Playing In The Rain

I was caught umbrellaless when a mini storm came; heavy rain, but not enough to give me 100% pleasure.

Anyway, I didn't want to be stranded at the bus-stop without an umbrella and being so near yet so far from home. So I garang-garangly sacrificed my own bag and put it on top of my Watson's $2 fabric briefcase which contained an endless supply of marking material.. and dashed across the road.

After that life-endangering stunt, I decided I should stroll because I was beginning to enjoy the rain on me. My happy 'disburdening' walk was pleasantly interrupted by a girl who offerred to share her umbrella. (Apparently, she is a teacher too.) I politely told her that she can just drop me off at the nearest block, afterwhich I can take the underground tunnel which happens to house cars. Thankfully she obliged.

As I continued my journey in the rain, but hoping Miss Kind Umbrella Teacher would not see me, I was beginning to wonder why I had previously been so afraid of the rain. While holding an umbrella, I would try to physically shrink to prevent the acid rain from touching me. Today, I embraced the heavenly water/water that comes from above boldly and lovingly.

After dumping my things at home, I decided I should go out again and take in the rain.

I went down, half-drenched already, and chose a seat on the sit-up equipment at the fitness corner. I put my legs up, in spite of my skirt, and watched the rain gently falling on my skin. For a brief moment, I could have mistaken my skin for plastic. I realised then why our skin needs to be waterproof. Imagine how Spongebob would do his 2.4km in the rain. He'd get heavier and soggier.. haha.. Wait, that doesn't quite make sense. Isn't he already soaking in water in the sea? Ah.. whatever.

I am just annoyed by my 2.5h stay at Tan Tock Seng Hospital today which was unnecessary but resultant of an inflexible administration/payment counter. Nevermind me... blah Blah BLAH!

My bra is soaking wet; my tiny protrusions swimming about uncomfortably in it.

NTU Discretionary Interview

I went for an interview with NTU a couple of weeks ago. It was a discretionary admissions interview (I applied through drama -- my stint at The Necessary Stage. (Can you believe the interview was on a Sunday?)

Those bespectacled professors asked me about theatre, teaching, psychology, theatre and teaching, teaching and psychology, psychology and theatre and Kuo Pao Kun.
"Tell us, how much do you know about Kuo Pao Kun?"

"Hm.. He wrote 'The Coffin Is Too Big For The Hole', 'No Parking On Odd Days'... And he's dead."

Although I looked about five times more confident than the other contenders, I think I flopped it.

The Birthday Gift Flown All The Way From New York!

Very unglamourous pictures of me right after my shower. This is what Gracie Baby (a naughty girl who's closer to my sister's age than mine..) sent me for my birthday all the way from Long Island. I love packages! (=


Opening it...... Really excited...


Taking a peek!


Tadaa!!! A two-piece! Trust kinky and naughty Grace to send me this!


Hi Grace! Thankew!!!


Hmm... Do you think Ly will like it?


My breastless breast.

Dare I put the last one up? It's me clad in the tiny pieces of material.. hahahaa... probably not!

I almost forgot my blog username and password.

I have just finished reading last Sunday's Lifestyle.
Those papers had been sitting on my table for an entire week. (Sunday papers are a must-read for me.)

I keep thinking that and expecting the next week to be a better week than the one before.
The parents-teachers meeting where I had student portfolios and comments to write took place the last two Saturdays (so much for the 5-day week). The upper ranks of my school think that Howard Gardner's 8 intelligences theory is an innovative format to base our comments on each child on. They have dreams to show this never-done-before idea during the annual congregation of MOE schools at Suntec. The main point is I had to write about all my 33 children's 8 different intelligences -- whether they have them or not. The 8 intelligences are:
1) Verbal/Linguistic i.e. English oral and written
2) Mathematical/Logical i.e. aptitude for Maths and ability to reason
3) Visual/Spacial i.e. I easily commented on their Art for this one
4) Musical/Rhythmic i.e. Tone-deaf or not
5) Kinesthetic i.e. Can run and bounce a ball? Walks about and figits in class?
6) Interpersonal i.e. Getting along with friends and teachers
7) Intrapersonal i.e. Self-confidence? Self-reflection?
8) Naturalist This beats me too. So far, I've shallowly and in desperation limited my comments to the child's interest in nature and care for her environment, although I'm sure it is more than just that.

The UpperLevel wants to have every single bubble filled because it is believed that all children have all 8 intelligences, even if it is to varying degrees (e.g. negligible). I have been told to write comments positively and am banned from writing "Not observable" in any section.

Can you imagine how difficult this is: to observe 33 kids through the term, document your observations, to have every section filled (it is akin to squeezing blood out of a dry rock) and euphemistically and politically-correctly phrase my not-necessarily-accurate observations. Now you know why those letters have been going to the press about the strain of teaching.

I love the kids; I love teaching. It is what happens after the dismissal bell rings that taxes me.

I promise to resurrect my blog properly. Expect more (I'm putting on pressure on myself to deliver..) pictures too. Hopefully some naughty ones can get published..

The Shoe Salesman Who Swept Me Off My Feet

I just got a new pair of New Balance shoes from the Parkway World of Sports branch.

The design, make and comfort of the shoes is not as important as the man who led me to buy it.

I'm so happy with his service -- professional, non-obliging, not too friendly, very helpful and oblivious to his existence as a big help.

I was so happy I wanted to buy him flowers.

His name is Victor. He is tall and not that handsome, but decent-looking. Quite a nerd actually, but his service was pleasurable to me...

I have come to realise that good-looking guys don't appeal to me as much as the male machoness of an average-looking Joe. I find a man's pair of hands on a steering wheel absolutely sexy. I get a big kick from seeing men at work, especially of the physically labourious nature. I love to observe men concentrate as they make decisions -- that process where they take charge and are fully aware of the responsibilities entrusted to them. I think men who are in their late twenties or thirties have an attractive charm about them that comes with age, which is most of the time indicative of the cumulation of wisdom from their life experiences.

Am I some sick pervert? I love men.