dear friend)

Or maybe The exhorbitant sum you as a farang have to pay just to visit a national park or a Muay Thai Kickboxing match even though you've lived there for 5 years, can speak Thai fluently, eat Tom Yum Khai for breakfast, Pad Thai for lunch and Tom Yam Kung for dinner and have a teeny weeny Thai girl perched on your shoulder (read : the double-pricing just coz you look white, while all I have to do is say Mai Chai Farang, lot noi dai mai ka na na na na piiii? and I instantly get an indulgent smile and pay what the locals do)? Is it the sanook and sabai sabai attitude of the people and the city that makes you feel like you're in some surreal, dream-like land where everyone is somewhat child-like and will possibly never appreciate the humour in an episode of Frasier and thus make escaping our *first-world* country so much more enticing? (This I can definitely empathize with, for I too was once so badly enamoured of this city that I was, every waking minute scheming means and ways of staying there legally or otherwise; I really didn't give two flying fcuks at that point, trust me, I would have done whatever it took).

So blokes, seriously, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL is it then, if not for all that and barring the low-ass cost of living in BKK that is? Pray tell. All I seek is to understand. Do NOT start getting all pissy and defensive on me. I am on YOUR side. I reiterate, I merely want to understand the psyche of these particular farangs. Obviously I'm not going to dump you all into one same category. I'm talking about the ones who grumble incessantly but yet don't want to go *home*. Inquiring minds need to know.

In other news, despite not having slept for the past 27.85 hours, I still have loads of baking to do (chyeah, I'm totally your Martha Stewart doppleganger, you really think I enjoy this don't you?) But I know the more cognizant ones will know, actually KNOW the truth.

On that note, I shall proceed to my bloody unpacking, 34.67mins power nap and then into the torture chamber.

You should be so lucky.

Bah.